Page 28 of The 24th Hour

Two houses in Lucerne, Switzerland, were to be sold, the proceeds bequeathed to Holly’s younger sister, Rae Bergen. Why? “For her many kindnesses,” he’d written. “God Bless.” And there was a margin note, an addendum to Rae’s bequest that was too hard for me to read but had been cosigned “J. Borinstein.”

Jamie’s share in the team would revert to the team’s manager. And there was more. Jamie had left three million each to Arthur Bevaqua, Patty Delaney, and two other women: Judy Borinstein, the Frickes’ financial manager, and Marilyn Stein, who’d worked as Holly’s assistant.

The size of the bequests to the women and to Jamie’s right-hand man raised red flags. Why so much to the women? Were they girlfriends? Did the women have something on Jamie that I ought to know? Or did he just love them millions of dollars’ worth? No better time than now to look into this munificent transfer of wealth.

CHAPTER 33

THE FIRST NAME on Jamie Fricke’s list was Patricia Delaney, the Fricke family cook. Rich Conklin and I had interrogated Patty after Holly’s murder and found no reason to suspect her, let alone hold her. She didn’t have a police record, she was in the kitchen when Holly had been shot, and the whole household vouched for her—but I absolutely needed to speak with her again.

Judy Borinstein had signed as executor and financial manager. It was likely she wouldn’t tell me anything that would betray a confidence, but maybe she had a clue that would break the case. I’d never met her, but I would, as soon as possible.

I’d previously interviewed Marilyn Stein, Holly’s former assistant, quite intensely after Holly’s death. She’d hired a lawyer, cried throughout the interviews, and said repeatedly, “You don’t understand what it’s like to work in such close proximity to this family.”

I had asked her to please explain, but she would only say, “It’s complicated.”

I’d wondered if she’d been romantically involved with one of the Frickes. I’d pressed her. I’d asked if she was more than a friend to Jamie and she refused to answer, just sobbed and kept her arm across her eyes. “Do you have feelings for Jamie?” I’d asked her.No, no, no.

Marilyn Stein had quit her job forthwith and moved to New York, where as far as I was aware, she still lived. I had no cause to arrest her, but I got less from Marilyn Stein than from the fortune cookie that comes with my wonton soup.

Her lawyer had said, “That’s enough, isn’t it, Sergeant? Ms. Stein loves this family. She has a solid alibi for the time of Mrs. Fricke’s death. You’ve checked her alibi so unless she’s under arrest, Ms. Stein has a plane to catch.”

I was folding up the will when I noticed a margin note on the reverse of the back page. It read, “To Judy Borinstein, my executor: I’ve left personal notes to Arthur, Patty, and Marilyn in my desk, center drawer.”

The postscript was signed, witnessed, and dated only a few weeks after Holly’s murder. Judy Borinstein might know Marilyn’s relationship with the Frickes. I had to know.

CHAPTER 34

I HOISTED MYSELF up from the deep brown chair and moved to Jamie Fricke’s massive chair behind his massive desk. There was a photo beneath the lamp: a great snapshot of Jamie and Holly looking in love, framed in sterling silver. They had been a handsome couple. Jamie clearly had the charisma of Hollywood leading men like Clooney, Bale, Pitt, Craig. In this picture, he wore sports casual attire and had his arm around Holly, gripping her shoulder in a way that made me feel that he not only loved her, he’d never let her go.

Holly glowed in his embrace. She wore a tennis outfit, her streaked blond curls adding a girlish note to her picture-perfect features. She looked every bit the winner in everything she did.

I was struck again by the sense I’d had at the scene of Jamie’s murder, that his death and Holly’s were so similar, so closely tied, there had to be a killer—or a reason—in common. Arthur had never given me a hint that would put both Holly and Jamie in a killer’s crosshairs. Now, for the firsttime, I wondered if Arthur could have been looking through those crosshairs himself.

It was a big ugly idea, but as Marilyn Stein had sobbed, “You don’t understand what it’s like to work in such close proximity to this family.” Had Arthur loved Holly? Had they been involved and she’d dropped him? Had he had her killed? Or had Jamie hired a hit man to put her down for cheating on him with Arthur? If so, had Arthur paid Jamie back in kind?

It was another hunch only. But it checked a number of boxes and I couldn’t quite shake it. Maybe Jamie had left the answer in a note inside his desk drawer.

CHAPTER 35

THE DRAWER WAS LOCKED.

I had latex gloves in my pocket, so I put them on before I patted the surface of the desk, unplugged the computer, and examined each piece as I put the parts on the floor. I looked under the drawer and opened the paper files in the desk’s double pedestal. I did it carefully and thoroughly. I did not find a key even inside the file marked “K.” I looked under the lamp, took it apart from base to harp and shade. I still didn’t find the key.

I leaned back in the chair, swiveled it, and looked up. I took in the thousands upon thousands of books, pressed together in the stacks twenty feet high. Wheeled ladders on rails reached up to the top shelves. The proper key was probably on Jamie’s key chain out at the crime lab. But if Jamie Fricke had hidden another key inside a book, I would need twenty people committed to opening each one, fanning the pages for weeks on end.

Or I could break the drawer from the underside and wouldbe disciplined for doing that, or even sued. But if I found evidence, it would be worth it.

In tossing Jamie’s desk, I had cleaned off the surface, thrown the bits and pieces onto one of the leather chairs. I was looking at the fireplace mantel and the painting above it when a small idea bloomed. The framed photo of Jamie and Holly in love that had been on the desk under the lamp was now on the chair face down. I reached that chair in ten seconds, picked up the framed photo, and turned the lovebirds over.

The back of the frame had small catches all the way around, keeping the frame’s back in place. After opening half of the catches, I got my fingers under the backing and ripped it off. Then I said “hello” to a small silver key taped behind the photo.

I peeled off the tape, sure that the key would open the drawer and at the same time sure that it wouldn’t. Still, I fitted the key into the keyhole in the center drawer and with fifty-fifty odds in mind, I turned the key and the tumblers tumbled. I slid the drawer open.

The contents were disorganized, the drawer filled with business cards and bills and other office litter. I pawed around until I found five cream-colored envelopes each about five by four inches, all bound together with a blue rubber band.

A note to Patricia Delaney was on top of that little stack. I removed it, and using a short, plain letter opener, slipped the blade under the glued flap, pulled out the card, and flipped it over.

CHAPTER 36

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