by Combs, Sasha
He took her hand in his, squeezing her fingers measuredly, he said...
“I’ll do just that babe.”
************************
Chapter 11
The arrivals and departure board announced that all flights from Heathrow were on time as scheduled. The federal agent assigned to work alongside the police officers at the precinct was coordinating the detainment in conjunction with airport security and the TSA. Stone had the presence of mind to dawn his Kevlar vest while unloading his equipment from the trunk. A nervousness pitched, then swell in the center of his gut. The heightened emotion generally surfaced whenever the threat of gun play hung in the air. Everything about this suspect was circumstantial. Yet, Constance’s description of her son left Linda and Stone certain that he was responsible for these murders. He had motive and opportunity. By the photos that he’d seen in his mothers home; Trey Wellington was something special to look at. He had an attractiveness that drew women naturally into his orbit. The nature of his job, as a trader and dealer of lost art, antiquities and priceless artifacts; this would gain him entry if getting pass security was ever a problem. Stone just didn't understand why a man with so much promise would suddenly snap. Why had his anger towards his father shift, causing him to kill the mistresses? Women, whose only crime was that they’d slept with a married man. A man that wasn’t even married to Trey’s mother. That was the sticky point that the federal agent tried to get Stone to understand. Federal agent Feldman was of a different mind. He believed Trey may have played a role but he didn't think the clean cut art dealer was the actual killer. In spite of that, now the time had come to wait. Nothing could be done until every international gate, or security exit point was thoroughly secured. This was dangerous, and Stone was grateful Hayford was driving Linda back to the station. In her condition, he didn’t want her there, adding to his worries.
*****************************
Linda watched Stone drive away, until his unmarked patrol car was out of sight. Their meeting with Constance had been fruitful and she wanted to join in on the chase. But her recent injury made that impossible. She might have pressed her luck had Hayford not been there but recently Stone had been acting protective of her. She still recalled his comments the evening he'd unexpectedly dropped by her place, with beer and pizza in hand. She still didn't know what to do about that. She closed her eyes, and the ache that she'd been ignoring screamed its protest. This morning when she left Hayford's apartment, behind her sinuses she'd felt the beginnings of a headache. But after seeing Angelica sitting in the interview room, not once had her cares been about herself. Linda had been moving forward, borrowing stored up energy from her reserves. Now the payback was upon her. She couldn't pretend that all was well with her. She blinked several times, readying herself for the pain that loomed in front of her.
The limo pulled away from the curb, straightening it's wheels the driver pointed the vehicle out of the serene neighborhood. Linda sat quiet in the back lining up her thoughts, while willing herself to remain well. Hayford was already busy conducting business on his mobile but he noticed her stiff concentration.
"That's right. I'll be out of the office for the rest of the week. I'm going to work from home but I'm only a phone call away." Hayford divided his attention. His eyes fell on her clenched fingers, watching her nervous twitching. When he ended his call, he stored his phone in an inner suit pocket. Hayford extended his arm, resting it along the edge of the backseat.
"You seem troubled. Are you worried that something might go wrong at the airport?"
She frowned, demonstrating her frustration. Hayford placed his free hand on her arm. With a gentle pull, he urged her to come closer, and she did. Now, they sat snuggled in the back of the limo. Linda said...
"I don't know why, but something doesn't add up."
"What do you mean? I've known Constance for years and I can tell you that she’s never given me the impression that she is a liar." After learning about her secret, and the trouble it created; Linda wasn’t so sure that she felt the same. But like Hayford, she also wasn’t a gossip. She said...
"No... It isn't that. I think she genuinely told us the truth but I don't think she knows how far her son would go to seek revenge."
He frowned, not fully understanding her meaning because he knew very little about Trey Wellington. Yet, he sensed that somehow Trey was in the middle of this murder investigation. Hayford had overheard portions of Stone’s conversation with Commander Bunts. He’d learned enough to get a gist, telling him what Stone and the other officers were up against.
"Honey... The inner workings of the mind can never be known by man. We can only guess and take stabs in the dark. Only God knows each persons breaking points and even then, we’re given the choice to do right or wrong."
"That's my point Hayford. Constance only knows the son that she imagines in her head. Hell... Even she played horrible mental games with him. Why would she joke by calling him a nickname that she knew would infuriate her own husband?”
“Linda... I told you, I’ve never heard Constance call her son anything except for his legal name.”
“I know...” she said, sounding deflated. “She said that the nickname wasn’t something that people knew about. It was her little secret and she only used the name when she and Trey were in their home.”
Linda’s eyebrow furrowed, then she added...
“Before we left the brownstone, I couldn’t go without asking Constance about a business card. Angelica Fischer showed the card to us this morning at the station. On it, the card reads like most business cards. A company name, and a phone number....but we had to look up the address.”
“And...” He said, waiting for her to finish.
“After talking to her, I got to wondering; how much does she really know about her son. So, I asked Constance if her son lived with her, and she laughed. She said, that would be preposterous. So, then I asked if she knew where her son lived, and she said of course, why wouldn’t she. Off the top of her head, she read off the same address that belongs to the Davis Antiquities company. When I asked her to repeat it... I thought, maybe she’d had a little too much to drink but Constance swears that her son lives at that address. Hayford... That’s impossible. When the officers searched the loft, they said that the building was being used for storage. The place is located in TriBeCa. In a renovated factory building."
Hayford's eyes stared forward. He was recalling something that until now had meant little to him.
"Linda... Are you sure your officers thoroughly searched that building? Some of those lofts are more than five thousand square feet and most have no less than three entrances. An architect friend of mines told me about how he partitioned off a loft in SoHo. The place is owned by a fashion designer. He lives in part of the building and the other parts are carved up, creating four separate spaces. His living space is on the top floor but below him, is everything he needs to do his wok. A design studio, office space for him and his assistant, a storage area to house his fabrics machines and his designs. He even had an area soundproofed for the sole purpose of entertaining his guest."
Linda felt the burst of an idea.
"Hayford... Do you think Trey's loft is set up like that fashion designers?"
"I don't see why not. Not many people would use prime property solely for the purpose of storage."
"But Hayford... The officers were led in by the building manager. He showed them the place where Constance says that her son lives.”
When the words left her mouth, she immediately realized her mistake. At the time, when she’d sent the officers to investigate the building, no one knew about Trey Wellington. The officers had been sent to investigate the company printed on the card. Davis Antiquities. They’d gone to ask questions about a man named Samuel Gilmore. It wasn’t until Constance told them today that Trey lives at the same address, Linda understood why she’d missed an essential clue.
She looked at Hayford when she said...
"He wouldn't be the first person to cover for their boss."
"But lying to the police...?"
"It has been known to happen. Money not only makes people talk, it also can be used to encourage silence or if need be...lies."
"But, why would he lie? There wasn't any reason to deceive us. They just needed to search the building. Or to find someone there to talk too."
"The officers didn't tell the business manager the real reason they were there...did they?"
"No. When it became clear that the business address didn’t house offices; instead of questioning the employees, they asked if it were possible to check the place out. They made an excuse, stating that the person they were looking for could be somewhere inside."
“That sounds kind of flimsy. Are you sure the manager bought it?”
“The officers seemed to believe that he did.”
Now, her brain was really on a tilt a world; spinning out of control. Hayford's mind worked much like her own and she hated that until now her pessimism had not kicked in. Of course the building manager would be incline to guard the secrets of his benefactor, especially if that were part of his job. Linda twisted in her seat, her eyes lit with excitement.
"You've got to take me to that loft. If you're right, then I might find something there that will link Trey Wellington too these murders."
"Linda... I could be wrong. Maybe the loft is exactly what it is. A place to store the art. Not everyone values property and maybe the building didn’t suit Trey’s taste. Maybe he tells his mother that he lives there but actually, he lives someplace else."
They were heading in the direction of the precinct. He had hoped to drop her there only long enough to get her gun, and report off too her boss. He said...
"Babe... What makes you think that Trey's loft isn't exactly what it is? There could be aspects of his life that Trey’s mother knows nothing about."
"You said it yourself Hayford. Constance isn't the sort of woman to be fooled with. I'll bet, if he did have another place other than his loft, then she would be the one person her son would tell. No Hayford. The officers missed something and I'm willing to bet that Trey owns that entire building. He has to. It's the only thing that makes sense. I believe Constance when she says that he lives there."
"Constance may be a force to reckon with... But that doesn’t mean that she couldn’t be wrong."
"Hayford, dating you has taught me one important thing. Rich people love to gossip. And when they do, no ones secrets are safe. If Trey was shacking up with someone; by now the word would have leaked back to his momma bear." She sat straight, pleased with herself. "No Hayford.... I think those officers were purposely misled. I think that building manager showed them exactly what Trey wanted them to see. It's the only thing that makes sense. But this time, that manger won't know that we're wise to his deception."
"Linda... Call Stone. Let him handle this."
"You know I can't do that. Stone has to be at the airport to detain Trey for questioning."
"Then, call your commander. I'm sure he'll want to know about your hunch."
"This is more than a hunch. Besides... Bunts won't authorize any field work until I'm cleared by someone with letters behind their name. If he gets his way, I'll be chained to my desk for the rest of the week."
"And what makes you think I don't agree with your commander?"
"You know me Hayford and you know that my gut instincts are generally right on the money. We've been bamboozled by a man pretending to be helpful. The more I think about it, I'm sure of it. There’s something in that loft that we aren't supposed to see."
While Linda squirmed in her seat, the limo had merged into heavy traffic. When she peered through the side window, the street signs told her, if the driver didn't shift his direction soon, they would be heading in the wrong direction.
She leaned forward, reaching for the intercom button. Hayford's hand clasp hold, stilling her fingers. She stared at him, daring him to stop her. His voice was level when he said
"Linda.... Are you sure you really want to do this? We could just as easily call Commander Bunts and ask him to send a patrol car to investigate your theory."
"No Hayford. This is something I need to do. If someone else comes they won't know what to look for. But...you do. You told me that you've seen theses lofts and the way contractors cut them up and partition off the different sections."
"Linda...." He wanted this to be someone else’s problem to deal with but in her eyes, Hayford saw flaming fire. A determined will that wouldn't be doused. Reluctantly, he lifted his hand, while saying....
"All right... But after this... When we leave the loft. You'll clock out for the remainder of the day."
She nodded, if only to gain his cooperation. Truthfully, all morning she hadn't felt like herself. In spite of her sluggishness, her energy rekindled the second she spotted Angelica seated in an interview room. Finally she was uncovering hidden truths that had eluded them for nearly a months time. She couldn’t stop, now that she was so close to solving these crimes.
When the limo pulled up in front of the large building, Linda tilted her head back, peering up towards the roof. She could see how the building could be altered, especially with the right contractor and an architect with a creative mind. But like the officers sent here earlier today, the size of the building would have caused her to assume that the place was a business.
The passenger side door was opened on the curbside and the driver offered her his hand as she eased out of the vehicle. Hayford stepped out then he directed his driver to remain in the area.
"This won't take long Clive. Just hang around, and I'll call when we're finished here."
The tall man nodded, then returned to the limo. As they approached the locked entrance then rang the managers buzzer; Linda heard the sound of the vehicle pulling away and leaving the area. The streets weren't crowed but people strolled along the sidewalks. Most were either jogging, or talking on cell phones. Linda noticed two women walking alongside each other, chitchatting while pushing two extremely expensive baby carriages. For the past month, she'd spent most of her work hours driving in and around rich areas, attempting to coax people to talk. Now here she was again, attempting to gain entry into another rich persons property. Stone still hadn't admitted that the murders were in some way tied to money. But as her finger pressed the buzzer on a building that could easily house more than fifty people, very comfortably. Without a doubt, she couldn't ignore that all the dead were beautiful, young wealthy women. And her suspect was young, handsome and rich as well.
After pressing the buzzer, Linda's hand lowered to her side. A few seconds passed before worry crept in.
"I hope the officers from this morning didn't tip our hand."
"Tell me again.... What did the officers say to explain their presence?" Hayford looked at her, curiously.
"Nothing much. They told him that they needed to talk to someone regarding Samuel Gilmore. They made a point not to insinuate that we were interested in questioning him about the most recent murders."
After hearing this for the second time, Hayford wasn’t as convinced as her. He looked at the closed door, doubting that the officers had pulled off the ruse. Linda sensed his uneasiness. She said...
"I think they were convincing. When they left, they drove away instead of remaining in the area."
Hayford's brain filled with questions but to their astonishment, without warning, the door to the building opened. Too look at them, Linda and Hayford were dressed like a Manhattan power couple. Two people hunting for the perfect loft. They didn't know that the manager of the building had wrongly pegged them.
"Sorry folks, but if
you're looking for your realtor, you're at the wrong building. This building isn't for sale."
Before the door closed, Hayford held out his hand, stopping him. He looked to Linda, waiting for her to talk. She smiled, and all at once, the direction of the conversation shifted.
Linda looked at his outfit. The manager was wearing a blue work shirt with a matching pair of blue cotton pants. Printed in block letters on his shirt pocket was his name. Manuel Cortés. She smiled, while saying...
“Mr. Cortés...”
“Manny... Please, call me Manny.” His accent wasn’t thick, but his English hadn’t been learned here. Linda had several friends with Latin heritage and she’d learned how to discern the native and foreign English dialects. If she had to guess, Manny was from South America, where he’d learned to speak English.
Linda batted her eyes. A practiced move that generally slay me and Manny was no exception. She continued.
“Manny, I’m a good friend of Constance Davis-Wellington. I’m sure you know her. She’s your bosses mother. Trey Wellington.”
Manny’s face showed very little expression. Twice in one day the loft had received visitors. This was a first and he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this. His brand of solutions typically led to trouble but by the look of this couple he didn’t feel threatened. Not like he’d felt earlier that day when the two police officers came, sniffing around the place. Tugging on his belt buckle, Manny reminded himself of who he was. Manuel Cortés. Building manager. Employee to the proprietor, Trey Wellington. An illegal immigrant with forged documents saying everything contrary to the truth. Manny had lived under the radar for seventeen years. He knew the game and this couple would be just as easy to fool as the police had been.
Confident now in the belief that his El Salvadorian past was far behind him, Manny said...
“Yes, yes... I heard of Mrs. Wellington... But she not here. She never come here. This is the warehouse for Davis Antiquities.”
