Chapter 17. Is This the Midpoint Reveal? #2
“You were a hired gun?” Oliver suggests.
“Of sorts. So much of private detective work is … frankly, boring. Following around errant husbands and wives, it’s enough to make one cynical about love.”
I start to choke.
“You okay, El?”
“I’m fine, please go ahead.”
“Surveillance is hell, as they say. But it does give one time to think.”
“About how to pull off crimes?”
The side of his mouth curls up. “Among other things. It became a game of sorts. Guy and I would pick a target and work out a plan to break in. An art museum. A diamond store. You get the idea.”
“Did you commit these crimes?”
“We did not.”
“But something happened. Why did you leave London?”
“I met Allison.”
“And she made you see the error of your ways?”
He smirks. “Something like that.”
“Please. What really happened?”
“She was working as an actress on various locations. I started traveling with her. Guy kept up the business, and I’d assist when I was around.”
“And Guy got bored?”
“I wouldn’t say bored, exactly. He decided to try one of the small jobs we’d planned. A bar that took in a lot of cash receipts.”
“He pissed off the wrong people?” I guess.
“He did.”
“So you had to pay the money back?”
“A little more than that. These types of people don’t just let you return the money and go on your merry way.”
“What, then?” Oliver asks.
“We had to do certain tasks for them. Provide a different kind of surveillance. Keep an eye on their enemies.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It was. And we had to keep up the business as a cover.”
“But then you left. What happened?”
Connor considers his answer. “The details aren’t important, but let’s just say we performed a task that was big enough to satisfy our debt.”
“They let you go?”
“They did. On condition that we avoid London in the future.”
“Was it a robbery?” Oliver asks.
Connor nods slowly.
“What did you take?”
“I’m not going to tell you. But needless to say, it was at a great cost. Allison was not happy with my life choices, and Guy and I no longer had a business.”
“What did you do?”
“Allison got a role in a film that was shooting in the US. So we went there. To LA. I liked it. The sunshine, the beach. It was soothing.”
I almost choke again. I’ve spent years of my life with this man, in one way or another, and yet this is all news to me.
In the books, I gave Connor a more sympathetic backstory.
An orphan at a young age—which might be the truth, who knows—who’d been sent to a private boarding school by a rich but distant uncle.
It was giving The Secret Garden as a literary device to build up empathy.
It also explained why he was in England and how he started his investigative business, which was also a lot cleaner than the reality.
He’s not quite Sherlock Holmes in the books, but he’s not not Sherlock Holmes.
A keen observer, quirky, charming with women.
“When was this?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“But then you went to Italy?”
“Allison and I were having problems, and Guy reached out. He had work for us, he said.”
“Legal work?”
“I thought so until I got there.”
“And then?”
“And then I found out that he’d somehow gotten into bed with the Giuseppes and had promised Gianni we’d help him pull off the robberies.”
“Why didn’t you just leave?”
Connor clenches his hands into fists. “Have you learned nothing? It doesn’t work like that. They have tentacles everywhere.”
“So you did it.”
“I planned it, but I extracted a promise that they’d let me leave when it was done.”
“Did you think they were going to hold to that promise?”
“I had no idea, but I had to try.”
“What was the plan?”
“You know the plan, Eleanor. You wrote a whole book about it.”
“No, I mean the plan for afterward.”
“I was going to come back to America and get on the straight and narrow.”
“With Allison?”
He holds his hands out. “If she’d have me.”
“But things didn’t go according to plan,” Oliver says.
“They bloody well did not.”
“What happened?”
“I never trusted Gianni from the minute I met him. And when he found out about it, the capo was not fond of the plan to say the least. And then…”
“Yes?”
“I met you.”
A lump forms in my throat. I’ve been waiting to get to this part. All the questions I never asked. All the things I’ve wondered about.
Am I finally going to get those answers?
In front of Oliver?
“I’ve always wondered why you involved me in the case.”
“You were good at investigating.”
“But you were the perpetrator.”
“Not of the murder. I needed to find out who did it before they killed me, too.”
Of course, of course. It’s all so clear now. “So you put my life in danger.”
He gives me a rueful smile. “Sorry about that. Couldn’t be helped.”
“Really?”
“I did try to walk away. To keep you out of it. But you were so insistent.”
That does sound like me.
I glance at Oliver. He’s listening, fighting to keep his face neutral.
Which is better than I’m doing, if I’m being honest.
Which is an expression I keep using. And if you’ve been paying attention, this should put you on your guard.
Am I only being honest when I say I am? Or is that my tell for when I’m lying?
“You didn’t have to listen to me,” I say.
“I was smitten.”
“No. There was something else going on. Something you’re not telling us.”
Our eyes meet and I try to see into his brain. Why did he start something with me when he was in the middle of a huge crime? What makes sense? What was his plan?
To pull off the robberies, get his finder’s fee from the insurance companies for “solving” the robberies, and then retire.
For which he needed money. Because the finder’s fee was no guarantee.
So what did he know about me?
That my parents were dead. That I was there taking a luxury vacation in the very nice hotel where he was hanging out in the bar. That I came from LA, a place he loved. That I was young, naive, and alone.
“You thought I was rich, didn’t you? When you met me.
You were at the bar at the St. Regis. What were you doing there?
Trying to pick up rich divorcées? That’s it, isn’t it?
You were thinking of your future. A soft place to land.
But instead, you caught me. I was your escape plan.
You were going to leave Allison and marry me and take me for all I was worth, which, joke’s on you, wasn’t much because I spent the last of the inheritance on that trip.
But you didn’t know that. And then, joke’s on me, you did end up using me as a financial escape hatch when I wrote about you. ”
His mouth turns up. “Have I ever thanked you for that?”
“Thank me? Are you serious?”
“El.”
“What?”
“What does this have to do with Guy and why he’s in the Bahamas? With Marta?”
I take a deep breath. Oliver’s right. Like always. I can deal with yet another betrayal from Connor later.
“Good point. Why was Guy looking for Marta?”
“My guess? To protect himself.”
“Why?”
“Because he was in on it with them.”
“In on what with them?”
Connor pauses again, and if he doesn’t answer me soon, I am not going to hold back on the urge to put my hands around his throat and throttle him.
“The plot to kill us in Italy.”
“Are you kidding me?” I say.
“How do you know that?” Oliver says at the same time.
“Please. I know Guy’s handiwork when I see it.”
“He confessed to you?” I guess.
“Eventually.”
I put some more of the pieces together. “So you knew Marta was here before you came?”
“I did.”
“But … how did that happen? How did this conference end up being scheduled at a hotel owned by the Giuseppes where Martha was hiding out?”
“That’s a hell of a coincidence,” Oliver says.
“There are no coincidences,” I say.
“Good girl.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Apologies. See, I told you you’re good at this.”
I think it through, trying to see through the haze of my anger.
“You set this up. You’re the reason the conference is here?”
“Yes.”
“All to catch Marta.”
“Yes.”
“So you killed Guy.”
He grimaces. “Absolutely not. That was not the plan.”
“So, what’s going on then?”
“I don’t know. But my guess is … someone’s on to us.”