I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [87]
The intercom on his telephone buzzed. “Mr. Longe, are you planning to go out after your meeting with Detective Johnson, or do you want me to send for something after he leaves?” Elaine asked.
“I don’t know,” Longe snapped. “I’ll decide after I see him.”
“Of course. Oh, Phyllis is calling. That means he must be here now.”
“Send him in.”
Nervously, Bartley Longe opened the top drawer in his desk and looked at the mirror he kept there. The small job that had been done on his face last year had been terrific, he comforted himself. It wasn’t obvious, but it got rid of the suggestion of a jowl that had begun to form below his chin. Having the touch of silver in his hair was exactly the right way to go as well. He had worked carefully on his distinguished exterior. He tugged at the sleeves of his Paul Stuart shirt so that the monogrammed cuff links were in place.
Then as Elaine Ryan tapped on the door and opened it with Detective Wally Johnson in tow, Bartley Longe stood up and, with a courtly smile, welcomed his unwelcome guest.
56
The minute Wally Johnson entered Longe’s office, he took an instant dislike to the man. Longe’s condescending smile reeked of superiority and disdain. His opening statement was that he was delaying a meeting with a very important client and hoped that whatever questions Detective Johnson had for him would not take more than fifteen minutes to complete.
“I hope not, either,” Johnson answered, “so let’s get right to the purpose of my visit. Margaret Grissom, whose stage name is Brittany La Monte, is missing. Her father is sure that something has happened to her or that she is in trouble. Her last known job was working for you as a hostess in your model apartments, and it is also known that she was having an intimate relationship with you and spent many weekends at your home in Litchfield.”
“She spent some weekends at my home in Litchfield because I was doing her a favor, introducing her to theatre people,” Longe contradicted. “As I told her father yesterday, none of them thought Brittany had that certain something, that almost indescribable spark that would make her a star. They all predicted that at best she would be doing low-budget commercials or independent films where she would not need a SAG or Equity card. In her ten or eleven years in New York, she had never managed to achieve either.”
“On that basis, you stopped inviting her to Litchfield?” Johnson asked.
“Brittany was beginning to see the big picture. At that point, she tried to turn our casual relationship into wedding bells. I have been married once to an aspiring actress and it cost me plenty. I have no intention of making that same mistake twice.”
“You told her that. How did she accept it?” Johnson asked.
“She made some very uncomplimentary remarks to me and stormed out.”
“Of your Litchfield home?”
“Yes. I might add that she took my Mercedes convertible with her. I would have filed charges, but I did receive a phone call from her telling me that she had parked it in the garage in my apartment building.”
Johnson watched as Bartley Longe’s face darkened with anger. “Exactly when was that, Mr. Longe?” he asked.
“Early June, so that would make it nearly two years ago?”
“Can you give me a more definite date?”
“It was the first weekend in June and she left late Sunday morning.”
“I see. Where is your apartment, Mr. Longe?”
“It is at 10 Central Park West.”
“Were you living there two years ago?”
“It has been my New York residence for eight years.”
“I see. And after that Sunday in early June nearly two years ago, have you ever seen or heard from Ms. La Monte again?”
“No, I have not. Nor did I care to either hear from or see her.”
Wally Johnson let a long minute pass before he spoke again. This guy is scared to death, he thought. He’s lying and he knows that I’m not going to stop looking for Brittany. Johnson also knew that he wouldn’t get more from Longe