Merchant rode downstairs in his private elevator, stood in the lobby, and peered out the door of his Fifth Avenue building. Since he’d been subpoenaed to testify in front of the senate subcommittee, reporters had tried to ambush him every morning as he walked to the Escalade. They waited in idling cars and jumped out the moment they saw him. He didn’t intend to get ambushed today about his Lucy’s death. He scanned the cars along the street. The coast looked clear, thank God, and he dialed Felipe and said, “Swing around. Right now.”
A minute later, the Escalade pulled in front of the entrance. Tony, Merchant’s tall Yugoslavian doorman, walked outside in front of Merchant like a human shield. When they reached the curb, Tony opened the back door of the Escalade and moved aside at the last possible instant so that Merchant could scoot in before anyone could snap a photo of him. Tony said, “Have a good day, Mr. Merchant,” and the door slammed shut.
The car left the curb. So far, so good, Merchant thought, but with the police investigating Lucy’s death and the autopsy happening today, he would be prime meat for the media. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and called Park Manor.
Constance answered on the second ring.
“You’re at your desk very early,” he said.
“What can I do for you, Thomas?” Her voice sounded cool.
“I’d like to take you to lunch.”
“Oh?”
“For all you’ve done,” he added quickly. “The Four Seasons, twelve thirty?”
“I can’t. I’ve got a detective on the way over here. I don’t know what my day is going to hold.”
“But I need to talk to you.”
“And I’d like a word with you, too,” she said ominously. “But it’s not a good time. In fact, it’s a terrible time, and you should know that. I’ll just say two words: Julia. Videotape.”
Merchant sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. How about tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”