The Night In Question Read online

  The last few notes sobbed away into silence, but it wasn’t until the spatter of light applause and the silvery chink of falling coins broke the hush that she opened her eyes to see Max looking at her.

  “One day it’ll start to fade, Jules,” he said quietly. “One day you won’t think of it all the time.”

  “Maybe.” She fumbled in the pocket of her windbreaker, her face averted from his. “But whether I think about it or not, it changed me, Max. Sometimes I wonder who I’ve become. Sometimes I wonder if I like the woman I see staring back at me from a mirror.” Not seeing the flash of pain that crossed his features, she peeled a bill from the meager roll in her hand.

  “Don’t worry about it. I dropped a twenty on her plate from both of us.” As he started to move away she shook her head.

  “I want to give her something myself.”

  Five bucks wasn’t much, Julia thought, bending down to place the money on the battered metal plate beside the blues-player’s canine companion. There’d been a time when fifty dollars wouldn’t have covered her lunch tab when she’d taken a break from a shopping spree and met a few acquaintances midday to compare purchases. But none of the women she’d socialized with during her marriage had ever contacted her after her arrest. Not even the two or three she’d considered friends had come to see her after she’d been sentenced. Brief as it had been, the momentary bond forged by this street musician had been more real than any connection she’d had in her former life.

  Maybe some of the things she’d lost over the past two years hadn’t been worth keeping, she thought slowly.

  “Keep your money, sister. That one was for you anyway.”

  Before her fingers could release the bill onto the metal plate, Julia found her wrist being gently grasped. Glancing up quickly, she met the gaze of the young woman who’d just been playing the harmonica. Hazel eyes stared steadily back at her.

  “This won’t ever heal completely. Be glad it won’t.”

  The strong fingers holding her slid almost tenderly from her wrist to the back of her hand, carefully turning it over. The thumb lightly traced the scar there.

  “When you look at it remember you were stronger than you thought you could be, sister.” The low voice was husky with pain. “That lesson never comes freely, but nothing valuable ever does. So hang onto it. You earned it.” She let go of Julia’s hand, her own dropping down to the ruff of the shepherd.

  “You said you played that for me. How did you know I’d—” Julia faltered, unable to complete the rest of her question.

  “Been in the joint?” Her unlikely companion gave her a small smile. “You knew I had, didn’t you? Survivors recognize each other. Tell your man thanks for the donation. I’ll treat Warden and me to a steak tonight, on him.”

  “Throw in a couple of pieces of pie for dessert.” Julia dropped the crumpled bill in her hand onto the plate and straightened up. She looked down at the woman. “I know the song was free,” she said softly. “But survivors have to stick together, sister.”

  “When she grabbed your hand I was holding my breath,” Max muttered as they fell into step together and walked away. “I was remembering Cherie.”

  “Who?” She frowned, and then gave a short laugh. “Oh, the waitress at the coffee shop. She was trying to use me to scam you, Max. I was just protecting your interests.”

  “I’d like to believe that.” His tone was dry. “But the nick on my jaw I had to shave around this morning makes me wonder.”

  She gave him a direct look. “You pushed me. I reacted wrongly. It won’t happen again.”

  “Which part are you talking about, Jules?” He met her glance with an expressionless one of his own. She didn’t answer, and after a moment he looked away. “I did push you. That won’t happen again either.”

  He stepped away from her as an old lady trundling a bundle-buggy stuffed with sacks of groceries bore down upon them, and when he was once again at her side it was obvious he’d decided to change the subject. His frown was touched with curiosity.

  “So why didn’t you pull away from her back there?”

  Still preoccupied with his last cryptic statement, Julia blinked. “Because she knew what I’d gone through,” she said quietly. “She’d been there too.” She managed a smile. “Her dog’s name is Warden, and apparently you helped buy them a steak dinner with your donation.”

  “She was looking at your scar.” Disregarding her attempt to turn the conversation, he went on, his tone uncharacteristically tentative. “Did that bother you?”

  “With anyone else it might have. But she seemed to see it as a symbol of courage,” she answered slowly. She met his gaze. “Just as you did, the other night,” she added.

  “Just as anyone would who cared enough to really look.” He shrugged. “Everyone’s got scars, Julia, whether they show or not. Some people are tough enough to survive their scars and even take strength from them, like you. Some people never had what it takes in the first place.”

  “And what happens to them?” He wasn’t talking about prison anymore, she thought with sudden conviction. Or at least not a physical set of bars.

  “Nothing.” His tone was flat. “They just go on existing. This must be it.”

  He stopped suddenly enough that she took a step past him before halting herself. He nodded at a peeling door set into the recessed wall joining a used-clothing store to the small West Indian groceteria beside it. Someone in the past had used thick black paint to mark the numbers of the address directly on the door itself.

  “22B. There must be an apartment on the second floor.” Max raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. It’s a long way from Beacon Hill, but this was what came up when I ran his name through the computer at the Agency.”

  Without further discussion he gave the tarnished doorknob an exploratory twist. It turned, and he pulled it open.

  He’d been talking about himself, Julia thought as she followed him up the steep flight of stairs that led immediately up from the street-level entrance, and when he’d realized what he was doing he’d disengaged. And she’d let him. She felt a brief flash of irritation at herself for not probing further, but then her anger faded.

  It was an unwritten rule in prison not to ask questions if the answers weren’t volunteered. That was a lesson even the newest of inmates learned quickly, and once learned, it was never forgotten. Questions were dangerous. Questions could wound. Questions, and the answers to them, could destroy a prisoner’s fragile hold on survival.

  And although she was the one who’d been assigned a number and a cell, Max was the real prisoner here, she thought slowly.

  He just didn’t know it.

  “The rent on this place must be higher than it looks.” They’d reached the small landing at the top of the stairs, and in front of her Max tapped a discreet brass nameplate beside another, more freshly painted, door. “He can’t even afford to pay for it by himself.”

  “I told you, there’s no way Noel lives here.” Roused from her thoughts, Julia shook her head firmly. “Even though it happened long before I married into the family, I know that Kenneth was forced to give him an extremely golden handshake when he ousted him from Tenn-Chem. He could buy and sell this whole block of buildings if he wanted to.”

  “Noel Tennant. Peter Symington.” Max read the neatly printed square of card inserted into the nameplate out loud. “Maybe he’s not interested in buying and selling blocks of buildings, or maybe he already tried that and lost his shirt in a bad investment. Whatever the reason, I’d say your ex-brother-in-law’s circumstances have changed.”

  “It looks like you’re right,” she admitted with a frown. “From what I remember about Noel, that wouldn’t sit too well with him. He liked getting the best table in a restaurant. He liked going over to Paris on a whim. And he was always buying expensive gifts for girls he hardly knew. I can’t see him accepting this kind of lifestyle.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t see living like this either. Maybe even two years ago h
e saw the way things were going for him, and decided to do something about it.” Pressing the plastic buzzer under the nameplate, he shifted his stance slightly, and suddenly the shoulders under the grey suit jacket he was wearing seemed somehow bulkier and more formidable. “That’s what we’re here to find out, Jules.”

  “You’re armed, aren’t you?” It hadn’t occurred to her before, but now she knew why he’d set out on this unofficial errand dressed, not in the sweatshirt and jeans he’d been wearing the day before, but in one of the suits she was more accustomed to seeing him in. A jacket would conceal a shoulder-holster, she realized belatedly.

  “It’s a precaution, nothing more.” From the other side of the door came approaching footsteps, and he kept his voice low. “I’m not really expecting anything to—”

  “You forgot your keys again, didn’t you?”

  At the sound of Noel’s words, even spoken as they were through the door while he was unlocking it from his side, a wave of unhappy memories washed over Julia. She’d forgotten how similar the voices of the two Tennant brothers had always been, she thought. And the similarities, although less striking, weren’t confined to the way Kenneth and Noel had sounded. As the apartment door opened, she steeled herself to catch glimpses of her late husband in Noel’s assessing stare, his habitual air of almost disdainful reserve. She cleared her throat nervously, and beside her she heard Max draw a breath.

  “Oh.” It was recognizably Noel, she thought, wondering why she’d been so foolishly apprehensive as her eyes met the pair of gray ones staring blankly at her. “I’m sorry, I thought it was my roommate arriving home,” he went on, a slight question in his voice. “Can I help you?”

  It was recognizably Noel, but it seemed that since she’d last seen him he’d finally grown out of the resemblance to his older brother that had dogged him all his life. Or maybe it was just that, out of the overwhelming shadow of Kenneth at long last, Noel finally felt free to be himself. Gone was the languid mockery in the small smile he gave her and Max. Gone too was the edginess that he’d never seemed able to completely conceal. She liked him better this way, she thought slowly.

  Except that the pleasant man standing in front of her could well be a murderer.

  She’d changed too, apparently—at least enough so that Noel obviously didn’t recognize her. She couldn’t blame him for that, she thought, suddenly conscious of her clothing and her pulled-back hair. She mustered an answering smile, wondering how he would react when he realized it was the woman accused and convicted of killing his brother who was standing on his doorstep.

  “It’s me, Noel—Julia. And this is Max Ross, the agent who investigated the bombing of Kenneth’s plane. We wondered if you could spare a few minutes to—”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. In front of her, Noel’s face had gone white, and his eyes, though still fixed on her, seemed to have lost focus. She was aware of Max beside her, his posture tense.

  “I’m not here in any official capacity, Mr. Tennant,” he said, his voice sounding harsh in the silence that had fallen. “You don’t have to invite us in if you’d prefer not to.”

  “No. No, of course not.” Noel’s response was less than enthusiastic, but he stood back from the doorway and gestured them inside. “It’s just a shock seeing you, Julia. I guess I’m farther out of the family loop than I realized. I thought you were in—” He caught himself, and she saw a faint flush stain the pallor of his face. “I take it your appearance here means your conviction was overturned?” he queried carefully.

  “My conviction was overturned, yes. Most people seem to think justice was a little too blind in my case, though,” she said evenly.

  She’d touched a nerve, she saw. Noel averted his eyes from hers, his posture suddenly stiff as he perfunctorily waved her toward a nearby sofa. One way or another, this had to be a strain for him, Julia thought as she sat down. Either he thought there was a good possibility he was being forced to entertain a killer who’d manipulated the system, or he knew damn well she’d served two years for the crime he himself had committed. Whichever it was, his self-possession returned almost immediately. As Max settled himself in a massive Mission-style chair on the other side of the low oak coffee table, looking momentarily disconcerted as it creaked slightly under his weight, Noel smiled.

  “Don’t worry, it’s sturdier than it looks, Agent Ross,” he said dryly. He turned back to her. “Can I offer you some coffee? Tea?”

  “Nothing, thanks, Mr. Tennant.” Max leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as Noel glanced toward him inquiringly. “I may have misled you with what I said a moment ago. It’s true I’m not here on behalf of the Agency, but this isn’t exactly a social call. I’m one of the few who believe justice was done when your sister-in-law was set free. Among other things, that means I let the real killer slip through my fingers.” He held Noel’s gaze. “I don’t intend to make that mistake again. Tell me, just what the hell is it you’re trying to hide here?”

  I want you to know that whatever I’m saying or doing at any given moment, underneath it all is the man you saw just now… He’d told her that only yesterday, but it couldn’t have been true, Julia thought, taking in the hard line of his mouth and the implacable light in his eyes as he stared grimly at Noel. There was no part of that man in him right now. He wasn’t even aware of her presence.

  He glanced swiftly over at her, as if he knew what was going through her mind. Something flickered behind the green of his gaze, so quickly that she might have been able to tell herself she’d imagined it, if it hadn’t been for the sudden heat that spread through her at his glance.

  Across from them, Noel lowered himself into a chair. “I’m not hiding anything, Ross.” There was an edge of anger in his voice, but his features remained impassive. “Why would you think I was?”

  “This place, for starters.” Max jerked his chin at the small living room and the minuscule kitchenette just visible around the corner. “You used to be a high roller, by all accounts, but now you’re living in a walk-up barely large enough to swing a cat in. What happened?”

  “Ask Julia.” Noel’s nod toward her was tight. “Maybe she was evicted from the Tennant money nest a little more forcefully than I was, but I’m willing to bet her reaction wasn’t that much different from mine after she’d had time to think about it. How about it, Julia—do you miss the parties?” There was a challenge in his tone. “Do you miss your so-called friends? What about the family get-togethers, with my darling mother and my late, unlamented brother crossing swords over how to run Tenn-Chem, while Barbara sat silently throughout the whole meal, you drank glass after glass of wine, and I was pointedly ignored?”

  He turned to Max. “Remember that old Bible story kids are taught in Sunday school, about Paul on the way to Damascus? Well, it was like that with me, Agent Ross—one day out of the blue, my eyes were opened. I looked around me and realized I didn’t like the life I was leading, and I was coming damn close to disliking myself. So I decided to make as radical a change as I could, and since then I’ve never been happier.”

  He spread his hands. “This place represents freedom to me. There’s no way Olivia will ever deign to visit me here, and that suits me just fine. Once in a while I meet Babs for lunch downtown, with the ground rules being we stay off the topic of that damned company that came so close to destroying both our lives.” His flow of words faltered, and he took a steadying breath. “I know she got custody of Willa, Julia. She’s taking good care of her.”

  “We’re not here to discuss your sister,” Max cut in before she had a chance to respond. “Like I said, I think Julia was framed for the bombing, and I’m looking into who else in the Tennant family stood to gain from Kenneth’s death.” He shrugged. “You’ve gone to some lengths to persuade me you don’t care about Tenn-Chem and everything that comes with it, but I’d still like to know what your movements were on the night your brother’s plane and everyone on it got blown to kingdom come.

  �
�By the way,” he added blandly, “I was brought up by my grandparents—strict, church-going Presbyterians, both of them, and they made damn sure I did go to Sunday school. Your St. Paul analogy was a little off.”

  “Maybe so.” Noel shook his head. “But that still doesn’t alter the fact that I’ve got no desire to go back to the life I used to live. Besides, from what little I read about it in the papers at the time, that gift-wrapped bomb could have been substituted at any time for the present it was supposed to be. It might have been sitting in Julia’s closet for weeks.”

  “It was.” Max nodded agreeably. “But the timer was set sometime in the two hours before it exploded. The press never got hold of that fact, and it didn’t even come out at the trial, since all the rest of the evidence against your sister-in-law seemed so airtight. So you can see why I might be interested in knowing where you were in that two-hour window.”

  Julia had been watching Noel, but now she turned to Max. “You’re right—that didn’t come out at my trial. This is the first I’ve heard about a two-hour window,” she said tightly. “This changes everything, Max. I had that package with me the whole time that evening—and though I couldn’t tell you how long it was exactly, I remember it was well over two hours. I was running some errands, and then I had to pick up Willa. It would have been impossible for anyone to tamper with it during that time.”

  “They didn’t have to tamper with it, Jules.” Despite her agitation, out of the corner of her eye she saw Noel’s head jerk up in interest at the nickname. Max went on quickly, as if to reassure her without delay. “The timer was activated by a remote control, the experts told me. Apparently it worked along the same lines as a television remote—the box didn’t have to be opened, and it was operational up to about twenty feet.”