Adam started to say no, then changed his mind. “That would be nice.”

“It will just take a jiffy.”

The moment Mary Beth left the room, Adam picked up the telephone again and began to dial. It was evening and he knew Jennifer’s office was closed, but there should be someone at the answering service. After what seemed an interminable period of time, the operator answered.

“This is urgent,” Adam said. “I’ve been trying to reach Jennifer Parker for several days. This is Mr. Adams.”

“One moment, please.” The voice came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Mr. Adams. I have no word on where Miss Parker is. Do you want to leave a message?”

“No.” Adam slammed down the receiver, filled with frustration, knowing that even if he did leave a message for Jennifer to call him, there was no way she could return that call.

He sat in his den, looking out at the night, thinking about the dozens of arrest warrants that would soon be drawn up. One of them would be for murder.

It would have Jennifer’s name on it.

It was five days before Michael Moretti returned to the mountain cabin where Jennifer was staying. She had spent those days resting, eating, taking long walks around the paths. When she heard Michael’s car drive up, Jennifer went out to greet him.

Michael looked her over and said, “You look a lot better.”

“I feel better. Thank you.”

They walked along the path leading to the lake.

Michael said, “I have something for you to do.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to leave for Singapore tomorrow.”

“Singapore?”

“An airline steward was picked up at the airport there, carrying a load of coke. His name is Stefan Bjork. He’s in jail. I want you to bail him out before he starts talking.”

“All right.”

“Get back as fast as you can. I’ll miss you.”

He drew her close and kissed her very softly on her lips, then whispered, “I love you, Jennifer.”

And she knew that he had never uttered those words to anyone before.

But it was too late. It was finished. Something had died in her forever, and she was left with only the guilt and the loneliness. She had made up her mind to tell Michael that she was leaving. There would be no Adam and no Michael. She had to go away somewhere, alone, and start over. She had a debt to pay. She would do this last thing for Michael and tell him her plans when she returned.

She left for Singapore the next morning.

53

Nick Vito, Tony Santo, Salvatore Fiore and Joseph Colella were having lunch at Tony’s Place. They sat at a front booth, and every time the door opened they automatically glanced up to check out the newcomers. Michael Moretti was in the back room, and while there was no current conflict among the Families, it was always better to play it safe.

“What happened to Jimmy?” the giant Joseph Colella was asking.

“Astutatu-morte,” Nick Vito told him. “The dumb son of a bitch fell for the sister of a detective. The broad was stacked, I’ll give her that. She and her dick brother talked Jimmy into a flip. Jimmy arranged for a sit-down with Mike and he wore a wire hidden in his pants leg.”

“So what happened?” Fiore asked.

“What happened was Jimmy got so nervous he had to pee. When he opened up his fly, the fuckin’ wire came out.”

“Oh, shit!”

“That’s what Jimmy did. Mike turned him over to Gino. He used Jimmy’s wire to strangle him. He went out suppilu suppilu—very slowly.”

The door opened and the four men looked up. It was the newspaper boy with the afternoon New York Post.

Joseph Colella called out, “Over here, sonny.” He turned to the others. “I wanna check the lineup at Hialeah. I got a hot horse runnin’ today.”

The newspaper boy, a weather-beaten man in his seventies, handed Joseph Colella a paper and Colella gave him a dollar. “Keep the change.”

That was what Michael Moretti would have said. Joe Colella started to open the paper and Nick Vito’s eye was caught by a photograph on the front page.

“Hey!” he said. “I seen that guy before!”

Tony Santo took a look over Vito’s shoulder. “Of course you have, shmuck. That’s Adam Warner. He’s runnin’ for President.”

“No,” Vito insisted. “I mean I seen him.” He furrowed his brow, trying to remember. Suddenly it came to him.

“Got it! He was the guy in the bar down in Acapulco with Jennifer Parker.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Remember when I was down there last month deliverin’ a package? I saw this guy with Jennifer. They was havin’ a drink together.”

Salvatore Fiore was staring at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Fiore said slowly, “I think maybe you better tell Mike.”

Michael Moretti looked at Nick Vito and said, “You’re out of your fucking mind. What would Jennifer Parker be doing with Senator Warner?”

“Beats me, boss. All I know is they was sittin’ in this bar, havin’ a drink.”

“Just the two of them?”

“Yeah.”

Salvatore Fiore said, “I thought you oughtta hear about it, Mike. This Warner asshole is investigatin’ the shit outta us. Why would Jennifer be havin’ a drink with him?”

That was exactly what Michael wanted to know. Jennifer had talked about Acapulco and the convention, and she had mentioned half a dozen people she had run into. But she had not said a word about Adam Warner.

He turned to Tony Santo. “Who’s the business manager of the janitor’s union now?”

“Charlie Corelli.”

Five minutes later, Michael was speaking to Charles Corelli on the telephone.

“…The Belmont Towers,” Michael said. “A friend of mine lived there nine years ago. I’d like to talk to the guy who was the janitor there then.” Michael listened for a moment. “I appreciate it, pal. I owe you one.” He hung up.

Nick Vito, Santo, Fiore and Colella were watching him.

“Haven’t you bastards got anything to do? Get the fuck out of here.” The four men hurriedly left.

Michael sat there, thinking, picturing Jennifer and Adam Warner together. Why had she never mentioned him? And Joshua’s father, who had died in the Viet Nam war. Why hadn’t Jennifer ever talked about him?

Michael Moretti began to pace the office.

Three hours later Tony Santo ushered in a timid, badly dressed man in his sixties who was obviously terrified.

“This is Wally Kawolski,” Tony said.

Michael rose and shook Kawolski’s hand. “Thanks for coming over, Wally. I appreciate it. Sit down. Can I get you anything?”

“No, no thank you, Mr. Moretti. I’m fine, sir. Thank you very much.” He was doing everything but bowing.

“Don’t be nervous. I just want to ask you a couple of questions, Wally.”

“Sure, Mr. Moretti. Anything you want to know. Anything at all.”

“Are you still working at the Belmont Towers?”

“Me? No, sir. I left there, oh, about five years ago. My mother-in-law has bad arthritis and—”

“Do you remember the tenants?”

“Yes, sir. Most of ‘em, I guess. They was kind of—”

“Do you remember a Jennifer Parker?”

Walter Kawolski’s face lit up. “Oh, sure. She was a fine lady. I even remember her apartment number. Nineteen twenty-nine. Like the year the market crashed, you know? I liked her.”

“Did Miss Parker have a lot of visitors, Wally?”

Wally slowly scratched his head. “Well, that’s hard to say, Mr. Moretti. I only saw her when she was comin’ in or goin’ out, like.”

“Did any men ever spend the night in her apartment?”

Walter Kawolski shook his head. “Oh, no, sir.”

So all this had been about nothing. He felt a sharp wave of relief. He had known all along that Jennifer would never—