Deal Killer (A Darby Farr Mystery)

by Vicki Doudera

“Yeah, yeah.” Gina nodded her head, and yet she still retained the fetal position.

  “I’m calling the detectives.” Darby punched in the numbers she’d added to her phone earlier, when she and Miles had gone to the station. She waited while the phone rang.

  At last the voice of Detective Benedetti answered. Darby explained the new evidence and asked if the detectives would come by.

  “Love to, but we’re no longer on the case,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Whole thing’s been reassigned.”

  “To another detective?” Darby was puzzled.

  “To a whole new division,” Benedetti said. “FBI.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say, Ms. Farr.”

  “Let me make sure I understand. The FBI is now handling the murder of Alec Rodin?”

  “Put it this way, things are a little deeper than they seem.”

  “Was Rodin an agent?”

  A pause. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. But there’s something going on.”

  “Did you learn anything about the perpetrator? Anything you can share?”

  “The only thing we can say with real certainty is that Rodin was killed by a woman. A woman, or a very slight, short guy.”

  “Explain.”

  “His wounds were consistent with the thrust of a person between five-foot four and five-foot eight inches tall. Someone with quickness, rather than strength.”

  “What about suspects? Can you tell me anything?”

  “What’s your interest in this, Ms. Farr? I mean, apart from the loony tune who tried to frame Professor Porter?”

  “We’ve discovered some links within the building, connections that seem worthwhile for follow-up.”

  “Humph. Interesting. Police work involves tracking down every single lead, many of them useless, but I tell you—if the Feds have been brought in, and I assure you they have, there’s something else going on. We’re not talking a little spat over parking at Central Park Place.”

  “I understand. One more thing—can you tell me the name of the lead FBI investigator?”

  “Yeah, he’s a guy out of D.C. Cardazzo.”

  Darby’s stomach clenched. She’d wanted Benedetti to say that the agent working the case was Ed Landis, but that would have been impossible. Landis, a Special Agent with whom she’d worked several times, had been killed in a freak helicopter accident two months ago.

  Darby thought back. She’d met Agent Cardazzo the summer before, when a buyer for a waterfront estate turned out to have connections with organized crime. “Detective, may I have his number?”

  “Sure.” He rattled it off and wished her good luck. “My personal guess is that this is a hit by the Russian mob,” he confided. “They’re an equal-opportunity racket, so why not get a woman to snuff Rodin out?” He sighed. “I gotta go work some other cases. You and your friends over on Central Park West stay safe.”

  Darby hung up and noticed Gina peering at her notes. “Sherry got me to measure a pair of pants she needed hemmed,” she said. “Without her power heels, she’s five-foot-five.”

  “Everything fits except her motive. How does killing Rodin ensure she’ll get the apartment?”

  “I’ll have to think about it. Who are you calling now?”

  “This guy Cardazzo. Just so happens I met him in Maine.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “On the brusque side.” She waited to see if he would answer, got a recording, and left a message. There was the sound of the door being unlocked. “Great—Miles is back.”

  He entered with a cheery hello and stopped short when he saw Gina. “Darby, don’t tell me you’ve given away all my clothes,” he joked.

  “Yes, everything down to your last sock. Sit down, we’ve got lots to tell you.”

  She and Gina brought him up to date on what they’d learned and he gave a low whistle

  “The FBI, eh? There’s more to this case than we think.” He perused the square sticky-backed notes on the table, stopping to point at the one labeled “Jeremy.”

  “He picked Natalia up from class for a late lunch,” Miles noted.

  “Today?”

  “That’s right. I asked him where he worked, and he gave me the name of the firm. On the way home I called, pretending to be looking for a reference. I got a very chatty fellow who told me Jeremy is one of the best traders on the floor, putting in crazy hours and the like.”

  “Not if he’s taking late lunches with Natalia,” Darby said dryly.

  “True, but I think it’s because he’s smitten with her.” Miles gave a little smile. “Happens, you know.”

  “What else did the chatty co-worker say?” Gina asked.

  “He said that Jeremy isn’t afraid to take a chance, even if it doesn’t always pan out, and that his attitude is exactly what one needs in the cutthroat world of trading.” He thought a moment. “I nearly forgot the most important thing. Jeremy was in the office, on the floor trading, all afternoon on Thursday. This guy was completely positive.”

  “Okay, so he is one of the few with an alibi.” Darby consulted her notepad. “Seems like we have a few things to check up on. Hopefully Agent Cardazzo will call me back, number one. Then there is the litigation with Penn’s firm and Rodin. Who wants to look into it? I’m curious about Mikhail’s fertilizer companies, especially this little environmental problem he had with the locals, so I’m going to see what I can find on that.”

  “But Mikhail sold his companies, didn’t he?” Gina was rooting in her backpack for a granola bar. It was hours since she’d munched on animal crackers with the boys and she was starved.

  “True, but if Rodin bailed him out of something, maybe it had to do with his businesses.”

  Miles cocked his head. “Should I look into the litigation, Gina? I’ve got some time.”

  “Great.” She unwrapped a snack bar and took a bite. “Penn’s firm is Corcoran, Corcoran, and Sterling.” She looked at her watch, took another bite. “I’ve got to go and meet Bethany to sign our leases for the store.”

  “How about those jumpers? Do you want them now?” Miles stood and queried Gina, his hands on his hips.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “You know that when he says ‘jumpers’ he means ‘sweaters’?” Darby couldn’t help but tease.

  “Jolly right,” Gina said. “Let’s go get them.”

  _____

  Time for lunch, thought Peggy Babson, following the narrow path that led through the living room piles to the stove. She opened the refrigerator and then shut it, quickly, as the stench of something rotten assailed her nostrils. Well, I’m not eating anything from there! She recoiled from the fridge and opened a cupboard. Perhaps a nice bowl of soup?

  There was a whole stack of cans in the cupboard, and at least a few of them were condensed soup. She nodded with satisfaction. The only issue now would be a clean pot.

  She rummaged in a lower cabinet until she found a pot that looked reasonably clean. She moved stacks of newspapers and boxes around on her range until she had cleared a small radius around one burner, and then she turned on the gas.

  The blue flames shot up hungrily while Peggy picked her soup. The cans were all appealing, but in the end she decided on cream of mushroom. Naturally, it was the can near the bottom of the stack, but she was confident she could dislodge it without too much trouble.

  Somewhere in the house she heard the cries of Pete and remembered that she owed him some food. He could have a bowl of cream of mushroom soup, too, she decided. He’d enjoy a change from plain old dog food.

  She put her hands on the can of soup and yanked it quickly from the stack. For a minute she thought her rapid tug had worked, that the mound of cans would not topple. She thought of magicians who performed similar tricks and decided it wa
s not very difficult. Just then, the entire stack of metal cans came down, straight at her head.

  Diced tomatoes in their own juices and tender niblets of corn tumbled from the shelf, but it was a five-pound can of baked beans that did the damage. It struck her just above the right eye, knocking her to the floor, where her head whammed into a foot-high stone bunny. The statue was a relatively new acquisition, and missing one ear, but Peggy had spotted it on a neighbor’s front porch and felt the familiar itch that meant she had to have it.

  Later, those same neighbors would find Pete outside their door, looking as if he needed a good meal but otherwise fine. The house down the street had not fared as well. The fire department described the structure and its contents as a total loss. As for Peggy Babson, she was found to have perished in the blaze.

  twenty-one

  A deep, resonant male voice on the other end of the phone said Devin’s name.

  Rona held her breath, her mind racing. The voice said the name again, this time in a questioning tone.

  “Hey,” she said, in that breathless way her daughter said it.

  “Well hey to you, too.” The man sounded older—as in Rona’s age—but she couldn’t be sure. “I was hoping you could come and keep me company later on. Say, dessert and drinks? I can’t wait to spoil my little angel.”

  “Yeah.” She tried to sound eager, hoping he’d say more.

  “Come to the townhouse, okay?”

  “Hmmm …” She hoped that she sounded indecisive.

  “Ah, come on baby, I know you prefer the Upper East Side, but Midtown isn’t that bad.” He gave the address, which Rona scribbled down.

  “See you at eight, sugar,” the voice said.

  Rona hung up, her head pounding. Was this the source of Devin’s pocket change? Had he supplied her with drugs, too?

  Rona licked her lips. This mystery man was in for the shock of his life.

  _____

  Miranda pushed the buzzer of the penthouse. Beside her, panting on his leash, was Korbut. He whined.

  “I know, I know, you need a drink,” she said to the wolfhound, stroking the top of his head. She’d already dropped off Mimi and Honey, after putting all three dogs through a brisk two-mile walk. At Vera Graff’s she’d asked Yvette if the rumor about an antique sword having been stolen from their apartment was true.

  The maid, her whole body quaking, had said yes, and that it was the weapon used to kill the Russian man.

  “Was anything else taken?”

  A jittery Gallic shrug and then Yvette had surprised her by answering, “Some coins, a little horse, a crystal paperweight, and a small jeweled egg.”

  Miranda had thanked her, given her Mimi, and climbed the elevator to the penthouse. She once more pushed the buzzer.

  “Okay, Korbut, I guess I get to root around again for the key.” She found it, inserted into the door, and she and Korbut entered.

  The apartment was not entirely quiet. Down the hallway, Miranda could hear music from behind a closed door. She reached over and unclasped Korbut’s leash.

  The dog went bounding down the hallway, nudging open a doorway and bursting in. Instantly the music was louder. Miranda was wondering if that was where his water bowl was kept when Natalia appeared in the room’s door frame.

  Naked.

  She didn’t look down the hallway, didn’t see Miranda, but instead tugged the door closed, this time more securely. Miranda heard the click of the latch, said a quiet “huh,” and clutching the leash, left the apartment, re-locking the door behind her.

  _____

  As Rona approached the door of Devin’s apartment, she heard the chirpy voice of Heather Cox saying hello.

  “Are you—I mean, I know you’re really upset—but is it, like, any easier today?”

  Rona met her wide eyes with an unsmiling face. “No.”

  “Oh. I get it.” She stood behind Rona as she unlocked the door. “Well, I’m glad I’m here to help.”

  Rona was about to say she didn’t need or want any help when she stopped herself. Maybe she could use Heather’s help after all.

  “Yes, I’m glad, too.”

  The smile on the girl’s face was pathetic.

  Rona pushed open the door and the two went in. “I wonder if you can look through the kitchen drawers and cabinets, Heather, for anything that looks valuable. The insurance company has asked me to make a list of items, and they need it right away.”

  “What about valuable kitchen stuff? Like good knives? Or a Panini maker?”

  “That might be good. Tell you what: look for some paper and keep track of those kinds of things, okay?”

  The girl nodded and got right to work. Rona sighed and headed into the bedroom. Heather would be out of her hair for a while at least.

  She started first with the nightstands, opening the little drawers and poking around on the shelves. She found a heavy crystal paper weight, decided it could be valuable, wrapped it in one of Devin’s old tee shirts and slipped it into her bag.

  On the dresser, she opened a brightly colored cigar box and found some jewelry. Nothing caught her eye until she picked up a familiar-looking watch. She flipped it over. “To CB from RR.”

  The watch brought back a series of memories. She remembered finding it downtown and having it engraved with the inscription. Giving it to Charles after he bought the apartment—actually, the day he moved in—right after his wife had skedaddled. She and Charles had been close for a while there. Maybe they would be again.

  How had Devin come to own this watch?

  Rona let out a long hiss of air. There was only one explanation. Her daughter had been a thief.

  She tossed the watch in her bag and continued looking. She’d forgotten all about Heather, hard at work in the kitchen, and was nearly finished with the dresser, when she came upon a shoebox wedged into the bottom drawer.

  She sat on her haunches and opened the box. Inside was a heavy horse figurine, its body smooth and black, with eyes some kind of glittering jewels. Beside it was a small pile of coins, and something wrapped in purple velvet.

  Rona unwrapped the object, which was heavy and about the size of her palm. It was an egg—but not just any egg. It was a jeweled Easter egg, light pink in color, encrusted with diamonds and pearls. She held her breath and looked at it. It was truly gorgeous.

  “Cool.” The voice of Heather from the doorway interrupted her reverie.

  Rona shoved the egg in her bag, but then thought better of it. “I’m sorry,” she said to Heather. She pulled out the egg and held it out. “You’d probably like to see this. I gave it to Devin a few years ago at Easter. None of these little gems are real, but it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  Heather knelt down. “They look real, that’s for sure.” She held out a hand and Rona was forced to hand her the egg. The girl fingered the different enamel panels and Rona was about to tell her to stop when a part of the egg sprung open, revealing a heart-shaped frame and three tiny portraits.

  “Wow! This is really amazing!”

  “Yes!” Rona backpedaled, amazed at what the girl had discovered. “I forgot about that!”

  “Who are these people?”

  “Old family members,” Rona answered. She stuck out her hand. “Better get back to work,” she said, taking back the egg and wrapping it in the velvet.

  Heather handed her a steno-sized notebook. “Here’s what I found. Nothing too valuable.” She stood. “I’ve got to go. Have you figured out what to do about the apartment?”

  “No—I’ll just break the lease, I guess.”

  “I’d be interested in renting it, if you want someone to see Devin’s lease through.” She smiled. “I wrote my number down on the list. And I wouldn’t be creeped out that Devin died here, because she was my friend.”

  “Uh-huh.” Rona supposed this was a compliment.
“Thanks. And thanks a lot for your help.”

  “No problem.”

  Rona went back into Devin’s bedroom. She put the shoebox back into the drawer and continued looking through the closets, the glittering pink egg impossible to forget.

  _____

  Corcoran, Corcoran, and Sterling proved an easy place to obtain information, at least for Miles Porter. Darby marveled at the way he chatted up a paralegal, telling her that he was a new guy, helping out with the discovery. “I’m making sure the case is well and truly dropped,” he explained. “I’m supposed to take my little sister out for dinner for her sweet sixteenth, and I was afraid I’d have to cancel given this whole thing.” She heard him say that yes, they’d been lucky that Rodin was now out of the picture, and yes, it had been a frivolous claim to begin with, but what could you do. A minute later, he hung up.

  “Penn Cooper’s firm gave Alec Rodin bad advice on an investment,” he said, “and Rodin was ready to sue.”

  “What kind of investment?”

  “Condos in Miami. There were several investors—including Mikhail Kazakova.”

  “No way! So Mikhail was probably annoyed about these condos, too, right?”

  “I imagine so. I wonder whether his beef would have been with Alec, the one who got him into it?”

  “Interesting. Was Penn Cooper directly on the line?”

  “Doesn’t appear so, but who knows. What are you finding out?”

  “I’m reading about Mikhail’s fertilizer company in the Chelya-binsk region of the Ural Mountains. The local residents claimed that toxic substances were leaching into their water supply from the disposal of chemicals used at the factory. There were lots of protests, but it doesn’t look like it really went anywhere.”

  “Any familiar names?”

  “Mikhail is mentioned quite a bit as the then president of the company, but nothing else.” She looked a moment more and then said, “Hang on. One of the leaders of the opposition against the factory—her name is Elena Bokeria.”

  “Bokeria? Isn’t that Sergei’s family name?”

  “Exactly. Perhaps it’s common in the Urals.”

  “We need to find out if there is any connection. Certainly would give Sergei a reason to dislike Mikhail.”