The Third Mrs. Durst Read online

  She didn’t argue with my assumption that he was behind the lacing of my food. “That’s probably best. I can also request police protection. That would be prudent under the circumstances.”

  Refusing that offer would seem strange, like I had something to hide. I nodded at once. “Please do. I’d feel safer.”

  “I’ll start the paperwork. Do you need a patrolman to give you a ride?”

  “No, there’s a driver waiting for me. Thank you for everything.”

  Detective Hunter took that as affirmation that we were done, and with a quick “We’ll keep you posted,” she hurried off to question Michael. I had no doubt he’d deny everything, but with all the evidence piled up against him, they didn’t need a confession to push ahead with criminal charges. Plenty of people went to prison to await trial while insisting that they didn’t do it.

  Clive was waiting for me near the front doors. He stared at the red marks on my throat that would soon darken to bruises. “What happened?”

  “I tried to talk to my estranged husband. Don’t worry about it. We need to stop by the hospital on the way back, though. I think my stitches might need …” I trailed off as the blood seeped through my blouse.

  “Right away. I’ll let Mrs. Van Houten know.”

  He took my arm and helped me to the car, all efficient protection. “The closest hospital, or the one where you were treated before?”

  “The latter, I think. They have all my records.”

  And I can’t wait to get it documented that Michael tried to hurt me again.

  38

  At the hospital, Joanna Van Houten’s name opened all the doors.

  I bypassed the emergency room and ended up in a posh VIP area, the likes of which I didn’t know existed before I joined these elite ranks. Clive stayed close to me until the doctor took over. I had two stitches replaced and my bandages changed. They took photos when I told them my husband had inflicted the damage.

  As we left the hospital, I asked, “Can we stop by my condo?”

  The guard hesitated. For a moment I thought he’d make me ask Joanna for permission, which would’ve made me feel like I was her prisoner, just as I’d been Michael’s. In both cases I’d gone into the lion’s den by choice, though.

  Clive eventually said, “It would be polite to inform madam what has transpired.”

  I took the hint and called Joanna, who answered on the third ring. “Marlena, dear, did something happen?”

  Quickly I summarized the morning’s events and concluded, “Right now, I’m sure it’s safe to go to the condo. I’d like to retrieve my personal effects while I’m sure Michael is in custody.”

  “Understandable. By all means take care of that while you can. But do keep Clive on watch. You never know what could happen.”

  That warning was entirely unnecessary, but I thanked her for it. “We’ll be careful.”

  Clive shifted in the driver’s seat and met my gaze over his shoulder, silently asking for confirmation. I said, “Yes, she’s fine with it. Let’s hurry.”

  I couldn’t break character, not even for one second. I was a victim, terrorized beyond all reason. I shouldn’t be smiling as we drove to the condo; I killed the satisfaction and stared out the window in silence.

  Clive took us into the parking garage. “This is our spot,” I said. “Let’s go up.”

  To my surprise, Michael hadn’t changed the door code. I had half-expected to need to ask security to let me in, but I input the old PIN and the door clicked open. The condo was a fucking wreck, dirty dishes on the smeared glass table. It even smelled of stale food, something Michael never permitted when I lived there. Gingerly I stepped over splintered glass from the smashed wedding portrait. He’d broken the picture and scratched my face off, probably with the blood-smeared shard on the floor.

  I really got to you, Michael.

  “Be careful,” Clive said.

  Nodding, I picked a path to the bedroom and packed my things. In movies, the heroine only collects what she’d originally owned once her mission is accomplished, but … fuck that. I’d earned everything he’d bought me, putting up with his shit. Designer dresses and all the jewelry, an entire suitcase full of handbags and shoes—it took us two trips to port everything to the car. I made sure not to touch any of Michael’s stuff lest he accuse me from his prison cell of theft. Then I stopped by the bathroom. There was nothing else I needed to take, only something I had to leave.

  “I need to go into Michael’s office to get my passport,” I said to Clive when I was done. “Could you come with me?”

  “Why?”

  “Because he might say I took something that doesn’t belong to me.”

  “Understood. You want a witness, then.”

  “I do, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  I led the way, and Clive watched as I opened the strongbox, withdrawing only my passport.

  “If there’s any doubt later, I’ll verify what you took from here,” he said.

  “Thank you. I really can’t rule anything out with that man. He’s—”

  “A devil,” the bodyguard supplied.

  I glanced at him in surprise, but Clive’s expression was blank. It would help if an irreproachable British bodyguard took the stand on my behalf. I couldn’t feel joy or relief yet, not with Vin missing and Ariella unresponsive. Passport in hand, I left the condo as I found it, a disgusting mess. I was done tidying up after Michael Durst.

  In the car, I called Ariella. Again.

  Still no answer. My insides twisted with dread, laced with stinging filaments of self-doubt. If I’d come this far, only to use people who cared about me, and get them hurt fighting my battles … well, Dee wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t appreciate a bloody revenge that came at Vin and Ariella’s expense.

  Just because Michael was locked up didn’t mean he was powerless in the real world. At some point they’d have to let him confer with his lawyer, Anton, and I knew all too well how merciless that bastard was. I remembered him saying, “Looks like you’ve chosen well this time” when I signed the prenup without complaint. From that I could guess that he knew about Michael’s crimes and didn’t care as long as he got paid.

  Ariella … where are you? I have to do something.

  Then it hit me. I’d given Ariella a credit card before she left, so I should be able to track the last time she used it … and where. Hurriedly, I logged in on my phone and skimmed the list. Since I was living off Joanna, I hadn’t used my card in a long time; all the purchases were international, sporadic hits as my sister traveled.

  “Let’s see …”

  Aha. Last used at Brioche Dorée. I clicked on the charge for more information. In-person transaction, Paris, France, Charles de Gaulle airport. I also found the date, some numeric codes, and a link to click if I wanted to dispute the charge.

  Two days ago, she was at the airport in Paris. The card hasn’t been used since.

  Don’t panic, I told myself, but that was easier said than done. None of my plans factored in Ariella. I bit down on my thumb to quell the rising tide of fear and desperation.

  No. No, no, no.

  “We’re almost there,” Clive assured me. Probably saw I was a having a panic attack, but he couldn’t know why.

  Once we arrived at the brownstone, I ignored his attempt to help me out of the car. I raced for the front doors. Joanna half-rose from her chair at my noisy entrance, both brows up. She was as perfectly groomed as ever, evincing only moderate surprise at my haste.

  “Breathe, dear. Whatever it is won’t be improved by hyperventilation.”

  I stumbled to her and dropped to my knees, putting a shaking hand on the arm of her chair. “You said you’d make some calls, see if they have a record of Ariella entering the US. Did you find anything out?”

  “I’m stil
l waiting for a return call. Let me check.”

  I stayed where I was for her murmured conversation, and when she disconnected, I could barely breathe. “Did they tell you?”

  She sighed softly. “It seems that Ariella returned yesterday. Records show that her passport was scanned in New Jersey at the Newark Airport.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry. “There’s no good reason why she won’t return my calls. Michael must have lured her back somehow and when she arrived—”

  “Calm down. It won’t help her if you fall apart.”

  “But he probably has Vin and Ariella! Vin only tried to help me and Ariella doesn’t know anything! She found me in the paper and—”

  A sharp slap knocked my head sideways. “Pull yourself together. You knew Michael Durst was dangerous. You understood that there would be consequences for crossing him. Yes or no?”

  I swallowed hard, tasting blood on my tongue from where the corner of my inner lip had split against my teeth. Joanna was coolly elegant, delivering violence with the same aplomb as she served tea. And I was at her mercy.

  Fear shimmered through me. Like Michael, she might consider me expendable now that I’d caused the crisis she was using to take over his company. She might dispose of me, and the people I needed to save would be left to Michael’s rage and vengeance.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Are you calmer now?”

  “I am.”

  She indicated the chair opposite her with a graceful gesture. “Then sit down and let’s discuss this rationally.”

  Taking one deep breath, two, I did feel better. More clearheaded. Reason reasserted itself. Joanna had no reason to harm me. She was getting what she wanted out of our association, and I didn’t believe she was a sociopath, just deeply pragmatic.

  “Sorry. I’m just really scared for Ariella.”

  “With good reason. You know what Durst may do to her.”

  I thought aloud, step by step. “Let’s presume he took her right after she landed. I can’t wait for the police to check the leads methodically. I need private help and I’m willing to put all my money toward finding her.”

  Joanna nodded. “I understand. Mr. Fielding can contract personnel on your behalf. If money is no object—and we’re not seeking a legal conviction for her abduction—well, many more avenues open up.”

  “Find her, whatever it takes. Michael owns a lot of property, some of which aren’t even in his name. There are paper companies …” Though I thought hard, I couldn’t recall precisely what Vin had said about ownership of the cottage where I was sent. Just something about it not being in Michael’s name.

  “Mr. Fielding is thorough, and he will hire skilled investigators. I know it’s not easy to wait, but it won’t help your sister if you collapse and end up in the hospital again.”

  I acknowledged that with an inclination of my head. “Don’t forget that we’re searching for Vin too.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Joanna said. “And I’ll have Mr. Fielding update you personally once the search is underway.”

  She set aside the newspaper she’d been reading and picked up her cell phone. This day she wore a heavy gold bangle and an ornate ruby ring that matched her blood-red manicure. “Mr. Fielding? I have an urgent job for you. I’ll email you the particulars.” Once she hung up, she added, “I’ll go to my office now and send the instructions. I’ll copy you on the email so you know what I’ve asked him to do.”

  “Thank you. And as you said, I need to build up my strength, so I can be there for Ariella when we find her. Do you want anything from the kitchen?”

  “Not right now. Thank you.”

  Britta wasn’t in the kitchen, and I hoped she wasn’t territorial, but I had to eat. I didn’t trust anything that I hadn’t seen someone else eat first, so I went for packaged food. It would be harder to tamper with a random can, so I had soup that I made with my own hands, a protein bar, and water from the tap.

  I’m probably paranoid. Michael wouldn’t try the same trick twice. He wants to torment me, make me wonder how and when the next attack will come.

  Joanna’s kitchen was so over the top—with gleaming granite counters, stainless steel everything, pristine copper pots dangling for display, and fresh herbs in hanging baskets. The fridge was meticulously stocked with food labeled and stored in glass containers, bottled spring water lined up like soldiers, and condiments wiped so clean that the bottles shone.

  She even had double baking ovens and a huge walk-in freezer. Large enough to store a body, in fact.

  “Can I get you something, miss?” Britta stood behind me, hovering in her black and white uniform. She set a pile of crisply folded dish towels on the island.

  I shook my head as the microwave beeped. “No, I’m fine.” On impulse, I asked softly, “What’s Mrs. Van Houten like to work for, anyway?”

  She took a step back, eyes wide. “She’s lovely, miss. Just wonderful. She’s done so much for my family, too. Paid for my mother’s surgery and gave me money when I was struggling to put together my son’s tuition. The woman’s practically an angel.”

  Right. Of course. What did I think she would say?

  For all she knew, this was a test. As I passed her, carrying my meal toward the breakfast nook, she glanced around and whispered, “Just … don’t cross her, miss. That’s all I’m saying.”

  39

  At 2:37 a.m., the house phone rang. Since worry was keeping me up anyway, I came out of my room in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. “You may have found him? Good work. Confirm and get back to me.”

  I tapped hurriedly on her bedroom door, although it was partly ajar already. “Are you talking about Vin?”

  “Marlena, dear. You should be resting.”

  “If you’re talking about him, I’d like to help. Please.”

  Joanna sighed faintly. She was propped up in bed in a satin and lace bed jacket, all elegance even at this hour. Even her hair hadn’t stirred from its careful upsweep. That spoke of powerful hair spray or superhuman self-control, or possibly both.

  Finally she replied, “There’s only one place left to check, and my people tell me the location has been locked down, quite recently too. Even maintenance personnel have been prohibited, which seems … unusual.”

  “Where is it? I need to go myself.”

  That was the least I could do for Vin, who’d sacrificed so much trying to help me. At least the police were keeping watch on his family now, in case Michael tried to go scorched earth in retaliation.

  “There’s no dissuading you, I suppose. Just a moment, I’ll call Clive.”

  In less than five minutes, the guard appeared in jacket and slacks, fully alert and ready for action. Did her staff ever sleep? I felt like utter shit, exhaustion and pain from my waning meds warring for supremacy. My fear of food wasn’t helping me regain my strength, either.

  “I have the address,” Clive told Joanna, as if I was a fixture he was meant to deliver. “Shall we go now?”

  “Please. And be careful.”

  Outside, a pair of policemen sat in a patrol car. When they saw us exit the building, one of them stepped out. “Where are you headed?”

  “We may have found Vin Rivera.”

  “That’s your missing acquaintance, right? You should leave that to us.”

  Clive ignored him, escorting me into the car with brisk efficiency. The cop bit out a curse and jogged back to his vehicle. It seemed they’d decided to follow us, just in case I got myself in trouble on their watch.

  At this hour, the streets were much emptier than usual, just a few late-night cabs and people on second shift making their way home after a midnight meal. Clive drove as he did everything—with silent skill—and though I didn’t have the address, I recognized the warehouse when we turned down the broken gravel drive.

  This
is where they hurt me … and killed Bobby Ray.

  The gate was chained and locked, which meant Joanna’s other team hadn’t arrived. Though they’d called her to let her know this was a likely location, they might have had farther to travel. Clive hopped out and pulled a bolt cutter from a toolbox in the trunk. Briefly I wondered if there were limits to the work he’d performed for Joanna as he cut the padlock and unwrapped the chains, then opened the gate so we could drive through. As he got out again, he didn’t tell me to wait in the car. Just as well; I meant to stick with him every step of the way. While it might be dangerous inside the warehouse, it was also scary to be left alone in a deserted place.

  The patrol car caught up with us a minute later and parked beside us. Clive moved toward the warehouse doors with the bolt cutters and one cop protested. “You can’t—”

  “Whatever,” the other said. “I hear something inside, don’t you?”

  Ah, so they were prepared to help us out? There must be some rule about being allowed to do this if there was reasonable suspicion that somebody’s life was in danger.

  “Do you think we need backup?” I heard the first cop ask the other one.

  I didn’t catch her reply as Clive cut another padlock on the warehouse door and rolled it up. Since Michael owned the property, this probably counted as breaking and entering, but I had no doubt Joanna could take care of it. As we stepped into the dark, Clive sweeping his Maglite around, I did hear … something. A low, animal sound, not even strong enough to be called a whimper.

  “This way,” I whispered.

  The police pushed forward, then, clearing the area ahead of us. Since they had weapons, that seemed like the smart move, and Clive let them take point. A sharp gasp came from the female officer, and her partner breathed, “Jesus Christ.”

  I rushed up and my knees buckled when I saw what—who—they’d found. Vin’s face was hardly recognizable, so bloody and swollen that his mouth looked like chewed meat. “Is he …?”

  The pool of blood beneath him made my head swim, and Clive set his hand beneath my elbow, steadying me. Vin’s body was bent at an unnatural angle, bound at wrist and ankle. There was no telling how long he had been lying there.