“Then you might as well scoot me home,” I said. “It’s after four-thirty.”
“I’m psyched. Haven’t been to a game since July. We make it to the pennant, your pal Joan is going to collect on my promise. Told her last year I’d take her.”
My best girlfriends-in the office and apart from it-all adored Mike and had gotten to know him well over the years. They liked his intelligence and his humor, too, but mostly appreciated the way he covered my back in every conceivable circumstance.
Nina Baum and Joan Stafford were my two closest confidantes, lifelong buddies with whom I’d been through every triumph and tragedy. Nina, my college roommate, lived on the West Coast with her husband and son, while Joan and her husband split their time between New York and Washington, D.C.
“Joanie’s in town. I’ll be watching at her place tonight,” I said as we went through the underpass in Central Park. “She’ll never let you welsh on that one, so you’d best get on that advance ticket line at the crack of dawn. And count me in on that round.”
“Deal.”
By the time we made a rough plan about our approach to the witnesses we needed to interview, we were less than a block from my apartment.
“I’ll jump out here, Mike. I need to stop at the cash machine and pick up some groceries.”
“Call you in the morning,” he said, pulling over to the curb.
“Only if we win. If you don’t pull the Yankees through tonight, I may hand you back over to McKinney.”
He whelped at me once as he drove away, and the coven of little old ladies on the corner of the street turned to stare.
I did some errands and walked another block to my apartment, enjoying the opportunity to be at home much earlier than was usual. Neither of the doormen stepped out to greet me as I approached, but one of the porters came running from the mail room when he heard my footsteps. “Sorry, Ms. Cooper. Need a hand?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Where’s Vinny?” I said, walking to the elevator.
“He’s on meal and Oscar went home sick. I’m trying to cover, but it’s been crazy busy.”
When the elevator reached the lobby, I pressed twenty and rummaged through my tote for my keychain, replaying the information that had unfolded throughout the day.
If Billy Schultz was telling the truth about recognizing Minerva Hunt, why had she been to Tina Barr’s apartment on other occasions? Was it weird, or was it just natural curiosity that led him to pick up the mask that the perpetrator had worn-if he had not in fact been the masked intruder?
I turned the key in the lock and went inside, flipping on the foyer light. I left the bag with the orange juice and English muffins next to the credenza and started down the hallway toward the linen closet with the cosmetics I’d bought at the drugstore.
The bedroom door ahead of me was closed. In a split second I reminded myself that it was Thursday and that my housekeeper had not been in today. I was sure I had left the door open, as always, and I slowed my pace.
I heard noise from within-a sound like the closing of a dresser drawer. I began to back up, wondering for how long the building’s entrance had been unsecured this afternoon, and whether someone who didn’t belong here had gotten inside. My thoughts flashed to members of the Latin Princes gang, whose leader I had successfully prosecuted, and who had stalked me relentlessly during the summer.
I scrambled to retrace my steps to the front door, and as I turned, the long strap of my tote caught on the door handle of the guest bedroom. The contents dumped out as I bent to unhook it, and the drugstore purchases scattered onto the floor.
I let go of everything and dashed to the foyer. I could hear the bedroom door opening and my adrenaline kicked in as I ran faster. In that short sprint, I was breathing as rapidly as if I’d completed a 5K race. I pulled on the doorknob just as I heard the man’s voice.
“Alexandra? C’est toi?”
I exhaled and steadied myself against the door, throwing my head back, thinking how unnerved I’d been by the thought of an intruder.
“Have I upset you, mon ange? This was meant to be such a great surprise,” Luc Rouget said as he stepped over the packages to make his way toward me, wearing only the towel that was draped around his waist. “Are you all right, Alex?”
I nodded and smiled. He wrapped me in an embrace and I held on to him with all my strength.
FIFTEEN
We were still in bed together nearly an hour later, Luc cradling me in his long, slender arms, laughing about the fact that Joan Stafford’s wonderful plan to help him surprise me had almost back-fired.
“I’m telling you, we both thought it was foolproof,” Luc said. “I had to be in Washington last night to meet with some investors, so we took the shuttle up together today and had lunch around the corner at Swifty’s. So perfectly American, that place. Then Joan brought me up here to settle me in. Faites comme chez vous, she told me, and so I did.”
Joan and I had always had keys to each other’s apartments, and the doormen knew her as well as they knew my parents and brothers.
“I’m delighted you made yourself at home,” I said, kissing the tip of his nose.
“We did all the shopping at Grace’s Marketplace so that I could fix you a delicious dinner by the time you got here from the office. But Joanie said you never, never get out before seven, eight o’clock. Jamais, jamais.”
“I rarely do. But we were working on an investigation uptown, not far from here. I’ve had a few late nights this week, so it was a treat to be early. I don’t know why I was so jumpy.”
Luc brushed back the curls from around my forehead and kissed me on the mouth, long and tenderly. “Are you feeling better now?”
“Like a different person.”
“I don’t want you to be someone else, Alexandra. I made love to you, not to any other woman.”
“I’m not the least bit confused about that,” I said, rolling onto my side to sit up.
“Because if you are, then I’m happy to try to remind you.” Luc reached up and playfully pulled me down beside him. He ran his finger slowly down my spine, then along the back of my leg, kissing the crook of my knee. “Looks exactly like you, feels exactly like you, and tastes deliciously the same as you did last time.”
“I might taste even better after I clean up.”
“Take one of your luxurious bubble baths, darling. I’m going to start preparing dinner.”
“Will I be the guinea pig for any new tastings?”
Luc’s father, Andre Rouget, was a great French restaurateur who’d changed the culinary scene in New York City when he founded Lutèce in a townhouse on the East Side. Luc had followed in his father’s footsteps in a French village called Mougins, where his elegant four-star restaurant was a destination for locals and travelers in the south of France. He’d been courted by several backers to reopen Lutèce and restore the reputation of the famous eatery, and was making frequent trips to America to move the plan forward.
“No, no. I’ve had my nose in so many French menus these last few weeks that I decided to cook Italian tonight. Ça va?”
“Ça va bien. Anything I can do to help?”
“In the kitchen?” Luc asked. “Then I would really be concerned I was with an imposter. You just relax, Alexandra. I don’t need a sous-chef; I need a hungry woman.”
I went into the bathroom and ran the hot water, sprinkling in bath salts that I’d brought back from Paris.
The relationship with Luc had no emotional complications. He was mature at forty-eight and quite direct. Divorced after fifteen years of marriage to an unfaithful woman, Luc was devoted to the two children whose custody he shared with his ex. I liked that about him, and looked forward to meeting the boys he so adored.
The only issue that nagged at me as I found myself falling in love was what Nina teasingly referred to as his “GU”-the geographic undesirability of his faraway home. Luc’s spending so much time in the States as he explored his new business venture made it easy fo
r me to stay focused between his visits, but the reality was that most of the time we were separated by an ocean and the craggy foothills of the Maritime Alps.
When I finished bathing, I pulled on a pair of leggings and a five-year-old navy blue sweatshirt with Jeter’s name and number 2 on the back. If I couldn’t be at the Yankee game, at least I could carry the colors. I swept my hair into a ponytail and dabbed Luc’s favorite perfume behind my ears and on my throat.
The telephone rang as I was about to leave my bedroom. Luc came toward me from the kitchen. “You want me to answer?”
“I’m just screening,” I said. “I’m hoping it’s not business.”
It took most of the guys I dated a while to understand that whenever senior prosecutors were working investigations, phones and beepers went beyond the boundaries of eight-hour workdays.
“I’m at the stadium, Coop.” Mike’s voice talking to my answering machine jolted me as though he had just stepped into the bedroom between Luc and me. “Can’t find a frigging television anywhere. If you haven’t left for Joan’s yet, be sure you catch Jeopardy! for us. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
I took Luc’s glasses off the bridge of his nose and kissed his forehead.
“Ah, that’s one of your detective friends, non? You and Joan have talked about him. He calls about this trivia game, too?”
I continued down the hallway toward the kitchen, changing the subject. “The sauce smells fabulous. What is it?”
“He’s the one Joanie told me-how do you say?-has a crush on you.”
“We’ve been friends since my rookie year in the office. I think he’d laugh out loud at that suggestion.”
“I’d like to meet these guys who get to spend so much time with you,” Luc said, reaching around me, as he kissed the nape of my neck, to put out the wineglasses.
“Next time you’re here we can do that,” I said, dreading the thought of my favorite alpha-dog detective going head-to-head with my very confident French lover. “That way maybe I can get an actual arrival date from you.”
Luc turned me around and pulled me in, kissing me again and again. “So much for my surprise.”
I wrapped my arms around his slim shoulders and kissed him back. “I love your surprise. I’m very happy tonight.”
“Then I’ll let you in on my schedule. On Saturday I fly to San Francisco. I’ve got meetings in Napa and Sonoma, with vintners. Then to Los Angeles, Houston, Atlanta -”
“Food tastings everywhere?”
“Poor me, right? And then I’m back here in about ten days. You think you can get away for a weekend on Martha’s Vineyard? You tend to the fireplace and I’ll keep you well fed.”
Luc didn’t want to hear that my answer depended on the progress of the investigation.
“That gives me something to dream about.”
He took me by the hand and led me back to the kitchen. “I know this isn’t your forte, but I’m going to give you this wooden spoon and have you stir for me while I check on the chicken.”
“I didn’t think you trusted me enough to let me near one of your creations.”
“I’ve got a lot riding on this dish, Alexandra. You know put-tanesca sauce?” Luc asked. “Named for the Neapolitan ladies of the night. Legend has it that when these women brought home sailors to entertain, this recipe was used as an aphrodisiac.”
“Then I’ll stir more vigorously,” I said.
Over dinner, I told Luc some of the details of the case. He had used his warmth and charm, ever since we met months earlier, to get me to open myself to him.
“You’re not drinking,” he said. “Won’t you have some wine?”
“I’m so tired after this crazy week we’ve had. Just these few sips are enough.”
“How’s my sauce working?”
I rubbed my stomach and nodded. “Those girls in Naples knew exactly what they were doing.”
Luc stood up and blew out the candles. “I think I know what I’d like for dessert.”
I led the way back to the bedroom and we undressed as though we’d been apart for weeks, making love again before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
When the telephone rang, I could see the time on the clock radio next to my bed. It was after one in the morning and I grabbed the receiver before the second ring.
“Sorry to wake you, Coop.”
“That’s all right. I fell asleep early.”
“Before we gave up the grand slam in the top of the eighth, I hope.”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up to get my bearings, knowing that Mike wouldn’t be calling at this hour unless there was a break of some kind in the case. “I was exhausted.”
“I got worse news than the loss, kid,” Mike said. “Tina Barr is dead.”
Luc grabbed my hand and squeezed it when he heard me groan.
“They found her body wrapped up in a tarp, just off Sixth Avenue, inside Bryant Park.” That was less than a city block away from the rear door of the New York Public Library. “She’s been dead for at least twenty-four hours, Coop. Looks like a dump job.”
SIXTEEN
Crowds lined the sidewalk at the intersection of Sixth Avenue and Forty-second Street, even though it was two o’clock in the morning. The uniformed cops who had picked me up at my apartment muscled through the onlookers and lifted the yellow police tape that kept them out of the park so we could duck under it.
Huge bright floodlights were mounted on a metal catwalk that framed an enormous JumboTron screen. Below the massive structure, dozens of NYPD men and women were still scrambling to secure the perimeter of the crime scene and push back the cameramen who were trying to climb the low wall to photograph the activity.
“Over here, Alex,” Mercer called out. “Watch your step.”
The old cobblestone-and-gravel path was littered with debris, and on both sides of it there were tall stacks of folding chairs and wheeled pallets loaded with objects covered with canvas and strapped in place. Fall plantings had been trampled and expensive landscaping would have to be restored.
“Tina?”
“Body’s there,” Mercer said, pointing to the far side of the plaza beyond the metal superstructure that framed the screen. “The ME got here fifteen minutes ago. She’ll finish up soon.”
“What’s all this?” I asked, looking around at the equipment that cluttered the twin promenades of the beautifully landscaped park that ran the length of a football field.
“There was an event here last evening. One of the mayor’s goodwill gestures,” Mercer said. “Had the JumboTron put up yesterday, and bused in Scout troops-a few thousand kids-from all over the city to see the game. Free. Everybody was pretty orderly when it broke up at the end, and then the workmen started to take the place apart.”
I followed him to the edge of the walkway, staring off at the group of cops who were standing shoulder to shoulder, holding up sheets around what was obviously the body of Tina Barr.
“That’s when someone found her?”
“Yeah. Her body was wrapped in one of these tarps, just like all the other gear they were about to load up and move out of here.”
“Do you think she was-?”
“Fully clothed. Doesn’t look like a sexual assault, Alex.”
I could see the medical examiner, a short, plump woman with dark skin, emerge from behind the sheeting that had given her some privacy to examine the body. Mercer led me in her direction.
“Detective Wallace, Ms. Cooper,” the doctor greeted us as she pulled off her gloves and handed them to her assistant. “Not exactly the best conditions for what I’ve had to do, but if you’d like to step into my temporary office, you can see what the young lady looks like for yourselves.”
Mike was kneeling beside the body of Tina Barr, studying her face. He didn’t move when Mercer and I came inside the makeshift morgue.
“As you can see, Ms. Cooper, the killer slit her throat.”
Dr. Assif delivered her preliminary clinical findings in a fla
t monotone. The detective standing behind Tina’s head shone his flashlight on the corpse as she spoke.
“Butchered her,” Mike said, without picking up his head. “Mercer, would you tell Hal Sherman I want some more photos?”
It was almost impossible to recognize the face of the woman I had talked with after the attack in her home a few nights ago. There was a long incision across her neck, and a deep wound that exposed layers of muscle beneath the skin. Her vacant eyes were open toward the night sky, and her mouth was agape.
“He’s working on the tarp now. Crime Scene’s trying to figure a way to move it downtown without losing anything,” Mercer said. “He’ll be right back.”
Barr’s body was resting on a clean sheet that the ME’s crew had brought with them. The tarp in which she’d been wrapped would be processed for clues.
“She must have bled buckets,” I said. There were dark stains all over the front of her short-sleeved V-neck sweater.
“Clothes are a mess,” Mike said. “But there’s nothing on the tarp.”
“Probably because she was killed a day or so before she was placed inside it,” Dr. Assif offered.
“Any other signs of a struggle?” I asked.
“I’ll know more, of course, when we get her clothes off,” the doctor said. “But it doesn’t appear to be the case now. No other bruising on her arms or chest. No defensive injuries. I want you guys to bag her hands before she’s moved, but I don’t see any broken fingernails either.”
“How is that possible?”
“Let me examine the wound margins and pattern on the neck, Ms. Cooper. I’ll have a better sense of whether I think she was attacked from behind, and what kind of weapon you’re looking for.”
“Let me know if it’s a small sharp blade, like an X-Acto knife,” Mike said.
I thought of Alger Herrick as he slit through the long page of the old book.
“Wouldn’t you expect her to have time to fight her attacker, or at least to scream?” I couldn’t think of a place in Manhattan so remote that no one would hear such a commotion.
Lethal Legacy Page 12
