CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

 

Riley felt a burst of anticipation as she followed the tall man named Lars into the club, with Bill and Jared close behind her. Whoever had called out just now seemed to have recognized Andrew Farrell’s name.

Maybe they were about to get a break.

Inside, the club was spacious. It was even more impressive than the exterior, with the same smooth gray-blue surfaces. There was a high gallery looming above the bar and the tables, and a stage and runway with poles jutted out from one wall. Rising from the back of the stage was a majestic stairway that weirdly reminded Riley of the one in the Farrells’ home—except that this one was smaller and more tasteful.

The place was dark now, but Riley could easily imagine what the place would look like with dancing lights and scantily clad silicone-enhanced women gyrating around those poles. Or perhaps dancing all but naked around someone decked out as the god Vulcan.

Riley quickly spotted a flash of color in that sea of dark, monochromic gray-blue. A youngish woman wearing a brightly printed silk kimono was sitting at a table with a computer in front of her.

The woman got up from the table to greet them.

“I’m Brynn Montgomery,” she said. “Did I hear you say that you were FBI?”

With a laugh, she added, “You’re not here to raid us, I hope! If you are, you might want to come back when there’s more going on.”

Brynn was a remarkably attractive young woman with a buxom figure that Riley was sure was much admired by the men who came in here. She had bright blue eyes and a slightly asymmetrical smile that projected a feeling of cheerful, world-wise irony. In her kimono and slippers, she seemed extremely comfortable and at home here. Riley also sensed a distinct air of confidence and authority about her.

Apparently Jared noticed this too. He asked her, “Do you own this place or something?”

“Own it? Goodness, no. But I’m flattered that you think I might.”

She gestured to the computer. “I guess you could say that I’m the brains around here, at least nowadays. I do the books and handle the advertising, most of the managerial work. And of course I’ve got …”

She paused and winked suggestively.

“I’ve got other duties, you might say.”

Riley could imagine what “duties” she might mean.

Riley also sensed that what Brynn had said about brains was quite true. Perhaps she hadn’t had much formal schooling, but she’d probably managed to learn a lot on her own. She was probably a lot more intelligent than the owner of this place, and most of the customers too.

Brynn invited Riley and her colleagues to sit with her at the table. Then she asked …

“So you were asking about Andrew Farrell. What’s new with that cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch, anyway?”

Riley thought she heard an odd note of affection even in that insult.

“I’m sorry to have to break the news,” she said. “He was murdered a couple of nights ago.”

Brynn’s eyes widened and she gasped slightly.

“Oh, my! How terrible! I didn’t know. How did it happen?”

Riley told her without getting into specifics. She also told her that two other men had been killed under similar circumstances.

Then she asked, “Did you happen to know the other two men—Edwin Harter and Julian Morse?”

Brynn shook her head. Her wry smile was gone now, and she sat staring off into space.

Bill asked, “Were you close to Mr. Farrell?”

Brynn’s smile flickered again as she lit a cigarette.

“Close? Yeah, I guess you could say that. Actually, I once had hopes that things might get serious between us—or at least as serious as a guy like that can be about a woman. But then he got interested in that model, Morgan Chartier, and he married her.”

She chuckled softly. “I couldn’t compete with a squeaky clean pedigree like hers. I’ve lived kind of a … well, colorful life, if you know what I mean. Not that I wasn’t resentful when he hooked up with her. But one way or another, I knew it wasn’t going to last. From everything I knew about Morgan, she wasn’t a good match for Andrew. She just wasn’t …”

Brynn seemed to be searching for the right word.

“Tough enough for him?” Riley said.

Brynn nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “He had … his ways, not all of them pleasant. A girl had to stand up to him, give back as good as she got.”

Her voice dropped and her expression darkened. She flicked an ash from her cigarette into an ashtray that was identical to the one they’d found in Farrell’s mansion.

Riley found herself feeling a certain admiration for this woman who was both smart and versatile—probably as skilled with money and figures as she was at adult entertainment and seduction. It was likely that Brynn had endured more than her own share of abuse over the years. But self-pity wasn’t her style. Not that she’d gotten hard-bitten and cynical like Tisha, Harter’s widow. Somehow, Brynn seemed to have gotten through it all without losing her spirit.

A real survivor, Riley thought.

Riley also got the distinct feeling that Brynn had something unspoken on her mind right now.

Riley asked, “Do you have any idea who might have killed Farrell?”

Brynn’s brow knitted anxiously as she took another puff on her cigarette.

Then she said, “I could kind of get into trouble for saying this …”

Her face trailed away.

Jared said with a note of sharpness in his voice, “Things will be a lot better for you if you tell us.”

Riley threw him an angry glare that said …

You’re not helping.

Jared withered a bit under Riley’s look. Riley hoped maybe he’d keep his mouth shut for a while. Threats weren’t going to work on this woman.

Everything went quiet while Riley waited for an answer.

Finally Brynn said, “We’ve got a regular member here, Harrison Lund. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

“The name sounds kind of familiar,” Bill said.

Riley also thought she’d heard the name, but she couldn’t place it.

Brynn continued, “Harrison is an OK guy for the most part—at least with the girls. But our clients—men—don’t like him. In fact, I think they’re kind of afraid of him, although they never say that exactly. Once in a while he gets into an argument with one of our members, and it gets ugly. But he keeps his voice really low, so the girls and I can’t hear what the argument is about. And afterwards …”

She paused for a moment, then said …

“Well, whoever he was arguing with usually stops coming here altogether. They even drop their membership.”

Riley was starting to get an idea of what might be on Brynn’s mind.

She said, “I take it he had an argument with Andrew Farrell.”

Brynn nodded and flicked another ash off her cigarette.

“Yeah, and it was just a couple of nights before you say that Andrew was killed.”

Riley’s skin prickled with interest as she waited for Brynn to continue.

Brynn said, “Well, I asked Andrew what they’d fought about, and sure enough he wouldn’t say. But he did tell me he wasn’t going to let that bastard push him around. He seemed more angry than scared. He also wanted to have Harrison barred from the club. But … well, we’re not exactly in a position to do that.”

“Why not?” Bill asked.

Brynn shrugged. “Well, he’s got kind of special privileges, on account of the fact that he’s the architect who designed this place. The owner admires him and drops his name into conversations whenever he gets the chance.”

Riley glanced around, again impressed by the elegance of the place.

Brynn shook her head and said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. No, I probably shouldn’t have. Really, it was all about nothing, I’m sure—whatever it was that got Andrew so mad. Just forget I mentioned it.”

Riley tried to reassure her. “We don’t need to tell Lund that we heard anything from you. For all he’ll know, we could have found out about him from any of your clients.”

Brynn shuddered a little.

As if she thinks he’ll know anyway, Riley thought.

Riley said in a gentle voice, “Brynn, what are your own impressions of Harrison Lund?”

Brynn inhaled and exhaled sharply.

“Like I said, he’s OK with the girls, and they actually like him. But …”

She gulped and said, “He gives me the creeps somehow. I don’t know why. I usually manage to stay away from him.”

Riley sensed a world of unformed, wordless fears in her voice.

Riley thanked Brynn for her help and gave her an FBI card.

When she and her colleagues left the club, Bill commented, “So that was a nymph?”

“Well, why not?” Riley asked. “A nymph is a nature spirit, isn’t she?”

Bill laughed. “I’d say that woman is more what you’d call a force of nature.”

“Nature isn’t always tame,” Riley replied.

Then she turned to Jared and said, “I need for you to locate Harrison Lund for me.”

Jared searched on his cell phone as they climbed into the car. Almost immediately he found the address for Lund’s company, Lund Architects. It was only a short drive away.

As Riley started to drive, she remembered Brynn’s words …

“He gives me the creeps somehow.”

Riley had no doubt that Brynn was extremely intuitive as well as intelligent. If she felt some deep-seated dread of Harrison Lund, there must have been a good reason.

I’ve got to find out what that reason is, Riley thought.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

 

Riley didn’t like the way Harrison Lund smiled. The man rose from his desk as his assistant escorted Riley, Bill, and Jared into his office. The assistant had already told him who the visitors were via intercom.

Lund spoke in a friendly enough manner. “The FBI, eh? I was wondering when you’d show up.” But his smile was absolutely reptilian.

Was he really expecting us? Riley wondered.

If he was, what could that mean?

Lund said, “Sit down, please. Make yourselves at home.”

He had a thick southern drawl that reminded Riley of Julian Morse’s brother, Roderick. But Lund’s voice was smoother, darker, and somehow more sinister. He was about Riley’s age, and he had a sardonic air about him. He wore an expensive double-breasted suit and had steel gray hair combed back sleekly.

Riley and her colleagues sat down in front of the desk, and Lund took his seat in the big chair behind his desk. Riley glanced around the huge office, with its wall-sized window overlooking downtown Birmingham. The dark slate walls and the wide, smooth surfaces definitely looked to Riley like the work of the same architect who had designed the Nymphs of Vulcan gentlemen’s club.

Lund cradled his fingers together and looked at each of his visitors with an expression of cold but vaguely amused curiosity.

“So,” he said, “what are you planning to do for me?”

Riley was startled by the question, and she was sure her colleagues felt the same way.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

Lund tilted his head in what struck Riley as a mocking manner.

He said, “Well, I assume you’re here on account of the three recent murders, aren’t you? Andrew Farrell, Julian Morse, and Edwin Gray Harter—and there’s a pattern there, isn’t there? A pattern that led you to me.”

Riley knew right away that he was toying with them. And she didn’t much like it.

Jared spoke up.

“If you’ve got something to tell us, why don’t you just come out with it?”

Riley was about to dart another silencing glare at him. But Bill beat her to it with a warning growl of disapproval.

Lund chuckled at Jared’s comment.

“Oh, my,” he said. “That sounds a bit hostile. I’m not sure I should entrust my life into your good hands. Because that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To make sure I’m well-protected? I’m certain that I’m on a pretty short list of potential victims in this area.”

Laughing louder, he added, “The truth is, I’d feel a little hurt if I weren’t on such a list. It sounds like your killer—whoever he is—has rather exacting tastes in murder victims. None but the elite and wealthy. And I’m certainly both.”

Riley said, “We’re not here to offer you protection, Mr. Lund. I think you’ve got that under control already. On the way through the building, I saw that you already have plenty of plainclothes security men on duty, toting concealed weapons. I’m sure you’ve got similar security at your home—although I should warn you that our killer is pretty smart at hacking electronic devices.”

Lund leaned toward them.

He said, “Then I’m not sure I understand—what is your business with me today?”

Bill said, “We just want to ask you a few questions.”

“For example?” Lund asked.

Riley locked eyes with him.

She said, “We would like to know where you were at the times of the murders.”

Bill then told him the exact times and locations of the murders.

Lund leaned toward the intercom and called for his assistant. When the woman came in, Lund said, “Claudia, could you tell these folks about my comings and goings during the last couple of weeks?”

Claudia recited with rote efficiency an elaborate itinerary that included Zurich, Berlin, Paris, and London.

When she finished, Lund said to Riley and her colleagues, “Would you like Claudia to print up my reservations and hotel receipts and such?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Riley said.

It wasn’t that Riley was by any means convinced that Lund was innocent. In fact, she was becoming more and more suspicious of him by the second. But she was also sure that his alibis would prove to be airtight. It would be easy enough for Flores to check out. Besides, she’d already considered the possibility that the three killings had been hired.

Riley held his gaze for a moment, then said, “Mr. Lund, did you personally know the first victim—Andrew Farrell?”

“Oh, yes,” Lund said. “We were quite well acquainted.”

Riley asked, “Didn’t you have a falling out recently?”

Lund smiled that reptilian smile of his.

“Now that you mention it, I suppose I did. It was the night before I flew to Zurich—and if I’m not mistaken, two nights before Andrew was killed. And I suppose you know just where that falling out took place.”

Riley carefully kept her silence.

Lund squinted at her inquisitively.

“What I would like to know is—how did you come by this bit of information?”

The question made Riley feel queasy.

She remembered Brynn’s skeptical, worried look when she promised that Lund needn’t know who had told her about the argument.

Had Lund guessed the truth—that Riley had talked to Brynn?

Riley steadied herself. She knew that almost everything this man said was calculated to keep her and her team off balance.

Don’t let him get the best of you, she told herself.

She said, “What I’d like to know is, what was your quarrel with Farrell about?”

Lund clucked his tongue with disapproval. “I didn’t like how Andrew treated the ladies at … a certain establishment, I suspect you know which one I mean. I’m rather old-fashioned that way—something of an anachronism, an old-school Southern gentleman. I believe in treating ladies with courtesy and respect. No matter who they are.”

Riley remembered something Brynn had said about Lund …

“Harrison is an OK guy for the most part—at least with the girls.”

Lund seemed to be a living, breathing contradiction—a misogynist with an inclination for exotic dancers and call girls who believed in treating those very women with some sort of faux gallantry.

Lund swiveled slightly in his chair and added, “I told Andrew I wasn’t going to allow his behavior to continue.”

Riley felt a chill at his words.

“So you threatened him?” she asked.

Lund laughed. “Oh, Agent Paige—now you’re getting much too personal. It was an ugly little quarrel, and I’d just as soon forget all about it. Can we change the subject, please?”

Riley felt stymied. Her questions seemed to be getting her nowhere. Lund struck her as clever and slippery—and also dangerous.

Fortunately, Bill spoke up. “Did you and Farrell share any other activities in common—aside from that ‘certain establishment’?”

Lund shrugged and said, “Well, we played golf together from time to time.”

“And where did you do that?” Bill asked.

“At the Cedar Creek Country Club, over in Monarch.”

Riley’s attention quickened at the mention of the town’s name …

Monarch!

Riley remembered the golf course that had been visible from Edwin Gray Harter’s house.

It might be the exact same club, she thought.

Lund continued, “Any golfer who can afford it goes to one or another of the Monarch clubs. Andrew didn’t have a membership there, but I do. In happier times, I let Andrew play there on my membership.”

Then with a sigh, he added, “A pity what happened to him.”

With those words, Lund gave Riley a long piercing look.

She managed to suppress a deep shudder.

“I think that will be all,” Riley said to him. “Thank you for your time and help.”

Lund looked surprised and perhaps even disappointed that their little scene was over. As she and her colleagues headed on out of the building, Jared asked, “So what do you think? Did we find out anything back there?”

Bill didn’t reply, and Riley didn’t either.

But deep in her gut, Riley felt all but sure of something …

We were just talking to a cold-blooded killer.