Darby nodded. “Not sure how it helps us with Alec Rodin’s murder, though.” She rubbed her temples and scrunched up her nose. “I need some fresh air. What about you?”
“Capital idea. Let’s go for a stroll, maybe find some of those warm chestnuts.” He held Darby’s jacket for her and then shrugged on his own as well. “I’m going to need to take you for a good dinner tonight, too.”
“You’ve got it.” She turned and faced him. “Maybe we’ll talk more about Simon tonight?”
Miles shrugged. “There’s not much to talk about until we see what happens, love. If he doesn’t want to see me, that’s pretty much the end of it.”
“He’ll want to see you.”
“Then we’ll figure out the timing and make a plan.”
“Okay.” She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Off we go to find chestnuts.”
_____
“I saw the strangest thing today.” Mikhail Kazakova was standing before the window in Miranda Style’s apartment, gazing out at the view.
She appeared with a drink and handed it to him. “What’s that?”
He took the glass and reached a hand around her waist. “Thank you, my dear.” He took a sip. “It’s quite terrible, really. I was standing on the street corner, near Wall Street, waiting with a horde of people to cross, and suddenly there was a kind of a scream, and this man next to me flew into the line of traffic.”
Miranda put her drink down. She looked at his profile, until he turned to her and laughed.
“It’s okay, I wasn’t hurt at all,” he said.
“What about the other guy?”
“He didn’t fare so well, I’m afraid. Some sort of delivery truck was coming through and he landed right in front of it.”
“He was pushed.”
“Apparently so.”
Miranda took a sip of her drink. “Do you think that shove was meant for you?”
“Me? No, I do not.” He took a long gulp of the drink. “Why do you say that?”
She sighed and sat down gracefully on a white leather couch, her long brown legs folded elegantly in front of her. “Alec was murdered five days ago in broad daylight. You’re describing an accident today in the closest proximity possible, also in the middle of the day. Yes, I think there’s a possibility that you’re a target.”
He turned from the window. “I don’t see why.”
“It could be any number of reasons, couldn’t it, Mikhail?”
“I don’t know.” He made an exasperated sound. “I suppose. What do you think I should do?”
“Have Sergei guard you.”
“Absolutely not. He’s Natalia’s bodyguard. She’s the one in danger.”
“From whom?”
Mikhail shrugged. “The world is a treacherous place. I will not remove her protection.”
“Then arrange for your own. Immediately.”
“You really think I should?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make a call tomorrow.”
“Did you see anything or anyone when this man was pushed?”
He shook his head. “It happened so fast. I heard the noise of his yell, felt him brush by me, and then the screech of brakes … A very brutal way to die.”
“And virtually impossible to solve, unless there were witnesses or a security or traffic camera.”
“Yes. But let’s leave all that and talk of other things. You are busy? Our Korbut is keeping you in fine shape, I see.”
“Korbut, and my other clients.”
“And your other business?”
Mikhail knew that Miranda had another life, but he did not pry. She had made it clear to him that those were the ground rules, and other than some innocent questions, he did not press the issue.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “My little business on the side is going fine.”
He finished his drink. “I think we should dine out tonight. Somewhere opulent. In fact, I want to surprise you.”
“Sounds exciting. I’ll get dressed while you make the arrangements.” As Miranda chose a pale ivory dress from her closet and proceeded to put it on, she remembered seeing Natalia naked, obviously in the middle of some afternoon delight.
She decided she would not tell Mikhail, at least not now. He had enough to worry about.
_____
Special Agent David Cardazzo called just as Miles and Darby had finished their walk. They had stopped to admire the outside of Central Park Place, and were seated on a bench directly in front of the building.
“Can you talk?” The agent asked, his voice gruff.
“Yes.”
“I imagine you’re calling about the murder of Alec Rodin, am I correct?”
“Yes.” Darby could not keep the surprise out of her voice. “I’m amazed that you know.”
“Detective Benedetti provided us with a list of anyone he’d spoken with. When I saw your name, I put two and two together.” He paused. “Not difficult.”
“I see.” She frowned at Miles. So far this wasn’t going very well.
“I certainly appreciate your taking the time, Agent Cardazzo. I don’t remember if you recall our meeting in Maine—”
“Of course I do. Listen: here’s the deal. We’ve taken over this case, so any information you discover should come directly to me.”
“I see.” Quickly Darby ran through the discoveries she, Gina, and Miles had made over the course of the last few days. Were any of them really facts, or were they just conjecture, or even worse, interesting tidbits? It was a fact that Penn Cooper’s firm had been engaged in a lawsuit with Alec Rodin, but was that FBI worthy information? Sherry Cooper had been a standout fencer in college. Did that mean she’d murdered someone?
“You know about the sword coming from Vera Graff’s apartment,” she said lamely.
“Yes.” His tone was impatient. “It was what killed Rodin.”
Her heart fluttered a little. Had they possessed real confirmation of this fact before?
“Alec Rodin was in a lawsuit over some investment advice,” she offered.
“Yes, Corcoran, Corcoran, and Sterling. They’ve been forthcoming.”
“Penn Cooper lives in the building where the Kazakovas live.”
“Huh.” He sounded unimpressed. “Listen, Darby, I recall that you seemed to enjoy playing detective back on Hurricane Harbor. Ed Landis humored you, I know. But this isn’t Maine. This is New York. You’re way out of your league here, and things aren’t what they seem. I suggest you enjoy the rest of your visit with Mr. Porter, and then head on back to California.” He paused. “Call me if you have some real information. Goodbye.”
The line went dead. Darby turned to Miles, her mouth agape.
“Now that was a brush-off,” she said, her voice becoming angry. “I remember that guy was annoying, but … ugh!”
Miles gave a small smile. “As frustrating as that was, Cardazzo’s call gave us yet another piece of the puzzle.”
“Not really. All he did was confirm that the sword was the murder weapon. I guess that’s something, sure—”
“No, I mean that because of the timing of his call, we were still sitting here on this bench, and I happened to see Kazakova’s driver leave the building from the private exit. Do you know who was seated behind the driver?”
“Mikhail? Natalia?”
“The dog walker.”
“No! Miranda Styles?”
“I’m pretty positive.”
“How could you tell?”
“She leaned forward, and I saw her arm and part of her face. I’m sure it was Miranda.”
“Maybe they’re taking Korbut to the vet.” Darby started giggling, and Miles joined in.
“Or off to buy him some dog treats.” He grinned. “If anyone will know what’s going on, it’s Ra
mon. Let’s go pick his brain.”
They practically ran across Central Park West until they met up with the doorman. As usual, he ribbed Miles and flattered Darby.
“Still here with this broken-down Brit, eh? Well sometimes I think the redcoats won after all. Women hear an English accent and they go all gooey. Isn’t that right, Mr. Bean?”
“True, my friend. I’m tempted to give you some lessons so that you, too, can charm the—uh—knickers off the ladies in your life.”
“Deal.” He gave a broad smile and then narrowed his eyes. “Okay, watcha looking for?”
“Miranda Styles and Mikhail Kazakova. We just saw them leaving together.”
Ramon shifted uncomfortably and let out a sigh. “That’s a toughie.” His dark eyes darted around the opulent lobby. “I could get in big trouble for saying something.”
“Let me ask the questions, then, and you won’t say anything.” It was a technique Miles taught his students in the beginning investigative journalism class. He found that once a source gave a few nods, they were more likely to start talking without any prompts.
“Are Mikhail and Miranda romantically involved?”
A quick nod from Ramon.
“Has this been going on for some time, say a year?”
Another nod. “At least.” Ramon chewed the inside of his lip. “They are super discreet, but still …” he paused, looked around again. “I know Kazakova’s driver.”
“I see.” Miles thought a moment. “Miranda walks his dog, too, along with several others.”
More nods. “She does something else, too, but I don’t know what it is. In between walking dogs she has another life.”
Another life. Darby thought about that as she and Miles rode in silence up to the ninth floor. What was Miranda Styles doing with her time, when she wasn’t with Mikhail or her canine charges?
“Personal trainer,” Miles said aloud as the elevator doors opened. “She’s extremely fit.”
“That’s as good a guess as any.” Darby yawned.
“Nap before dinner? I’ve got my sights set on a little Indian place tonight.”
“You’re on. I feel like my brain needs a rest.”
“Good idea. Let the brain rest and the body work.” He waggled his eyebrows and opened the door.
_____
Rona Reichels found the Midtown address without any trouble. She paused before a nondescript door, her heart pounding. It was eight o’clock and she could not believe she was going to confront the man who’d been Devin’s lover.
She gave a discreet knock and the door opened. A balding, middle-aged man in red boxers and a tee shirt stood before her, his face changing from delight to dismay.
“You’re not my baby angel,” he faltered.
Rona pushed her way in. “No, I’m not. Your baby angel is dead, and I’m her mother.”
He deflated like a balloon. “Devin … dead?”
“Yes.” She looked around the apartment with her appraising real estate eye and thought Expensive. Whatever his outward appearance, this guy had money. “We need to talk.”
“Let me put on some clothes.” He hurried from the room.
Rona thought briefly of her safety and decided she did not really care. Bring it on, she thought grimly. Gun, knife, whatever. She was ready.
He returned wearing a pair of dark pants and a button-down shirt. “I didn’t get your name,” he said.
“Rona.” She exhaled. “I’m trying to figure out a few things. Were you and Devin a couple?”
He gave a kind of chuckle and sigh at the same time. “I wish. A knockout like Devin … and a guy like me.” His grin was sappy-sad. “No. We connected through a website service that matches young women with older men.”
“A dating site?”
“No, more like … companionship.”
“And sex?” Rona stared him down. “Is that part of the bargain?”
He looked away. “It can be.”
“Ugh.”
“Hey, I’m not ashamed. Devin signed up to be an angel of her own free will. We connected, and I showered her with gifts. She seemed to enjoy being with me.”
“Money? Did you give her money?”
“Sure. She was struggling to pay back loans, and it was tough. Her mother was always on her back …”
He stopped.
Rona shook her head, moved to the door, pulled it open.
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “Really, I am. I liked her. She was very sweet.”
Rona bit her lip and walked away.
twenty-two
“Okay, let’s get back to basics,” said Darby to Miles. They were at a bustling Indian restaurant not far from Central Park Place, enjoying curry and an intriguing Indian beer.
“What do you mean by ‘basics’? You mean, who had a motive?”
“Yes, but I was thinking of starting with the murder weapon itself. It’s the only piece of evidence we have—the antique sword.”
“Saber, really …” Miles broke off a piece of a papadum and dabbed it into a green curry.
“Okay, saber. Who could have stolen it? Remember Vera said there was no evidence of a break-in, so either they left their apartment unlocked, or someone used a key.”
“Or it was one of them. After all, Detective Benedetti said it was a woman.”
“True, but even if those two weren’t ensconced in their apartment all afternoon, I doubt they’d have the physical strength to kill Rodin. That’s got to be a pretty forceful thrust to penetrate the chest cavity, puncture the lungs, right?”
Miles looked down at his dinner.
“Sorry if I’m ruining your appetite! Think about it though—who could have gotten into that apartment easily and with a key?”
“The superintendent.”
“Yes. And he could have sold the sword to an antique shop.”
“I wonder if Benedetti checked any shops nearby? He wouldn’t be very good at his job if he hadn’t.”
“Who else had easy access?”
“Well, Natalia was in there a fair amount, but I doubt she’s got a key. Cleaning lady?”
“That’s Yvette, remember?”
“Who else gets keys to properties?”
Just then Darby flashed on her lawsuit with the Davenports, how a key she’d had to the house didn’t work, because the entire door unit had been changed. A nagging voice said: why had it been changed? She tabled that question for now and turned to Miles.
“Real estate agents have keys, and I bet you that Rona was the listing broker for this apartment when Vera bought it.” She grabbed her smartphone and checked the list Todd Stockton had sent her. “Yes!”
“So Rona keeps the keys from when she lists the property, then sneaks in and steals the saber, uses it to kill Alec Rodin because, four years later, she’s still angry over losing all that money. The fact that it’s an antique weapon makes it look like it’s some sort of Russian crime of passion.”
“What should we do? Should we try to talk to Rona?”
“Why not?” Miles glanced at his watch. “It’s only nine-thirty, early by New York standards. Let’s settle up here and go see what she says.”
_____
Gina phoned while Darby and Miles were making their way back to Central Park Place.
“Anything new? Seems like ages since we talked.”
Darby brought her up to date on the conversation with Agent Cardazzo as well as Miles’s spotting of Miranda and Mikhail.
“So they are an item,” Gina mused. “Wonder if Natalia knows?” She was silent for a moment. “Something I just remembered about Miranda … something I thought was strange at the time. She wears a gun. I saw it when Vera collapsed and she was helping me.”
Darby told Miles who frowned. “Perhaps she’s worried about being attacked by
dogs?”
“I heard that,” Gina said. “Pepper spray I can see, but what dog walker wears a gun?” She sighed. “Where are you guys headed now?”
Darby described their hunch that Rona could still possess keys to Vera Graff’s apartment.
“Are you going to point blank ask her?” Gina wondered. “Isn’t she going to just deny it?” She thought of her ruse with the dog collar. “What if you pound on Rona’s door and ask if there is any chance she has a key to Vera’s, because you’re worried about her and you can’t reach the super. Say that you hear weird noises or something, and nobody answers when you knock.”
“Great idea, Gina, and it might actually work.”
_____
Darby and Miles climbed the stairs to three-twelve. Both were panting slightly from the exertion of climbing, which they thought would add to their performance. “Ready?” Miles whispered.
“Ready.”
He pounded on the door.
Almost instantly, Rona opened it. She was wearing a satin robe over pajamas, and her face was bereft of any makeup. Darby remembered Devin’s recent death and her heart clenched for the woman.
“We’re checking to see if anyone can help us. The old lady in five-fifteen is making strange noises and we can’t get the super. Nobody answers when we knock and we’re worried that something is going on.”
“Five-fifteen … that’s Vera Graff. Have you called the police?”
“Not yet,” Miles lied. “We were trying to get in there first. We don’t want to embarrass the old lady if it’s nothing, but all the same, every second counts.” He wrung his hands. “Somebody mentioned that you are a real estate agent and that you might have a key.”
Rona started, glanced into her apartment and back. “I don’t think so.”
Inwardly, Darby groaned. It was not going to work.
“I know Mrs. Graff will be thankful if we don’t have to call the authorities, make a big fuss …”
Rona must have seen dollar signs because she put up a finger. “Let me just check. Sometimes I do have old keys rattling around.”
She returned minutes later, handing him a key with a flourish. “Didn’t even know I had it. Bring it back as soon as you can and let me know how she is.”
Deal Killer (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 24
