I Will Find You(40)

For those wondering about karma, for those wondering whether Bennett Payne, who never knew hunger or thirst or discomfort, who never worked a real job or knew anything but great wealth, eventually paid for his misdeeds, the answer, alas, is no. Uncle Bennett died of natural causes in his sleep at the ripe old age of ninety-three. He was never found out. To this day, his portrait hangs in every Payne Foundation charitable institute.

The irony here is that the Payne Foundation now does a fair amount of good. What started as a vehicle for Uncle Bennett to rape children now truly helps those less fortunate. So how do you reconcile that? Gertrude knew of so many causes that started with the best of intentions before devolving into something awful and corrupt. Eric Hoffer once said, “Every great cause begins as a movement, becomes a business, and eventually degenerates into a racket.” So true. But what happens when it works the other way around?

All men, Gertrude believed, tended to have some sociopathic qualities coupled with a wonderful ability to self-justify any behavior. Yes, she was generalizing, and yes, from the back of the room, she is sure someone is yelling, “Not all men.” But close to. Her father had been an alcoholic who beat her mother and demanded obedience. He justified it via biblical verses. Gertrude’s own husband, George, had been a serial philanderer. He justified it via the scientific argument that monogamy was “unnatural.” And Uncle Bennett, well, that had been covered up. He wasn’t the only one in the family with that particular predilection. Gertrude had only one son, Hayden’s father, Wade, who in her mind was the exception that proved the rule, but perhaps she’d seen her son through “Mommy glasses,” as today’s youth like to call it. Wade had also died at the age of thirty-one, in a private plane crash with Hayden’s mother as they headed to Vail on a ski trip, perhaps before whatever sociopathy ran in his loins could reveal itself. The death had crushed her. The orphaned Hayden was only four years old at the time. It was left to Gertrude to raise Hayden, and she had done a poor job. She had not looked out for him. And he had suffered for it.

Her phone buzzed. Gertrude found modern technology fascinating. Of course, like too many things in the present day, it led to obsessions, but the idea that you could communicate with anyone at any time or see pages from all the libraries in all the world with a small device she kept in her handbag—how do people not appreciate such things?

“So once again,” Hayden finished up, “I want to thank you all for supporting this wonderful cause. We will visit the stolen Vermeer in fifteen minutes. Enjoy your dessert.”

As Hayden smiled and waved, Gertrude sneaked a glance at her phone. When she read the message, her heart dropped. Hayden wended his way back to her table. When he saw her face, he said, “Are you okay, Pixie?”

She put a hand on the table to steady herself. “Walk with me,” she said.

“But we—”

“Take my arm, please. Now.”

“Of course, Pixie.”

They both kept the smiles on their faces as they made their way out of the grand ballroom. One wall of the ballroom was mirrored. Gertrude spotted herself right before they exited and wondered who that old woman in the mirror was.

“What is it, Pixie?”

She handed Hayden the phone. His eyes widened as he read it. “Escaped?”

“So it seems.”

Gertrude looked toward the door opening. Stephano, the family’s longtime security head, was always in sight. He met her eye, and she gave him a head tilt that indicated they would need to talk later. Stephano nodded back and kept his distance.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Hayden said.

She turned her attention back to her grandson. “A sign?”

“I don’t mean strictly in a religious way, though maybe that too. More like an opportunity.”

He could be so foolish. “It’s not an opportunity, Hayden,” she said through clenched teeth. “They’ll probably catch him within a day.”

“Should we help him?”

Gertrude just stared at her grandson until he turned away. Then she said, “I think we should leave now.”

He gestured back toward the ballroom. “But Pixie, the patrons—”

“—only want to see the Vermeer,” she said. “They don’t care whether we are here or not. Where is Theo?”

“He wanted to see the painting.”

She passed the two security guards and entered what had once been the family music room, where the Vermeer now hung. A young boy stood in front of it, his back turned toward her.

“Theo,” she said to the boy, “are you ready to go?”

“Yes, Pixie,” Theo said. “I’m ready.”

When the eight-year-old turned toward her, Gertrude’s gaze couldn’t help but land on the telltale port stain on the boy’s cheek. She swallowed hard and stuck her hand out for him to take.

“Come along then.”





Part 2





Twelve Hours Later





Chapter

16



Max and Sarah took their seats at the interrogation table. Rachel Anderson sat alone across from them. They introduced themselves and asked her yet again whether she wanted counsel present. Rachel waived the right.

“Let me begin,” Max said, “by thanking you for talking to us.”