Fallen Five

by Erica Spindler

  Zach entered the apartment fully and stopped, frowning slightly. But here, oddly, he got almost nothing at all.

  Mick had gone ahead of him; he was aware of her studying the apartment’s interior, using her amazing observational skills and sharp mind to piece together the story of what had happened here tonight.

  She sought tangible evidence. He sought the intangible. Together, they made an unbeatable team. So unbeatable, they had drawn unwanted attention—like that of young Ray tonight. With a one hundred percent close rate, combined with several very high-profile investigations, they were hard to miss.

  This case could test that record.

  Zach took two more steps in, moving his own gaze carefully over the room. It landed on the wet bar. An open decanter. Amber liquid in an expensive-looking glass.

  He felt a sort of tug. Like gentle fingers urging him in that direction. Interesting, he thought, and let himself be led.

  When he reached the wet bar, Zach floated his gloved hand over the drink. Thomas King. Purposeful. Relaxed and confident. Zach leaned in, studying the glass, the liquid inside. Breathing it in.

  King, pouring the drink, then setting it down untouched. Why?

  Zach turned in a slow circle, working to isolate and follow the subtle shifts in energy.

  The tug at his sleeve again. Ever-so-gentle. Beckoning him. The way the woman with the mysterious eyes had.

  The tug led him to the bedroom. Oversized bed. Luxurious bedding. Turned down and waiting. He shifted his gaze. A framed photo on a nightstand. A wedding photo. King the groom. The woman at his side not the woman the energy had briefly conjured. This one blond and beautiful. Young. Too young for the sixty-something developer.

  Zach slid open the nightstand drawer. A vial of prescription medication. He nudged it with his fingertip, read the label. Viagra.

  Not a big surprise there.

  The handgun was. A Beretta Px4, small but efficient. Zach didn’t pick it up, floating his hand over it instead.

  No reverberations. It hadn’t been fired tonight.

  Zach moved on, nearly tripping over a pair of woman’s shoes. Impossibly high heels. A glittery shade of nude. They lay halfway between the bed and the bureau.

  Odd, the way they were positioned. Zach squatted beside them. He cautiously reached out, let his hand hover above one, then the other. His palm tingled, then burned.

  Raised voices. A man’s and a woman’s. The burning sensation cooled; the tingling became like pin-pricks, then evaporated.

  King and his wife, most likely. Arguing over something. But what?

  He made a mental note to ask Mrs. King if the shoes were hers, then turned to the highboy. On its top sat a small tray with some change, a couple of business cards, and a pair of cufflinks. On the dresser top, a watch. Gold case, leather band. Elegant and obviously expensive. He checked out the brand. Cartier.

  He picked it up, curled his fingers around it. Images, like the tumbling colors of a kaleidoscope. King, in the ballroom. Whispering into the ear of his beautiful young wife.

  King, unfastening the watch, laying it on the bureau top. Reaching for another. The Rolex, Zach thought. Of course.

  Suddenly, King began whistling a tune. The notes seemed to dart close, then move away, staying just beyond Zach’s reach. What was it? Zach squeezed his eyes tighter shut. He knew the song, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Zach laid the Cartier down and slid open the top bureau drawer. A black leather case. A dozen turning timepieces. One empty space.

  Zach frowned. King had left his celebration to change his watch? Odd as it seemed, that’s what he had done.

  “I know what he was after,” Zach called to Mick. “He came up for the Rolex.” She didn’t respond so he went to the bedroom doorway. He saw her through the billowing drapes, standing on the balcony, inches from the rail but not touching it.

  The light from the living room behind her illuminated the graceful curve of her neck—and the determined set of her jaw. Contrasts, he thought. Hard on the outside with a soft, chewy center. Both delicious but so very different.

  A man couldn’t help wanting to crack open the one to get a taste of the other.

  Another man, he thought. Not him. They were meant to be friends and colleagues, not lovers.

  It didn’t mean they wouldn’t be, just that they shouldn’t.

  He left the bedroom, stopping in the opening to the balcony. “He came up to switch watches,” he said.

  She looked over her shoulder at him and frowned. “To change watches? That’s a little odd, don’t you think? Leave a big celebration that way, just to change your timepiece?”

  He shrugged. “There isn’t much to go on here; the trail is extremely subtle. What’s that you’re holding?”

  “This?” She held it up to the light. A feather, he saw. A black one. “It was on the rail here. I didn’t know birds flew this high.”

  She released it over the side, watched it float a moment, then turned back to Zach. “You get anything besides the watch?”

  “You saw the gun, right?” She nodded. “It wasn’t fired tonight.”

  She nodded again. “It’s loaded. I checked. Anything else?”

  “Two things. The shoes. The ones on the floor. There was strong energy attached to them. I picked up an argument between a man and woman.”

  “King and his wife?”

  “That’s my thinking. By the way, King was whistling. I wasn’t able to make out the tune—I didn’t get enough. But it was upbeat.”

  “That’s how the chief described King’s mood as well. So, why’d he do it?”

  Zach stepped through the door and a sudden burst of wind caught the drape and blew it across his line of vision. He went to sweep it away, and froze, a sensation like popping firecrackers racing up his arm.

  “I don’t want you here. . .”

  King’s voice sounded so clearly in his head, Zach instinctively looked over his shoulder. The drape billowed again, this time catching at his neck, clinging like an octopus’s tentacle, stroking like a lover’s caress.

  “Get out! Leave me—”

  King backing away, toward the rail. Gooseflesh zipped down Zach’s spine. Desperation. The sensation of being suffocated.

  “—alone . . .”

  Zach tore the clinging drape from his neck. He looked at Mick in shock. “King wasn’t alone. Someone else was here. I heard King. He told the person to get out.”

  “A man or woman?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Zach crossed to the other drapery panels, ran his hands over them. Nothing. Aware of Mick’s steady gaze, he stepped onto the deck, crossed to the railing.

  “Here,” he said. “This is where he went over.”

  “What are you picking up?”

  “Just . . . King. No one else.”

  The Rolex was the key. Of course. It’s why King had come upstairs. It had been on his wrist when he confronted the other person, then when he went over.

  Maybe the timepiece had absorbed the moments leading up to King going over the rail.

  “I need that Rolex.”

  “But you said earlier—”

  “I was wrong. And I need to read it before it gets handled by anyone else.”

  Chapter Six

  2:10 A.M.

  They were too late. By the time Micki reached the crime scene techs, the Rolex had been bagged and tagged and was already on its way to evidence.

  Zach made a sound of frustration. “I messed up.”

  “You’re human,” Micki said, watching the floor numbers illuminate as the elevator made its way up from the ground level. “We all make mistakes.”

  “Half human,” he countered. “You’d think my Lightkeeper part could do better.”

  She snorted. “Last I checked, you Lightkeepers were doing a pretty good job fucking things up without any help from us humans. Besides, you may still be able to get something from it.”

&nbs
p; “Maybe. But doubtful.”

  The car whooshed to a stop and the doors slid open. Mrs. King was waiting for them in the Grand Ballroom. Alighting the elevator, they crossed to the man standing sentinel outside the ballroom’s closed doors. Private security, Micki thought, judging by his dark suit, earpiece, and wary posture.

  “Detectives Dare and Harris,” Micki said, holding out her shield. Zach did the same, and after examining them both, the man led them inside.

  Micki took in the scene. Everyone was gone yet, oddly, the buffet tables were still laden with food, the bars still stocked and set up, and the cake—a stunning replica of 2 River Tower and Hotel—was prominently displayed and waiting to be cut. Balloons bobbled, streamers fluttered, and the unnatural quiet scurried along her nerve endings like a spider.

  Natalie King was seated at one of the tables at the back of the ballroom, her back to the wall of windows. Another dark-suited man waited with her, his gaze unflinchingly on them.

  As they neared the woman, Micki acknowledged that Natalie King was the most luminously beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Like a DaVinci Madonna in a low-cut, sequined dress.

  “Mrs. King, the detectives you were expecting.”

  “Thank you, Jordan.” She didn’t stand, but held out a hand. “I’m Natalie King. Please, sit down.”

  Micki narrowed her eyes slightly. She’d never met the woman, but there was something familiar about her. Plucking at her memory. Maybe it was her voice? She spoke in a soft, southern drawl. The kind that brought to mind hot days and deep porches, and blankets on soft grass in the shade of a big, old oak tree.

  And something else. Something that made her twitch.

  Micki indicated the two men. “Bodyguards?”

  “Yes.” She fiddled with her diamond ring while she spoke. “Thom was fanatical about our personal safety. Ironic considering . . .”

  She let the last trail off, but what she had been about to say seemed to float in the air between them anyway.

  “. . . that he look his own life . . .”

  Zach stepped in. “Mrs. King, we need to ask you some questions about your husband.”

  “Of course, Detective. Anything you need.” She motioned the chair beside her. Zach took it, but Micki selected the seat across from the widow. She wanted a clear view of her face during the interview.

  “You’re very calm, Mrs. King,” Micki said.

  “Only on the outside, I assure you, Detective Dare. Inside, I’m falling apart.”

  Somehow, Micki doubted that. “I understand from Chief Howard that you witnessed your husband’s fall.”

  “Yes. I was standing right over there. Admiring the view with some of our guests.”

  “How awful for you,” Zach murmured.

  “He passed right in front of my eyes.”

  No tremor to her voice, no hesitation or horror. Was it shock? Micki wondered. Or disinterest?

  She looked at Micki. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  Micki cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

  “Yes. Because of the difference in Thom’s age and mine, you think I didn’t love him. That I married him for his money.”

  “It’s none of my business if you loved him or not, or why you married him, for that matter. The only thing that’s of concern to me is whether you killed him.”

  “But you already know I didn’t. Because I was here in the ballroom the whole time. Standing next to your boss’s wife.”

  The sly edge in King’s voice caused the hair on the back of Micki’s neck to stand up. “How many years were there between you two? Forty?”

  “Thirty-six. But what does age matter? He was my knight in shining armor, my lover and best friend. He was my everything, Detective Dare.”

  Bullshit. Judging by the way she was sizing Zach up, if he offered her a tumble right now, she’d jump at it.

  “The heart wants what the heart wants, Detective. No matter the logic or cost.”

  Zach looked rapt. He laid his hand on Natalie King’s. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  “You’re so sweet.” She curled her fingers around his. “Thank you.”

  Micki mustered every ounce of professionalism to keep from rolling her eyes. “How long were you and Mr. King married?”

  “A year. I can’t believe he was taken from me so soon.” She teared up, looking at Zach. “It seems as if we’d only just found each other.”

  “How did you meet?” Zach asked.

  “In New York. It was Christmastime and I was coming out of Saks, loaded down with purchases. I slipped on a patch of ice, and there he was. He caught me before I went down.” She looked at Micki. “So, you see, he really was my knight in shining armor.”

  The hairs at the nape of her neck stood up. What was it about the woman she found so distasteful? That she was too perfect? That the relationship she described read too much like a cheap romance? Or the fact that Zach was still holding her hand?

  She shook that last one off as ridiculous. “Tell us about your husband. How was his mood of late?”

  She paused a fraction of a second. “Thom was a very positive person.”

  “You hesitated a moment before answering.”

  “Yes . . . It’s just that recently, he’s been a little down.”

  “How recently?”

  “The last few weeks.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “He has grown children. They refused to accept me. It bothered him. I told him it didn’t matter, that I understood. After all, I’m younger than both of them. But he wanted us to all to be happy together. A big, happy family.”

  “Surely he didn’t expect them to call you Mom?” Micki said.

  “Of course not. But he expected them to be at least cordial.”

  “And they weren’t?”

  “No. In fact, they refused to be in the same room with me. Porsche, his younger daughter, punished him by not allowing him time with his granddaughter. It was cruel.”

  “Would you say your husband was distraught over their behavior?”

  “Distraught?” She cocked her head, her silky blond hair cascaded over her shoulder. “As in thoughts of suicide?”

  “Yes.”

  “Before tonight, I would have said no. And I would have said it vehemently. I guess I would have been wrong.”

  Micki looked down at her notes. Something wasn’t right. Natalie King said all the right things, but they felt all wrong.

  Zach stepped in. “Do you own a pair of high-heel, nude-colored shoes?”

  “Several pairs. Why?”

  “There was a pair on the floor of your bedroom, between the bed and the bureau? Were they yours?”

  “Of course. I planned to wear them tonight, but changed my mind at the last minute.” She frowned. “Why are you interested in my shoes? Surely not a fetish, Detective Harris?” Her voice turned husky. “Although you wouldn’t be the first man with that weakness.”

  Micki bit back what she wanted to say and let Zach respond.

  “We have reason to believe someone else was with your husband when he went over the rail.”

  “A woman,” Micki added, acknowledging the small untruth. “The shoes were on the floor, so we wanted to make certain they were yours.”

  “That’s ridiculous. He was alone. Everyone else was in the ballroom.”

  The way she would have arranged it, if she had planned to have him killed. Micki made note of it in her spiral, then looked up at the woman. “Surely not everyone? The whole city of New Orleans?”

  “A euphemism, Detective. Clearly.”

  Zach took over again. “Did you and your husband argue about the shoes? Did he not want you to wear them?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did you argue about something else tonight?”

  “No. We didn’t fight. Ever.”

  “All couples argue sometimes,” he said.

  “Not us.”

  “It sounds like you had the perfect marriage,” Micki s
aid. “And oftentimes, a perfect marriage such as yours begins with a pre-nuptial agreement. Did your husband ask you to sign one?”

  She laughed. “I wondered when you’d get to that. No, Detective, he did not. The pre-nup was my idea.”

  Micki couldn’t hide her surprise. “Your idea?”

  “I wanted him, Detective Dare. Not his empire.” She smiled slightly, as if pleased by some small secret. “I know that’s hard for someone like you to understand, but it’s true.”

  Micki cocked an eyebrow. “Someone like me, Mrs. King?”

  King’s mouth curved briefly; something flickered in her eyes. Something that caused chill bumps to race up Micki’s arms.

  “Yes, Detective. Someone who expects the worst of people.”

  “Speaking of that, Mrs. King, is there any chance your husband was having an affair?”

  Chapter Seven

  2:50 A.M.

  “I didn’t buy it,” Micki said as the elevator doors shut. She pushed the button for the tenth floor. Both King’s daughters—Mercedes and Porsche—had residences on the Tower’s tenth. They had agreed to talk to them and were waiting. Micki prayed they had brewed a pot of coffee—or offered her a Red Bull.

  “What part?” Zach asked.

  “Any of it. He was her everything? Bullshit.”

  “You’re wrong about that, Mick. He was.”

  “Don’t tell me you bought that load of crap?”

  “I didn’t have to.” Zach met her eyes. “She told me.”

  “You read her?”

  “Of course. That’s why I was holding her hand.”

  “You sure it wasn’t because she was knock-down gorgeous?”

  “She was that. But yes, I’m sure.”

  Micki thought of her childhood home, of the girls she had grown up with, raised to put appearance above substance. “No surprise she had a southern accent. I should have asked if she’s from Mobile.”

  “They all like that there?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then what am I doing in New Orleans?”

  He was teasing her, she knew. But she wasn’t in the mood. “You can go anytime, partner. It’d make my life simpler.”