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“The car? Which car?” Jason asked. “Who would have sent the car?”
“Back then, he had a 1950s maroon Daimler,” Berguan said. “He loved that car. Loved swanning around in it. He had—”
“Who?” Jason demanded.
Berguan looked taken aback. “Shepherd. That’s who we’re talking about, isn’t it? He used to send that car for his conquests. Send the car and his driver to pick them up. They’d go back to his apartment, or, if they were someone he considered really special, he’d take them out to the island. Have you been to that island?”
“Yes.”
“Back then we used to call it Fantasy Island.” Berguan shuddered. “It’s like one giant graveyard.” He leaned over to the cat and said, “Would you like more tea, sweetie?”
The cat closed its eyes and began to purr.
Jason said, “You think Shepherd took the Havemeyer kid to Camden Island?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you report that to the police?”
Berguan sat up straight. “Klaus. He was adamant it couldn’t be true. And I didn’t have any proof. It would have been my word against theirs—and against Klaus’s. The Durrands were important people. Still are. And I’m…me.”
“Did Havemeyer say anything to indicate he believed Shepherd was coming for him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember that. He was giggling, silly, stoned. He was acting like someone with a special secret. You know how it is.”
Jason remembered being nineteen. He thought abou
t the police report Berguan had filed with Kerk. “The last time you saw Havemeyer, was he going into his apartment or headed toward the street?”
“He was just standing on the front steps, waving goodbye to us.”
So really…nothing tangible. No actual proof of anything.
Watching him, Berguan said suddenly, “I’ll tell you why I thought Shepherd must have done it. As our taxi was turning the corner, I glanced back and I thought I saw that big maroon Daimler gliding up the street toward Havemeyer’s place. I even told Klaus. It seemed kind of funny at the time.” Berguan shrugged. “Not so funny later. But I couldn’t have sworn to it, you see. I wasn’t sure what I saw. Not sure enough to get up in court.”
Jason nodded.
“Suspecting what you did, can I ask why you moved here, sir? So close to the Durrands?”
Berguan frowned. “They’re not the mafia, for God’s sake. They’re not the CIA. My mother lives next door. She’s lived in this town her entire life. I grew up here.”
Sometimes it really was that simple.
Russell put the cat down and gave him a pointed look. Jason nodded, and rose. But memory niggled at him. There had been something, a point he meant to follow up on. What?
It came to him. “The driver. You said Shepherd would send the car and a driver for his conquests?”
Berguan was tying his robe shut in a belated attempt at modesty. “Yep. He had a chauffeur. Well, really, it was only that cousin of his. What a weirdo he was. Another art student, of course. We were all art students back then. He had that Peter Frampton Botticelli angel hair. Twenty years too late, I might add.”
“His cousin?” Jason asked sharply. “What was the cousin’s name?”
“The cousin? Let me think. They had a love-hate relationship, those two. Of course, the Durrands were the ones with all the money. Not the recipe for domestic bliss, let me tell you. Aaron, was it? No. Eric. That’s it. I remember because his family lived on that island too, and I thought the name was appropriate. Greenleaf. Eric Greenleaf.”
* * * * *
Sam’s calls were going straight to message.
Jesus Christ. He was always on the phone, why the hell was he not picking up?
