She seemed to want to say something, thought about it, then looked down at her hands and spoke softly. “And if you think money gives me a motive, you should know both Spencer and I have family trust funds. And my husband is independently wealthy as well. Spencer and I work because we love what we do, because it’s fun to do it together. And now I don’t know if I can…”
Corelli waited. After Hillary seemed back in control, she continued. “I know this is difficult. I’m sorry but it’s important we get as much information as we can as early as we can in the investigation.”
She looked into Corelli’s eyes. “Please go on.”
“Do you know of anyone who works for you, maybe someone you fired, or a business associate who had a grudge against Mr. Nickerson? Anyone with a motive for murder?”
“We’ve never fired anyone. And we’ve given very large payouts to the few people who have left.”
“We need to notify Mr. Nickerson’s next of kin. Who would that be?”
“His parents, Cornelia and Reggie. They live on Sutton Place. I’ll come with you.” She hesitated, running her fingers over the keyboard. “No, I need to be with the staff, help them deal with this, and then I need to notify our clients. I’ll call Woody. He’ll meet you there.”
“Who is Woody?”
“My husband. Spence’s older brother. I should have called him right away. He’ll be devastated. They’ll all be devastated.”
“How far is he?”
“He’s at home, a couple of blocks from here.”
“Tell him to wait out front. We’ll pick him up.”
Unable to speak when her husband came on the phone, Hillary handed the phone to Corelli. After a minute of stunned silence, he whispered he would wait out front for them.
“I’ll call Spence’s sisters and his other brother when you leave. I’ll go there as soon as I take care of things here.”
She flopped back in her chair, exhausted, her face a crumpled mess. “You know, Spencer laughed about someone leaving messages on his machine saying that homosexuals are an affront to God and should be killed. Is it possible he wasn’t joking?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Saturday – 1:30 p.m.
A white-haired woman with sparkling blue eyes answered the door at the Upper East Side townhouse. Corelli assumed she wore the pale blue running suit for comfort rather than for exercise since not a hair was out of place and her makeup was impeccable.
“Woody, darling, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?” The warm and welcoming smile drifted away as she took in his subdued demeanor. “What’s the—”
“Mom, let me introduce Detectives Corelli and Parker. Is Dad home?”
“Yes. Is everything all right?”
“Let’s go see Dad and then we’ll talk.”
She looked uncertain but turned, looking back with a puzzled expression as she led them through a long hall to an elegantly but comfortably furnished living room.
“Reggie, we have company.”
Eyes on his son, he put his book down on the table in front of the sofa and stood. “What’s wrong?”
“Dad this is…” He struggled to introduce them.
The elder Nickerson took his son’s arm. “Are Hillary and the triplets all right?”
Woody nodded but was unable to speak. Seeing the appeal in his eyes, Corelli stepped forward.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nickerson, there’s no easy way to say this. I’m so sorry to have to tell you that your son Spencer was murdered last night. He was found at home this morning.”
It wasn’t clear whether the father or the mother screamed but the two parents clutched their son and the three hung on to each other, sobbing. Two minutes later, two women and a man ran into the room and the six of them formed a circle of mourning. This part of the job was always difficult, but the pain in this room was excruciating. Corelli forced herself to stay present, storing the pain as a camel stores water to fuel her search for the monster who killed these two young men. Then, trying to give the family a modicum of privacy, she lifted her eyes to the wall of windows behind them, and taking in the blue sky and the brilliant sunlight streaming gloriously into the room, she wondered, not for the first time, how awful things could happen on such a beautiful day, how one family is wretched with grief and pain while the rest of the universe spins quietly and happily about its business. Next to her, Parker rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet, her breathing raspy, as if she was running. Dealing with the raw pain of others was difficult for Parker, but dealing with this family’s pain was difficult even for Corelli.
After a few minutes, the circle opened and the other son asked what had happened.
“Please sit,” Corelli said.
The circle straightened and they sat together, the parents and the sisters on the sofa and the two sons on the arms, each leaning in with an arm over the shoulder of a parent. Each sister held the hand of the adjacent parent as well.
The two detectives took the chairs facing them.
Woody used his handkerchief to dry his eyes. “Detective Corelli and Detective Parker, these are my sisters Cordelia and Megan, and my brother Marshall.”
The father blew his nose. “Spence was really broken up about Nardo. Was it the same person?”
“It’s too soon to say, sir,” Corelli said. “I know this is difficult but I need to ask some questions now.”
Marshall stood up. “It would be better if you came back tomorrow or the day after. We need time.”
Spencer’s mother seemed to have aged twenty years, yet she was the one who spoke up. “Marshall, sweetheart, let’s get it over with. Ask your questions, Detective.”
Corelli respected her strength in the face of such heartbreak. “When did you last see Spencer?”
“Yesterday,” the mother said. “He was so distraught about Nardo being murdered that we insisted he have breakfast with us. I couldn’t console him and I felt so helpless.” She broke down again.
“Did you know Spencer was gay?” Corelli felt Parker’s eyes on her.
Tears welling, the dad squeezed his wife’s hand, then answered. “Spencer came out to all of us when he was fifteen. We were surprised, of course, and we were afraid for him because it’s not an easy life. But it was never an issue for us. He was comfortable with himself and we respect our children and don’t feel the need to impose our own values or prejudices on them. We want them to be happy and healthy. And Spencer was, except, of course, when his partner passed away several years ago.”
“Did Spencer mention any plans for last night?”
The parents exchanged a glance and the father answered again. “He hadn’t slept much the night before, so he planned to go into the office to work on a proposal with Hillary, have an early dinner and try to get some sleep. We wanted him to stay here where we could comfort…” He broke down.
Corelli pushed aside her reluctance to continue to question them in the face of their pain. She had a job to do. “Did Spencer mention any problems, any threats to any of you?”
They looked at each other, then shook their heads. The brothers and sisters hadn’t seen him for three or four days but all had talked to him about Nardo.
“Just a few more questions. Did Spencer have a will?”
Woody answered. “Yes, I drew it up myself after his partner Elliot died. Other than donations to gay organizations, charities having to do with children, and Yale, his alma mater, the bulk of his estate will go into a trust fund we’ve established for all our children.”
“Do any of you know any of his friends besides Nardo?”
Again it was the mom who spoke. “Spencer has been withdrawn since his partner’s death and it’s only in the last year that he’s started socializing again so we haven’t met many of his friends. I’ve met Abby and Nelson but I don’t remember any last names.” She looked at her other children but only got headshakes.
Corelli thanked them, passed out cards in case anyone remembered something, and l
eft them huddled together on the sofa, comforting each other.
Parker turned the key in the ignition to lower the windows but didn’t turn the car on because traffic was backed up waiting for a city truck to finish picking up the garbage piled in front of an apartment building up the street. They sat watching the slow-motion ballet of the sanitation workers as they lifted and tossed the black-bagged garbage into the maw of the truck, the only sounds the growl of the truck chewing and swallowing the bags and the occasional honking of an impatient driver.
Corelli broke the silence. “Two families, two gay sons, two totally opposite reactions. But the del Balzos’s coldness, their disgust and disdain, made it easier to break the news. The Nickersons’s pain is so profound that you can’t avoid absorbing it.”
“That’s the family I’d want, one where everybody loves each other, no matter what.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Corelli had no illusions about her parents. If Righteous Partners had managed to take her out, her father would react like Leonardo and her mother would trail obediently along. Maybe it was an Italian thing.
Hillary turned the corner, waved, and walked over to the car. “How are they?”
“It was hard for them,” Corelli said, “but they’re surrounded by their children and lots of other people who’ve arrived in the last fifteen minutes.”
“I called my mom to rally the family friends. At least they’ll have lots of support.” She shuddered. “It’s all so unreal. I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it.” She gulped. “I need to go in now; I need to be with my family.”
Corelli sighed. “Let’s find Spencer’s friend Bill. After that we’ll have another talk with Ms. Foxworth.”
“Are you sure Ms. is the right form of address for her?”
Corelli thought back to the pin on Miranda’s bag and the moment that had passed between them. “I think she would have said if she preferred something else. It’s a complicated issue and I’m not sure I totally understand it but I do know you can always ask politely what pronouns they use. And, Parker, when you meet someone with a woman’s name wearing a skirt and heels and makeup, I suggest you start with Ms., no matter what you think you know about that person.”
Bill Francis answered the door in his pajamas and demanded to know how they had bypassed the doorman. A display of shields and he stepped back to admit them to his apartment. He closed the door softly behind them but didn’t move further into the apartment.
“What is it,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“Are you a friend of Spencer Nickerson?”
He peered up at Corelli, then glanced at Parker as if looking for a clue. “Is Spencer all right?”
They’d decided Corelli would handle this interview. “I’m sorry to tell you Mr. Nickerson was murdered last night.”
“Murdered?’ He reached for the wall but stumbled.
Parker grabbed him and propped him up.
He rubbed his eyes.
“I just spoke to him yesterday. We had plans to go to the theater last night but he called about six to cancel.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said something had come up. When I joked about him tossing me aside for a hot date he laughed and said ‘more like a cold fish. Believe me, you’re way hotter.’ We rescheduled for next week and said goodbye. Do the Nickersons know?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a mugging or a robbery? I can’t believe it. Can we go in and sit down? I feel dizzy.”
They helped him into the living room, eased him onto the sofa, then sat facing him.
He wrapped his arms around a pillow. His eyes filled. “Where did it happen? Do you know who did it?”
Corelli ignored his questions. “We’re in the early stages of the investigation and we need your help. Besides your name, he had ‘lama’ in his calendar for last night. Was that related to what you were doing?”
“We usually didn’t plan ahead. Just took our chances at the TKTS Booth in Times Square and bought whatever sounded interesting.”
“So it’s not likely that he had purchased tickets ahead of time?”
“He could have. Occasionally, he surprised me with tickets to something that interested him, especially if the tickets weren’t available at the Booth. But I haven’t heard of it. Maybe it’s Off Off Off Broadway and I just haven’t come across it.”
“So what did you do last night?” Corelli asked.
“Me?” He rubbed his head again. “I stayed home, had dinner, and read until I fell asleep around eleven, I think.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“The doorman when my Thai food was delivered and the delivery guy when he brought it up. I think that was about seven thirty. But nobody else. I guess I don’t have an alibi.”
“Do you need one?”
“Doesn’t everyone in these cases?”
Ah, yes, TV. “Why would you want Spencer dead?”
“I wouldn’t. I don’t. We’ve been friends since elementary school.” He struggled to control the emotions welling up.
“Do you know of anyone who would want to kill Spencer?”
“No, no one.” He grabbed a tissue out of the box on the coffee table. “Except those religious nuts, the ones making those crazy calls.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Saturday – 3:00 p.m.
Miranda Foxworth sat at the table in the interview room with her head cradled in her arms. Parker touched her lightly when they entered and she lifted her head. She looked groggy, and from the state of her eye makeup, like she’d cried herself to sleep. They sat across from her.
Corelli took the lead. “So, Ms. Foxworth, two of your clients murdered within days of each other. Quite a coincidence. Any thoughts that might help us track down the murderer?”
She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Do you think I’m in danger?”
“What do you think?”
Foxworth fingered her hair. “Why would anyone want to kill me? And if they did, why kill my clients? It must be somebody after rich gay guys.”
Corelli was impressed. Despite her nervousness, Foxworth had handled that question deftly. But was she the one killing her clients? “Where were you last night?”
“I knew it. I knew when they searched my purse you would blame me. I knew I should have called my lawyer. I’d like to do that now, please.” She lifted her purse from the floor next to her chair into her lap, ready to go.
“We just want to ask you some questions. Calling your lawyer will drag things out but you can call if that’s what you want.”
Miranda thought for a few seconds. “I’ll answer but if I feel like you’re after me, I’m going to stop talking and call her.”
Corelli did not want a lawyer involved so she’d tread softly. “Fair enough. So where were you last night?”
“I was home all night with my partner, but you won’t believe that, will you?” She reached her hands out, palms up, besieging. “Why would I kill them? They were both kind and treated me with respect. I’m here talking to you without my attorney because I cared about them and I want to help you find the killer.”
“Okay. Who could have done this?”
“I’ve been wracking my brain, but I can’t think of anyone except that religious guy that’s been calling and threatening gay guys.”
The ‘un-Christians’ again. That got Corelli’s attention. “Which religious guy?”
“I don’t know his name, but I heard somebody talking about it at a club the other night, somebody sitting at the bar near me. He said he was interviewed on some TV show and the next day the calls started.”
“Who did you tell about Nardo—about the rosary and how he was arranged?”
“Nobody. I swear. Not even John, my partner. You told me to keep quiet and I did. I want you to find this guy before he hurts somebody else.”
Corelli studied Miranda, the tension in her body, the sweat on her forehead, the shaking hands. She didn’t think Miranda was a killer, and
she felt guilty for inspiring such fear. “You can go, Miranda, but don’t go far.”
Miranda rocketed up, knocking her chair over. “Oh, sorry.” She righted the chair and dashed for the door.
“Miranda.” Corelli’s voice was a command.
She stopped, her back to them, her shoulders scrunched, as if expecting a blow.
“Don’t forget what I told you. Under no circumstances are you to mention anything about what you’ve seen at the scene of the murders or anything else related to the murders, not to your lover, not to your friends, not to your clients, not to your mother, not in the bars, not anywhere, especially not to the press. Understand?”
“Okay.”
“Wait a sec. Detective Parker will get a uniform to escort you out.”
They watched Parker leave.
“And, Miranda, you have my number. If you hear talk about calls from this religious guy, get the name and number of the person receiving the calls and telephone me immediately. But no heroics, okay? You stay safe.”
Keeping her eyes trained on the door, Miranda nodded, and when the uniform appeared, she ran out.
“I still can’t see a motive,” Corelli said as she and Parker walked toward the case conference room. “What’s your esteemed opinion, Ms. ADA?”
“The same as earlier today.” Parker ignored the condescension in Corelli’s voice. “I don’t think she’s guilty. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Surprised she hadn’t risen to the bait, Corelli glanced at Parker. I really need to think about why I try to provoke her. It’s not right. “Until we figure this out, though, we’d better notify her clients to be careful. Maybe somebody has it in for her.”
“Corelli,” Dietz yelled as they entered the conference room, “the captain wants you and Parker in his office ASAP.”
They pivoted and headed for Captain Winfry’s office.
“Do you think Carla del Balzo called to complain again?”
“Don’t worry Parker, it’s more likely Captain Benson or Mayor Matthews coming for me.”
The Blood Runs Cold Page 17
