The proceedings went quickly. A charge was entered, first degree murder.

  The local authorities were not pulling back. But Rebecca Portnoy’s death called for it.

  Then came the defendant’s chance to enter a plea.

  Mallory rose. Brenden followed suit. But she spoke. “My client pleads not guilty.”

  “As entered,” the judge said. “Ms. Everson, do you have a motion?”

  The prosecutor stood. “No bail. Given the brutal nature of the alleged crime.”

  “Ms. McSwain?”

  “Mr. Hendricks is a respected lawyer in his own right. A fighter for justice.”

  The gavel came down again. “Bail is set at one million dollars.”

  Which meant Brenden had to put down one hundred thousand dollars. He’d just been fired. What were his options? Would Chaz put up the money?

  “That will be fine, your honor,” Mallory said. “Our firm is taking care of the bail.”

  Arrangements would be made paperwork handed over, and then soon Brenden would be back walking the streets. Not out of trouble, but at least not in jail. The prosecutor had tried to object, but Brenden had no prior record and he’d worked for a respectable law firm.

  As he rose from his seat and was escorted out by the bailiff to begin the processing, he gave Jimmy a longing look. There were words to be said, but maybe not now, not in a court of law. Not in a bar either. One a temptation of justice, the other a temptation of remorse. Neither would serve them well now. Jimmy just stared at him. Watching him as he went into the antechambers of the courthouse. The room cleared with the exception of two people: Jimmy, and Mallory. Shade was there, too.

  “Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Jimmy asked.

  “I told you I was returning to work.”

  “And your first case is the one you shoved at me.”

  “Jim, how could I refuse? You said so yourself, they manipulated you. Who better to get to the actual truth than an insider.”

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “You’re still healing.”

  “Being in this courtroom today was the best I’ve felt in six months,” Mallory said. “Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting all this time? For me to be myself again?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Jimmy, I’m back. Not perfect, but healthy. You go do your thing. I’ll do mine.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you at Paddy’s tonight,” he said.

  Mallory smiled and turned to the exit, the dog helping her with her gait. Jimmy wondered what came next. He’d tried to dismiss the Portnoy case, but it kept pulling at him. Because, in the end, a woman was dead, murdered. A man was dead, too, perhaps pushed down a flight of stairs and left to linger in a coma until fate took him. And now with Mallory involved, he knew leaving it behind was no longer possible.

  A killer had to be revealed.

  As he walked out of the courthouse, so, too, did Brenden Hendricks. Free on bail.

  “I appreciate that you came to the police station. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Only your alibi.”

  “Jimmy, I really liked you. I wasn’t using you.”

  “Except you did. Good luck with your trial. I guess I’ll have to testify.” Jimmy paused, then said, “Or you could make this easier and just confess.”

  “You really think I stabbed my mother?”

  “You haven’t said you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “So who did?”

  “Ask Baz.”

  “Don’t you mean Chaz?”

  It was Brenden’s next words that sent Jimmy on a mission to end this confounding case. “Baz orchestrated the entire plot. Sure, it was about the money, but it was also about winning the last game between his twin and himself.” Brenden then leaned in and pressed his lips to Jimmy’s. “You’re still hot.”

  Then he was gone, Jimmy not noticing which direction he’d walked toward. He was gone anyway. Like the ether owned him.

  Chapter 15

  He hoped this would be the very last visit to this place.

  The brick and ivy-laced Hammondsworth Institute. He’d spent too much time at this rehab place this past summer, all while helping Mallory overcome her medical, and emotional, issues.

  Now this fall, what with the Portnoy case, returning had awakened in Jimmy the struggle his sister had gone through. And how he was so proud of her today, taking unexpected charge at Brenden’s hearing, looking and sounding like the fierce lawyer she’d always been. Mallory was fortunate enough to walk out those doors.

  Not so lucky was one of the Portnoy twins.

  Jimmy parked his car in the lot. The day had grown warmer, almost as though summer had returned. Or maybe that was a memory given rise to his surroundings. Regardless, he forged ahead and entered the building. Cool air hit him. Rather than comfort him, it gave him a chill. He disliked the antiseptic odor that pervaded.

  “I remember you,” said the security attendant.

  “My sister was a patient here this past summer. Mallory McSwain. I’m Jimmy. Nice to see you again, Trudy.”

  “No, from last week.”

  “Oh, another case. I’m a busy guy. I’m wondering, is Dr. Amanda Morgan available?”

  “We don’t really do drop-ins at the Hammondsworth Institute. You got lucky once.”

  “I just came from her brother’s hearing. He’s free on bail. I thought she should know.”

  “Isn’t that something he would tell her?”

  “Look, Trudy, we got off on the wrong side last week…”

  “That’s Ms. Loverly to you.”

  Jimmy tried to hide his smirk. It sorta worked. “If you could let her know I’m here.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she said.

  “Trust me. She’ll see me. Jimmy McSwain. It’s about her mother.”

  “Thought you said this was about her brother.”

  “It’s about both of them, all of them. Look, I don’t expect you to like me or help me or if you think I’m intruding. But something bad is going on and I think I’m only a few questions away from finding out what that is. So, again, Dr. Morgan, is she in?”

  “Dr. Morgan handed in her resignation letter two days ago. She’s already cleaned out her office. She’s no longer employed here.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about this place,” Jimmy said, attempting to charm her.

  Nurse Ratchett wasn’t having it. “Goodbye, Mr. McSwain. We cannot help you.”

  “Can I ask one last question?

  “If I can refuse to answer it, sure.”

  “Why did Dr. Morgan quit?”

  This time the gossip in her couldn’t resist. “Because she’s rich. Her coma patient was her father, and he’s dead, so she gets his money. Now, I’ve said more than I should. I can’t help you any further.”

  Who could? Jimmy exited the building, the sunshine blinding him as he went for his car. What was his next move? And why did he care? The police should be looking into all of this: the suspects, their motives, their activities over the past week since Rebecca was murdered. Since then, Brenden had been arrested, Amanda had quit her job, and either Baz or Chaz had died after a month-long stint in a coma after a fall down the stairs. A fortune at stake, Jimmy had been taken advantage of, maybe even Byron Streb had. Although Jimmy assumed the partner was up to his ears in this. His commission on the estate too large.

  There was only one person left to speak with.

  The surviving twin.

  Twenty minutes in traffic finally got him to his destination in Harrison, where the twin houses of the Portnoy brothers loomed before him. He didn’t make a move toward them, not yet. Better to assess them. Any cars around? A sense of activity? Something for him to look out for? Maybe the security guard at Hammondsworth had made a forewarning call to Dr. Morgan.

  Jimmy crossed the street, trying to keep as low a profile as he could. Yeah, there was one car in the driveway. A silver Mustang, shiny. Kind of looked new. The sun gleamed off its roof, but Jimmy already had his sunglasses on. Incognito as best he could under short notice. About to take charge, that’s when his iPhone rang. Shit, he thought he’d put it on vibrate at the courthouse. He grabbed it before it could ring a second time, but he’d seen the Caller ID.

  Frisano. “Jimmy, where the hell are you? I’ve been texting you for the last three hours.”

  So he had had the phone on vibrate. “I’m on a case.”

  “You’re already on a case, Mr. Bigshot PI. We’ve got a lead on Wu-Tin. We know where he’s holed up. We think the vans are going to be on the move soon. There’s activity at that parking garage in Astoria.”

  “Look, Frank…I’m almost done with this. I just gotta close this out and I think I can.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “I think I did that last night.”

  “I’m gonna let that one slide. My father and Barone are all over this, wondering what has happened to their star witness.”

  “You mean their bait.”

  “I’ve got your back, Jim.”

  Words of comfort, assurance. But debatable. “I’ll be back in the city tonight. Where should I meet you?”

  “I’ll send you the address where we think he’s gone. We talked more with Lena this morning. She filled us in. It all ends tonight.”

  Jimmy put the phone away and stared back at the Portnoy houses. It amazed him how fast cases evolved. They could frustrate you for weeks, months, or in the case of his father, years. And then suddenly one clue hits you a certain way and you think you have a solution. In the case of the Portnoy twins and their machinations, there were too many misdirections, all meant to thwart and stymie his investigation. His bill for this one might be paid up, but maybe Streb could find a bit more in his petty cash.

  Jimmy made his move.

  He’d only been to one of the twin houses, both for his meeting with Rebeca and then her ill-fated dinner party. Which is why he went to the other one. One house knew the truth, the other probably knew the secrets. It was the secrets Jimmy wanted to know, and to expose. As he stepped up onto the porch, he realized the houses weren’t exactly twins—they were mirror images of each other, but he supposed that’s how twins saw themselves. An opposite reflection, yet still themselves. Was that what had fueled the game these two men had played their entire lives? Jimmy knocked, waited, saw a light come on above him.

  Yup, someone was home. But who?

  The door creaked open, as though it hadn’t been used often, or lately.

  “Ah, our intrepid private investigator, Mr. McSwain.”

  “Mr. Portnoy, sorry to drop in at such short notice.”

  “More than short. Unannounced.”

  “I’m sure you were expecting me. Given what went down with Brenden earlier.”

  “Would you like to come in, Mr. McSwain?”

  “You can call me Jimmy. And yeah.”

  He was curious to see the other house, whether it was decorated differently, or in the same archaic style of its companion house. And yeah, it was the former. Rather than dusty curtains and old-fashioned furniture, what he took in was a modern take. Plush sofas, soft palettes upon the walls, simple displays of candles, modern art displayed on the walls. Which made Jimmy realize that while each twin looked the same, shared the same DNA, they were still different people. Who was before him could be researched. Or, since, he was here, he could just ask.

  “Mr. Portnoy, who are you?”

  “You just answered your own question. I’m Mr. Portnoy.”

  “You’ve enjoyed your games. But every game has a conclusion. Again, who are you?”

  “Do you truly expect me to just confess to my identity? I’ve never done that my entire life.”

  “Except now, it’s become serious. A game turned deadly.”

  “You’re a dramatic fellow, aren’t you?”

  “I think the drama is right here. In these two houses. Two men, playing a lifelong game of not letting people know who they are dealing with. You, or your brother, met Rebecca years ago, and she got pregnant—not once but twice. But the question remains, did you each sleep with her, and thus each father a child? Brenden, Amanda. The damage you have done to them has led us to this moment. Rebecca stabbed, Brenden arrested, Amanda having quit her job. And one of you dead from a fall down the stairs of the house next door. Which leaves you. I know that Rebecca reentered your lives recently, doing so to protect the futures of her two children. And while I realize she wasn’t a saint in the marriage department, her ultimate goal was to protect her children. Didn’t really work out.”

  “You enjoy making speeches, Jimmy?”

  “I like speaking the truth, no matter how long it takes. For all I said, I don’t hear a denial.”

  “In less than a week’s time, the codicil of my father’s will kicks in. Our father named the first-born the heir, and that would be me. Chaz. Both houses, and all of the family’s holdings come into my possession, finally. I’m sorry my brother took that terrible fall from atop the stairs, an awful way to go. But he’s gone to the gods now, as has Rebecca. As for Brenden and Amanda, ah, they have no legal hold on the inheritance at the present time. Because, as you can see, I’m quite alive.”

  “Unless one of them kills you like they did Rebecca. And your brother.”

  “My brother fell.”

  “Nice try. He was pushed.”

  “Why is any of this your concern?”

  “I was hired to solve a case. I like to seal the file as closed.”

  “Streb told me you quit.”

  “A diversionary tactic. It meant you could all drop your guard. Classic move, both on my part, and of those whose behavior is…suspect.”

  Jimmy was tired of the volleying. It was his serve, and it had to be a strong one.

  “It’s time to come clean.” He paused for effect. “Baz.”

  See, the thing is, every person has a tell, a reaction within themselves that reveals an inner truth. And that’s just what happened here, the truth of the Portnoy brothers had just been undone. It was Chaz who had taken the fall down the stairs, Baz, the younger (by two minutes) of the two who still lived. What remained unclear was which of the two children he had fathered, but that could wait. His identity first.

  “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. McSwain. As much as you think you know, here’s the big truth. I may have impersonated my brother, which he did so freely as well, neither of us are guilty of a crime. Certainly not of murder. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. You can see yourself out.”

  Baz Portnoy—for the first time, Jimmy could actually think of him that way—retreated, as he started up the winding, porcelain staircase, so far the only thing Jimmy could see was a direct match to the other house. He stood there, unsure of what to do. Leave, follow him? He had evidence of fraud and could easily pass on this information to Detective Selfridge.

  Until fate, life, anger, retribution began to play out.

  Jimmy heard a viral scream. He spun. Looked up. Baz was near the top of the stairs.

  A figure was running toward him. He couldn’t make out who.

  But Jimmy ran, dashing up those slippery stairs. And with seconds to spare, he caught Baz as the man was shoved down the flight of stairs. The last heir of the Portnoy fortune about to meet the same fate as his twin, except this time Jimmy was there to halt the final result. With Baz in his hold, the two of them fell, rolled, ending up on the curved landing halfway down the stairs. Jimmy felt his head hit a stair. He saw stars, and then he closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  But not for long, thankfully. Jimmy rubbed his head, realizing he was no worse for the wear. The soreness from the thug’s punches awakened. It gave him energy though. This was ending now, and whomever had pushed Baz down the stairs obviously lived a pattern of death. Chaz had met his end like this, Baz nearly so. Jimmy did a quick assessment of Baz, determining he was fine. A slight head wound. A bit of blood.

  “I’m fine,” Baz said. “Get her.”

  Her.

  Baz had seen more of his assailant than had Jimmy. Or maybe he’d already known she was in the house.

  Jimmy rushed up the staircase, this time making it to the second level, but then…what? There were a series of rooms, and no doubt their assailant was behind one of the doors. Waiting, desperate. Perhaps with a body-slicing knife.

  As he stood in the middle of the corridor, looking at each closed door, he said, “It’s over. Amanda. I can help you. The authorities can help you.”

  His voice echoed, resonated, but still produced no response.

  Dr. Amanda Morgan was being as difficult as she’d been on their first meeting. Except a bit deadlier. He would deal with her soon. She wasn’t going anywhere. But as much as Jimmy did his job as a private investigator, sometimes you needed back up. And in this case, it involved an active murder investigation, maybe more than one. Thinking of Baz, did he need medical help? Or should he just let the authorities handle this?

  He grabbed his phone, called Detective Selfridge.

  “You’re gonna want to get over here. I’ve got your real killer trapped.”

  “McSwain, what the hell have you done?”

  “I’ve solved your case. Come to the house on the left. Amanda Morgan is your culprit.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  But that would take a few minutes and Jimmy wasn’t the type to sit around and wait for a brutal killer of her mother to wait to be captured. He moved forward, crouching along the corridor, and that’s when he felt a push at the small of his back. Shit, he was still carrying that damn pistol. In his pocket he also had his badge. But this case had nothing to do with the NYPD, so his badge meant nothing and his gun…he would not use it. He could overtake Amanda without force.

  He hated that he’d been carrying that gun.

  Tonight, it went back into the safe.

  He left it tucked into his jeans. He could use his hands; he had his athleticism. He had his job. This is what he did. He stopped criminals. While his father’s murder had motivated him, shaped his future, Jimmy knew so many other families and people were affected by violent crime, even those of domestic crime, it didn’t matter. Protection came first, and that’s what pushed him forward. Inside the Portnoy house, he knew this would be his final visit here. It just better bring about the right ending.