Paul escorted Sinclair upstairs, and after getting a nod to go ahead from the CSI techs, they entered the plush, opulent office. A wall of windows overlooked Lexington Avenue. Paul made a note to check the building across the street and find anyone who might have seen something at the gallery.
Sinclair went to his glass-topped desk and fired up his notebook computer. Everything is computerized these days, he said as he hit some keys. The printer on the glass sidebar started to hum and spit out papers.
How would you describe Megan McClain? Paul asked.
Sinclairs chin rose and pride entered his voice. She is an exemplary employee. Trustworthy, hardworking andand very organized.
And Lacy Knight?
Ah, Lacy. His chin dropped and his voice softened. Young, a bit flighty but she tries. Shes my great-niece, you know. Some day shell make a good curator, Sinclair replied as he gathered the papers from the printer and handed them to Paul.
Taking the printed sheets with the employee records, Paul met his partner at the front door.
Ive sent some uniforms to canvass the neighborhood, Andy informed Paul.
Good. Paul headed toward the entrance. We need to find the assistant, Lacy. I have some questions for her.
Detectives, called Sims from the doorway of the womens restroom. There are traces of blood in the sink and drain.
Megans raw, red hands popped into Pauls mind. Get back to me on any DNA you find besides the vics.
Sims inclined her head in acknowledgment and went back to work.
Andy shook his head. I think what happened was McClain hadnt wanted to give up the painting. She gutted Drake but didnt expect Vanderpool to show up, so she used the gun on him. Now instead of just one body to deal with she had two. So she calls 911 and makes up the story about going to find her boss.
For some reason the whole scenario bummed Paul out.
Megan McClain had definitely become a full-fledged suspect.
Wallace. Howell. A man just entering the building called to the detectives.
Paul glanced at Andy and saw the same surprise reflected in Andys dark eyes that was shooting through Paul. What was Chief Erickson doing here?
Chief, Andy said to the older, balding man.
Chief Erickson shook the snow off his hat as he moved closer. I heard about our double homicide. I know the victims.
Im sorry, Paul said, sympathy coating his words.
Ericksons brown eyes revealed sadness. Me, too. So tell me what you have.
Paul filled the chief in on their suspect Megan and explained what little evidence had been gathered so far. After we inform the families, well check out the alibi for the owner and find out where the other employees were at the time of the murders.
Ill inform the families, the chief said, his voice gruff.
A jolt of relief sparked through Paul. Telling the victims families of their loved ones death was never pleasant.
You want one of us to go with you? Andy asked, compassion evident in his voice.
The chief shook his head. Ill take Gonzales and a uniform with me. I think Ill call Shelia Wells, as well.
Paul thought having a crisis counselor on hand when delivering the heartbreaking news a brilliant idea. And taking Detective Maria Gonzales was also another smart move. Marias ability to calm people and at the same time gain information was legendary within the department. The chief knew what he was doing when he called Maria. Paul respected the man and looked forward to many years of tutelage under his command.
Well go do our interviews, Andy said, and headed toward the door.
Paul followed Andy out the gallery entrance and into the deluge of snow; within seconds Pauls hair was soaked. They hustled into their unmarked sedan, Andy at the wheel.
So what do you think? Andy questioned as he maneuvered the car around some pedestrians hurrying across the street, their heads tucked low.
It doesnt look good for Ms. McClain, Paul stated.
Means, motive and opportunity.
But a niggling of doubt lifted the hairs at Pauls nape. Somehow he couldnt see Megan, who exercised extreme sanitary measures, leaving behind such a bloody mess.
The phone rang. Once, twice. Then was answered on the third ring. Hello?
Its done, the caller said with a slight tremor.
Silence met the announcement, followed closely by a sigh. One of relief or regret, the caller didnt know. And didnt care. This was about money, not emotion.
Thank you.
I didnt do this for your gratitude. And I want double the money since it was double the trouble, the caller stated in harsh tones.
What? What do you mean double? I am not paying you more than what we agreed on.
Oh, yes, you are. The callers voice took on an edge of steel. Because Im not going away. If you think I havent taken steps to protect myself on this, youd be wrong.
A strangled sound came over the line. Ill get you the money.
I know. The caller hung up.
Lets follow up on Sinclairs alibi. Theres something about the guy that sets my teeth on edge, Paul said, thinking how convenient it was that the owner would leave early just in time for the murders to take place.
Within a few minutes, theyd made the trek to Figaros. The savory smells of spices filled Pauls senses, making his stomach rumble. The clinking of expensive dinnerware and hushed voices could be heard over the soft classical music playing in the background. Pauls gaze swept over the mirrored walls, plush seating and white, linen tablecloths where the powerful came to do business and be seen.
A long, oak bar with high stools and brass appointments ran the length of the restaurant. Men in business suits and women in high-fashion styles nursed drinks while assumedly waiting for an available table.
Paul and Andy flashed their badges to the hostess, a pretty woman in her late twenties with long, straight, red hair, which covered her shoulders and made a stark contrast to the silky green shift she wore.
She blinked, her gaze shifting from Andy to Paul and back.
Andy gestured to Paul. We have a few questions.
The young woman beamed and thrust out her ample chest. Sure, anything for you. Im Gina.
Gina, do you remember a Mr. Lester Sinclair coming in earlier this evening? Paul asked. Short, thin, sixties?
Her head bobbed. The art guy, sure. Hes a regular.
Paul pulled out his notepad. An expensive habit. What time did he come in tonight?
Gina thought for a moment. He came in at about six something. He wanted to sit in Angelas section, so he had to wait for a bit.
Why did he want Angela? Paul inquired.
Ginas smile turned sly. Shes more his speed.
Can we speak with Angela? Andy asked.
Let me get her, Gina replied, and sashayed away.
A moment later, Gina returned, followed by a tall, regal-looking older woman dressed in black slacks and blouse with a white apron.
Judging by the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, Paul put her at fifty-five-ish, but her figure belied her age. Her dark hair had been swept back into a sleek twist, and the woman exuded a graceful elegance that was indicative of Figaros.
Gentlemen, can I help you? Angelas throaty voice held just a hint of mild curiosity.
Wed like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Sinclair, Andy stated.
Angela inclined her head. Ask away.
We understand that Mr. Sinclair was here this evening, is that correct? Paul asked.
A coy smile played at her red lips. Yes. He came in and, as usual, waited to be seated in my section. He had the house specialty. Then he moved to the bar for a cocktail.
So he is a regular? Paul asked.
Yes. Twice a week for the past, oh, gosh, five years.
So you know him pretty well? Andy asked.
She gave him a haughty stare. Yes. I like to get to know my customers.
When would you say he left the restaurant? Paul inquired, drawing her attention.
I really couldnt say. He sat at the bar for a while. Angela gestured to the bar. You should ask Rod.
We will, Andy said, and moved to the bar.
Thank you for your time, Paul said. Just one last question. Does Sinclair normally come in on Tuesday nights?
Angelas eyebrows drew together. Now that you mention it, no. Usually Thursday nights and Friday afternoons for lunch. I often sit with him for a while on Thursday nights. But tonight we were slammed, so I wasnt able to.
Paul narrowed his gaze. Do you usually sit with your customers?
She gave him a bold smile. Only the ones that tip well.
Ah. Thank you. If I have any other questions, Ill know where to find you. Paul joined Andy with the bartender, Rod.
Rod, here, was just saying that Sinclair joined a young woman at the bar tonight, Andy informed Paul.
Paul recorded the information in his notepad. Did you happen to hear the womans name?
Rod, a muscular man with a crew cut and a scar on one cheek, shook his head. No, sorry, dude. She came in and sat here nursing a glass of house wine. When Sinclair got up to leave, she halted him and invited him to sit with her. I got the impression he was surprised. They both drank a scotch and sat talking for about forty minutes, maybe longer. I was busy, so I didnt hear any of their conversation.
What time did he leave? Paul asked.
Eight-ish, I think.
Paul exchanged a glance with Andy. So far Sinclairs alibi checked out. Was he here the whole time?
Rod shrugged. I dont know what time he came in. He ordered his first drink from me sometime after seven.
Did the woman pay with a credit card? Andy asked.
Rod shook his head. No. Actually, Mr. Sinclair picked up the tab.
For her wine, as well? Paul asked.
Yeah.
Can you describe her? Andy asked.
Rod raised his hand shoulder height. She was about so tall, curvy in the right places. Blond, blue-eyed. Pretty.
Paul gauged Rod to be about six feet. If the woman came only to his shoulder, she was about five-five or-six. Had you seen her before?
No. First time on my shift. But I could tell she wasnt comfortable here. A couple of guys tried hitting on her, but she made it clear she wasnt interested.
Paul exchanged a curious glance with Andy.
Paul closed his notebook. Youve been a big help.
Andy handed the guy a card. If you think of anything else about Sinclair or the lady, let us know.
Rod slipped the card into the pocket of his black silk dress shirt. Yeah, sure.
Just a sec, Paul said to Andy. I have one last question for Angela.
He tracked her down near the kitchen doors.
She paused with a plate of salad greens in hand and a pepper grinder tucked against her body by her elbow. Detective? Was there something else?
One last question. Did Sinclair stay in his seat the whole time he was in your section?
She thought for a moment. No. He actually was gone for about ten minutes. I assume he used the facilities.
Time unaccounted for. Paul jotted that down. Thanks.
Paul preceded Andy out of the restaurant and to the car. He shook off the snow and climbed in. Once they were moving, Paul said, Alibi has some holes. And he changed his pattern. Angela said he usually comes in on Thursdays for dinner and Fridays for lunch. Whyd he go to Figaros tonight, exactly when the murders were taking place? And she said he left his table for a while. The gallerys not that far from here. He could have slipped out the back and gone to the gallery, killed Drake and Vanderpool and then returned without anyone questioning him.
Yeah. Could have happened like that. He must be one quick clean-up artist though, Andy stated dryly. Whats with the woman? Random or what?
I dont know. But its interesting that Sinclair didnt mention the lady. Probably more worried about his wife finding out. Paul consulted the papers with the employees addresses on it that hed received from Sinclair. Lets go see the assistant.
Paul gave Andy the address to an apartment in SoHo on Prince Street. Andy parked a few blocks away from the prewar, six-floor, elevator apartment building. They hustled down the street and under the overhang to the building to get out of the snow and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The dimly lit hallway extended to the last apartment, 4D.
From the other side of the door, music blared. The metal door had a round peephole. Paul knocked and held up his badge. Paul knocked harder. The music abruptly stopped, and the door was yanked open.
Paul stared in surprise at the curly haired, little girl standing in the doorway. He guessed her to be about six. Is Lacy Knight here?
The girl frowned. Lacys out. What do you want?
Is there an adult here with you? Andy asked, his gaze searching beyond the girl.
Momma! the girl yelled, and moved away from the door, leaving it wide open.
Paul shared a look of disbelief and anger with Andy. They could be serial killers. What was this kid doing opening the door to strangers?
A young woman stumbled out from a doorway to the right of the small kitchen. She had the same curly blond hair and blue eyes as the kid. She wore floral flannel pjs and fuzzy slippers. Her eyes widened when she saw Paul and Andy. Paul held up his badge for her to see.
She rushed forward. Is something wrong? What are you doing here? She turned toward the little girl now sitting on the couch tucked under a blanket. Susie, go into the bedroom.
Aw, Ma, little Susie huffed but took her blanket and stomped away.
Maam, were looking for Lacy Knight, Andy stated, his voice harder than normal.
The woman waved her hand. Lacys not here. Shes staying with her parents uptown. Susie and I are just camping here for a few days.
And you are? Paul took out his notepad to record her name.
Jasmine Oliphant and thats my daughter, Susie.
How do you know Lacy? Paul asked.
We met a few years ago at an AA meeting. Is Lacy in some kind of trouble?
No, maam. We just have some questions. You said you met at an AA meeting. Is Lacy an alcoholic?
Jasmines gaze grew defensive. Recovering. Just as I am.
Paul made a note of the information in his notepad. If you could give us her parents address? Paul asked, his pen poised to take down the address.