Despite the importance of what she’s telling me on so many levels, I can’t help but feel jealousy and resentment creeping in. Diana had two paramours-Jonathan Liu and now this Alexander Kutuzov-and I didn’t know anything about it? She must have thought I was a puppy dog following her around, eager for any attention she might throw my way. I must have been a joke to her.
Reality is a bitch.
“Okay, Alex Kutuzov,” I say. “You didn’t mention him to the feds.”
Anne shakes her head. “I’m not sure why, but something about how Diana reacted when I brought up the topic. I was, like, ‘Hey, y’know, I saw the
“You are.”
“Diana said she could trust you. She said you were the only man she could trust.”
Okay, a trustworthy puppy dog. Still a puppy dog.
“I don’t know where else to turn, Ben. I don’t know what to do.”
Enough is enough. I don’t know what to think of Diana anymore, but I make a decision right then and there that I’m not going to let anything happen to Anne. There have been enough innocent casualties already.
I put my hand on top of hers. “I’m going to take care of this,” I say. “I’m going to figure out what’s going on. Let me tell you how.”
My words seem to reassure her. I wish I could say the same for me.
I’ll find out tonight.
Midnight. A man without a home, with nowhere to go, hiding out in coffee shops and department stores, showering at work, living out of a bag of clothes, afraid to use his cell phone, afraid to use his credit cards, standing half a football field from a gigantic Tudor home in a sleepy residential neighborhood in the northwest quadrant, where people don’t usually have problems like being afraid for their lives.
I approach the house from the front but move slowly, cautiously, my hands stuffed in my pockets. I don’t really have any kind of an excuse for being here. It’s not like a guy like me has any reason to be strolling the streets of Forest Hills, just killing time in a sleepy neighborhood tonight.
Still, once I commit to this, I have to walk like someone who isn’t afraid of being seen. This isn’t my first time doing something like this. I’ve bullshitted my way into buildings and exclusive cocktail parties and all sorts of places looking for stories or hoping to confront people with hard questions when they don’t have their high-priced assistants there to feed them a line.
Okay, I’ve never busted into a home. This is something new. But desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures.
I walk up onto the driveway and my heartbeat cranks up a level. The closer I get to this house, the less easily I can turn back. I walk slowly along the driveway and go around to the back of the home.
My favorite Garcia movie is
I get to the back of the house, and it’s got to be an acre if it’s an inch. I found the listing online earlier today, and it mentioned the “spectacular grounds.” You know you’re rich when they call your backyard “grounds.” If you have “grounds,” you probably also have an aging butler with a dry English accent who goes by a name like Hughes or Jeeves.
Actually, that’s a point I hadn’t considered. There might be more than one person in this house right now.
It’s dark back here; not necessarily what I would have expected. That probably means there’s a burglar alarm.
An alarm, possibly multiple people in the house. What else lies ahead for me?
I look over the place. Two stories, fancy enclosed deck. The listing that’s still online described the ornate furnishings inside-no surprise.
Jonathan Liu paid $4.9 million for this place eleven months ago. He’s made a fortune representing Chinese industries. He’s made a career out of playing both sides. He’s had a good life.
He’s not going to have a good night. This time we’re having a Q and A on my terms.
I try the back door. It’s locked.
I wrap my fist into my shirt and punch a hole through the pane of glass. Then I step back. Smashing glass alone could trigger some people’s alarms.
Nothing. Nothing but the thumping of my pulse.
I reach through the broken pane and unlock the door. Now, opening a door would trigger
