Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

Silvestri he loved me and Silvestri believed him.”
    “So he loved you. But look at how he lived. One compartment, his work. Another compartment, his wife. A third compartment, his fabulous digs. A fourth compartment, Leslie Wetzon.”
    “But he had a son. What about his son?”
    “Did I mention a fifth compartment?”
    “And he kept the compartments in the dark about the others.” She sighed. “I don’t know all of Silvestri’s layers.”
    “But you know most of them, and he knows most of yours. We’re talking a real relationship here.”
    A cell phone burbled. “Mine,” she said, answering. “Yes. Okay.” Checked her watch. “I’m on Amsterdam. I’ll walk down.” She hung up. “My lawyer set up a meeting with the FBI.” She punched in her office number and told Cheryl to expect her in the afternoon.
    “Who’s your lawyer?” Carlos asked, grabbing the check.
    “One Clothilde Hightower. You don’t know her. Rita Silvestri got her for me.”
    “Arthur knows everybody.” Arthur was Arthur Margolies, Esq., a trusts and estate lawyer and Carlos’s loving partner. “And Clotilde Hightower is a name to conger with.”
    Wetzon felt better after she and Carlos parted. He was her restorative. She called Silvestri as she walked, something she loathed doing on the street—not talking to Silvestri, but using a cell on the street. She kept getting a busy signal. When she finally got through, it wasn’t Silvestri who answered. It was a Detective Gail Rosen. Silvestri was out and around. She left her cell number and disconnected.
    Gelber stood in front of Clo’s building watching for her in every car and cab. She was half way across the street before he spotted her. His gun bulked his jacket.
    “Do you think,” she said, “that I’m going to run away?”
    He opened the door for her, checking behind him. “No.”
    They waited for the elevator, his back to her.
    “You think I need an armed guard to get to my lawyer’s office?”
    “We’re playing it safe.”
    They got on the elevator. “Gosh, you spoke. I thought you weren’t allowed to speak.” Damnation, she thought. She was getting as bad as Smith. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so snippy.”
    Judy Blue in her dark pantsuit sat on the sofa in Clo Hightower’s office smoking. Clo sat at her desk, smoking. The atmosphere was cloudy.
    “Ah, Leslie.” Clo stood, taking one of the straight chairs over opposite the sofa. “Sit here.” Back at her desk, she unlocked a drawer and took out the manila clasp envelope. She broke the seal, removed the grubby Krispy Kreme bag, and brought it to the coffee table. She took the other straight chair and settled near Wetzon.
    Judy Blue stubbed out her cigarette. Her glance skimmed over the Krispy Kreme bag, returned for a moment, then focused on Wetzon. “Well, here we are.”
    “Yes,” Clo said, stubbing out hers.
    “The ball is in your court, Leslie.” Agent Blue’s face was grim as a bulldog’s.
    “My client would like to make a statement telling you what she’s remembered since the last time she spoke with you.”
    Judy Blue made a rude, un-Feeb-like noise.
    “Excuse me,” Clo said. “You are aware that in cases of memory loss as Leslie has been suffering from, memory often steals back in bits and pieces.”
    “Let’s get on with it,” Judy Blue said. She took her small digital recorder from her pocket and set it on the table.
    Clo snatched it and turned it off. “We’ll have none of that.”
    “As you wish.”
    Irritated, Wetzon said, “Was I working for you?”
    Clo smiled. “It might be nice to hear your answer, Agent Blue.”
    “I’d prefer to hear your client’s statement.”
    “Go on, Leslie.”
    Wetzon began with Marty Lawler and her visit to Bellevue, how he confirmed she’d sat next to him on the New Jersey Transit bus, how frightened she’d been and how he’d tried to save her from being kidnapped in the Port Authority Terminal and had gotten shot for his trouble. “He’s a retired cop,” she added. “He knows people in the NYPD and called them.”
    Agent Blue was alert now, sitting forward. Gelber was writing notes.
    Clo said, “Marty Lawler will be happy to speak with you to confirm this.” Gelber took down the phone number. Clo signaled for Wetzon to continue.
    “When Marty Lawler came home from the hospital,” Wetzon said, “He found something with the items the hospital had taken off him when he was brought in.” She told them about the key