Chapter Thirty-nine

Jason Hall, the lawyer who lived in Arlene Hampton’s building, spent a lot of time in the gym, but clearly not with a personal trainer who could have provided him with some much needed advice. Puffed, popcorn shoulders and arms towered over scrawny legs that were in dire need of equal bulk. The imbalance made him look like a smooth-talking hero from some cartoon network.

He had a good smile, however, and he knew it. He reserved it for petite blondes with long hair, throwing it at them across the room, clutching his heart when they smiled back, as if surprised that someone so incredibly beautiful would frequent the same wannabe suave Manhattan dump as him.

A lot more women fell for his stunt than Andy considered smart. Lucky for them the first woman who drifted toward him was sidetracked by David, who looked like a Greek god in his perfectly cut suit Iona had selected for him. She even got him to shave his beard.

Andy didn’t know where Kate had found Iona and David, but they were the most beautiful specimens of human beings she’d ever seen. They belonged in science books and on alien ships as prime examples of what people who populated Earth looked like.

The Bull and Bear brimmed with the adrenaline from a day spent making and losing money. High-powered types, mostly of the gorgeous, well-groomed variety, drifted around the crowded room, drinking and laughing, some on the edge of intoxication, others already there, as they blunted the sharp edge of the day into something more tolerable.

No doubt some had already moved beyond alcohol as Andy watched the telltale pinprick eyes, the slightly dulled body language.

But not Jason Hall. He was an experienced hunter, which meant he would never be more drunk than his target. When Iona had walked in, stilettos in hand as if they had been hurting her feet, flax blond hair slightly mussed, and a hint of little-girl-lost in her eyes, he’d swooped in with no regret over the woman now crooning in David’s ears.

Within five minutes, Iona was sitting at his side, laughing at his jokes.

Andy sat watching them in silence, nodding only that the table next to her was indeed available when a woman asked her if she could sit down.

“You’re not from around here,” the woman of Indian descent said, her voice light, lilting upward at the end of the sentence. She had flawless skin, with an inquisitive smile creasing her eyes. She was older than Andy. Beautiful hands. Narrow, long fingers ending in fingernails the color of young peaches.

Andy’s eye strayed from Iona. She wondered what to say. She’d been born in New York, Brooklyn, before it became all la-di-da.

“No,” she lied. “London.”

“Ah. Could have guessed.”

Andy would be blind to miss the spark of interest. For a moment she wanted to say yes. Anything to burn off the edge Isabelle had placed in her body this morning, the ache still pooled between her legs looking for release.

The woman had money and she’d dressed to flaunt her wealth, exuding a quiet, strong confidence that would have seen Andy crawling into her bed in a heartbeat a week ago.

The woman pointed her chin toward the bar. “I can do with another G&T. And some company.” She lifted her almost empty glass.

Andy sighed, laughed ruefully. “I’m taken. Sorry.”

“I don’t see a ring.”

Andy didn’t want to explain her rather unique situation. Didn’t even really want to think about what she’d said about being taken, why she hadn’t asked for a telephone number.

She got up as Jason Hall asked for the bill. She had to be ready and waiting near his car. She nodded to David, who placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table, apologizing to the woman next to him.

Andy faced the woman next to her. “I’m really sorry. Another time, yes. Absolutely, yes.”

The woman believed her. “I hope she’s special.”

Andy didn’t know what to say, so she settled for the most mundane of answers. “Sorry. Really sorry.”

 

* * *

 

Hall and Iona walked to his vehicle. In a city where not a lot of people owned a car, Hall did—a black Mercedes-Benz AMG with twin chrome exhausts and red-rimmed wheels that screamed money but fell short on taste.

Jason opened the door for Iona, unashamedly looking down the front of her ice-blue dress as she climbed in. He walked around and got into the car. She leaned over, took hold of the lapels on his jacket, and pulled him closer to kiss him.

Next to Andy, David groaned something incomprehensible. They were standing on the sidewalk, as if they were looking for a taxi. Every now and then the odd passerby would stomp by, despite the freezing cold.

“You know she’s just doing her job.” Andy tried to soothe his anger.

“Yeah, I know. But, man, that’s my favorite dress on her and that guy…He’s like grease that’s never going to come off.” Again, the angry grunt.

“Hey, you’re helping me out. I’ll never forget that.”

He grimaced but nodded.

The Mercedes pulled away, turning left into the first available alley as per Iona’s plan.

A black truck pulled away, turning across the road to park close to the alley’s entrance. René and Marc were there to keep an eye on Iona should Hall not fall for her suggestion for a quickie nearby.

Seems their fear was unfounded. Iona had her man, hook, line, and sinker.

Andy hooked her arm through David’s. They walked away as if they’d decided to give up on the taxi.

They turned into the alley.

In front of them, the Mercedes was steaming up, Iona straddling Hall. Under her fingers, Andy could feel David’s arm turn to stone. Behind them, the black truck inched forward. The door to the Mercedes opened and Iona got out, signaling them over.

René and Marc moved the truck to fully block the view into the alley.

Iona must have managed to inject Hall with a cocktail containing ketamine—a dose small enough not to cause harm, but sufficient to knock him out. The evening’s events would be nothing but a blur tomorrow, Hall left only with a note that suggested he’d met a gorgeous woman, drank too much, and that she and some friends had driven him home.

Nothing would be stolen and there would no evidence of any physical encounter. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only plan they had been able to cobble together on such short notice.

Andy had to get into Hampton’s apartment. She hadn’t explained why to anyone, just said that she wanted to go over things one more time. Kate had believed her, sanctioning the op.

David strode to Hall’s car. Andy hung back, giving him and Iona a moment of privacy. Iona looked at David, her face worried. She leaned in to kiss him. He stood still, anger settling like concrete in his shoulders, then he relented and kissed her back.

She pulled back and looked at him, said something Andy could only imagine. If it was Isabelle, she would…

She would do nothing. Isabelle wasn’t hers.

She walked over. David leaned into the Mercedes and dragged a barely conscious Hall to the passenger side.

 

* * *

 

It was a quick drive to Arlene Hampton’s building. David used Hall’s security tags to enter the building and park in the basement in a space marked with a number corresponding to his apartment address. René and Marc parked in the street, at the entrance of the building, just in case.

“He’s an ass, but he’s got a nice car,” David said appreciatively as he exited the vehicle.

Andy tied back her hair and put on a cap, covering her face from the CCTV cameras before she got out. David slung his arm around Hall, with Andy doing the same on the other side as they started the process of lugging their “drunk friend” home.

Iona followed in their wake, holding the elevator door as they walked a semi-conscious Hall inside. After arriving on the fourth floor, she walked ahead to unlock the heavy front door of number forty-one. They walked in. David dumped Hall on his bed. He looked at his watch as he spoke to Andy.

“Is fifteen minutes enough? It will be difficult to explain staying here for longer than that.”

“It will do.”

Iona looked at her inquisitively. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Yes. I just want to see the scene again. Get a better picture of what happened. Maybe I can spot something that can help Isabelle.”

Iona nodded. She was also a dreamer. She understood what it meant to lose a mark to the dragon. “Then I hope you find it.”

Andy smiled at them. “Thanks. You two kiss and make up.”

Iona scrunched up her face as she looked at David. “Did he complain? I said nothing two months ago when he had a Bulgarian pole dancer all over his lap.”

David squirmed.

Andy laughed, putting her hands in the air. “I say nothing. See you in fifteen.”

 

* * *

 

The front door to Arlene Hampton’s apartment was crisscrossed with crime scene tape. There was no police guard. The Major Case Squad probably believed they had everything they needed. Andy slipped on nitrile gloves and picked the lock to the door, thanking her lucky stars there was no CCTV in the hallways, and stepped through the tape.

She closed the door behind her softly. She still couldn’t pinpoint what had forced her to return to the scene of the crime, despite the risk to her, Iona, and David. She only knew that something bugged her. Something that got lost in last night’s chaos of blood and uniforms.

She stepped into the apartment, rubbing her neck tiredly. Her muscles were tense, her senses not as sharp as they should have been, just like last night. She was in desperate need of a full night’s sleep. Eight hours of bliss.

She closed her eyes for a second and inhaled deeply through her nose, steadying herself mentally. All she needed was two minutes of being alert and awake. Of seeing everything as if for the first time.

Victoria had this thing she did that could steady Andy. Where she could make Andy see properly and without the cloud of emotion. Where she could make her place everything around her in context, making her join the dots from random information she’d gleaned over the course of the investigation into a coherent mesh—an answer.

Victoria was a Buddhist. Andy, on the other hand, had faith of another kind. A complicated relationship she didn’t always understand. She fished under her shirt for the tiny silver cross and held it until it became warm between her fingers.

She took another breath, just as she would have done had Vic been around. She managed ten easy, steady breaths and then opened her eyes, waiting as everything in Hampton’s apartment came into sharp focus. The round table in the kitchen with…nothing on it. Yesterday there was a bottle there, and two glasses, one with lipstick. The bottle of red was expensive. She waited as she tried to remember.

Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru 2010.

That was about $10,000 a bottle. More. You only shared that with someone very special. Very, very special. And you drank it when you celebrated. Or had someone in your bed for the first time.

She smelled the air. A hint of chemicals, probably the police forensics crew.

She walked to the kitchen. Two empty plates in the sink. Looked like it could have been spaghetti. Not something you necessarily ate on a first date, unless you could trust that your date was pretty handy with her cutlery.

The fridge was full. Stocked to the brim with fruit, vegetables, and freshly squeezed juices of some variety. Healthy. Andy closed the door. She looked at the calendar, held by two fridge magnets of dachshunds.

Hampton hadn’t seemed like a dog person. Andy looked around. Nope. No sign of a dog. No water bowl, bed, or indication of hair. Ditto for evidence of a cat.

The calendar itself was also interesting. All the days up to the twenty-first of November were crossed out even though today was only the twentieth.

That bugged her. Why do that? She lifted it, looked underneath. Put it back.

The clock was also a concern. It was stuck on 2:59. Was it broken?

She moved deeper into the apartment, to the spot where Hampton had died. The blood had turned into a rusty, brown spot on the floor. No handbag. The cops would have taken that as well.

It troubled her that Hampton hadn’t fought back. If it was the Russians who’d stormed in here, wouldn’t a woman like Hampton make an effort to fight back? She felt like the type who would fight to her last breath. Instead she died here, almost as if in surprise. As if she might have known her attacker.

But then again, she’d buzzed the Russians up.

The scent of flowers lured Andy to the main bedroom. A vase filled with red roses stood on a small table at the window. Both sides of the bed were a mess, the sheets tangled. Dinner and sex? Sex, dinner, sex?

The bathroom sink featured one toothbrush. The small medicine cabinet held expensive makeup, one brand of tampons, and a prescription for sleeping pills, largely unused. There were, however, two distinct empty spaces in the cabinet as some items had been removed.

Whoever Hampton dated had cleared out without leaving any clue to their existence, except maybe for DNA.

Who had been Arlene Hampton’s mystery guest? Andy had a feeling that Hampton’s lover might be the only one able to provide the answer to what had happened last night. She wondered if Detective Wright had already closed in on whoever it was.