Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (top 10 novels .TXT) 📕

but there was just a tiny glimmer of hope in his tone, which depressed Desmond. He was starting to think the man’s law degree came from a Cracker Jack box.

“Are you Gary Cowan’s lawyer?” Desmond asked, careful to keep things in the present tense.

“He’s my client as well as my friend.” Klepper beamed, revealing perfect white teeth clogged with pastry residue.

“You have other clients?”

“Of course I do.” The attorney’s mood took a nosedive. He reached for another donut. Before Desmond could ask another question, Klepper’s cell phone rang. “Hello? Who’s this?” There was a pause. Then he mouthed a single syllable at Desmond. Max.

Chapter 27

Is Gary okay? Put him on the phone!” Klepper demanded.

“Put him on speakerphone,” Desmond whispered.

Klepper shook his head. “Why not? Where is he?”

Desmond wrestled with the urge to knock Klepper down and take his phone. But what would that accomplish? Max would hang up and he’d gain nothing. Better to figure out what kind of game the man was playing with the lawyer.

“Well, I’m not paying you a nickel if I can’t talk to him!” Klepper yelled. “Forget it!”

His defiance was short-lived.

“No, no, don’t do that. Please,” Klepper begged, turning pale under his weather-beaten skin. “No, seriously, man. Be cool, okay? I’ve got your money, okay? It’s not a problem. When are you coming over to pick it up?”

It was excruciating for Desmond, but it looked like his patience would pay off. Then Klepper said, “Where’s Lighthouse Park?” There was a dumbfounded silence from Klepper. “How am I supposed to get to Roosevelt Island?”

Desmond could picture that slender slip of land in the East River between Manhattan and Queens. He’d never set foot on it, but he’d admired it from the air.

“Hold on. I need to write this down,” Klepper panted, but he didn’t pick up a pen. “Okay, say that again. A red, horseshoe-shaped railing in front of Lighthouse Park. Okay. It’s on the where? The edge of the grass. And you want the bag with the money on which side? The left, at the end next to the lamppost. Wait, hold on, which is left? Facing which way? I mean, the Queens side or the… okay, the Manhattan side. Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

Desmond passed one hand over his eyes. He’d barely slept at the hospital on Saturday night, and Sunday was turning out to be one hell of a long day. Weariness tugged at his consciousness like an animal begging for attention. Between Klepper and the kidnapper, his nerves were fraying.

“Obviously I’ll come alone. Who would I bring, anyway?” Klepper rolled his eyes, looking like nothing so much as an overgrown frog watching a fly. He lowered his voice. “You don’t have to do that, man. Don’t threaten her. Leave her out of it, man.”

Desmond noticed Klepper’s hand shaking. Sweat trickled down his temples.

“Nobody wants that. I’m not kidding…” Klepper’s voice trailed off. He pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at the screen. “He hung up on me.” He set the phone down and rubbed his temples. “He said I’ll never see Gary again if I don’t pay him.”

“It sounded like he was threatening Dominique, too.”

Klepper looked up and frowned. “What?”

“You said to leave her out of it.”

“Yeah.” Klepper nodded. “Right. It’s just… I’m more worried about what he’ll do to Gary. Max is a psycho.”

“How do you get to Roosevelt Island?” Desmond asked.

“Damned if I know. There’s a subway, and a bridge, or something. Lemme see.” Klepper’s balloon fingers tapped away on the laptop on his desk. “Okay, Roosevelt Island is a pain in the ass to get to. There’s a tram from Fifty-Ninth Street. There’s the subway, but only the F train stops there.”

“What about by car?” Desmond asked.

“Ha, that’s a good one. According to this, from Manhattan you have to take the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge over to Queens, drive up to Thirty-Sixth Avenue, and drive over that bridge. It’s the only bridge that connects the island by car, can you believe it?”

Desmond didn’t have much trouble believing anything about New York City, which was one reason he stayed away from the place. “This city doesn’t make any sense,” he murmured.

“I wonder why he picked that spot,” Klepper mused. “It’s kind of a weird choice.”

“Who is Max working with?”

Klepper’s eyes popped in surprise. “Working with?” His jaw fell open, just a little, and he rushed to stuff another donut into his mouth.

“Gary told Dominique that someone was going to kill his wife. Max was supposed to have a partner.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Klepper’s voice went up an octave.

“How’s that?”

“That’s a lie about Gary wanting to kill his wife.” He looked Desmond over. “Are you wearing a wire?”

“Gary wanted to be kidnapped so he’d have a solid alibi when his wife was found dead.”

“No. You don’t understand.” Klepper sighed. “Gary kidnapped himself once before, in Mexico. He did it for the ransom.” In response to Desmond’s skeptical expression, he went on. “Look, his wife and her family keep him on a short leash financially. He got desperate, you know? Gary loves the good life. He likes to have the best of everything. He’s earned it. He grew up poor, and he got out with his fists. He hasn’t had an easy ride, you know.”

Desmond had never considered Gary that way. He’d thought of him as a spoiled, rich knucklehead with manicured nails. It hadn’t occurred to him that there’d been some grit under that smooth front he put up. It didn’t make him like Gary, but it made him more sympathetic.

“Even if what you’re saying is true, it doesn’t fit this scenario,” Desmond said. “Gary must’ve had other reasons for doing what he did.” He sighed. “Look… I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Gary is dead.”

Klepper’s round eyes stared at him, and his lumpy body quivered. “No way. That’s not possible.”

“Listen to me. I saw him with my own eyes. He’s dead.”

“No. He’s being held for