“Okay, let’s assume that’s the case,” said Jack. “Nobody in this room knows where Sydney is. But here’s what we do know. Somebody paid Celeste a thousand dollars to show up the night of Sydney’s release dressed up and looking like Sydney. Somebody paid for a private airplane to fly Sydney out of Miami. Since then, somebody has been paying a lot of money to keep Sydney out of sight-that doesn’t just happen for free. And tonight, somebody plunked down a hundred thousand dollars to pay off a juror. Altogether, we’re talking well into six figures. Maybe north of a quarter million, depending on where she’s hiding, whether she’s moving from one place to the next in order to stay one step ahead of the media, what kind of lifestyle she’s leading.”
“Which makes my point,” said Bennett. “It’s not us, and it’s not Sydney. We don’t have that kind of dough.”
Bennett’s answers were a match for the low expectations Jack had brought to the meeting, but he still needed to ask the question that was at the heart of the matter. “Who’s the young man who met her on the runway at Opa-locka Airport?”
“No idea,” said Bennett.
“Here’s my trouble with that answer,” said Jack. “When you and I talked about Sydney’s release, it was my impression that you were paying for the airplane.”
“I never said that. I told you what Sydney told me-that there would be a plane waiting for her, and there was no refund if you didn’t get her there before two A.M.”
“I took that to mean you were footing the bill.”
“You took it wrong,” said Bennett.
“Then who did pay for it?” asked Jack.
“I have no idea,” said Bennett.
Jack and Theo exchanged glances, and Jack could almost hear the refrain: scumbag liar.
Theo said, “You might as well tell us. I got contacts at the airport. I’m gonna get a name.”
“Good,” said Bennett. “When you get it, you call me. Because like I said: I have no idea.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” said Jack. “Your daughter gets out of jail, it’s a national media circus, and some people are even threatening her life. She gets on a private plane in the middle of the night, you don’t know who paid for it, don’t know who met her at the airport, don’t know where he took her-and you still have no idea where she is. That’s what you’re telling me?”
“That’s what I’m telling you,” said Bennett.
Jack glanced at Mrs. Bennett. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, she is,” said Bennett, answering for her.
“Jack was askin’ your wife,” said Theo.
She glanced at her husband, then at Jack. “Well, you know, we have-”
“Ellen,” said Bennett.
She pursed her lips, the words coming like a reflex: “We don’t know,” she said.
Jack let her response hang in the air, watching her, seeing her discomfort. “It’s a funny thing,” said Jack. “Going all the way back to day one as Sydney’s lawyer, I’ve never had a one-on-one conversation with Ellen. It’s always been me, Ellen, and you.”
“With good reason,” said Bennett.
Jack’s gaze remained fixed on Mrs. Bennett. He knew it would lead nowhere, but he wanted to plant the seed. “Do you think that would be possible-a conversation, just the two of us?”
“No,” said Mr. Bennett.
Theo was again on the verge of eruption. “Jack was talking to-”
“I don’t care who he’s talking to,” said Bennett. “Look, you two come into my house, acting like we have all the answers, like this is easy for us. Do you have any idea how many medications Ellen has taken over the last three years, Mr. Swyteck? Do you know what it’s like to be afraid to step outside your house, to have to run back to your car and get away from reporters every time you go to the grocery story?”
“It has to be tough, I know.”
“No, you don’t know. This has been more than Ellen can bear. So you can think whatever you want about why I do the talking. But you, Faith Corso, and everyone else in this screwed-up world who wants time alone with Ellen can just shove it. I am not going to let you take my wife into some back room, tear her down, and push her back into depression, all to serve your own agenda. At some point a man has to step in and protect what’s left of his family.”
“I just want to have a conversation,” said Jack.
“No, you don’t,” said Bennett. “Everyone in this room knows that this Brian Hewitt is going to point his finger at someone. Maybe your interests will align with ours, Mr. Swyteck. Or maybe they won’t. Tomorrow morning I’m calling an attorney to represent Ellen and me, and I’m sure the first thing he’ll tell us is don’t talk to anyone. I’ve been far more accommodating to you than necessary. This has gone on long enough, gentlemen.”
Bennett rose. Jack and Theo stayed in their seats.
“The conversation is over,” said Bennett, his tone firmer.
Slowly, Jack and Theo rose. Jack thanked Mrs. Bennett, and then he and Theo followed her husband to the foyer. They stopped before opening the screen door.
“Be sure to pass along to your girlfriend what I just told you,” said Bennett. “If the FBI wants to question us again, she should call our lawyer.”
“That’s your right,” said Jack.
Bennett opened the door, showing them out. The screen door closed behind them. “Might not be a bad idea for you to get yourself a lawyer, too,” Bennett said through the screen. “You just never know who Mr. Hewitt might implicate.”
It didn’t sound like a threat, but it didn’t sound like an idle observation, either. It was somewhere in between.
“Very true,” said Jack. “You never know.”
He started down the front steps, Theo at his side. The porch light went black before they reached the driveway.
“Scumbag liar,” said Theo as they got into the car. “Protect his family. Right.”
“Ellen Bennett is a mess. You can look at her and see it.”
“And we’re supposed to believe it’s all about fear of the media? Come on. Fear of sumptin’, but it ain’t the media. Those walls he put up around her ain’t for her benefit.”
“I know that.”
“Then why’d you just sit there like you’re buying into it. I told you, man. You gotta call a scumbag a scumbag. You can’t let him win.”
“He didn’t win.”
“He did by the count on my scorecard.”
“Theo, I came here with one objective: to throw a lifeline to Ellen Bennett, to make her want to reach out to me and talk, one-on-one. Trading insults with Geoffrey Bennett is a waste of energy.”
Theo dug his keys from his pocket. “Okay, if that’s your strategy, you may be right.”
“I know I’m right.”
“But you’re no damn fun.”
Theo started the engine, the headlights shining across the lawn as they backed out of the driveway. Alongside the house, behind a chain-link fence, Jack spotted the Bennett family’s swimming pool that had figured so prominently in the defense of Sydney Bennett.
“Lots of lies,” said Jack. “Lots and lots of lies.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sean Keating watched the Faith Corso Show from BNN headquarters in Manhattan. The CEO of BNN couldn’t watch every show on his network, but Keating never missed Corso. Her show had all the markings of his next mega-success.
“Damn, she’s good,” said Keating as the show ended.
His bodyguard nodded in agreement. Roland Sharp had no official title at BNN, but he was known by most as the “Shadow.” Keating rarely set foot outside the building without the Shadow or some other trusted member of the security team at his side, or at least lurking in the background, ready to draw a concealed weapon in defense of one of the most hated CEOs in corporate America. It wasn’t purely paranoia. Hate e-mail arrived by the virtual truckload on a daily basis, and even some death threats had come since Al Jazeera’s profile of Keating and his network’s anti-Islamic bent.