WOZNIAK ANSWERS the door barefoot wearing blue jeans, a button-down man’s dress shirt, blonde hair framing her face like a lace curtain. She smiles, invites me in.
“Thanks for coming,” she says. “I know you’re swamped.”
Magnanimous, I say, “No problem.”
“No need to lie, Detective. I imagine this is the last place you want to be. Like visiting the dentist for root canal.”
I shrug. “Hotel room alone late at night with a beautiful woman? Some Profiler.”
When she doesn’t respond, I apologize. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“Don’t be. I don’t get a lot of compliments.”
I lift my brow, expressing disbelief.
“Like you say, Detective: Profiler. To most cops, I’m a charlatan. Don’t say you haven’t thought so, yourself.”
Wozniak offers me a seat, plops herself in a chair opposite, long slim legs crossed at the knee. She removes her specs, sets them on a low table. She pours Pellegrino into tumblers from a bottle.
“What’s so important we need to have this conversation now, just the two of us in private?”
Turning serious, Wozniak says, “I think your subject could have a connection to the police.”
Having pulled the pin, Wozniak waits for the grenade to explode in my face. When it doesn’t, she says, “I take it from your reaction, you’re not surprised.”
Draining my tumbler of Pellegrino, I say, “You got anything stronger?”
Wozniak frowns. After a moment, she relents, pads over the carpet to the bar fridge, returns with two mini bottles of Jim Beam. Wozniak takes hers in a mix of water two-to-one, I take mine neat.
“Cheers,” she says.
I reciprocate and begin. “Our primary suspect is Dr. Marcus Livingstone, ex-husband of Miranda Livingstone. You know from the file Miranda lost custody of the children years ago, for cause. You also know from the file, Miranda may have turned her life around and was seeking to regain access to her children, if not shared custody. It’s possible she had leverage on Marcus and for this reason she had to die.”
“Leverage?”
“We’re not there yet, I admit. Could be he’s responsible for the Manischewitz, Mancinelli, Plett killings, and somehow Miranda knew this. Could be something less sinister, but still powerful enough to incinerate his personal life and his career. It could be he staged Miranda’s killing to look like the work of a serial killer.”
“And the killing in the park? It doesn’t fit the pattern, Detective, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. Crime of opportunity?”
Wozniak shakes her head. “No, it’s something else.”
Which gives me an opportunity to explain to her Livingstone’s connection to New York-Presbyterian Hospital and the link to Terry Lattimer and the Manischewitz-Mancinelli killings.
“Way I see it, Detective, it still leaves you without a suspect in the other killings.”
Swallowing the last of my Jim Beam, I say, “I plan to rectify the situation tomorrow. I meet with Livingstone at his office, first thing.”
Wozniak glances at the time on a bedside clock-radio. “I have an early start.”
“You’re right, it’s late, I should be off.” Standing, I reach for her hand. “Despite what you might think, I don’t see you as a charlatan. You conjecture, we conjecture; sometimes we come up with different conclusions.”
Tightening her grip, Wozniak steps in close, raises her face to mine, brushes my lips with a kiss. “I have an hour to kill. If you’re game?”
Her body is warm against me. I tense, involuntarily retreat.
Wozniak tilts her head, stares quizzically. As if she’s uncovered an inconvenient truth, she says, “Ah, yes, of course: Detective Fernandez.”
“Excuse me?”
“You and Detective Fernandez. I should have known.” Then, backing off, she says, “Some Profiler.”
“I think you misunderstand the relationship.”
“No, Detective; not me. You.”
I swallow hard.
“Be careful, Dexter, please?”
“With Gabby?”
“No. Marcus Livingstone. There’s much more to the good Doctor than it seems.”
At the door, she pecks me on the cheek. “Au revoir.”