MacNeil turned the collar up on his jacket. The bottom half of his body was reasonably warm, but his ears were freezing. , Cecil later changed his mind about the grandson,” he said, rubbing his hands together before he stuck them in his pockets.
, he adhered to the letter of the agreement but not the spirit. He’d agreed Mitchell would grow up ‘with all the benefits associated with Wyatt money and social connections,’ but Cecil never specifically agreed that the ‘social connections’ would be with the Wyatts themselves. A week after he was born, Cecil sent Mitchell to a family in Italy, along with a falsified birth certificate. When he was four or five, Cecil yanked him out of that family’s home and had him sent to an exclusive boarding school in France. Later, Mitchell was sent to prep school in Switzerland, and then on to Oxford.”
the kid even know who he was, or who was paying for his fancy education?” MacNeil asked.
family he lived with in Italy told him what they’d been told, which was that he’d been abandoned as a newborn on a California doorstep and that his name was merely a combination of two names picked out of a phone book by a group of generous American benefactors who regularly put up the money to support and educate boys just like him. These supposed benefactors wished for nothing in return except the right to remain anonymous.”
.” MacNeil shook his head.
that’s pity I hear, save it for someone who deserves it,” Elliott said sarcastically. all accounts, young Mitchell enjoyed his life and made the most of his opportunities. He was a natural athlete who excelled at sports, he went to the finest schools, and he mixed easily with kids from Europe’s leading families. After he graduated from college, he put his education, his good looks, and his acquired social contacts to excellent use, managing to make himself a load of money. He’s thirty-four now, and he runs companies based mostly in Europe. He has apartments in Rome, London, Paris, and New York.” Elliott paused to look at his watch, frowning as he tried to see its face in the dark. you see the time on your watch?”
MacNeil pulled up his sleeve and glanced at the large glowing green numerals on his Timex. forty-five.”
have to go. I need to put in an appearance at Cecil’s party.”
did Wyatt end up right here, right now, after all this time?” MacNeil said quickly, trying to make optimal use of the remaining time.
months ago, in early June, William came across the documents in an old safe, and he was outraged at the treatment his poor half brother had received from his father and grandfather. He hired detectives, and when they located Mitchell Wyatt in London, William took his wife and his son and flew to London to introduce them in person and explain what had happened.”
was a nice thing to do.”
Elliott tipped his head back and looked at the sky. , it was,” he said in the carefully controlled voice of a man trying not to betray any emotion. was a thoroughly nice guy—the only male in his family for generations who wasn’t an egotistical sociopath.” Abruptly, he looked back at MacNeil and finished. William came back from London filled with glowing accounts of Mitchell’s amazing successes, Edward didn’t want anything to do with his long-lost son, but old Cecil was evidently impressed enough to ask for a meeting. The meeting took place in August, when Mitchell was supposedly here on business. And then, after William disappeared in November, Cecil asked Mitchell to come back to Chicago so they could get to know each other better. Ironically, the old man is now quite taken with his prodigal grandson—so much so that he’s asked him to be present tonight, for his eightieth birthday party. I have to get going,” he said, already starting toward his car.
MacNeil walked beside him. haven’t told me anything that explains why we’re keeping Mitchell Wyatt under surveillance.”
Elliott stopped abruptly, his expression tight, his voice cold and clipped. , did I leave that out?” he asked. are just two of the reasons: In September, one month after that first reunion between Cecil and Mitchell, Edward—William and Mitchell’s father—‘fell’ off his balcony and plunged thirty stories to his death. In November, William vanished. Coincidentally, according to U.S. passport and immigration records, Mitchell Wyatt entered the U.S. shortly before each event occurred and departed almost immediately afterward.”
When MacNeil’s eyes narrowed, Elliott said, you’re getting part of the picture. Here’s more of it: Mitchell has been in Chicago for two weeks. He’s staying at William’s house, consoling William’s beautiful wife, and befriending William’s fourteen-year-old son.” Unable to keep the loathing from his voice, Elliott said, “Mitchell Wyatt is systematically exterminating members of his own family and restructuring the family to suit himself.”
think he’s after the family fortune,” MacNeil concluded.
think the Wyatt genes have produced another sociopath. The ultimate sociopath—a cold-blooded murderer.”
When he walked away, MacNeil got back into the Chevy with Childress, and they watched Elliott’s town car stop at the intersection and wait while a group of party guests were transferred into Range Rovers. A gray-haired woman slipped in the slush, and her husband grabbed for her. A middle-aged couple shivered in the cold while a nervous elderly couple struggled to step up onto the Range Rover’s elevated running boards with the help of parking attendants.
know,” Childress said, when the vehicles were finally on their way, we drove past the security gates tonight, I got a look at the driveway leading to the house, and I swear it looked perfectly clear—at least as far as I could see.”
was,” MacNeil agreed.
why in the hell is the security guard making everyone leave their vehicles out here on the main road?”
MacNeil shrugged. knows?”
Chapter Two
THE STREAM OFarriving guests had slowed to a trickle when a new pair of headlights, moving slowly, approached the gates. Childress put down the cup of coffee he’d poured from his thermos and picked up the binoculars. MacNeil reached for the notebook and began jotting down the information Childress gave him.
vehicle’s a vintage Rolls—probably 1950s—maroon in color, pristine condition,” Childress said. at the wheel. Female passenger in the backseat. God, she’s abeauty !”
Rolls or the passenger?” MacNeil asked.
Childress snorted with laughter. Rolls. The passenger is about ninety years old, and her face is wrinkling up like a prune over whatever the security guard is telling her chauffeur—who also happens to be about ninety. I’m guessing the old lady’s unhappy about having her Rolls parked on the street.”