How many seconds to fall from twelve floors up, I wondered. Probably three or four at the most. What did she feel in those last moments of her life? Did she see scenes of her brief life flashing by? Or was she just gripped with the terror of falling, the ground rushing up at her, unyielding black pavement ready to claim her broken body?
No. It would be the horror of knowing it was her own father who wanted her dead. Whether he had done it himself, or hired it out, she had to have known in the last cold seconds of her life that he was the one behind it.
My own father had died when I was fourteen, felled by a massive heart attack no one had foreseen. Unlike many of my friends, I never had the chance to see my dad grow old and weak. I had been spared the feelings a young man endures as his father is transformed from a giant, a hero, into an ordinary man-sometimes less than ordinary-flawed, fallible, unsure of himself. Buddy Geller would always be forty-four to me, with a full head of black hair, seemingly strong and robust. He would always be warm and loving.
He would never be my murderer.
I went back inside, leaving the sliding glass doors open, and stood facing the balcony. How had they done it? Grabbed her collar and waistband and heaved her over? Stood her up on the balcony wall and given her a strong shove?
I went back outside. "Let's try an experiment," I said to Jenn.
"What kind, doc?"
"Face the wall."
"Like this?"
"Perfect." I took hold of her belt and jacket collar and felt her whole body tense up.
"Relax," I said.
"Yeah, right."
"Maya was, what, five-seven? A hundred and thirty pounds?"
"Something like that."
"And you're six feet."
"Ask me my weight and you're a dead man."
"I don't have to ask. I can feel it."
"Was that a shot?"
"A statement. Now Rob Cantor is my size… a little taller than me."
"In shape?"
"He works out." I bent my knees and hefted Jenn a few inches off the ground.
"Jonah…"
"Don't worry,"
"Jonah!" she said.
"I'm not going to throw you off."
"I know that," she said. "I just wanted to ask what kind of car Rob drives."
I remembered a silver Mercedes parked at the job site: the only luxury sedan amidst a bunch of muddy pickups and SUVs. "Grey or silver Mercedes, I think."
"Then let go of me, doc. I think that's him down there." A few minutes later, a key slid into the lock on Maya's front door. The door opened and Rob Cantor stepped inside. He stood in the doorway listening, looking around, then closed it behind him. He wore glasses with transitional lenses, darkened by the outside light, but slowly lightening to reveal the eyes behind them.
Roger Daltrey sings a Who song about a bad man behind blue eyes: how no one knows what it's like to be him. Could Cantor be that hated man, fated to telling only lies?
I stepped out of the kitchen, where I'd been crouched behind a counter.
"You," he said. "I should have figured you were behind this. I thought maybe your brother straightened you out, but I can see he didn't. Well, this is one sick fucking joke, calling me from here, pretending… How did you get in here anyway? No, don't tell me. Marilyn, right? She's in on this too. Was that her on the phone? I mean, if it was, she's even sicker than you are. You're doing it for the money, I can almost understand that, but what the fuck is wrong with her?"
"Not Marilyn," Jenn said. She'd been in the doorway of Maya's bedroom. "Just me, Daddy," she whispered.
"Who the hell are you?" he said.
"My partner," I said.
"It figures." He took out his cellphone and flipped it open. "Well, you're both fucking with the wrong guy. I know a lot of people in this town, Geller. Big people. And all of them are behind this project, including your brother. They want to see it happen. And when I get through with you, you'll be unlicensed and fucking well unemployable."
"Are you through?"
"I'm not the one who's through, you thick-headed-hey!"
I clamped his wrist and dug my thumb into the ligaments there. His hand opened and the phone fell into my hand. I flipped it to Jenn, who caught it and snapped the lid off.
"Normally, she rips phone books," I said. "But sometimes a phone will do."
"Are you out of your mind?" he said. "You just assaulted me."
I stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. It felt even better than slapping Perry had. "Now I assaulted you," I said. Then I shoved him hard in the chest. He staggered backward, arms flailing, and landed on a brown corduroy couch.
"Three people are dead because of you," I said.
"You're crazy!"
"Shut up and listen," I said. "I am this close to beating the living shit out of you."
"You can't!"
"I think he can," Jenn said. "Hell, I could and I'm the minority owner."
His mouth opened. I raised my hand. He shut his mouth. He looked at Jenn, then back at me. He looked at his broken phone, as if willing it to ring so he could take a call and end this nightmare.
"Martin Glenn was murdered," I said, "because he didn't want to fake a Record of Site Condition. It wasn't a random act of violence, a mugging gone wrong, a gay-bashing or a lovers' quarrel. He was murdered because of what he was doing for you. Last night," I went on, "Will Sterling was shot to death-rather professionally, from the looks of it-because he took soil samples from your work site and they have enough PCBs in them to give liver cancer to kids who aren't even born yet."
"Will Sterling is dead?"
"That's right. Two people murdered in two days to keep this precious building of yours going."
"And you think I killed them?"
"I don't know that you'd have the guts to do it yourself, but you're awfully good at picking up that phone of yours when problems crop up. Yesterday, for instance, two goons showed up at our office and threatened bodily harm against my partner and me."
"Grievous bodily harm," Jenn said.
"I didn't send anyone to hurt you," he said weakly. "I wouldn't know who to send."
"But Mike Izzo would. Maybe you called Mike, who called his son-in-law Lenny, who called the two morons who stuck a gun in my face and held a knife to my partner's throat."
Rob stared at Jenn as if picturing the blade itself; a latter-day Macbeth envisioning the dagger before him.
"They threatened to cut off my breast," Jenn said.
"But you're okay."
"I'm terrific," she said. "Thanks a bunch."
"Look," he said. "You've got all of this wrong. I was upset with Martin because we had agreed on something and he wanted to go back on it. But I didn't kill him or ask anyone else to kill him. And this Sterling kid, I spoke to him once on the phone. Maybe twice. I don't even know what he looks like. I honestly have no idea what happened to him. I swear on my life."
"Like that's worth a lot right now," Jenn said.
"I'm telling you I haven't done one thing wrong!"
I leaned in close to him and grabbed his tie and pulled his face so close he felt the spray when I hissed: "Three deaths, Rob."
"That's what you said before. But you never even said who the third person is."
"Like I have to, you worthless sonofabitch."
I pulled him up by the tie and grabbed hold of him, just like I had done to Jenn moments before. She came around and took his other arm and together we frog-marched him through the doors and out onto the balcony. "Look down!" I said.
I held the back of his neck so he had no choice. "See the pavement?" I said. "Imagine it rushing up to meet you, Rob. Knowing that when you hit, it's all over."
"You going to kill me?" he said. "It won't change anything. I didn't kill Martin. I didn't kill Will. I didn't do it and I didn't ask anyone else to do it."