Fallen Five

by Erica Spindler

  “You mean boring. Think back on your life before me—”

  “Sane.”

  “Boring,” he said again.

  “Okay, I admit, you’ve grown on me.” She lifted her gaze to the illuminated floor numbers. “Like a fungus.”

  He laughed. “It’s a start.”

  She glanced at him. “So, you’re telling me she really loved him?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then why so cool? I didn’t pick up as much as a tremor in her voice.”

  “Maybe she was in shock?”

  “Maybe. But that feels too easy with this one.”

  “Another thing you don’t buy?”

  “I guess so.”

  The elevator car stopped, the doors slid open and they stepped off. “Did you have to hold her hand through the whole interview?”

  “She was holding mine. What could I do?”

  “Let it go.”

  He grinned. “Jealous?”

  She was, God help her. “Of course not. It was just kind of creepy, that’s all. This way.”

  They turned right and headed to the end of the hallway. The King sisters each had corner units at the end, directly across the hall from each other. They’d been instructed to go to the one on the left, which belonged to Mercedes.

  “By the way, that last question, about her beloved having an affair, it really pissed her off. She definitely didn’t like you.”

  Micki smiled. “Good, because the feeling was mutual. Big time.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been taking instant dislikes to folks lately.”

  “More than usual?”

  He laughed. “I guess not. Here we are.”

  They stopped in front of a Chinese red door. Micki rang the call button.

  A moment later, the door opened. The woman who greeted them wore a very rumpled, royal blue ball gown. Her dark hair had come partly loose from her up-do, her face was pale and her eye make-up had run, giving her a night-of-the-living-dead sort of vibe.

  Micki held up her shield. “I’m Detective Dare and this is my partner, Detective Harris. Are you Mercedes King?”

  “I am.”

  Zach held out his hand. She looked startled by the gesture, but took it. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “I know what a shock this must have been for you.”

  “Actually, it’s not, Detective. We saw this coming.”

  “Mercedes!”

  Mercedes extricated her hand and looked over her shoulder. “It’s true, Porsche, and you know it. We’ve been expecting something like this since that child got her claws into him.”

  “What child is that?” Micki asked.

  “Don’t play dumb, Detective.” Two spots of angry color bloomed in Mercedes’ cheeks. “I’m talking about his wife, of course.”

  Porsche came over and introduced herself. Unlike her sister, she had changed into yoga pants and a long, knit shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her face had been scrubbed free of make-up. Judging by the ring on her fourth finger, she was married.

  They followed the pair into the luxurious living room. The sisters sat side-by-side on the teal-colored, leather couch; Micki and Zach took the chairs across from them.

  “Again,” Micki said, “we’re very sorry for your loss. We hate to intrude at a time like this, but it’s important to interview those involved while memories are fresh.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Micki went on, “Where were you two at the time of the accident?”

  “I was in the ballroom,” Mercedes said. “Mingling.”

  “And you have witnesses to back you up?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Absolutely.”

  “Did you see your father fall?”

  “I did not.”

  Micki turned her gaze to Porsche. “And how about you?”

  “I was up here, checking on my daughter.”

  “Your husband’s with her now?”

  “The nanny. Cherie. David’s downstairs. Making calls, reassuring investors.” At their obvious confusion, she added, “He’s a senior vice-president for King Enterprises.”

  “Your apartment’s across the hall from this one?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  She hesitated. “I came up alone.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts at that time?”

  “She means a witness,” Mercedes interjected impatiently. “Her daughter and the nanny, of course. Isn’t that right, Porsche?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  The agreement sounded hollow to her and Micki glanced at Zach. His speculative gaze told her he was thinking along similar lines.

  “Late for your daughter to have still been awake.”

  Porsche clasped her hands together. “It was an exciting day. She tends to get wound up.”

  “Because you allow her too much sugar,” Mercedes snapped. “Why are we discussing my niece’s sleeping habits, Detective? I was under the impression you were here to talk about my father. He’s dead, if you haven’t heard.”

  Somebody had a temper, Micki noted. And, obviously, was accustomed to having things her way.

  “Of course,” Micki said easily. “Tell us about your father. What was he—”

  “Dammit!” Mercedes swatted the air around her head. “Stupid moth. How does it keep getting in here?”

  “Calm down,” Porsche said. “It’s just a moth. Here,” –she snapped off the lamp closest her sister— “it’s attracted to the light.”

  It did seem like an over-reaction to a bug, but the woman was obviously in distress, and Micki had seen the smallest things cause people to snap.

  Mercedes let out a tight-sounding breath. “I apologize. It’s been a long and traumatic night. What were you asking?”

  “About your father,” Micki answered. “What was he like?”

  “He was a son-of-bitch,” Mercedes said. “But I respected him for it. He played to win.”

  “Very tough,” Porsche added. “A smart, shrewd businessman.”

  “Was he a good father?”

  “Define good,” Mercedes shot back. “He didn’t coddle us. He expected us to pull our own weight.”

  The tough father had obviously taught his daughters to be the same way.

  “He had one weakness,” Porsche said.

  “Women,” Mercedes said. “Young, beautiful ones. Like her.”

  “You obviously don’t like your father’s wife. May I ask why?”

  “You can’t guess?”

  “In my line of work, guessing’s frowned upon.”

  “Because she’s a gold-digger, Detective Dare.”

  Zach jumped in. “You think she married him for his money?”

  Mercedes snorted. “There’s nearly forty years difference in their ages. What else would she have married him for?”

  “He was a powerful, robust man.” Zach cocked his head. “I hear that’s an aphrodisiac to some women.”

  “With the emphasis on powerful.” Mercedes made air quotes. “Which goes hand in hand with cash. A lot of it.”

  “Natalie told us she signed a prenup agreement.” Micki glanced at her notes, although just for show. “And that it was her idea.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “Dad said that, too, Mercedes.”

  Mercedes sent an annoyed glance her sister’s way. “I didn’t believe it coming from him either. He was trying to get us to like her.”

  “Have you seen the agreement?”

  “No.” Mercedes’ gaze sharpened. “But we’re meeting with dad’s attorneys tomorrow.”

  Micki decided she was glad she wasn’t the one on the receiving end of the woman’s ire. She would be a tough opponent. Like a pit bull with a rabbit. “I’d like to know the conditions. It could be helpful.”

  “I’ll see that you get a co
py.”

  “When we arrived, you said you had expected something like this to happen.” Micki moved her gaze between the sisters. “You expected him to kill himself?”

  “No—”

  “God, no!”

  They answered in unison, and Zach looked at Mercedes. “Then what, exactly?”

  “We expected her to kill him,” Mercedes said. “And now she has.”

  “Whoa,” Zach said, “back up. Your father’s wife was in the ballroom when your father fell, surrounded by a hundred witnesses.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She killed him.”

  “I’m game,” Micki said. “How’d she do it?”

  “He’d changed,” Porsche offered. “His mood had turned dark recently. He’d never been like that.”

  “Depressed? Even with all this?” Micki made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “And not just his business empire, but a beautiful young wife, a grandchild, and two accomplished daughters?”

  “Exactly!” Mercedes exclaimed. “She was doing something to him.”

  “Like what?” Zach asked. “Drugging him?”

  Porsche lifted her chin defiantly. “Maybe.”

  “Do you have any proof of that?”

  “No. But the autopsy—”

  Micki stepped in. “The autopsy will be complicated by the circumstances. They’re not—” She paused, searching for the kindest way to lower their expectations. “It was a devastating fall. The pathologist will do the best he can with what he has to work with.”

  Mercedes jumped to her feet, hands clenched by her side. “You can investigate her.” Her voice turned shrill, with what sounded like a combination of hysteria and exhaustion. “There are ways—I know there are!”

  Micki’s heart went out to her. “Ms. King,” she said softly, “we’re limited by the law as to what we can and cannot do. If we uncover any tangible evidence that Natalie King was somehow involved in your father’s death—”

  Mercedes cut her off. “We don’t need ‘tangible evidence,’ Detective. She killed our father. We don’t know how, but we know she did. And I’m going to prove it, even if it takes every dollar of my inheritance!”

  Chapter Eight

  5:35 A.M.

  The video footage blurred before Zach’s tired eyes. He blinked and poured himself another cup of coffee. The dregs of the pot, he saw, tipping it for the last drop.

  Tower security had set them up with all the tapes from the previous evening. He and Mick were tag teaming—he’d pulled elevators, she hallways. So far, after watching King and his wife ride a car from the twenty-first floor to the ballroom level, he’d seen a couple having sex between floors, a husband manhandle his wife, and a host of various hotel personnel coming and going.

  Zach sipped the coffee, grimacing at its bitterness. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Absorbing the feelings of others was like experiencing them himself—for more than six hours he’d been riding an emotional roller coaster.

  His vision blurred again and his thoughts wandered. King’s death felt like a suicide to him. Or it would, if not for one thing—the amber-eyed woman. He frowned. She could have been one of dozens of people near the scene. After all, he’d been on the lower terrace, being pummeled by energy, surrounded by the mess that had once been the mogul.

  But she’d been attached to the watch, he reminded himself. And she had been beckoning him. How had that been possible?

  The grainy image caught his attention once more. King, stepping into the elevator car, pressing a floor number.

  “King’s in the elevator,” he said. “He’s alone.”

  The doors closed; the car began its ascent. Then it stopped. A young woman with a short, spiky haircut stepped on. Dressed in denims and a hooded sweatshirt, she looked neither hotel guest nor employee.

  Curiously, she didn’t glance at King, and he didn’t acknowledge her, even with a nod. The car reached twenty-one, the doors slid open. As King moved around the young woman, she handed him something.

  “Did you see that?” he asked, looking at Mick.

  “Hell, yes.” She leaned forward. “Rewind.”

  Zach did and they watched again. It was obvious from the way she surreptitiously slid the item to him that they were both aware of the security video.

  “What is it?” Mick asked.

  “Key card?”

  “Maybe. Let’s follow King. We can come back to her.”

  They switched to the recording of King’s hallway, picking up where he stepped off the elevator and proceeded down the hall. Oddly, he stopped once and gave his head a shake, as if to clear it, before moving on. He reached his apartment and disappeared inside.

  “Well, that was a bust,” Mick said. “Whatever she gave him, he didn’t even look at it.”

  Zach agreed. “And check it out, he left his door partly open. He didn’t plan to be in there long.”

  She looked at him. “First responders said his door was closed and locked.”

  “So, somebody either followed him in or was there waiting for him.”

  Mick turned back to the monitor and sucked in a sharp breath. “The former,” she said. “And now we know who.”

  The young woman from the elevator. Walking towards King’s apartment, pausing at the door. Looking left, then right, then disappearing into the apartment.

  Zach frowned. He hadn’t picked up her presence in the apartment. Why?

  “What goes in must come out,” Micki murmured, leaning forward, gaze riveted on the video image. The seconds ticked past. Ninety-two, to be exact. Then the young woman reappeared, backing out of the apartment. Easing the door shut behind her, she turned and hurried to the elevator.

  Zach’s heart beat wildly as they followed her, switching from one camera to the next. She exited on the tenth floor, turning right. She was alternately wringing her hands and hugging herself as she made her way down the hall.

  And stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. She retrieved a key card from her pocket, opened the door and slipped into the apartment.

  Not just any apartment. Porsche King’s.

  Chapter Nine

  7:10 A.M.

  It took less than five minutes for them to discover the young woman’s name; the head of the Tower’s security team recognized her right off. She was Cherie Smith, Porsche King’s nanny.

  Micki arranged for two cruisers to pick her up and bring her to the Eighth for questioning. Smith had not only been the last to see King alive, she’d been with him literally moments before he plunged to his death. Micki wasn’t about to take any chances with this interview—she wanted it logged and recorded.

  Micki took a long swallow of water and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. She and Zach had grabbed a couple breakfast burritos on their way in. She’d wolfed hers down, but was still hungry.

  She opened her bottom right desk drawer. It’s where she kept emergency supplies—in this case a package of peanut butter crackers and a deodorant stick. Yeah, not only was she exhausted and hungry, she stank, too. Working a case all night did that to you.

  She shoved a cracker in her mouth and turned to face the wall. Untucking her shirt, she applied deodorant to one pit, then the other. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Zach was doing the same—minus the cracker.

  Micki re-tucked her shirt, then reached for another cracker. “You ready to do this, partner?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  They didn’t speak again until they reached the interrogation room. Cherie Smith sat staring blankly at the wall. Micki crossed to the recording device and turned it on.

  “Ms. Smith,” Micki said, “I’m Detective Dare and this is Detective Harris.”

  “I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “Don’t you?”

  She shook her head, eyes wide.

  “You’re here because someone close to you died unexpectedly and violently, and you were the last person to see him alive.”

  “That’s not true
.” She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” Micki asked.

  “I mean, I wasn’t the last person to see him alive.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. King.”

  Zach crossed to the table, squatted down beside her so she would look him directly in the eyes. “May I call you Cherie?” She nodded, and he held out his hand. “I’m Zach. And everything’s going to be all right. All you have to do is answer our questions completely and honestly. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes.” She nodded again.

  “Good. Believe me, we want you out of here as soon as possible so we can get on with the investigation. Do you have any questions so far?”

  She pointed at the video camera. “Are you recording this?”

  “We are.” He smiled reassuringly and released her hand. “For your protection and ours.”

  Micki took over, deciding to go straight for the jugular. “Why were you in Thomas King’s apartment last night?”

  “Why do you think I was?”

  “We have it on security footage.”

  She went from looking uneasy to terrified. Her lips began to tremble and her eyes teared up.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “So, you don’t deny it?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “We saw you two in the elevator. What did you hand him when he got off on twenty-one?”

  “A name. On a piece of paper.”

  “A name?” Micki repeated. “Whose name?”

  “A woman who works for his company. Brianna Heron.”

  “What was the significance of that name?”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m so ashamed.”

  “Ms. Smith, I asked you a question. What was the significance of that name?”

  The nanny looked at Zach, then back at Micki. “She’s having an affair with his son-in-law. He was paying me to spy on Porsche’s husband.”

  Micki wasn’t certain what she expected her to say, but that wasn’t it.

  Cherie wrung her hands. “He told me to let him know the minute I found out, no matter what the time of day.”

  “How did you find out?” Zach asked quietly.

  “He had flowers sent to her room. I made friends with the bellman; he told me.”