Run Away(13)

“Khalil will get you all set with the paperwork. When I’m done with this police officer—”

“Just take care of yourself,” Michelle said.

She shook his hand across the desk. Khalil escorted her out. Simon took a deep breath. He picked up his phone and called Hester Crimstein’s office. She got on the line fast.

“Articulate,” Hester said.

“What?”

“That’s how a friend answers his phone. Never mind. What’s up?”

“A cop is here to see me.”

“Where is here?”

“My office.”

“Seriously?”

“No, Hester, this is a prank call.”

“Great, wiseasses are my favorite clients.”

“What should I do?”

“Asswipes,” she said.

“What?”

“Those asswipes know I’m your attorney of record. They shouldn’t approach you without calling me first.”

“So what should I do?”

“I’m on my way. Don’t talk to him. Or her. I don’t want to be sexist here.”

“It’s a him,” Simon said. “I thought the DA was dropping the charges—that they had no case.”

“They are and they don’t. Sit tight. Don’t say a word.”

There was a gentle knock on his door and Yvonne Previdi, Ingrid’s sister, slid into his office. Yvonne, his sister-in-law, was not quite as beautiful as her model sister—or was that bias on Simon’s part?—but way more fashion obsessed, Yvonne wore a pink pencil skirt with a sleeveless cream blouse and four-inch, gold-studded Valentino pumps.

He had met Yvonne before Ingrid, when they were both in the training program at Merrill Lynch. They had become instant best friends. That was twenty-six years ago. Not long after they finished their training, Yvonne’s father, Bart Previdi, had taken two partners into his growing firm—his daughter Yvonne and his not-yet son-in-law Simon Greene.

PPG Wealth Management—the P’s in the name stood for the two Previdis, the G stood for Greene.

Motto: We Are Honest But Not Very Creative With Names.

“What’s up with the hot cop?” Yvonne asked.

Yvonne and Robert had four kids and lived in the tony New Jersey suburb of Short Hills. For a short time, Simon and Ingrid had tried the suburbs too, moving from their Upper West Side apartment to a center-hall colonial, right after Sam’s birth. They did that because that’s what you did. You lived in the city until you had a kid or two and then you moved out to a nice house with a picket fence and a backyard and good schools and lots of sports facilities. But Simon and Ingrid didn’t like the suburbs. They missed the obvious: the stimulation, the bustle, the noise. You take a walk at night in the big city, there is always something to see. You take a walk at night in the suburbs…well, nada. All that open space—the hushed backyards, the endless soccer fields, the town pools, the Little League diamonds—it was all so damned claustrophobic. The quiet wore on them. So did the commute. After giving it two full years, they moved back into Manhattan.

A mistake in hindsight?

You could make yourself crazy with such questions, but Simon didn’t think so. If anything, the bored kids out in the burbs were acting out and experimenting more than their urban counterparts. And Paige had been fine in high school. It was when she left the big city for the rural-ensconced college—that was when the problems had started.

Or maybe that was rationalization. Who knows?

“You saw him?” Simon asked.

Yvonne nodded. “He just got to reception. Why’s he here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you call Hester?”

“Yes. She’s on her way.”

“He’s awfully good-looking.”

“Who?”

“The cop. Looks like he should be on the cover of GQ.”

Simon nodded. “That’s good to know, thanks.”

“You want me to take care of Michelle?”

“Khalil’s on it, but you might want to look in on her.”

“Done.”

Yvonne turned to leave, when a tall black man in a sleek gray suit suddenly blocked the doorway. “Mr. Greene?”

Yep, right out of GQ. The suit didn’t look so much tailored as birthed, created, cultivated for him and only him. It fit like some tight superhero suit or like a second skin. His build was rock solid. He sported a shaved head and perfectly trimmed facial hair and big hands and everything about the guy just screamed “cooler than you.”

Yvonne gave Simon a nod that said, “See what I mean?”

“I’m Detective Isaac Fagbenle with the NYPD.”

“You shouldn’t be back here,” Simon said.

He flashed a smile so dazzling Yvonne took a step back. “Yeah, well, I’m not here for a standard appointment, am I?” He took out his badge. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

Yvonne didn’t move.

“Hi,” he said to her.

Yvonne waved, speechless for once. Simon frowned.

“I’m waiting for my attorney,” Simon said.

“Would that be Hester Crimstein?”

“Yes.”

Isaac Fagbenle crossed the office and sat uninvited in the chair across from Simon. “She’s good.”