30

A wide bank of windows offered an expansive view of Washington Square below. From here, Adam could see not only the square, but also the tower of Independence Hall. Beyond that, the Customs House and a glint of sunlight on the river.

He turned back to the men standing staring at him.

“You weren’t honest with me, Detective Kaminski. Or should I call you Mr. Kaminski?” Harry Ryan-Mills stood with his feet apart, his hands on his hips.

“I am a detective, Mr. Ryan-Mills. I didn’t lie to you.” Lying was wearying business, and Adam was sick of it. But he needed to fight on. He needed to find the truth. He turned to include the other man in his statement.

“My partner has the lead in the case, that’s probably why they told you at the precinct that you needed to talk to him, not me.”

“Hmph,” Harry continued, not looking at his brother. “They told me you weren’t on the case at all. Imagine my surprise.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m not even supposed to be on duty today, it’s Sunday.” At least that part was true, he wasn’t on duty. “Like I said, my partner, Pete Lawler, has the lead. In fact, I think you’ve both spoken to him.”

“Yes, we have.” Harry’s voice still carried a note of suspicion, but he nevertheless turned to the other man. “I don’t think you’ve met my brother yet, Detective. Tom?”

Thomas gave his brother a nasty look and stuck out a hand. “Thomas Ryan-Mills, Detective. Pleasure to meet you.”

Adam could pick out the hints of a Chicago accent as the man spoke. “You’ve lived out of this area for some time now?”

Thomas nodded. “Moved to Chicago for college and never came back. Met my wife, had children.” He kept nodding as he talked.

Adam glanced around the apartment as he listened. The walls were dotted with oil paintings that, to Adam’s untrained eye, looked expensive. Jim Murdsen might have a different opinion. A variety of statues covered different surfaces. In some ways, it reminded Adam of Julia’s loft. A much more expensive, fashionable version, anyway.

“Are all of these items your father’s?”

Harry frowned. “I have started bringing some of my own possessions in, actually.”

“Oh? Are you moving in?”

Thomas frowned but didn’t speak. Harry just nodded, adding, “Despite what Ms. Evans next door might want.”

A photo across the room caught Adam’s attention. There was something vaguely familiar and comforting about it. He crossed the room to take a look, Harry’s and Thomas’ eyes following him closely.

“My mother.” Harry pulled the print out of Adam’s hand, but not before he’d had a chance to get a better look. A blond, willowy, very thin woman smiled out from the silver frame, the wind blowing her hair. “She wasn’t as frail as she looked, you know.”

Adam turned to Harry, who placed the photograph back, exactly where it had been before. “No? Want to tell me about her?”

Harry nodded and slid into the large leather chair at the end of the room. Adam and Thomas took seats on the matching sofa and love seat, like an audience for Harry to address. Harry was already taking control of the apartment, it seemed.

“She was only sixty when she died. Far too young. My father didn’t know what to do without her.”

“They were married long?”

Thomas nodded but Harry answered. “To the great surprise of his family. She was from a different background, a lower middle-class background. She was working on campus when Oliver went to school — undergrad and law school at Penn, as you know. They met, fell in love, she stopped working. But she never lost that need to save, to prepare for retirement, to save something to leave for her sons. It was important to her that they leave an inheritance for their sons. For us.”

“And after she died, your father’s priorities changed?”

Thomas snorted but waited for Harry to respond.

Harry’s mouth narrowed into a twisted frown. “You’re not kidding.”

“He was just living his life, you have to understand.” Thomas spoke like he was trying to convince himself as well as Adam. “Looking for something to replace her, I’m sure. He didn’t mean any harm by it. But he needed help, guidance.”

Adam let their answer hang in the air for a moment before switching tack. “So were you staying here with your father before he died?” Adam addressed his question to Harry.

“No, I have my own place. And before you ask, I was home alone the night my father died. No one can corroborate that. In case you were wondering.”

“Surely he was killed because of his involvement in the casino fight, wasn’t he?” Thomas was really looking worried now.

“Might be. We’re certainly looking into that.”

“I think you should be looking a little closer to home, Detective.” Harry wagged his head to indicate the apartment next door.

“You said Ms. Evans wanted to buy this condo, is that right?”

“Yep, she still does. Offered me a pretty penny for it.” Harry looked around, tapping his hands lightly on the leather arms of his chair. “But I think I might stay here for a while.”

Thomas frowned again. He looked away from Harry, took a deep breath, and turned back to him, but Harry cut him off.

“You don’t mind, do you Tom?” Harry seemed to surprise himself by asking the question.

Thomas let out his breath. “No, no of course not.”

Harry lifted his chin, folded his hands across his lap. “Yes, you need to focus your investigation on Ms. Evans. Look at her other dead husbands. Isn’t that suspicious enough?”

“Your father wasn’t her husband.”

“And maybe that’s why she killed him.”

“She knew him better than we did, in a way.” Thomas looked down at his hands as he spoke.

“How so?”

“She spent more time with him. I should have come back more often. I live so far away.”

“Do you think your father confided in Ms. Evans?”

“No way.” Harry was adamant.

Thomas was less certain. “Maybe. I don’t know. He did talk about her occasionally.”

“I am curious to learn more about Ms. Evans. She’s not too eager to talk to me, though.” Adam glanced at Harry. “I don’t suppose you can help me with that?”

Grace opened the door promptly after Harry’s first knock. She wore a pale cashmere cardigan over loose silk trousers that flattered her gray complexion. She smiled when she saw Harry, who preyed on her expectations.

“Grace, good afternoon. I wanted to talk to you about the apartment.”

“Excellent, excellent. I’m glad to hear it. Please, come in.”

She stepped back from the door to usher Harry in. As he stepped in, he added, “And I brought along a friend.”

“What?” She turned back and her face closed as she saw Adam. “Oh, no.” She reached for the door, but Adam had already stepped through.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Evans. I’m trying to find the truth about what happened to Oliver Ryan-Mills and I believe you can help.”

She turned her back on him and walked to the far side of the room, picking up a wrap from the sofa as she walked and arranging it over her shoulders. The apartment was a mirror image of the one he had just left. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over Washington Square and the view beyond, though in this apartment thick filigree curtains draped around the windows while thinner sheer lace covered the glass, filtering both the light and the view. Everything about the apartment was plush, from the thick Oriental rug that cushioned his steps to the heavy mahogany furniture that filled every empty space to the rich tapestries that dotted the walls between oil paintings in ornately wrought frames. To the woman who stood with her back to him, her shoulders draped in a white fur wrap, an odd choice for something to wear around the house.

“Your colleagues were just here. Or perhaps not your colleagues, since they are actually on the case. And you’re not.” Grace looked back at Adam triumphantly.

“It’s true.” Adam nodded. “I’m not. But I am involved in this. It’s personal.”

She almost smiled at this, as if expecting it. “How so?”

“My sister is a suspect.”

“Aha, I see.” Grace turned back to the center of the long room and took a seat on the red silk sofa.

Harry did not react as smoothly, letting out a gasp he tried to turn into a cough. “Your sister? But… how? I mean, what…?” He looked back and forth between Grace and Adam as if seeking an explanation, but Adam chose not to provide one, letting Harry splutter about for a moment longer.

Grace watched Harry with amusement, then turned back to Adam, her smile fading. She hadn’t invited him or Harry to sit. “And why do you think I can help with your investigation?” Her expression looked as if asking those words brought the taste of bitter lemon to her tongue.

Adam stayed standing. “I think there are things about Oliver Ryan-Mills you’re not telling me. And I don’t know why.”

She nodded once, then looked away, her gaze focusing on one of the red and gold wall hangings to her left. It looked Asian to Adam’s eye, perhaps a memento of a long-ago trip. Shiny strands of gold threaded their way in and out of the dark weave, adding a hint of light and amusement to an image of a kimono-draped woman standing alone, looking out over a gray and wild sea.

“You knew him well, I think,” Adam continued. “Tell me, did he often walk at that time of the morning?”

Her tight smile returned but she kept her gaze on the wall hanging. “Oddly, sometimes he did. He was a little strange that way. I think he didn’t sleep well. He enjoyed the peace and quiet he encountered on his early morning walks.”

Adam nodded. A regular habit; that was helpful, an opening. “Who else knew he was likely to do that?”

Harry stepped forward as he answered the question Adam had posed to Grace. “Nobody else knew that. Nobody beyond us, that is.” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Grace, his expression one of pure malice. Adam was taken aback by the strength of venom in his attitude to her. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“That’s true, nobody else.” Grace nodded her agreement. “Unless, of course, someone else was in a similar habit and often ran into him.”

“Bah.” Harry dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “You wanted his money, Grace. His apartment. Admit it.”

Grace’s expression tightened, but she didn’t rise to the insult, simply gripped her hands tighter on her lap and looked expectantly at Adam.

Adam moved on to his next question. “Did either of you recognize the statue?”

“What statue?” Grace asked, looking back and forth between the men standing in front of her.

“I’m sorry to have to show you this.” Adam reached a hand into his inside coat pocket and retrieved the photograph he had shown to Jim Murdsen a few days earlier. “This is a photograph of the statue. This was used as the murder weapon, to kill Oliver Ryan-Mills.”

Grace shuddered and shut her eyes, and Adam thought she might refuse to look at it. He set the photograph down on the polished table in front of her and took a step back. She took one deep breath and opened her eyes, looking first up at Adam, who nodded encouragingly, then down at the photo.

Adam saw the light of recognition in her eyes. “What do you see?”

“Well… I can’t be sure.” She looked away. At the windows. Then at Harry. Then back at the wall hanging that had drawn her attention earlier.

“What is it, Grace?”

She stood and moved back to the far side of the room, glancing once more at Harry, then away. “No, no, I could be wrong. I don’t see as well as I used to.” She leaned over and picked up a pair of pale gray reading glasses, the first that Adam had seen of them. Was she too vain to wear them in public, or did she really not need them?

When she turned back to Adam, her attitude had changed. The personality Adam had grown accustomed to had returned. The personality he had dared to hope he could break through.

“I’ve never seen that statue before, Detective. And I have no idea why you are in my apartment, deigning to interview me over something as disgusting as a murder. I had nothing to do with this, and I have nothing further to say to you.” She raised her chin as she spoke, and a gleam in her eye showed her emotion. “Much good you’ve done on this case so far, anyway. Poor Ian.”

“Yes, that was a tragedy, ma’am. But it may or may not be related to this case.”

“Not related. Hah.” She waved a hand, then grabbed at her fur wrap as it threatened to dislodge itself from around her shoulders. “You expect two murders of my neighbors in a few days not to be related? You must resolve this. Quickly.”

“I will,” Adam answered, amused that now she seemed to want him on the case.

“Good. But you will do so without my help. Now get out. Marcus!”

Marcus appeared silently through a doorway, as if he’d been standing there, waiting for his cue. He crossed the room and opened the door. “Detective.”

Adam paused, hoping to come up with the question or the statement that would get through to her, crack her open and encourage her to reveal her true thoughts. To share what she really knew about Oliver Ryan-Mills. About the statue. About the killer.

But she remained silent and no brilliant question came to his mind. He thanked her for her time and followed Marcus into the hallway.

Harry was nowhere to be seen. Marcus glided along the hall ahead of him toward the elevator.

“You must know a lot about what goes on in this building, with the people who live around here?”

“How do you mean?” Marcus didn’t turn around as he spoke, but his finger faltered before he pushed the button to call the elevator.

“I imagine you see a lot. Overhear a lot. Like my conversation with Ms. Evans now. About the murder weapon.”

Marcus slid his eyes toward Adam but didn’t turn his head. “I may hear things, Detective, but I don’t gossip about them.”

Adam held out the photo of the statue, which he had folded back into his pocket. “Do you recognize this?”

Marcus didn’t even blink. “I’ve never seen that before, no sir.” He pushed the button for the elevator.

“If you know something about this investigation, you have to tell me.”

“Do I? I understand you’re not on the case. That, in fact, your sister is a potential suspect.” Marcus’ face didn’t change, his voice and expression cool as ever, despite the admission that he’d overheard everything.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Good day, sir. Please call ahead next time you’d like to visit. I’ll try to schedule you onto Grace’s calendar.”