5 Deal Killer (24 page)

twenty-three

“I’ve always felt it
was a random crime,” Detective Benedetti said. It was early Wednesday morning, and Miles and Darby had decided they needed to see him as soon as the station opened.

Miles shifted in his seat. “Why is that?”

“The murder weapon may have belonged to the old lady, but whoever stole it could have turned around and sold it to any num
ber of retail establishments. There are hundreds of shops selling
antique swords in the city, not to mention the hundreds available on-line. That’s how the murderer got the weapon.”

“And now?” Darby leaned forward in the hard metal chair. “Do you still feel it was a random act of violence?”

“I do. I think someone with a sick mind thought it would be fun to stab someone.”

“No copycats,” Miles said. “No other crimes like this one have occurred.”

“Exactly. A random crime, committed by a woman or a small man.
That’s what I told the private eye, too.”

“What private eye?” Darby asked.

“A woman—tall, athletic build.” He fished in his desk. “Eagle Eye Investigations.”

“Interesting. Can you tell us her name?”

“Sure.” He squinted at the card. “Miranda Styles.”

_____

“Okay, I’m confused,” Miles said. “Miranda the dog walker is a private investigator?”

“Apparently so,” Darby said. “I’ll admit it—I never saw that coming, although Gina did tell us she saw Miranda wearing a gun.”

“That’s right. Speaking of Gina, shall we fill her in?”

“Definitely. Let me give her a call.” She pulled out her phone, dialed, and left a message. Gina called back almost instantly.

“I’m at the Coopers’,” she said, “What’s up?”

“Miranda is not only Mikhail’s snuggle buddy, but she’s a PI, too,” Darby said.

“No way.” Gina was silent a moment. “Actually, when I think about it, that makes a lot of sense. There’s no way you could afford to live at Central Park Place on a dog walker’s salary, right?” She sighed. “What now? She hasn’t come for Honey yet, so I guess she’s running behind. Do we try to pool our information?”

“Yes. When Miranda comes, see if you can stall her. We’ll join you to speak with her.”

“Great. By the way, I called Natalia this morning. She’s been hanging out with her new boyfriend and is meeting Vera today. Hasn’t seen much of her father, but says that’s par for the course when he’s in New York. He’s very busy with business.”

“Business of a romantic nature,” Darby said dryly. “See you soon.”

_____

Gina hung up and continued connecting the wooden train track for Trevor. Beside them, Sam clapped his hands in his little jump-seat, while Honey lay sprawled on the floor at the baby’s feet. Gina frowned. Miranda was much later than usual. She hoped nothing was wrong.

Her phone buzzed and Gina saw that Sherry Cooper had sent a text. Something was on Facebook about Devin Finnegan, and Sherry had forwarded Gina the link. Idly she clicked on it and took a look.

The Facebook page was a memorial site for Devin Finnegan, with photos of the young woman and her favorite quote: “
All I ask is the chance to prove that money can’t make me happy.”
An event was posted: a gathering that would take place at a bar Friday night to celebrate the young woman’s life. The person posting the information was named Heather Cox, and Gina promptly requested to be her friend.

Heather had tagged a list of people so that they, too, would get the event announcement, and Gina read through them, her mind wondering about Miranda. It was strange she hadn’t called …

“Come on boys,” she said to Trevor and Sam. “Let’s go for a ride in the elevator.”

They clapped their hands, ready for anything that sounded like adventure. Gina strapped them both in the stroller and gave Sam a bottle. Honey stood up and stretched, wagging her tail hopefully. “You’d better stay, girl, just in case Miranda and I miss each other.” She had a sinking feeling that wouldn’t happen.

It was only two floors up to Miranda’s apartment, but the boys loved going in the elevator, no matter how long the trip. Gina pushed them down the hallway a few doors and paused before 2005.

She rang the buzzer.

There was no answer, and Gina leaned in closer to the door and rang it again. A horrible smell accosted her nostrils. Sulfur? She recoiled, wondering why there was such a stench …

And then she knew. She grabbed the front of the stroller and raced down the hall, pushing the boys as if she were in a race. She hit the button to call for an elevator, and waited. Usually one was right there! Why was it taking so long?

It seemed as if the odor of sulfur had followed her down the hall. She put a hand in front of her mouth and realized her fingers were shaking.
Where was the elevator?
She did something she hadn’t done in a long time: she prayed, a litany of pleas from her heart to God, Mary, Jesus, and whomever else might be listening. And finally, the elevator was there.

Gina rushed in and closed the doors.

And waited.

“Oh, my God,” she wailed, realizing she’d forgotten to indicate a floor. She punched L for lobby and felt the reassuring descent.

“Down,” Trevor said, pounding on the frame of the stroller. “Go
down.”

“That’s right, sweetie,” Gina panted. She could hardly speak. Her heart was racing and her mouth very dry. She felt a buzzing feeling and realized it was her phone, vibrating against her thigh.

She yanked it out. Heather Cox had accepted her friend request. Big deal! Gina was about to shove the phone back in her pocket when she had another thought. As the elevator continued its descent downward, she called 911.

The elevator stopped at the seventh floor and an elderly couple came on, using canes and moving slowly. Gina bit her lip, trying to keep from screaming. They looked up and nodded and she managed a tight smile. A very tight smile.

Finally the doors opened on the opulent lobby and the elderly couple began shuffling out. Gina dug her fingernails into her palm to keep from pushing them. Instead, she waited until there was enough room to brush by them. She glanced around for Ramon and saw him at the door, greeting Miles and Darby.

“Call the building superintendent,” she cried, breathing hard.

“Gina, what is it?” Darby put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“I went up to Miranda’s apartment and there’s a terrible smell of sulfur … I’ve called 911 …” She gulped for air. “I’m pretty sure it’s a gas leak.”

_____

The evacuation of Central Park Place stopped traffic on the street and brought throngs of paparazzi, hoping to see some of the building’s more famous occupants. Darby and Miles stood with Gina and the boys, hoping the news from Miranda’s apartment would be good.

“I feel terrible for Honey, too,” Gina said. “If something happens …”

“The gas has been turned off, Gina,” Miles said. “Thanks to your quick thinking the rest of the building will be fine.”

No one said anything. They knew the danger lurked in Miranda’s unit on the twentieth floor.

“I wonder why we haven’t seen Natalia?” Gina asked. “Or Sergei?”

“You’ve called, right?” Darby asked.

“Yes. No answer.” Gina looked down at her charges, who sat in the stroller, fascinated by the ambulance and fire trucks. A moment later there was a strangled sob and a blur of blonde hair.

“Damn, I’m glad to see you!” Sherry Cooper hugged Gina before swooping down to kiss her sons. “I came as soon as I could. I’ve been so worried! Does it look like everyone inside is okay?”

“We don’t know about Miranda yet,” Gina said. “We’re waiting.”

“Oh my God,” she seemed to notice Darby and Miles and introduced herself. “I hope she’s okay. Carbon monoxide poisoning …”

She swallowed, left it hanging.

A cheer went up as a stretcher, flanked by medical personnel, emerged from the building.

“Looks like they are working on her,” Sherry said hopefully. “That’s a good sign.”

And then another stretcher, also surrounded by emergency medical technicians, was rolled out the entrance. Darby and Miles exchanged a glance.
Mikhail.

“I thought Miranda lived alone,” Sherry said, craning her neck. “Whoever that is seems to be in worse shape, judging by the number of EMTs.”

Gina looked at Miles and Darby. Her very countenance seemed to ask,
Freak accident? Or had Alec Rodin’s killer struck again?

_____

Once the building had been declared safe to re-enter, Sherry and the boys headed inside, while Darby, Miles and Gina walked to a little café around the corner. All three were quiet, each trying to make sense of what had just happened at Central Park Place.

The authorities confirmed what Gina had surmised: gas had been
seeping into Miranda’s apartment for most of the night, and foul play was almost certainly to blame. It was known that the two victims were alive, one of them, just barely. Natalia and Sergei had been located, and were now at the hospital. Miles requested and received an update on Mikhail’s and Miranda’s conditions: Miranda was recovering rapidly, while Mikhail was in the intensive care unit.

“Is Sergei at the hospital?” Darby asked.

“Yes, he and Natalia. Her friend Jeremy left his office as soon as
he heard, and, according to Sergei, he’s the one keeping Natalia from
hysterics.”

“That’s good at least,” Gina huffed. She stirred her coffee. “I just can’t figure out how someone could get into Miranda’s apartment, number one, and then sabotage the gas, number two?”

“I know,” Darby said. She sighed. “We need some sort of insight … something to help us see the way.”

“Not sure if this helps, but it looks like Miranda’s getting discharged,” Miles said, looking at his phone.

“Already?” Darby and Gina exchanged glances.

He nodded. “Natalia’s sent me a text. Miranda insists that she’s fine, and I suppose they think she’s well enough to leave.”

“Guess a private investigator doesn’t stay down for too long,” Gina quipped. “Maybe we should have some sort of welcome home thing for her.” She frowned. “Speaking of parties, I hate to be morbid but there’s a gathering for Devin Finnegan on Friday night.”

“That doesn’t sound like an event Rona would organize,” said Darby.

“No—it’s a friend of Devin’s named Heather Cox. She’s got a list of people she’s invited, but Rona doesn’t seem to be on it.” Idly she pulled out her phone and clicked on the memorial site. “No one I know, but that’s to be expected.”

Suddenly she sat bolt upright. “Wait a minute …” she handed Darby the phone. “Take a look at that name.”

Darby glanced down, read the list of invitees. “How odd.” Her eyes flew up to meet Gina’s. “Oh, my goodness—I’ve been blind. All this time …” She grabbed her phone. “We’ve got to speak with Cardazzo right away. If what I’m thinking is right—we may already be too late.”

_____

Special Agent Cardazzo met them at the entrance to the hospital. “This better be good,” he muttered.

“It is,” Darby said. She turned to Gina. “Head on upstairs and make sure nobody leaves. We’ll be up as soon as we’ve briefed Detective Cardazzo.”

His eyes were quizzical. “What are you planning here? Some sort
of bust?”

“Yes, actually,” she said. “In a few minutes, you’ll have the person who masterminded Alec Rodin’s death, as well as the nearly fatal poisoning of Mikhail Kazakova and Miranda Styles.”

“I hope ‘nearly fatal’ is still accurate,” Miles said quietly. He put down his phone and sighed. “Natalia just texted. Mikhail Kazakova’s dying.”

twenty-four

Ramon could not understand
why one of the private chef uniforms was missing. He knew that he’d spoken to the laundry service and that they were all in Monday’s delivery. Where had the misplaced one disappeared?

Of course, dealing with linen was not a duty of a doorman, but at Central Park Place, the staff members pitched in, no matter what the
situation. The head housekeeper wanted Ramon’s assistance in track
ing down the uniform, and he was happy to lend a hand. They were a team, and, if anything, the disaster with the gas leak had brought them closer.

He once again checked the closet where the uniforms were kept.
One was definitely absent. He stroked his chin and headed back
upstairs to his post. Yes, it was perplexing.

_____

The private waiting room was quiet, except for the soft sobs of Natalia Kazakova. She was flanked by Sergei Bokeria, whose enormous bulk could barely be contained in his chair, and Jeremy Hale, who
was holding her hand and murmuring in a soft voice. Across the room stood Miranda, her eyes rimmed with red, although Darby didn’t know if it was from sorrow or from her exposure to the fumes of gas.

Gina sat by the door, waiting. She said nothing when Darby and Miles entered, but her eyes reflected gratitude that they’d arrived. A moment later the door to the waiting room opened, and all eyes turned to see Rona Reichels.

“I was told to come—” she looked around the room. “What’s this about?”

“Have a seat, Rona,” Miles said. “We’ll explain in a moment.”

Again the door opened and Sherry and Penn Cooper stood on the threshold. “Gina, what’s up?” Penn asked.

“Come in,” she said. “Have a seat.”

“What’s going on?”

“You’ll find out in a minute.”

“I don’t have ‘a minute,’” Penn said, “I’m in the middle of a merger …”

“Oh, Penn,” Sherry said, “Just sit down.”

The last person to arrive was Todd Stockton. He nodded, slipped in, and took a seat without speaking.

Darby cleared her throat. “I want to tell you all some good news.
Mikhail is on life support, but it looks as if he may pull through.”

“Papa?” Natalia cried out. “I must go to him.” She rose to her feet
, along with Jeremy.

“I know, Natalia, but please, wait a few minutes. It’s very important—for his and your safety.”

Beside her, Sergei Bokeria frowned. “Safety?”

“Yes.” Darby looked around the room. “The gas leak in Miranda’s apartment that nearly killed her and Mikhail was no accident. Someone gained access to the unit and destroyed a valve, letting gas flow freely into the apartment.”

“The doctor said one of the things that saved us was an open win
dow, right by the bed,” Miranda said softly. She gave a tired smile. “Mikhail insists on opening the window, no matter what the season, regardless of the temperature. He has to have fresh air.” She looked
at Gina. “The other thing that saved us was Gina Trovata’s quick
actions.”

There was a murmur of approval from the assembled group.

“Who was the target?” asked Jeremy. “Miranda?”

“No,” Darby said. “Despite the fact that this happened in Miranda’s apartment, the person who turned on that gas was trying to kill Mikhail.”

“It wasn’t the first time, either,” said Miranda. “Earlier in the day a man was pushed into traffic and killed. Mikhail had the distinct impression it was supposed to have been him.”

“Where?” Sherry Cooper cried. “At Central Park Place?”

“Downtown.”

“This is interesting as hell, but I have to get back to my office,” Penn Cooper said, standing up. “If you’d excuse me.”

“Can we first talk about the lawsuit Alec Rodin brought against you?” Darby asked.

“Not me, my company,” Penn huffed.

Darby’s look was somewhat sympathetic—after all, she knew how
he felt. “Your name was on the suit. Something about bad investment advice?”

“Yes, but—that’s been dismissed.”

“Only because Rodin is dead.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Rona Reichels pulled out her phone.

“Are we boring you, Rona?” Miles asked.

“I don’t even know you,” she glared. “Are you the guy staying in Charles Burrows’s apartment?”

“That’s right. Charles is the one whose marriage you broke up when you sold him the condo, isn’t that right?”

Her eyes smoldered. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this,” she said, rising to her feet. She shoved her phone in a voluminous pocketbook.

“Oh, but you do,” Miles said. “Because you’ve broken just about every real estate rule in the book. Maybe sleeping with your clients doesn’t violate any laws, but keeping keys to their apartments certainly does.” He waved in Todd Stockton’s direction. “I think you know Todd? He’s on the board of the New York Real Estate Commission.”

“I never even used those keys!”

“You may not have,” Miles said. “But someone else did. Someone used those keys to break into Vera Graff’s apartment and steal an antique saber, along with several other items worth thousands of dollars.”

She started. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Then you won’t mind if the authorities search your apartment when we’re through.”

Darby, ignoring Rona’s protests, glanced around the room. “Solving the murder of Alec Rodin involves answering one big question: who could have gotten those keys from Rona and stolen that sword? This was a question I pondered for a long time. Finally I realized there was only one answer, because there was only one person who could have known those keys existed: Devin, Rona’s daughter.”

“But Yvette and Vera hardly ever leave their apartment,” Gina said. “Did Devin go in at night, while they were sleeping?”

“I doubt it. That would have been extremely risky, since both women are elderly and light sleepers. Chances are she watched and waited until she saw them leave Central Park Place together. Devin had been in the apartment before, years earlier, when she fed their cat for a few days. She might have remembered that they had an antique sword—a saber—along with some other antiques. Or maybe she happened across the valuables by accident. In any case, Devin unlocked the door, went in, and stole the weapon. There was no sign of forced entry, nothing to indicate any theft, because she’d used a key.”

Natalia rose, visibly upset. “I must see my father.”

“In a minute, Nat,” Miles said. “Please—it’s important.”

She sunk back into her chair.

“So Devin possessed the murder weapon,” Darby said. “Was she Alec Rodin’s killer? What possible motive would she have had?” Darby thought a moment. “We know that Detective Benedetti believes the murderer was a woman, right? He looked at the thrusts of the sword and did calculations to determine the height of the attacker. Devin fits that profile perfectly.”

“Devin could have killed Rodin to avenge her mother,” Gina said.

“It’s true that Rona was cheated out of a large commission when
Mikhail bought the penthouse,” Darby said. “How much was it, Rona?
A million dollars? After all, it was Rodin who counseled Mikhail not to use Rona as a broker. Rodin was the deal killer. Revenge could have been Devin’s motive.”

“But the more I thought about it,” Darby continued, “the more I realized that helping out her mom didn’t seem like the kind of thing Devin would do. This was a woman who, by all accounts, did not have a close relationship with her mother, who could be, well—rather selfish.”

Rona swallowed.

“It certainly appeared that Devin killed Alec. She had the weapon, she fit the size of the killer, and she did not have an alibi. But why? What would have been her motive?”

“Before we could answer any of these questions, Devin died of an accidental drug overdose. That would seem to be the sad end of it, right? But then, immediately following her death, two attempts were made on Mikhail Kazakova’s life. That started me thinking: What if Devin’s death was not an accident?”

Rona shook her head at Darby. “What are you saying?”

“Devin Finnegan had an accomplice—more than that, really—a mastermind. This person planned the murder of Alec Rodin with her, giving her encouragement and helping her practice the swordplay itself.”

Rona remembered the textbook in Devin’s apartment. She closed her eyes. It had been anatomy and physiology …

“Once Devin successfully killed Rodin, this person decided she was expendable. Maybe Devin had gotten cocky, or regretful—or maybe it was always what the mastermind had planned all along. And so, she was drugged and killed.”

Rona put her face in her hands.

“The mastermind now had one more person to kill: Mikhail Kazakova. Again, we ask ourselves, why?”

The room was absolutely silent, as if no one dared to breathe.

Darby continued. “Was Mikhail hated by someone whose family member had suffered health affects due to an environmental accident at a fertilizer company in the Ural Mountains?” Darby looked pointedly at Sergei, and then shifted her gaze to Sherry Cooper. “Or was murdering him a temptation because the lure of owning the penthouse was just so strong?”

Sherry Cooper shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “You can’t suspect me of any of this.”

“Really?” Miles asked. “But aren’t you a champion fencer?”

She glowered. “Sure, back in college. But I had no reason to kill either one of them. May I go back to work now?”

“Yes,” Jeremy Hale said, standing, “some of us have jobs to do …”

“And what’s yours, Jeremy?” Miles said.

“I’m a trader on Wall Street.” He looked around the room. “Really, this is ludicrous …”

He bolted for the door of the waiting room and yanked it open. Natalia screamed and Miles sprang across the room. There was a scuffle, and several seconds later Special Agent Cardazzo pulled Jeremy Hale to his feet.

Darby Farr strode across the room. “Here’s how you saw your job, Jeremy. Eliminating Mikhail Kazakova so that you could marry his daughter.”

Natalia gasped, shook her head. “No,” she moaned.

“Yes,” said Darby gently. “And the reason you were told earlier that your father was so close to death was because we were worried for his safety. It would have been so easy for Jeremy to finalize his plan.”

Natalia put her head against Sergei’s bicep, as if the massive bodyguard was her only form of support.

Agent Cardazzo tightened his hold on Jeremy Hale.

“Before I cart him away, I have to ask: How did you make the connection?”

“It was something you said, actually,” Darby admitted. “
Things aren’t what they seem.
I was trying to find links between Devin and an accomplice, and then Gina found proof that Devin and Jeremy knew each other. I realized things weren’t what they seemed. Not only did these two know each other, but they were partners in crime.”

“It won’t stand up in court,” Jeremy Hale boasted. “You’ll see. I’ll be a free man.”

“Shut up!” Cardazzo ordered.

“Did you love her?” Rona demanded, easing slowly from her seat.
Tears were rolling down her face. “Did you love my baby?”

Jeremy’s lips curled in scorn. “Devin? Sure. After all, she’d do any
thing for money. What wasn’t to love?”

It was all Darby could do to keep from punching his smug face.

_____

After Jeremy Hale had been handcuffed, read his rights, and dragged
from the hospital, the rest of the room exhaled, practically in unison. Rona wobbled unsteadily out of the room. The Coopers and Gina followed.

“I can’t believe it,” Miranda said. “He hatched this whole thing?”

Darby nodded, her heart clenching for Rona.

“I feel like an idiot,” said Natalia. “A total idiot.”

Beside her, Sergei frowned.

“You shouldn’t,” Darby said. “Jeremy Hale exhibits all the qualities of a psychopath. He’s charming and manipulative, plus a pathological liar. Clearly he has no remorse for his actions.” She looked into Natalia’s eyes. “People are taken in by psychopaths all the time. You’re certainly not the first. Luckily he didn’t get the chance to succeed with his plan.”

“After my father, I might have been next,” she said grimly, then shuddered. “I must go see Papa now, but I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“Thank Miles and Gina,” Darby said. “It was a team effort.”

Natalia stood and bowed her head slightly, as if words weren’t enough. Beside her, Sergei Bokeria shifted his massive weight.

“You did not get everything quite right, Darby Farr,” he said gruffly. “The relative you found in the Ural Mountains? She is a distant cousin, from a branch of the family the rest of us do not like.” His face contorted in what Darby imagined was a smile.

“And Sergei would never do anything to harm my father, because he knows it would hurt me,” Natalia said. “Come on, let’s go see him.” She took his elbow and steered the big man out the door.

Miranda watched them walk down the hallway to Mikhail’s room. “Good work, Darby. Very impressive. I started thinking along these same lines after a little episode that happened yesterday. I’d stopped at the penthouse to get Korbut and saw Natalia—well, let’s just say I came to the conclusion that her relationship with Jeremy had really heated up. And that got me wondering whether it had developed as innocently as it seemed.”

Darby nodded. “I hope Natalia doesn’t blame herself too much for falling for him. We checked with several associates at Jeremy’s office. He’s known as an impulsive risk taker.”

“The ideal characteristics of a successful trader, right?” Miranda grimaced. “I’ll make sure Natalia gets some support with this whole situation, starting with some face time with her father.” She gave a little wave, her long legs striding down the hallway.

Todd Stockton came up beside Darby and Miles. “I’m heading out too. Other than a slap on the wrist, I’m not going to go too hard on Rona. I think she’s learned her lesson. I will make sure she returns those valuables, though. What did you say they were?”