She looked down. They were standing at a water main access panel in the sidewalk. The ironwork was from somewhere other than New York. It wasn’t even American. She told them, “He did say he was going to work late yesterday. I told you — I was at a meeting out of the office most of the day. I saw him for about an hour in the morning. We hardly said a dozen words. I assumed he worked late and then went home.”
“He didn’t go home. We had it under surveillance.”
“He left? Oh, God.”
Kepler asked Daniel, “You a friend of Ms. McKenzie’s?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know Charles Prescott?”
“No,” Gabriela said. “He doesn’t.”
Daniel explained, “We just met last night. Gabriela and I.”
They lost interest in him, as if thinking it had been a pickup, a night of sex and breakfast this morning. Daniel didn’t seem to care about their impression of him.
She continued, “This just has to be a mistake. First of all Charles would never do anything illegal. It’s not conceivable.” Her voice quivered. She cleared her throat. “If he left unexpectedly, I’m sure it was an emergency. One of his clients had a problem. Charles’s that way. He’s more than an investment adviser. He’s a friend—”
“A problem, yeah. A federal indictment.” Kepler added, “Really, Ms. McKenzie, there’s no mistake.” He was unemotional, but you could also hear a fragment of irritation in his voice.
She was blurting now: “I’m the office manager. How could he possibly do anything like that without my knowing? How could that be?”
Daniel stirred, his meaning probably: That might not be the wisest thing to say, suggesting she was complicit. She fell silent. Surani blinked through his none-too-effective shades and said, “We don’t have any evidence you were involved in the scheme.”
His tone, however, added the word “yet” onto the end of that sentence.
“Who’re the clients you were mentioning?” Gabriela demanded.
“We don’t have any names. A fair number were from the Far East, South America and the Middle East, according to the FBI. They’ve been tracing the cash and stock purchases.”
Gabriela laughed, albeit a bit hysterically. “It is a mistake! I’ve never heard of any clients there. And I know all of them.”
Surani countered, “Well, our information is that he did have clients there. Thirty-two, apparently. And he was shuttling money into these accounts. Who knows why? Money laundering most likely. But we aren’t sure.”
“My God.” A dismayed whisper. “Thirty-two clients?”
“That was as of two days ago.”
Gabriela opened her mouth and then slowly pressed her lips together as if words failed her completely.
Surani: “Ms. McKenzie, you have to understand, Mr. Prescott caught us by surprise. We knew he had a one-way ticket to Zurich on Columbus Day weekend, so we thought he’d be in the country until then.”
“One way?” Gabriela said. “No. I make all his travel arrangements. He didn’t have any plans to leave. Surely not one way.”
“Well, he did,” Kepler barked.
His partner continued, “Prescott must’ve gotten word about the investigation and skipped early. But not to Switzerland. We don’t know where. So we need to get the names and addresses of those thirty-two clients.”
“You didn’t find anything at the office?”
Surani explained, “We know he flew to St. Maarten yesterday about six p.m. He disappeared after that. The authorities down there can’t find him. Now we’re hoping you’ll cooperate. We need to know where he went.”
“Tell us what you know,” Kepler said emphatically, dark eyes narrow.
“I don’t know anything!”
“You probably do, Gabriela,” Kepler said with a sardonic tone. “For instance, did you know he had a house in Miami?”
“His beach house. Of course.”
“There! See? You did know something. And yet you didn’t volunteer it. Let’s keep going. How about other houses — overseas is what we’re particularly interested in. Or any friends or romantic partners he might be staying with.”
She was looking down at the sharp shadows on the sidewalk, the sunlight falling stridently on leaves.
“Ms. McKenzie?”
She looked up. “What?”
Kepler asked more bluntly, “Does Prescott have any homes outside the country? Does he visit anyone in particular in any foreign countries?”
“He... no, not that I’ve ever heard of. He goes to the Caribbean a lot. I mean, he has clients there.”
The look on the cops’ faces said, We know he does.
Some of them among the infamous Thirty-Two, of course.
“Come on, Gabriela, keep going. You’re on a roll!”
Daniel said, “Why don’t you lighten up? You just delivered some pretty tough news. And I don’t think you handled it very well.”
The cops ignored him yet again. It was Surani, the easier-going one, who continued, “Think back, Ms. McKenzie. Any references to trips he’d taken? People he was going to see?”
“Ah, ah,” Kepler said, “looks like you’re thinking of something. Share. Come on.”
Daniel glared at him. But the cop kept his eyes fixed on Gabriela’s face.
She said, “You mentioned St. Maarten. When he was down there he sometimes flew to St. Thomas. I don’t know who he met with — maybe one of those thirty-two special clients you mentioned. All I know is that this man was from Europe and he lived in St. Thomas nine months out of the year. And he had a big yacht, a huge one. I think ‘Island’ or ‘Islands’ was in the name of the boat.”
The cops looked at each other, as if they were intrigued by these crumbs.
“Okay, we’ll check that out,” Surani said.
Kepler nodded. “Good job, Gabriela. I knew you had it in you.”
Daniel seemed to want to slap the smirk off the detective’s face.
She asked Surani, “Have you talked to Elena Rodriguez? Charles’s other assistant?”
“Yes, an hour ago,” Kepler answered. “She wasn’t any more helpful than you were.”
Surani handed her his card. “If you can think of anything else, give us a call.”
She took it but then her hand dipped. And her face revealed yet more dismay. She stared at the policemen. “But, my God. I just realized... I mean, my job? What am I going to do for money? My salary... And my retirement funds?”
Surani glanced at Kepler, who at last showed a façade of sympathy. “I’m sorry to say, but Prescott cleaned out all the company accounts late last night. Payroll and retirement too. He moved close to twenty-five million into a bank in the Caymans and then it vanished. There’s nothing left. Not a penny.”
Chapter 11
Doll
11:15 A.M., SATURDAY
45 MINUTES EARLIER
“I still can’t believe it,” Gabriela whispered. “If you ever met him, met Charles, you’d think it was impossible what those men were saying.”
She and Daniel continued walking in silence into the shadows of the Upper West Side. They were almost to her apartment. There, she’d explained, she’d call co-worker Elena and Charles’s lawyer and see if she could piece together what had happened.
She added, “He was the nicest guy in the world. When I got divorced, he said anything I needed, just let him know. He found a lawyer for the divorce. One of the best in the city. He lent me ten thousand for expenses. But it wasn’t a loan. I tried to pay him back but he wouldn’t take a penny.” She took a tissue and pressed it to her eyes.
They turned down a canyon-like cross street to head west. In a moment they were at her building, a five-story brick structure a few blocks from Central Park, between Columbus and Amsterdam.