5 Deal Killer (16 page)

On the other end of the phone, ET groaned.

“That’s just the attitude that worries me.”

fourteen

Vera’s call came just
as Gina was making her third peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Luckily Alison, one of the afternoon nannies, had just arrived.

“Allie, I need to scoot right out,” Gina explained, hugging the boys
while simultaneously licking peanut butter from her thumb. “See you in the morning, super-duper-party-poopers.”

The giggles over any rhyming words were so satisfying, thought Gina. She grabbed one of the sandwich halves and her satchel and headed out the door. On an impulse, she decided to run down some of the floors to Vera’s apartment, taking the stairs two at a time.

She was winded when she arrived, but the sandwich tasted even better.

Vera opened the door with a whoosh and beckoned her inside. “Lunch on the run?” She shook her head as if making a comment on the whole sorry state of the world. “We’ve already had our midday meal, and Yvette has gone out for a few items at the pharmacy,” she explained. “Come in, come in.”

Gina entered the apartment, struck, as always, by the Old World elegance of the ornate furnishings. Although located smack in the center of Manhattan, the main salon could be in Vienna, or Paris, Rome, or Budapest.

“I do hope these officers are respectful,” Vera fretted, plumping
the cushions on a curvy loveseat. “I cannot abide rudeness, you know.”

“I’m sure they’ll be very courteous,” Gina assured her, realizing that she had no idea how the police officers would act. “If they’re not, we’ll hand them over to Yvette.”

Vera gave her a look that was shocked, and then she did an unexpected thing. She blurted out a huge guffaw.

“Oh my word, oh my word,” she laughed. “I hope I don’t split one of my seams.” She wiped her eyes with her fingers, the mirth etched on her wizened face like an engraving. “Gina, you are a funny one.”

A knock on the door interrupted their chuckles.

“Go ahead,” Vera instructed. “Let them in.”

Gina jumped up and pulled open the door, but the figure standing before her was not a police detective.

_____

Miles’s voice on the phone was incredulous.

“An apron,” he fumed. “A butcher apron, and my wool scarf. They
were found this morning in a planter in the lobby of Pulitzer Hall.”

“But how …?” Darby struggled to understand the bizarre news Miles was trying to relay. “Your scarf was with an apron?”

“Yes. And it’s covered with blood. The apron, I presume, but who knows? Maybe the scarf as well.”

“How strange.”

“Indeed! I’m headed down to the police station now to talk to them about it.”

“Do you think you should call a lawyer?”

“Whatever for? It’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Agreed.” Darby knew, though, that evidence, no matter how ridiculous, could cast suspicion on innocent people.

“Can I meet you there, Miles?”

“Oh, I suppose so. Total waste of time, though.” He gave her the address and the tone of his voice softened. “Thanks. It will be nice to have your support, no matter how crazy this whole thing is.”

She hung up and thought about the odd news. A white butcher apron, stained with blood, and a wool scarf belonging to Miles … how had they been linked, and who had put them in the building’s lobby?

Darby knew that Miles had nothing to do with placing the items in the planter. So who, then? Someone with an axe to grid against the lanky Brit?

Her thoughts went to Miles’s students. He’d called some of their papers “drivel.” Did his disdain for their work mean that at least one of them harbored anger? Was it a random prank? Miles said his scarf had been inside his office for days, although he hadn’t noticed when it had gone missing. How had it been removed, and when?

Darby pulled on her sneakers and a black lightweight jacket. She ran a brush though her hair, tied it into a ponytail, grabbed a small pocketbook, and headed out the door.

_____

“I’m sorry,” said Natalia Kazakova, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize you had company, Vera.”

“That’s all right, dear, come in.” From her perch on the couch, Vera waved a graceful arm. “Introduce yourselves—unless you are already acquainted?”

“Not really,” Gina said, smiling. “I know your dog, Korbut, but you and I met only briefly several months ago.”

“Korbut, my ill-mannered wolfhound,” Natalia lamented. “He lunged at someone’s sneaker this morning. He is developing a bad reputation, I’m afraid.” She looked confused. “You say we’ve met before?”

“In the locker room of the gym, at Halloween. I was with a friend and we asked you to come out with us for a few drinks. Completely random, now that I think of it.”

“But very nice.”

“Sit down, Natalia.” Vera waved at the satin-covered couch.

“No, I won’t disturb you. I came only to see if we could work on
our project again?” She asked it delicately, waiting for the older woman
to respond.

“Of course.” She turned to Gina. “Natalia and I are doing some historical documentation,” she explained. Swiveling back to the Russian woman, she sighed and said, “I should think I’ll be too tired this afternoon, but we can meet tomorrow.” She took a breath. “I might as well tell you, Natalia. Some months ago, an antique sword was taken from this apartment. Gina has convinced me to call the police, mainly because of the death of your fiancé.”

The girl’s face grew pale. “But that is terrible. Could it be the same sword used to kill Alec?”

“I have no idea. The police are bringing a photograph.”

Natalia shuddered. “I do not wish to be here when they come,” she said simply, moving toward the exit.

But it was too late. A knock on the door signaled the arrival of someone and this time, Gina knew as she opened the door that the man waiting on the other side was a cop.

He stood in the doorway of Vera Graff’s apartment, clutching a manila folder.

“Come in,” Gina said. She was about to introduce Vera when the man started.

“Ms. Kazakova,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice. “I did not expect to see you.”

“And who exactly are you?” Vera Graff had a commanding presence when she wanted, and Gina could see from the way the man hung his head for a split second that he felt chastised.

“Hello, Mrs. Graff. I’m Detective Benedetti, New York Police Department. Thank you for your call.”

“Come in, Detective.” She moved slowly but deliberately to the couch and eased herself back down. “Natalia was here for a visit and I told her about the sword.” She indicated Gina. “This is Ms. Trovata, a friend who works in the building. She is here for moral support.” She gave a wry smile and sighed. “My housemaid, Yvette, will be returning from errands very shortly. She’s bound to be surprised at your presence. She doesn’t take well to strangers in our home.”

The detective pursed his lips. “Thank you for the warning.”

“Please, sit down.”

In contrast to Vera’s graceful movements, Detective Benedetti lowered himself like a breaching baby whale. Gina thought she saw a flicker of amusement in the older woman’s eyes.

“Let me start off with first things, first, Mrs. Graff. You’ve called because an antique sword is missing from your apartment.”

“Yes, along with a few other things.”

“Such as …?”

“A little figurine of a horse, some old coins, and an egg.”

He was taking notes. “An egg?”

“That’s right.” Her blue eyes were sharp. “Encrusted with precious gems. As is the case with the onyx horse, it’s rather valuable.”

The detective looked up from his jottings. “And this happened …?”

“About a month ago.” She paused. “I know your next question, Detective. You’re going to ask why I did not report this theft.”

He gave her a level gaze. “I was wondering. Especially if the items are valuable. Surely you would want to report them stolen so that your insurance company would cover your losses.”

Vera seemed to be choosing her words, but then the door opened and Yvette stood in the threshold. Her face sagged when she saw the assembled guests.

“Madame …” she said. Her voice quavered. She swayed on thin legs and Gina feared she would drop the groceries clutched in her arm. Gina sprang up and lent a steadying hand.

“It’s okay, Yvette,” she whispered. “You don’t need to be afraid.” She guided the terrified woman to the couch and coaxed her to sit down. She pointed at Benedetti. “This man is from the police department. He’s here because of the things that are missing from the apartment.”

Yvette jerked her head toward Vera, her eyes wide and question
ing.

“
Ça va
,” the older woman said. “
Ne t’inquiete pas.
”

Yvette nodded slowly.

The detective sighed as if he’d had enough of the maid’s dramatic entrance. “As I was saying, I’m surprised and disheartened that you did not report this crime. Be that as it may, this is a photograph of the sword we have at headquarters.” He took a glossy photo from the file folder and handed it to Vera.

She scrutinized the photo, nodded, and passed it to Yvette, who touched only the edges, as if afraid it would bite her. Gina watched the maid’s face carefully but she betrayed nothing.

“Detective, this sword certainly looks like the weapon that was removed from this apartment,” she said. She handed him back the
photo. “I am saddened to think it may have been involved in a crime.”

Benedetti slid the photograph back into the folder, but not before glancing at Natalia. “Where did this sword come from?”

Yvette’s eyes darted toward her employer.

“It’s an old family piece,” Vera said. “I know little more than that.”

“I see.” The detective consulted his notebook. “On the day that you noticed the sword and the other items were missing, was there anything else strange? Were your doors or locks harmed, for example?”

“Forced entry, is that what you are asking?” Vera Graff shook her head. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Who, besides the two of you, has a key to the apartment?”

“No one.”

“And you have been here how long?”

“Why—we have been in the building since it opened.”

“Did you, or do you, have any suspicions about who may have been involved in this theft?”

Again Vera shook her head. “I’m afraid we were as stymied then as we are now, Detective. No idea.” She smoothed the front of her wool slacks with a hand. “If that is all …”

The detective took her hint and rose heavily from the couch. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Graff.” He glanced around the room. “Ladies—I would ask that you keep the information about this weapon confidential. We are in the midst of a murder investigation.”

Gina stole a glance at Natalia, whose eyes were downcast. Without further word, Detective Benedetti crossed the room and left the apartment.

“Well,” Vera said, as the door closed behind him. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that, Natalia. This must be very difficult for you.”

Her choppy bangs bobbed as she nodded. “It’s not easy, but perhaps with more information the police will solve Alec’s murder.” She bit her lip and rose to her feet. “The missing egg …?”

Again Yvette’s eyes flew to Vera, who answered.

“Yes?”

“Was it … is it … a creation of Faberge?”

“So you know of the famous jeweled eggs,” Vera said softly. She took a breath, looked down at her hands. “It was not genuine, but very beautiful nonetheless. Have you seen these masterpieces before?”

“When I was very young, in a museum in Moscow.” She stood and nodded to the women. “I must go. Tomorrow, Vera.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Natalia. I’m glad to see you again.” Gina smiled and the young Russian woman smiled as well.

“Perhaps we will meet again,” Natalia said.

_____

Sergei Bokeria glanced at his cell phone. Mikhail Kazakova, checking in. He stepped out of the hallway and the cook’s inquisitive ears.

“
Da
,” he answered.

“Sergei, I am coming back to New York late tonight.” Mikhail’s voice sounded weary, as if he were already in the midst of the flight.

“Do you need me to meet you at the airport?”

“No, that will not be necessary. I have arranged a driver. Please let Natalia know I will join her for breakfast.”

Bokeria nodded, he would tell the cook as well. “Yes,” he said simply. He thought of asking his employer about his deception regarding his whereabouts Thursday night, but decided it was better discussed in person. He waited until Mikhail said goodbye before hanging up.

“Mr. Kazakova wishes breakfast in the morning,” he informed the cook in Russian. She scowled, her habitual response.

“And the daughter?”

“Natalia will take breakfast as well.” Sergei decided to let Natalia know of her father’s plans right away, and continued down the hallway to her room.

American music was playing behind the closed doors. Bokeria could pick out some of the English words, which was strange. Not because Natalia did not favor the pop stars of the United States, but because she usually listened with tiny earphones. He listened more closely and heard the sound of running water. So that was it. Natalia had returned from her outing to the neighboring apartment and decided to take a shower.

He headed back down the hallway to his room.
I will inform Natalia later
, he told himself. He opened his door and closed it, without ever seeing his charge slip from the confines of her room, close the door, and creep silently down the hall.

_____

Miles was waiting outside of the police station when Darby arrived. After a quick peck on the cheek, she took his hand. “Have you heard anything else?”

He shook his head. “No. Let’s go get it over with.”

They entered the station and Miles indicated a long window with sliding glass doors. A uniformed officer stood and slid open the window. Her face was inquisitive, but serene, despite the piles of papers surrounding her desk and the chaotic jumble of sounds released by the sliding window: ringing phones, the cacophony of male voices, the hum of a computer server.