"I wouldn't kill her," I said. "But yeah, I would run like hell. She'd never hear from me again."
"So add to that," she said, "she tells him she's having his baby, whether or not it's really his. She's talking love, and he's thinking emotional blackmail. You think that's not a motive?"
"I get it, I get it," I said. "Rod had plenty to lose."
Chapter Thirty-One: Cindy
Larry Kane has no alibi," Natali said, "for the time between when Judith Orson's workmates at the Met saw her last and the earliest the ME says she could have died. So far, they haven't found a bar or coffee shop in the neighborhood where someone can identify her from the picture they're showing around. She told her friends she was going out for a while but planned to come back and work."
"I'm not surprised," Cindy said. "If she'd been on a bender for weeks, she was lucky not to lose her job."
"They haven't traced the Rohypnol yet either," he said. "Our best hypothesis is that he got it on the Internet, same way he got the cyanide."
"He'd need a prescription," Cindy said, "unless he bought it out of the country."
"Why not?" Natali said. "The Internet is global."
"Or he could have access to a prescription pad."
"Or a dealer," he said.
"Or a scuzzy young adult who goes to raves," she said.
"Why scuzzy?" Natali asked. "Raves can be upscale."
"Because anyone who parties armed with a date rape drug," Cindy said, "is scuzzy by definition."
Natali nodded, acknowledging the point. Privately Cindy thought that the majority of AA members could probably name at least one dealer who might or might not still be in business, depending on how long they'd been clean and sober. She'd say so if she had to, but as long as none of the recovering addicts was a prime suspect, she'd rather keep the thought to herself.
"If he bought the poisons on the Internet," Cindy said, "why not the bracelet?"
"It's not the same," Natali said. "He'd have to buy cyanide and roofies secretly. Buying a diamond bracelet isn't a crime."
"He had to hide it from his wife," Cindy said. "But she might have been keeping an eye on him. How?"
"She could have hired a hacker or a detective," Natali said.
"She'd have to be paranoid to do that," she said.
"Unless he'd cheated before," he said.
"Right," she said. "She might have caught him giving jewelry to another woman before."
"Okay," he said. "Let's assume he wanted to cover his tracks."
"How would you do that," she asked, "if you were him?"
"For one thing," Natali said, "I wouldn't use a credit card. If she was suspicious, the first thing she'd do would be to look at his credit card bills. So he's not going to go that route."
"How about a money order?" she asked. "Those can be anonymous."
"Not if the bracelet cost more than $10,000," he said. "Bank Secrecy Act of 1970. Uncle Sam discourages anything that looks like money laundering."
"Then he must have paid cash," she said.
"Probably," Natali said. "Your next job is to go out and find the jeweler who sold it to him."
"There must be thousands of jewelers in Manhattan alone," Cindy said. "Where do I start?"
"Begin at the high end," Natali said, "Cartier and Tiffany, and work your way down. You can start tomorrow morning. Right now, we're bringing in the guy the husband thinks was banging our victim. We'll check his alibi for the time of Judith Orson's murder too."
Even in the dismal setting of the interview room, Damian Kerensky exuded charisma. Before he sat down, he took off the jacket of his Brooks Brothers suit, folded it carefully, and laid it across the back of his chair. As he sat, he pinched the knees of his trousers between thumb and forefinger, lifted them, and let them drop over his black socks in a perfect drape. Then he rolled the sleeves of his pristine white shirt to just below the elbow and loosened his collar and tie. He might have been posing for a campaign poster rather than facing questions about a murder case.
With a glance at Natali for permission, Cindy jumped in fast, before he could finish arranging his face into a mask of sincerity and charm.
"Mr. Kerensky, where were you between the hours of eleven and three on the day that Sophia Schofield was murdered?"
"I've already given my statement," Kerensky said.
"We'd like to hear it again."
"I was at the office working, as I told you then."
"Your secretary stated that you were in and out," Cindy said, "and she couldn't confirm where you went. She took several phone messages for you in your absence."
"I'm always in and out," Kerensky said. "I'm a partner in the firm, and I have business in the courts and elsewhere. I don't have to clock in and stay glued to my desk."
He sounded annoyed.
"In recent months, were some of your excursions down the corridor to meet with Ms. Schofield?"
"Yes. We were working on the PR aspects of my campaign, and we had a lot to discuss."
"But that is not where you went that morning."
"Is that a question, Detective?" Kerensky asked. "Sophia wasn't there that morning."
"How do you know that, Mr. Kerensky?" Natali asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" Kerensky snapped. "She was uptown being killed. Sorry, Detective. I don't mean to be rude. I'm still upset about Sophia's death. She was a dear friend."
"Do you know that at first hand?" Natali asked. "That is, did you go from your office down the hall to hers and see for yourself that she wasn't there?"
"I know what you meant," Kerensky said. "I did go down the hall. Her PA, Miranda Spence, told me that she wasn't there."
"Did Ms. Spence tell you where Ms. Schofield was?"
"No. I didn't ask. It was none of my business."
"How long did you spend in Ms. Schofield's office?" Cindy asked.
"No more than twenty minutes," he said.
"Twenty minutes? Since Ms. Schofield wasn't there, what were you doing for that period of time?"
"I was talking to Miranda—Ms. Spence."
"The other day, when we met in Ms. Schofield's office, you brought coffee for yourself and Ms. Schofield. Did you do the same that day?"
"I knew she wasn't there. I did bring coffee, for myself and Ms. Spence."
"Are you aware that there's a darkroom in Ms. Schofield's office?" Natali asked.
"Yes," Kerensky said. "It's not a secret. She did some campaign fliers and posters for me there."
"Did you go into the darkroom on the day in question?"
"No."
"Was the darkroom door open or closed?" Natali asked.
"It was closed."
"Did you look inside at any time?"
"No, how could I? I've already told you that the door was closed."
"Were you having an affair with Sophia Schofield, Mr. Kerensky?" Cindy asked.
"No! That's an outrageous question!"
"Did you ever make love to Sophia in her office?"
"No!"
"In her darkroom?"
"No!"
"Where did you meet? Where did you go after your many intimate dinners together? If the evidence is there, Mr. Kerensky, we'll find it. It would be better to come clean now."
"I won't be badgered like this!" he said. "Look, I've answered all your questions. I was not sleeping with Sophia Schofield. What makes you think I was?"
Cindy looked at Natali, who said, "For one thing, her husband thinks you were."
Kerensky's face got red, his eyes stormy with indignation.
"Larry said that? I don't believe you. We're friends and colleagues. He must know I wouldn't cheat with his wife."
He cheated with yours, Cindy thought.
"Apparently he doesn't," Natali said. "Can you identify this?" He slid the diamond bracelet out of the evidence bag onto the scarred and pitted surface of the table.
"What the hell is this?" Kerensky demanded.
"I believe it's called a tennis bracele
t," Natali said. "Have you ever seen it before?"
"Never."
"Did you buy it for Sophia?"
"No, I told you I've never seen it. I've never bought anything like that, and I did not give Sophia expensive presents, diamond or otherwise."
"Have you ever bought your wife a similar piece?"
Kerensky shifted around in his seat.
"I repeat, I've never bought anything like that. My wife prefers to buy her own jewelry. She has the means, and she likes to pick it herself."
"Does she own a diamond tennis bracelet?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Are you telling us," Cindy asked, "that you're not familiar with your wife's jewelry?"
"I am in general," Kerensky said, "but maybe not every specific piece."
"How frequently do you take your wife out for an evening, Mr. Kerensky," Cindy asked, "to a restaurant or event to which she might wear expensive jewelry?"
"I've been busy with the campaign," Kerensky said. "My wife attends many charitable events on her own. Since I announced my candidacy, we've gone out maybe two or three times."
"Doesn't your wife accompany you to political events?" Cindy asked.
"She doesn't have to if she prefers not to," Kerensky said. "I'm running for City Council, not the Senate or the Presidency."
"We'll be sure to ask her," Natali said, "what she prefers. How often did you have dinner with Ms. Schofield, let's say in the past three months?"
Kerensky looked sullen for the first time.
"Three or four times a week," he said. "It wasn't social. I've told you, we were working."
Cindy shot an inquiring glance at Natali. Her hand, hidden from Kerensky by the edge of the table, made a rounding motion over her belly. Natali nodded.
"Mr. Kerensky," Cindy said, "did you know that Sophia Schofield was pregnant?"
Kerensky's glance darted back and forth. He took a breath as if to speak and then expelled it. Cindy wondered if he was about to ask for a lawyer.
"She didn't confide in me," he said stiffly.
"Did you," Cindy asked, "or did you not know that Sophia Schofield was pregnant?"
Kerensky shook his head as if to clear it and squirmed in the unforgiving chair.
"Look, I have to level with you."
Cindy's eyebrows rose. Natali, who had been slumping in his chair, sat up straight.
"It's not what you think!" Kerensky said. "I didn't sleep with Sophia, and I certainly didn't kill her. I didn't tell you sooner because I can't afford for it to get out. If my wife finds out, I'm screwed, and if the press gets hold of it before the election, I'm finished."
"You didn't tell us what?" Cindy asked.
"Whatever it is, you'd better tell us now," Natali said. "You have no choice."
"I know." Kerensky took a deep breath. "I'm having an affair with Miranda Spence. She knew Sophia was pregnant, and she told me."
Chapter Thirty-Two: Cindy
"Can I ask a dumb question, boss?" Cindy asked Sergeant Washington.
It was bright and early, but Natali was already gone, leaving her to organize the search for the buyer of the diamond bracelet on her own. It was a vote of confidence and also an opportunity to screw up.
"There are no dumb questions," the sergeant said benignly, "only detectives too arrogant to ask for help when they need it."
"I have to trace the purchase of this diamond bracelet," she said. "Do I carry it around with me or what?"
"Natali's already taken it down to One Police Plaza. You'll find the voucher and photographs on your desk."
"Thanks, boss. What if they can't identify the bracelet without looking at the real thing? Like if they sell dozens of bracelets that look alike to the naked eye, but the quality of the diamonds varies?"
"Then you'll take the voucher downtown and check the bracelet out," he said. "Cross that bridge when you come to it."
"Okay, boss. Got it."
Cindy decided she felt equally relieved and disappointed. It would be cool to walk around the city with ten or fifteen thousand dollars' worth of diamonds in her pocket. On the other hand, she would rather not bet her career against the chance of its getting lost or stolen. It was a beautiful day, the sky the clear blue that made New Yorkers feel superior to residents of London, Paris, and LA. Dazzling sunshine bounced off skyscraper windows as if Manhattan were a giant floating jewelry store. Neither Tiffany's nor Cartier could identify the bracelet, nor could the best known chains like Kay and Zale. She grabbed a halal hot dog from a cart in midtown and tackled the 47th Street diamond district counter by counter. Many of the vendors were Orthodox Jewish men in traditional garb: black brimmed hats or round caps trimmed with fur like oversized birds' nests and long black silk coats despite the heat of the afternoon. Luxuriant beards fell to their chests, with prayer curls either blending into the general bushiness or falling in ringlets to their shoulders.
A young man, his cheeks pale and unblemished above the facial hair, finally identified the bracelet as one he might have sold.
"I'd have to examine the diamonds with a loupe to be sure," he said, squinting at the photograph. "They're very individual. But if it's the piece I think it is, I remember the customer."
"Do you have a credit card receipt?" Cindy asked.
The jeweler shook his head, his hand reaching up to twirl a glossy black ringlet.
"He paid cash."
"Is that unusual?" Cindy asked.
"Not at all," he said. "Many of our customers offer cash or bring in gold or gems to trade."
"Then how come you remember him?" she asked.
The young man grinned, rosy lips parting to display an excellent set of teeth.
"He was a yeshivabukker," he said, "or maybe a lawyer."
"What made you think so?" she asked.
"He knew how to hondle," the jeweler said, "But that's nothing. Anyone can bargain. He had a sharp mind."
"You had a conversation that went beyond discussing the diamonds?"
"A very lively one," he said. "We were trading quotes from Rambam and the Vilna Gaon before I finished examining the stones."
"I'd like to come back tomorrow," Cindy said, "and show you photographs of people to see if you recognize one of them. I'll bring the bracelet too, so you can examine the stones. Will you be here?"
"As long as it's not Shabbos," he said.
"Did the man come in alone," she asked, "or did he have someone with him?"
"No, he came in by himself."
"Did he say anything to indicate who the bracelet was for?"
"He said it was a gift for a very special lady. I assumed he meant his wife."
"Did anything in particular make you think so?"
"He wore a wedding band," the jeweler said, "a simple gold ring. It needed cleaning. I told him he should give it a scrub with warm water and dish soap. I pointed out a few much nicer rings, but I couldn't interest him in an upgrade."
"Did he say anything about his wife or his marriage?" she asked.
"No. I asked him a few questions, but he ignored them. Usually, the more you know about a customer, the better deal you can make. He was happy to debate the price, but he wasn't responsive to personal questions."
"What did he look like?" Cindy asked.
"In his early forties, I'd say," the jeweler said, "dark hair, medium build, a couple of inches taller than me."
"How was he dressed?" Cindy asked.
"Like an ordinary American," the jeweler said. "He wore a business suit, and he was clean-shaven. I thought he was Jewish, but he didn't wear a kippah. I assumed he was Reform of some kind."
"Jewish?" Natali said when Cindy told him. "Who's Jewish in this case, other than Larry Kane? And he could have bought the bracelet openly for his wife. Besides, he told us himself that he didn't buy it."
"Let's go over the witness list again," she said, "to see if any of their names sound Jewish." From long habit, she'd forgotten Dan and Dennis's last names the moment she'd learned they
were in the program.
"Is Kerensky a Jewish name?" Natali asked.
'Hold on," Cindy said. "I'm googling the name. Nope. The only Kerensky who comes up besides Damian is the Russian revolutionary, and it seems there's no short answer to the question of whether he was Jewish. They've been debating it since 1917."
"He could have changed it from something else," Natali said. "Not that I'd pick the name of a famous Commie if I wanted a career in politics. Anyhow, Miranda Spence confirmed that she's been seeing Damian, so why would he give Sophia a diamond bracelet? He hasn't given Miranda any diamonds. She was kind of miffed about that, once I brought it to her attention."
"Should we ask Kerensky's wife if she has any diamond bracelets?" Cindy asked.
"Why?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "Just to check off all the boxes."
"Marcia can afford to buy her own bracelets," Natali said.
"It has nothing to do with affording it," Cindy said. "If a man gives a woman diamonds, it makes a statement."
"Yeah, so what's the statement Sophia's bracelet makes?"
"I don't know. I love you but it has to be a secret, so this is to make it up to you. I love you so much I want to tell the world and be with you forever. I love you so much I'd never kill you. I love you so much I'll kill you if you see another man. I love you, but you'd better settle for diamonds because I won't leave my wife and family. I love you so much I'll kill you if you leave me."
"That one could have been the husband or the lover," Natali said. "Maybe Larry lied to us about the bracelet. Maybe he gave it to Sophia himself and was just blowing smoke about it coming from a lover."
"Maybe Marcia's affair with Larry meant more than he said it did," Cindy said. "Maybe it was still going on. Maybe Larry bought two bracelets, one for her and one for Sophia. He could have been feeling guilty or hedging his bets."
"Okay," Natali said, "go find out more about Larry Kane's background. He's still the husband, and he's still a suspect."
Death Will Pay Your Debts Page 19
