The Good Twin(61)

I was. I almost looked forward to it. I had one more call to make, to my sculptor showing in the Whitney Biennial. “Sergei? It’s happening Friday. Is it finished?”

“Da.”

“Good. You know what to do, right?”

“Pictures. I bring them to detective.”

“That’s right.”

“I wish I knew why you need.”

“Better that you don’t. And thank you again for your help.”

I hung up and smiled. Everything was set.





CHAPTER 43

I was jittery all day Friday. I had spoken to Detective Saldinger the evening before, going over the plans once more. “Are you sure you can’t have one of your men inside the house with me?” I’d asked.

“This guy’s an army sniper. They’re used to making themselves invisible. I don’t want to take the chance that he’s staked out your house from early in the day and spots someone entering and not leaving. But I promise you, we’ll be nearby. He won’t see us until he tries to go in your back door, and then we’ll be right on top of him.”

Tonight, my life was going to change. I kept watching the clock, waiting for the time when the basketball game would start. I knew Ben would then be at Madison Square Garden. He’d never miss the beginning of his precious Knicks game. He seemed to care more about them than anything else. Maybe even more than his girlfriend. More important, Detective Saldinger had agreed with me that, even with Mallory stepping in to take my place, Ben would want to establish he was at the game if something went wrong.

Even though I hadn’t yet returned to work, I tried to stay out of the house as much as I could during the day. It made me too nervous to just sit around. With every man walking behind me, or next to me, or even in front of me, I wondered if he was the one. The man hired to murder me. So many men I passed looked similar to Mallory’s sketch. I spent the morning shopping—always a stress reliever—and the afternoon touring the Met, returning to my townhouse a little after 5:00 p.m.

The game started at 7:30 p.m. I turned on the television, and once I saw the tip-off, I went into my closet and pulled down a duffel bag from the top shelf. I couldn’t take what I already owned with me, on the off chance that Ben would notice if some of my things were missing. So, over the past few weeks, I’d purchased a few new clothes as well as cosmetics and toiletries. They were already packed inside the bag.

I took off my engagement ring and placed it inside my jewelry box, then tossed the comforter on the bed, to make it look like it had been thrown off me. There was nothing to do now but wait. It was already dark outside. The man my husband had hired could come at any time, but I thought it likely he’d wait. The sidewalks were still busy with neighbors coming home from work or heading out to dinner.

I sat on my bed and attempted to read a book, but it was hard to concentrate. All day I’d been second-guessing my decision to let this go ahead. What if the hit man evaded the detectives? After all, he’d managed to disappear the night Mallory had met him, leaving the police scratching their heads. More frightening, what if he got past them and entered my home without their knowing? I scooted over to Ben’s side of the bed and opened the top drawer of his night table. I took out the handgun nestled under some papers, checked that it was loaded, and then returned to my side of the bed. I felt better with the gun on my lap.

My bedroom faced the front of the house. I’d already checked and had seen that Ben had left a key under our welcome mat at the back door. That’s where he’d enter—the hit man. I knew that I shouldn’t, that I should stay put, but by the time 9:00 p.m. rolled around, every ten minutes I went into the guest bedroom, which faced the rear yard, and pressed my ear to the window, listening for something—for anything.

I had just entered the guest bedroom again at 9:50 p.m. when I heard the sound of a handle being turned. Seconds later—or maybe it was minutes, the fear that filled me having taken away all sense of time—there were loud voices and what seemed like a scuffle coming from the kitchen. I ran back to my bedroom, grabbed my gun, and pulled the blanket up to my chin. My body shook all over, and beads of sweat dripped down into my eyes.

Moments later, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and briefly wondered whether I should run into the bathroom. No, I reasoned. My bed faced the door. From this perch, I could immediately see whoever came in. I’d have a clear shot if it was the hit man. My heart felt like it was going two hundred beats per minute.

It seemed to take forever for the steps to reach my door. Slowly, it opened. I held the gun in front of me, pointed straight ahead.

“Charly?”

It was Detective Saldinger. I rushed out of bed and threw my arms around him. When I let him go, he said, “We have him. We have the guy.” He looked me over. “You okay?”

I nodded. My heart was slowing down, almost back to normal.

“We can end it now. I can wait here and arrest your husband as soon as he returns home.”

I thought about that. It was the safe bet. They had the hit man. They would arrest Ben. Mallory, too, I supposed. I could return to a normal life. But it didn’t feel finished yet. My rage at Ben was still boiling inside me. I knew he had enough money to hire the best criminal defense attorneys. Maybe they’d say he was suffering from some temporary delusions, some type of mental illness. He’d probably point the finger at Mallory, say she came up with the idea, and fed into this illness. What if he got six months in a psychiatric facility, then walked free? I couldn’t bear the thought of that.