New York Dead

by Stuart Woods

  Morgan wiped a cheek and looked directly at him. “Yes,” she said firmly.

  “Did she tell you so?”

  “She showed me,” Morgan replied.

  “How long had the two of you been… seeing each other?”

  “A couple of months,” Morgan said, drying another tear. She was composing herself now.

  “And when was the last time you saw Sasha?”

  “The night before she… disappeared.” She was calm now, and ready to talk.

  “Where did you see her?”

  “At my apartment. We always met there.”

  “Did she stay the night?”

  “Most of it. Sasha always left around four. She couldn’t be seen…”

  “I understand.”

  “Ms. Morgan, do you think Sasha might have been inclined to try to take her own life?”

  “I… I don’t know. She was up and down a lot. She’d have these highs, when nothing could get her down; then she’d sink into these depressions. They never lasted long, but they were intense. She could be difficult to be with during those times. Maybe, in the depths of one of those, she might have… impulsively… done something. I just don’t know.”

  “Would you characterize these mood swings as manic-depressive?”

  “I’m not sure. From what I know about that condition, people who have it are unable to function when they’re depressed. Sasha could always function, and function brilliantly, no matter what her mood. She had a will of iron.”

  Stone looked Hank Morgan up and down. She was five nine or ten, a hundred and forty-five, with an athletic, even muscular build. She looked as though she worked out regularly. “Ms. Morgan,” he asked, “where were you after midnight the night Sasha fell?”

  “I was at home in bed,” she replied firmly.

  “Were you alone?”

  Now Morgan looked away. “No.”

  “I think I’d better have the name of that person,” Stone said.

  “Is it absolutely necessary?”

  “I’m sorry, but it is. I want you to know, though, that I’ll do what I can to keep this information from becoming public. I understand your position.”

  “Her name is Chelsea Barton. She’s a set designer here.”

  “I’ll have to speak with her.”

  “Her office is the other side of the reception area, on this floor.”

  Dino came back into the room.

  “I think we’re about finished here,” Stone said. “Thank you, Ms. Morgan. I very much appreciate your cooperation.” Dino stepped back into the hall, and Stone followed, then stopped. He turned back to the woman. “Ms. Morgan, was Sasha seeing anyone else that you know of?”

  Morgan flushed. “Yes, she was. A man. She would never tell me who, but I had the feeling it had been going on for a long time.”

  “Do you think it might have been someone she worked with?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Sasha didn’t give much away.”

  “Thank you again.”

  On their way down the hall, Stone filled Dino in on his conversation with Hank Morgan.

  Dino whistled. “So Sasha swung both ways, huh? How about that?”

  “There was nothing in her diary to indicate it,” Stone said.

  “She had a lot to lose,” Dino replied. “She wouldn’t have written that down.”

  They found the office of Chelsea Barton. A rather dumpy young woman looked up from her desk as they knocked.

  Stone started to introduce himself.

  “Yes,” Barton said, interrupting him. “I was with Hank Morgan. All night. Anything else?”

  “Thank you,” Stone said, “no.”

  Back in the car Dino turned to Stone. “So, if Morgan is in love with the gorgeous Sasha, what’s she doing in the sack with Miss Beanbag the very next night?”

  “That crossed my mind,” Stone said.

  “I think Morgan looks good for it. Pansies are always bashing each other’s heads in with hammers, and all for love.”

  “Lesbians don’t fit that mold.”

  “Still, you see the build on that bitch? Sasha was little, compared to her. I think Morgan could have tossed her, no problem.”

  “I think so, too. But how are you going to break that alibi? Miss Beanbag looked pretty tough to me.”

  “She was on the interview list, so we’ve got her address. I think I’ll do a little checking into her whereabouts that night,” Dino said. “Maybe I can place her somewhere else.”

  “You do that, and we might have something for Deputy Commissioner Waldron.”

  Chapter 20

  The phone was ringing as Stone reached his desk. He picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Detective Barrington?” a husky voice said.

  “Yes, speaking.”

  “This is Hank Morgan.”

  “Yes, Ms. Morgan. Did you think of something else?”

  “I… I lied to you, I’m afraid.”

  “How so?”

  “I was at home alone the night Sasha fell. Chelsea wasn’t with me. She said that to protect me, but I realize this is serious, and I don’t want to involve her. I hope you’ll for get that I didn’t tell you the truth the first time; I’m telling you the truth now.”

  “All right, we’ll forget your first statement and leave Chelsea out of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What time did you get home that night?”

  “I worked on the evening news, so it would have been about eight thirty.”

  “Did anyone see you? The doorman, maybe?”

  “I live in a walk-up in the West Village. There’s no doorman.”

  “Anybody else? A neighbor?”

  “No. There are only two apartments in the building, and my downstairs neighbor was on vacation.”

  “Did you go out again for any reason?”

  “No. I read until about eleven, then I went to sleep.”

  “I see. Ms. Morgan, I’d like you to come up to the Nineteenth Precinct to be fingerprinted. It might help us eliminate you as a suspect.”

  She paused for a long time. “I don’t think I want to do that,” she said. “I’ve already talked to a lawyer, and he advised me not to cooperate any further than this.”

  “That’s your right,” Stone said. “But I have to tell you that the Supreme Court doesn’t consider being fingerprinted to be self-incriminating. We may have to insist.”

  “I suppose that’s your right,” she replied. “But I haven’t done anything wrong, and you don’t have any real reason to suspect me. So I won’t be having anything else to say.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve decided to do it this way, Ms. Morgan.”

  “Good afternoon, Detective Barrington.” She hung up.

  Stone told Dino about their conversation.

  “Bingo!” Dino cried. “Let’s go see Leary.”

  “Wait a minute,” Stone said. “I just remembered something.” He went to the evidence room, dug out Sasha Nijinsky’s financial records, and began leafing through her checkbook.

  “What are you looking for?” Dino asked.

  “I remember some checks Sasha wrote. Here! One… two… three of them, all made out to Henrietta Morgan! The name meant nothing to me at the time.” He totted up the amounts in his head. “Total of twenty thousand dollars over eight weeks, listed as loans. You know what this smells like, Dino?”

  “Blackmail!” Dino yelled. “Miss Hank says, ‘Pay me, Sasha, or I’ll tell all!’ Let’s go see Leary!”

  Leary beamed at them. “I knew good police work was going to break this case.” He chortled. “Pick her up right now.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll call Delgado; he’ll call Waldron.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lieutenant,” Stone said, “not yet, anyway. Let’s get her up here and hear her story first.”

  “Get your asses out of here and bring in the dyke!” Leary said, dialing.

  “This is insane!” Hank Morgan said, interrupting Stone in his readi
ng of her rights. “You aren’t handcuffing me!”

  “If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you,” Stone concluded. “I’m sorry about the cuffs; it’s department policy.” He took her raincoat from a hook on the wall and placed it over her shoulders. “Don’t worry, no one here will see them.”

  “Let’s go, lady,” Dino said.

  “I want to call my lawyer,” she said shakily.

  “You can call her from the precinct,” Dino said. “Let’s go.”

  Stunned into silence, Hank Morgan accompanied the two detectives out of the building and into their car.

  “Is there anything you want to tell us before we get to the station?” Stone asked her.

  Morgan shook her head. “I want my lawyer,” she said.

  “Uh, oh,” Dino said as they pulled up to the entrance of the 19th Precinct. “What’s this?”

  “Leakiest precinct in the city,” Stone said, slamming his fist against the dashboard in frustration.

  A knot of reporters crowded the sidewalk. Television lights went on. Stone and Dino got Morgan out of the car and hustled her into the building, shoving the shouting reporters out of the way.

  “No comment,” Dino kept yelling.

  “I want to call my lawyer,” Morgan said, when they were safe from the howling mob.

  “Just as soon as we’ve fingerprinted and photographed you,” Stone said, unlocking her handcuffs.

  She gave the fingerprints without further protest, then, while Stone had her photographed, Dino hand-carried the prints upstairs. Stone took Morgan into the squad room and put her in an empty cubicle, away from the stares of the other detectives.

  Morgan put her face in her hands. “This is so humiliating,” she said.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Stone replied, “but you’ve made it harder on yourself by refusing to cooperate.”

  “I want my lawyer now,” she said.

  Stone handed her the phone, and, hands shaking, she dialed a number. Stone noted that she didn’t have to look it up. He wondered how many innocent people knew their lawyers’ phone numbers off the tops of their heads.

  Fifteen minutes passed, and Dino came breathlessly into the cubicle and hauled Stone out.

  “Listen to this,” he said.

  “Was one of her prints in Sasha’s apartment?” Stone asked. It would be too good to be true.

  “Better than that, pal – we’ve got a palm print – and on the outside of the sliding glass door to the terrace. We can put her on the terrace!”

  A weak, warm feeling flooded through Stone. “Jesus Christ!” He exhaled. All the work, all the sweat had been worth it. He had not realized until that moment how afraid he had been of this case and what it might do to him. “Let’s have another shot at her before her lawyer gets here,” he said, heading back for the cubicle.

  Morgan was sitting rigidly in the steel chair, her hands clenched in her lap.

  “Listen to me, Ms. Morgan,” Stone said, pulling up a chair. “You’ve already admitted to me that you and Sasha were having an affair, and that she was also having an affair with a man; that would make you pretty jealous, wouldn’t it? We’ve got canceled checks showing that Sasha paid you twenty thousand dollars in less than two months; your palm print was found on the terrace that Sasha fell from. We’ve got all that, Ms. Morgan, and we’re going to get more. Now, don’t you think it’s time you told us about it?”

  Morgan’s shoulders began to shake, and tears rolled down her face.

  Stone thought it was the only moment she had looked feminine since he had met her.

  “Oh, God!” she moaned, “I want to tell you…”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” a rumbling voice said from behind them.

  Stone and Dino turned to see a tall man in a beautiful overcoat standing there.

  “My name is Carlton Palmer; I’m Henrietta Morgan’s attorney; I know you won’t mind if I consult with my client. Alone,” he added for good measure.

  The two detectives reluctantly gave up the field.

  “Shit,” Dino muttered. “She was going to confess. We had her in the palm of our hands, and that slick bastard had to show up.”

  “She had a right to see him, Dino,” Stone said. “To tell you the truth, I’d have been uncomfortable with a confession made before her lawyer got here.”

  “She won’t say another fucking word now,” Dino complained. “We’ll just have to work our fucking balls off, making the case. If we’d had that confession, you and I would have made detective first by tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing,” Stone commiserated. “She’ll never say a word to us now.”

  Ten minutes later, Palmer came out of the cubicle. “Gentlemen,” he said, “my client will answer your questions now.”

  Chapter 21

  They had moved to the conference room. Tape and video equipment was up and running. Leary had joined them for the big moment.

  “I’d like to say something for the camera before you begin,” the lawyer said.

  Stone nodded.

  He got up, walked around to where Hank Morgan sat, placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder, and spoke to the camera. “I am Carlton Palmer, the attorney representing Henrietta Morgan, and I would like this record to show that Miss Morgan is giving this statement voluntarily and of her own free will in a spirit of cooperation with the police.” He returned to his seat.

  Stone’s hands were sweating. “State your full name and address and place of employment for the record,” he said to Morgan.

  “My name is Henrietta Maxine Morgan; I live at Seventy-one West Tenth Street in Manhattan. I am employed as a makeup artist by the news division of the Continental Network.” Her voice quavered a bit, but she was calm.

  “Ms. Morgan, have you been advised of your rights under the Constitution of the United States?”

  “I have been.”

  “Are you making this statement voluntarily?”

  “I am.”

  “Have you been subjected to any duress with regard to this statement?”

  “No.”

  “Ms. Morgan, how long have you been employed by the Continental Network?”

  “Just over three months.”

  “And when did you first meet Sasha Nijinsky?”

  “Shortly after I joined the network. I did her makeup once, substituting for someone who was out sick, and she began asking for me.”

  “Did you and Ms. Nijinsky become friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long ago?”

  “We were on friendly terms from the beginning. We began to become… close about eight weeks ago.”

  “Did you, in fact, enter into a romantic relationship with Ms. Nijinsky?”

  “Yes.”

  “A relationship of a sexual nature?”

  Morgan gulped. “Yes.”

  “Were you in love with Ms. Nijinsky?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was she in love with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she tell you she loved you, in so many words?”

  “Yes. Many times.”

  “Were you aware that, during the same period Ms. Nijinsky was seeing you, she was also having an affair with a man?”

  Morgan looked away for the first time. “Yes. She told me so.”

  “Did she tell you who this man was?”

  “No.”

  “Did she give you any indication, any hint at all as to his identity?”

  “No. She referred to him as ‘What’s-his-name.’”

  That rang a bell from Sasha’s diary. “How often did you see Ms. Nijinsky outside of working hours?”

  “Two or three nights a week; sometimes four.”

  “Where did these meetings take place?”

  “Either at my apartment or at hers.”

  “And when was the last occasion you saw Ms. Nijinsky?”

  “The night before she disappeared.”

  “W
here did this meeting take place?”

  “At her apartment.”

  Stone paused. “Did you not tell me on a previous occasion that this meeting took place at your apartment?”

  “I have no recollection of that,” Morgan replied smoothly.

  Why was she changing her story? What did it matter where that particular meeting took place? “Did anyone see you in Ms. Nijinsky’s building that night?”

  “The doorman saw me when we came in together. It must have been around nine o’clock. He was asleep when I left. That was around four in the morning.”

  “What did you and Ms. Nijinsky do that evening?”

  “I helped her pack her things; she was moving to a new apartment in a day or two. We had a late dinner and drank a bottle of wine together.” She paused. “We made love. It was a very happy evening.”

  “And when did you next see Ms. Nijinsky?”

  “I never saw her again.”

  “We’ll come back to that. You were taking money from Ms. Nijinsky, weren’t you, Ms. Morgan?”

  Morgan frowned. “Taking money? Certainly not. I borrowed some money from her, and only at her insistence. I was remodeling my apartment, and I ran out of cash. I had some six-month CDs that were not due to mature for another three months, and Sasha said it would be crazy to cash them and lose the interest, and that she wanted to loan me the money to finish the project. It came to twenty thousand dollars out of the eighty that I spent on the project.”

  This was not going the way Stone had meant it to. “You want us to believe that Ms. Nijinsky just loaned you the money – you, a person she had only recently met?”

  “I don’t much care what you believe,” Morgan said coldly. “The money was a loan; I insisted on giving Sasha a promissory note for the amount, although she wouldn’t accept interest.”

  “You’re aware that we have Ms. Nijinsky’s financial records and that we can search them for this note?” He was faltering now. Why hadn’t he gone through those records more carefully?

  “That’s fine with me. I have a copy, if you need it.”

  “Ms. Morgan, after the disappearance of Sasha Nijinsky, police experts removed a palm print from the outside of the sliding glass door of her apartment’s terrace. That palm print has since been identified as yours. On the outside of the door, Ms. Morgan, on the terrace from which Ms. Nijinsky fell. How do you explain that?”