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“Lane’s right,” Ed told his son in an encouraging tone. “And your job is to heal fast so we have one less thing to worry about.”
“I’ll try.”
Lane paused outside the room. “I’ll be out here,” he informed Jonah. “Rules say only one or two visitors at a time. So spend some time with your parents and I’ll visit later.”
Once Jonah was settled inside with his parents, Lane left the building. First, he called Lenny. Then he called Monty, filling him in on what was going on with Jonah and rearranging their plans. Next, he followed up on an earlier call he’d made to O’Hara, confirming that the bodyguard was back on duty, parked right outside Lane’s brownstone where Morgan was staying. And last, he called Morgan, gave her a preliminary update, and made sure she was okay. She sounded warm and drowsy, her voice husky with sleep, and he told her to stay that way until he got home. He found himself smiling as he hung up. There was something very primal, very natural—not to mention very erotic—about her waiting for him in his bed.
He didn’t have time to dwell on it.
By the time he got back upstairs, Jonah’s parents were reconvening in the hall, poised with nervous anticipation as the doctor treating Jonah strode toward them, carrying his test results. He plucked out Jonah’s chart and skimmed it, mentally assessing the compiled data.
“Dr. Truber, what do we know?” Nina asked anxiously.
“First, Jonah’s anemic. Normal hemoglobin is above twelve grams, and normal hematocrit is above thirty-six percent. Jonah’s hemoglobin is nine grams and his hematocrit is twenty-seven percent. And the CT scan shows that Jonah has a lacerated spleen. The good news is that it appears to be an incomplete laceration, rather than a complete rupture. That means it’s possible it will heal itself without requiring surgery. Time will tell. The other positive news is that his vital signs are currently fine.”
“So other than monitoring him and waiting, what can we do?”
“Donate blood, in the event that surgery or a transfusion is necessary.” The doctor glanced questioningly from Nina to Ed. “Does either of you know your blood type? Because Jonah is AB negative, which is the rarest of all blood types. Less than one percent of the population has it. We need to start the cross-match process right away.”
“I’m B positive and Ed is O positive,” Nina supplied. Seeing the puzzled expression on Dr. Truber’s face, she explained, “Jonah is adopted.”
That news clearly didn’t make the doctor happy. “That complicates matters. Are you acquainted with any of Jonah’s biological relatives?”
“No.” Tears slid down Nina’s cheeks. “This is so ironic. We were just in the process of hashing this out with Jonah. He’s determined to try contacting his birth mother. He’s under eighteen, so he needs our permission to do so. We’re torn; we understand his feelings, but we want to protect him. What if his birth mother wants no part of him? Jonah’s young, vulnerable. We’re afraid a flat-out rejection would devastate him. The timing seemed wrong.”
“It just became right. For medical reasons, I urge you to initiate the search—immediately.”
ARTHUR’S CONGRESSIONAL OFFICE was quiet. It was Saturday morning, and no one was in.
Monty and Arthur made their way into Arthur’s private office with the cups of coffee they’d picked up down the street. Arthur pointed Monty to a chair, then sat down across from him. “Okay, Montgomery, you made it clear that this meeting was urgent, and personal. Let’s hear it.” He frowned as Monty unzipped his parka and lowered the hood, revealing a bunch of facial cuts and lacerations. “What happened to you?”
“I skidded off the road last night and hit a tree. I’m fine.” Monty didn’t mince words. “A couple of things have come up. We need to address them.” He took out the color prints Lane had made and placed them in front of Arthur. “The night the Winters were killed and sometime during the hours of the Kellerman party, you had reason to change your shirt. These are the before-and-after shots. I need to know if you left the party to do so, anyone you might have interacted with during that absence, and what time this took place. Also, if you did leave the party, why didn’t you mention it either during the initial murder investigation or now.”
Arthur took a sip of coffee. His posture and jaw were rigid, but otherwise he was composed. If he was blown away by Monty’s line of questioning, he was hiding it well. “That was certainly blunt and to the point.”
“Just procedural.” Monty flipped open a notepad, took out his pen, and waited.
/>
“Fine. Then I’ll be equally blunt. I never mentioned it because it didn’t factor into the investigations, then or now. And there are parts of my life I try very hard to keep under wraps.” A humorless laugh. “Not that the tabloids let me.”
“So we’re talking about an affair?”
“More like the unwinding of an affair. But, yes, I left the party. And, yes, I met a woman.”
“Fine. I’m not interested in hearing the details of your sex life, or in sharing them with anyone else. Just give me the who, when, and where. I’ll check it all out discreetly, make sure the woman in question has an alibi for the time of the homicides, and then let it go.”
“Fair enough.” Arthur put down his coffee container and interlaced his fingers on the desk. “Her name was Margo Adderly. She was an intern in my Washington office. We had a brief fling. She wanted more. I didn’t. She showed up in New York the week before Christmas. She called, came by my office. I avoided her and her messages. The night of the Christmas party she got pretty insistent. She threatened to barge into the Kellermans’ and make a scene if I didn’t meet with her. That was the last thing I needed. I didn’t see that I had a choice.”
“So you met with her.”
“At her hotel room, yes. I slipped out of the party with as little fanfare as possible. At first, the visit was civil. She took my jacket, offered me a drink. I turned her down. Not that she would have noticed. She was smashed enough for both of us. I wanted to talk, to get through to her that whatever we’d had was over. She wanted to reignite things, to remind me how good it had been. I tried to explain, but I was getting nowhere. Instead of listening, she was removing my tie. Then I got blunt, maybe even cruel. I told her the relationship was over—in no uncertain terms. I finally got through her drunken haze. That’s when things got dicey. She went a little crazy—screaming, throwing things. One of those things was her drink, which she flung at me. Her aim sucked, she was so loaded. Fortunate for me, because she missed, other than splattering my shirt. She threw me out. I went home, changed shirts, and went directly back to the party. The whole incident took maybe forty minutes. The party had barely gotten under way. End of story.”
“What time was that?”
Arthur’s forehead creased in thought. “Jack and Lara had just left for Brooklyn. So it had to have been around six-thirty. I was drinking champagne with my wife at seven-fifteen.”
“You remember the exact time you drank your champagne?”
