Текст книги "Murder 101"

Автор книги: Faye Kellerman

Соавторы: Faye Kellerman,Faye Kellerman
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“Why isn’t that comforting right now?”

“I’ll get it pulled, Lance,” Decker said.

“I want it destroyed!”

“I’ll get it pulled by one of the men and locked up in an evidence room,” Decker said. “I can’t destroy it just yet because it might be evidence.”

“The whole thing is fucking whack!” Sobel said. “I repeat. What should I do?”

“What should we do?” Terry asked. “Like get out of town or something?”

Decker said, “Small towns make it very easy to find people.”

“I can vouch for that one,” McAdams said.

“So we sit around waiting to be shot?” Sobel said.

“It wouldn’t hurt to take precautions,” Decker said.

“You mean hire a guard?” Terry said. “You just waltzed right in. And if this asshole tried to take out a cop, what chance do I have?”

“I’m way more involved in this case than you are, Lance; I really don’t think either of you is on the bad guy’s radar.”

“But you don’t know.”

“True. I don’t know. If it were my kid, I’d look into armed protection. It’s probably not necessary, but there’s no harm in being cautious. Maybe even overcautious.” Decker paused. “Overcautious is okay. It’s usually the daredevils who get tripped up.”

CHAPTER 31

THE STOPOVER FOR the night was Nina McAdams’s ninth-floor apartment on Park Avenue. It was an august Beaux-Art building of stone and marble, staffed with uniformed doormen who were aghast to see Tyler in a wheelchair.

“What in the world happened to you, Mr. M?” asked the shorter of the two front doormen.

“Nina didn’t tell you?” No response. McAdams said, “Just a little accident, Jonah, but I’m fine. Is my grandmother upstairs?”

“She left for dinner.”

“At nine at night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“With whom?”

“A new one, Mr. M. I haven’t seen him before,” Jonah said. “But someone is still up there. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

“No, I’m fine, but thanks for asking.” McAdams wheeled over to the elevator. The taller of the two uniforms rushed over to push the button and everyone waited. Decker was perfectly able to ride the elevator up without help but the upper crust of New York City lived an infantilized life. There was a ding and everyone crowded inside the wood-paneled car.

“How are you this evening, Dicky?” McAdams asked.

“Just fine, Mr. McAdams. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not perfect, but I’ll be fine. If anything, I’m lucky.”

“If you say so, Mr. McAdams.”

The elevator opened up onto a spacious marble landing with only one door: Nina McAdams owned a full floor apartment. Decker knocked before Tyler could get out his keys, and when Rina asked who it was, he said, “It’s your tired husband and friends.”

She opened the door and the three men came into a wide marble foyer. McAdams forged ahead, wheeling himself into a majestic living room filled with ornate furniture, a large fireplace, a grand piano, a carved staircase leading to a second story, and big French doors that opened to a terrace with an over-the-rooftops view to Central Park. The space was adorned with molding and patterned hardwood floors covered in part by expensive-looking oriental rugs.

“I’ve been drinking tea and reading a book and luxuriating in a cashmere blanket.” Rina smiled. “How aristocratic is that? Your grandmother is lovely, Tyler. It’s so nice of her to put us all up.”

“We’re doing her the favor.” McAdams looked around. “Where are Bonnie and Kate?”

“Bonnie went home about an hour ago. Kate is in the back doing the laundry. She didn’t want to leave me alone at first. I don’t know if she fully trusts me.”

“That’s just Kate.”

Decker looked around. “Where’s Greg Schultz?”

“He and Nina went out for a bite to eat.”

“He left you alone?”

“No, I have Kate.”

“She’s over sixty and has a limp,” McAdams said.

“You’re not helping me,” Rina said.

“I’ll kill him,” Decker muttered.

“Peter, I’m fine and I’m armed. Besides, this place has better security than Fort Knox. I insisted they go out.”

“He shouldn’t have listened to you. What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s a volunteer, remember? His brain needs to turn off. It’ll make him more alert in the long run.”

“She’s right,” Oliver said.

“Who asked you?” Decker was still standing.

McAdams looked at Rina. “Are you comfortable here?”

“Are you kidding me?” She tousled his hair. “Come on, guys. I’ll show you where Nina has stationed us.” She turned to McAdams. “Do you need help getting up to your room, Tyler?”

“Nope. The place has an elevator.”

Rina laughed. “Nina didn’t show me that.”

“And I bet she didn’t show you the secret passage that leads to a secret room. It’s where my grandfather entertained his mistresses when his wives were out, leaving no evidence of the deed. All that ended when Nina came along. She boarded up the space. Then she opened it back up after he died. Lord only knows what she uses it for.”

“Maybe if I behave, will she rent it out to me?” Oliver said.

“Maybe if you don’t behave, she’ll rent it out to you.”

Oliver laughed. Decker said, “Where should we meet to talk?”

“The breakfast room. We can spread out.”

Decker looked around. “Where is that?”

Rina said, “I’ll show you. I think I’ve got the lay of the land.”

McAdams opened a door and wheeled himself into an elevator cart. “See you in twenty.”

It was more like thirty before everyone came down. By that time, Greg and Nina had come back and the oversized apartment hummed with activity. Kate had fixed finger sandwiches and there were also preopened bottles of sparkling water and port with small, crystal glasses. Nina had gone upstairs to get comfortable—whatever that meant—and Greg Schultz, revitalized from his hour on the town, showed the group a map of the area complete with alleys and hiding places. He had done such a good job that Decker didn’t reprimand him.

Schultz said, “I also have the doormen looking out for anything strange. They know more about the area than I could ever hope to learn. Anyway, I hope you aren’t mad about me leaving Rina alone. She and the lady of the house ganged up on me.”

“I’m sure they did,” Decker said. “You’re off duty now, Greg. I’ve got it from here.”

“Thanks. See you all in the morning. ”

The boys replenished their fuel intake with the sandwiches while Rina sipped sparkling water and nibbled on fresh fruit.

Nina came down in sweats and flats. Her face was perfectly made up and her blond hair was still coiffed. “Anyone for coffee or tea?”

Tyler grinned. “You’re pouring?”

“No, I’m offering. Kate will do the actual pouring.”

“You were scaring me for a moment, Nina.”

She gave him a grandmotherly pat. “Silly boy.”

“I’ll take coffee, if you wouldn’t mind, ma’am,” Oliver said.

“It’s Nina,” she said. “And you are way too old to ma’am me.”

“I am old, Nina, but in dealing with such a beautiful and charming woman, it’s better for me to error on the side of respect.”

Nina stared at him. “You’re very good. Are you married?”

“Nina . . .” McAdams said.

“Hush up.” She smiled at Oliver. “Not that marriage has ever stopped anyone.”

“I’m not married.” Oliver grinned. “And I have a lot of war stories from my days at LAPD if you’re interested.”

Decker rolled his eyes. Nina caught it. “So the stories aren’t true?”

“No, they’re true,” Decker admitted. “He left the force because he was shot.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all about it,” Nina said. The coffeepot beeped. “Kate, the coffee’s ready.”

“Coming.”

McAdams said, “I think we can take it from here, Nina.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

Tyler stood up with a cane. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I am. But thank you for everything. You’re a first-class woman.”

Nina was speechless. A tear trickled from her eye. “That was gracious—so unlike you.”

“It’s just because I’m weak, Nina. Very weak.”

She wiped her cheek “Good night to all.” A brief smile and then she left. After Kate poured coffee, she disappeared as well. The ensuing silence was awkward. Rina asked how it went with Lance Terry. Decker gave her a synopsis of the conversation with the two young men.

Rina said, “Interesting that Livingston just happened to be there.”

“It looked suspicious at first,” Decker said. “But I believed Terry when he said he called Livingston down.” A pause. “I still think he’s holding back.”

“Totally,” Oliver said. “I’m wondering why he really left the school. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d have a breakdown even if his ex-girlfriend was murdered. Furthermore, it was his final year of college.”

McAdams said, “Maybe someone threatened him?”

“Yeah,” Oliver concurred, “I think someone spooked him good.”

Decker said, “We know that Terry didn’t kill her. His alibi checked out. So did Sobel’s. But were they involved in the murder?”

“Don’t see it,” Oliver said.

“Why not?” McAdams said.

“Just a gut feeling based on experience. Do you disagree?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just trying to figure out your conclusions logically.”

“That’s a mistake,” Oliver said.

Decker said, “I believe Sobel when he says he hadn’t seen Angeline for a long time. For now he’s out of the picture. Terry’s another story. I think something scared him enough to drop out of school and come running to the safety of home.”

“At least they didn’t shoot him,” McAdams said.

“True. If someone had, he would have phoned the police.” Decker sipped coffee. “We have a recent link of Lance to Angeline. The Petroshkovich book. But did he know that she was razoring out the prints?”

“He seemed genuinely surprised,” Oliver said. “But the point is, even if Terry didn’t know what she was up to, maybe someone saw them go into the library together. Maybe that someone thought they were up to mischief.”

“So you think the murders had to do with the Petroshkovich book?” Rina said.

“No,” Decker said. “The murders had to do with something very big and I don’t see the Petroshkovich book as being that big. But it does point the finger at another forgery that Angeline was involved in.”

Oliver said, “How did she reproduce the pictures if she never checked out the book? She would have had to have seen the originals, right?”

“Of course,” Decker said. “The book was coowned by Pretoria College in Marylebone. If we checked out the reference library there, do you think we’d find John Latham’s name on a sign-up sheet?”

Oliver said, “He took the plates, gave them to her, and she put the phony ones back when Terry checked the book out for her.”

“I’ll call Pretoria in the morning,” McAdams said.

“Let’s roll with that for a moment,” Decker said. “Angeline and Latham now have some original Nikolai Petroshkovich plates. What’s their next step?”

“To find a dealer,” Oliver said. “What about that Goddard guy you were talking to in Boston? The shootings happened right after you two came up to visit Summer Village.”

“What do you think?” Decker asked McAdams.

“Don’t like Goddard for the fence,” McAdams said. “The plates are too valuable to be sold as pretty works on paper. You need someone who specializes in Russian art.”

“Jason Merritt?” Decker asked.

“Kind of small stuff for him,” McAdams said. “I called him to ask about some items on his website as a prospective buyer for a fictitious museum. Like everything else in art, not all icons are alike. Some very old icons sell in the thousands. His icons are in the hundred-thousand-dollar range because they are very old and in very good shape.”

Oliver said, “Do you know if he deals in rare books?”

“No, I don’t know,” McAdams said. “Nothing like that is on his website.”

“But if something came his way?”

“The Petroshkovich book is worth about a hundred thousand intact. A single plate would be worth much less. I don’t see him selling anything like that. He’d have to know the plate was stolen.”

“Not even once?” Rina asked.

McAdams thought a moment. “He prides himself on being a reputable art dealer. Why would he buy a single plate or even two or three? He’d be risking everything to make a few bucks.”

“I still want to talk to him,” Decker said.

Rina said, “Even if Merritt doesn’t sell individual art plates, maybe someone in his gallery has a side business.”

McAdams raised his eyebrows. “That’s a thought.”

“I get them every once in a while,” Rina said.

“What about the guy who works there? Victor Geronimo or something like that?”

“Victor Gerrard.” Decker turned to Rina. “Want to come with us tomorrow, darling? You can assess Gerrard while we talk to Merritt.”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing to do.” Rina shook her head. “Other than luxuriate in this fabulous place.”

Decker said, “Let’s keep Schultz at the apartment, guarding Mrs. McAdams. Unless Oliver would like the job?”

“It’s tempting but since you asked me out here to help, I might as well deliver.”

Rina said, “What specifically would you like me to do?”

“Just be a good distraction.”

McAdams smiled, “No offense to Rina’s beauty, but in this case, I think I may be a better distraction.”

“Already thought of that and that’s why you’re coming, too.” Decker shrugged. “You can’t tell with these art dealers so I might as well cover all bases.”

CHAPTER 32

MULROONEY SAID, “WE found Latham’s storage bin.”

Decker switched his cell to the other ear. “That’s amazing!” It was eight in the morning and he only knew it was Tuesday because of his watch. The days seemed endless and he needed something external to keep him grounded. He was finishing his continental breakfast of orange juice, tea, and a croissant and jam when he got the call. The table was set with fine china. He was balancing a scalloped coffee cup with one hand and the phone with the other. He tried not to drop anything. “What’s inside?”

“That’s the bad part. The place had been cleaned out except for one lone key.”

“A key?”

“Yes, a key.”

Decker sighed. “I already know the answer but any idea what it’s for?”

“I wish. No identification other than the lock is a Schlage. But it wasn’t randomly left behind. It was jammed into a corner and taped to the wall. If Latham was dealing in stolen art, I’m thinking he took his hot merchandise elsewhere.”

“He probably knew that the police had found out about the forgeries. Maybe Angeline saw us poking around the crypt. Or maybe the tip came from another person. I’m betting the key is another storage bin and that puts us back to square one.”

Mulrooney said, “Except that we do have a key. But why hide it in an empty storage bin? Why not in a safe-deposit box?”

Decker said, “If he got caught, we’d look for a safe-deposit box. But if we found out about his storage bin, we’d look and find it empty and we’d have nothing. Your guys did good to find it.”

“Be even better if we found a bin with the art,” Mulrooney said.

Decker said, “If he rented another a storage bin, we’ll find it.”

“We’re doing the paper trail. Nothing yet but we’ll keep at it.”

“You know? Maybe this is where Angeline Moreau entered the picture. Maybe she took care of renting the bins.”

“Did you find any bills for storage rentals?”

“No. But maybe she paid cash and used an assumed name. We know that they used throwaway phones. No doubt they were careful.”

“Then she’d have a copy of the keys,” Mulrooney said. “Do you have her keys?”

“I have some of her keys. They’ve been filed as evidence. Can you send me a copy of the key you found in the empty bin? I’ll see if it matches up to anything we’ve got.”

“I’ll courier it over to Greenbury.”

“I’m not in Greenbury. I’m in New York.” Decker brought him up to date.

Mulrooney said, “Do you think Lance Terry was involved in the murders?”

“No, but something scared him away from Greenbury.”

“A shooter?”

“If it was a shooter, he’d have gone to the police. Maybe a harassing phone call or someone tailing him. All of us think he’s still hiding something. We all think that it could be that he was involved in the thefts.”

“Could be if he took a header. I’ll make a dozen copies of the keys and we can begin to search for the missing bin—if there even is one. When are you back in Greenbury so I can send you a copy to compare it with Angeline’s keys.”

“I’ll call up my captain and let him know. He’ll take care of it.”

“Good. What’s your next step?”

“Since it appears that Angeline was stealing art plates from the Petroshkovich book, I’m going to visit Jason Merritt—the dealer who specializes in Russian art. It seems a little lightweight for him, but I have to check it out. Any word from Professor Gold?”

“Nope. I’ll give him a call. Keep me informed.”

“I will. Bye.” Decker hung up, called up Mike Radar, and explained the situation.

Radar said, “So you want me to see if Angeline has an identical key on her ring. And if she does, to start looking for storage bins in our area.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll assign the hunt to Ben and Kevin. If there is a match, they’ll let you know.”

“So can you call Chris Mulrooney in Summer Village and set it up?”

“Yeah, sure. When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Tonight, hopefully.”

“Good. I’m going to Rayfield Library to pull Lance Terry’s card. While I’m there, I’ll nose around, talk to some of Terry’s pals, find out if the kid was actually threatened. We’ll trade notes later in the day. Just watch your back. No heroics.”

“I hear you.” Decker disconnected the line. Oliver came into the breakfast room: he was back to his old dapper self—pressed white shirt, red tie, black suit, and polished shoes. He sat down and picked up a slice of toast. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t bother. It’ll only make it harder in the long run.”

“I say live in the moment. Oh, before I forget . . .” Oliver pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Courtesy of Detective Dunn. Mr. Merritt isn’t Mr. Squeaky Clean.”

Decker looked over the rap sheet. Merritt had been cited twice for drunk driving. The two incidents had been six years apart and the last one was eight years ago. Those priors weren’t nearly as interesting as the fraud charge ten years ago.

“Two years’ probation,” Oliver said. “I’m thinking that he represented something as genuine when it wasn’t.”

“But to get the charge to stick, he had to have known it wasn’t genuine.”

“He pled a nolo. But that begs the question. If the item was fake, why didn’t he just return the money?”

“Maybe he didn’t have the money to return.”

McAdams limped into the room, using a cane for balance. Oliver said, “Are you sure you should be walking?”

“I’m tired of people giving me pitiful looks when I’m perfectly healthy.” He sat down. “The reference library at Pretoria doesn’t open until nine. I left a message.”

Decker thought a moment. “Give Allan Sugar a call. Ask him if he’d like to go to Pretoria and check out the sign-up sheets personally.”

McAdams poured a cup of coffee. “He’s kinda old to be running around.”

“It was his case. Let’s give him the courtesy.”

McAdams took out his phone and made the call. A minute later, he hung up. “He sounded eager. Go figure.”

“I know how old cops think because I am one,” Decker said.

“It’s the jones of police work,” Oliver said. “It never goes away.”

McAdams sipped coffee. “Anything new?” Decker brought him up to date. Then Tyler said, “Interesting but not shocking. Merritt’s an art dealer.”

“Are they particularly more dishonest than anyone else?” Oliver said.

“Probably not, but they deal with rich clients. More temptation to fudge because the stakes are higher.” McAdams buttered toast. “I’d like to think I’m honest, but I’ve never been tested. Money isn’t my thing. Of course, I have a lot of it.”

“So what’s your Achilles heel?” Oliver asked. “Power? Women? Drugs?”

“I dunno. Maybe power. How about you?”

“Women.”

“What about you, Old Man? Are you corruptible?”

“I’d have to think about it, Harvard.”

“What about your family? Would you protect them if they did something illegal?”

“I suppose it depends on what they did.”

“Would you turn them in if they murdered someone?”

“If it was premeditated, yes. Even if it wasn’t, I still think I’d do it. Going to the police is usually the best option, as long as you go in with a great defense lawyer.”

“Hedging your bets.”

“Just using the law to my advantage. What about you, Oliver? Would you turn your sons in for murder?”

“Probably, but I couldn’t swear to it. The one thing I’ve learned being a cop for all my life: justice isn’t black and white.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Decker said. “I remember once when Cindy was around sixteen. She wound up at a twenty-four-hour drugstore at three in the morning with her friends. She wasn’t supposed to be out that late. Neither my ex-wife nor I would have known about it except unfortunately for her, the store was robbed. The cops took statements of everyone there.”

“Poor kid,” McAdams said.

“Yeah, her cover was blown. We were both pretty damn pissed. Anyway, the case was handed over to a robbery detective who called up my ex-wife and asked her if Cindy could make a statement. My daughter lived with her mom. When Janet didn’t answer him right away, the detective—who didn’t know he was talking to a cop’s ex-wife—said if it was his daughter, he wouldn’t let her do it. So Janet said no and that was that. She called me later in the day, which was very unusual. She never called me for any reason other than money. She must have been sorely conflicted. She actually asked me if she did the right thing.”

“What’d you say?” McAdams asked.

“I said I agreed with her decision. First of all, it was a done deal so why make her feel bad even if she is an ex-wife. Second, I probably would have done the same thing. I know what these trials can be, the tolls that they can take on the psyche.”

“But then you’d never make a case if everyone refused to testify,” McAdams said.

“You’re absolutely right. If Cindy had been an adult, she could have decided for herself. But she was still a minor, and therefore it wasn’t her decision. All I can say in my defense is that with matters of personal safety, it’s family first.”

IT WAS HARD to tell the predominant emotion: outrage, anger, embarrassment, condescension, absurdity: Jason Merritt exhibited them all. Today he wore a black suit, blue shirt, and no tie with black ostrich boots on his feet. Russian art apparently did very well.

“Your accusations are monstrous,” Merritt snorted.

Decker tapped his toe and let the words hang in the air. Rina was wheeling McAdams through the gallery rooms, looking at the art. Oliver stood in the background. No sense ganging up on the guy. Decker said, “You’ve never dealt in books or plates at any point in your career?”

“I’ve already answered that question.”

“Even something as valuable as the Petroshkovich book?”

“Oh my God, how many times are you going to plow the same ground?”

Oliver broke in. “If someone offered you a good deal on the Petroshkovich, you wouldn’t buy it?”

“I don’t deal in rare books!”

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Oliver said. “There’s a stack of books on the front table.”

“Those aren’t rare books,” Merritt sniffed. “Those are current art books on the subjects I represent. I give them out to my clients as reference material.”

Decker was scribbling in his notepad, more to look busy than anything else. “And no one has ever offered you the Petroshkovich book or any plates from it.”

“That is correct.”

“But you do know that Petroshkovich had left one of his copies to Rayfield Library and it was coowned with Pretoria College in Rhode Island.”

“More repetition, Detective?”

“It’s a habit, Mr. Merritt.” Decker pointed to McAdams. “We’re dealing with very serious stuff.”

Merritt lowered his voice. “I’m sorry for what happened to him. But to come in here and accuse me—”

“We’re not accusing anyone,” Oliver said. “Just gathering information.”

“Those charges you mentioned are decades old!”

“They are,” Decker said. “But because of what happened, we’re investigating everything. So please bear with us. So the last time you looked at the Petroshkovich book in the library was over two years ago.”

“At least two years ago.” Merritt had lowered his voice.

“At Littleton or at Pretoria?”

“I’ve been to both colleges, but I’ve not been to either recently. Look, I don’t know how many times I have to say this. Despite that charge, I don’t deal in stolen art. I pleaded a nolo contendere on the advice of my lawyer because I was in a no-win situation with a horribly aggressive man. I should have fought harder. But at the time, I just wanted this terrible chapter in my life to go away.”

“So why didn’t you just return the money?”

“I did return the money. He sued me anyway! And once he claimed fraud, it became a criminal charge and took on a life of its own!”

“And you won’t tell me who it was?”

“I’d love to give you his name. But I won’t as a matter of principle.”

“We can check court records.”

“You can’t. Everything was sealed at the settlement. He was a horrible man. He did it to spite me. And, may I add, it took him forever to return the piece back to me.”

“Did you give him the money right away?”

“There were some expenses that were incurred like shipping and insurance. I should have just absorbed everything but he made me mad.” Merritt shook his head. “Suffice it to say, it was an expensive lesson. Now, I don’t deal with anyone without references.”

“He was a walk-in?”

“A Russian national with a big wallet.” He waved Decker off. “I don’t want to talk about it other than to say that I’ve had the piece authenticated by three separate dealers. But it’s not for sale. It’s hanging in my living room as a reminder of carelessness.”

Rina wheeled McAdams over to Decker. “Lovely pieces,” she said. “I noticed you wrote a book on icons. Can I buy it?”

Merritt said, “I’ll give it to you.” He looked at Tyler. “I’m sorry about what happened. That’s terrible.”

McAdams shrugged. “I consider myself lucky.”

“Is there anything else?” Merritt asked.

“Actually, yes.” When Merritt groaned, Decker said, “I believe you when you say that no one offered you any plates.”

“Does that merit a thank you?”

“Merit from a Merritt,” Oliver said. When the dealer looked at him, he said, “If I’m joking, it means you’re probably off the hook.”

Merritt looked at Decker. “Go on.”

“Is it possible that one of your employees might be doing some shady business on the side?” When Merritt appeared stunned, Decker said, “Who in your employ would have access to your client list?”

“I don’t give the list out to anyone just for the asking.”

“But it’s on your computer. How hard would it be to access?”

The man pursed his lips and considered the words. “It is just a file and I’m not at my desk all the time.”

“Thank you for being honest,” Decker said. “Has the gallery had any suspicious thefts in the last three months?”

“No.”

Oliver said, “Did anyone in your employ recently take a sudden vacation?”

Decker looked around. “Speaking of which, where’s Victor?” A long silence ensued. “Victor Gerrard. He was here when we first visited. Where is he?”

Another long silence. “It wasn’t a vacation. Victor’s father is ill. He asked for time off.”

“Okay.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Uh . . . how long has he worked for you?”

“About a year. And I’ve had absolutely no problems with him at all.”

“Where does Gerrard live?” Oliver asked.

“He rents a room when he’s in the city during the week. He’s in Philadelphia on the weekends. His cell has a Philadelphia area code.”

“What about his father? Where does he live?”

“I believe he told me that his dad lives in Chicago or maybe it was Cleveland.”

“How long has Gerrard been gone?” Decker asked.

“About two weeks.”

“Right after the time of our visit, “McAdams said. “Has he called in?”

“No . . . he hasn’t. And I haven’t called him. I figured he must have his hands full. And business is traditionally a little slow in the wintertime.”

“Can I have his number?” Decker asked.

“I’ll call,” Merritt said. “I’m not giving out any numbers without his permission.”

“Then please go ahead and do it, sir.”

“Very well.” Merritt punched in the digits. A moment later he got voice mail and left a message. “I’ll let you know when he calls back.”

“No, no, no,” Decker said, “We need to find his whereabouts as in now. When he applied for the job, he filled out an application, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Go pull up his application. Maybe he gave you his father’s number for contact information.”

“It might take a few minutes.”

“Mr. Merritt, this is a murder investigation. We need the information. Please get me his application.”

Merritt said, “Very well. I’ll be right back.”

After he left, Oliver said, “Think he’s telling the truth?”

“I do.”

“Me, too.”

McAdams said, “Shouldn’t someone be there when he makes the call?”

Oliver said, “He’s being cooperative. Let’s not push it.”

“What we really need is the client list,” Decker said. “Maybe we’ll find a fence among the names. But he’s not going to give it to us without a warrant.”

“We can use eminent danger to get the list.”

“Yeah, that might be worth a try.”

Five minutes passed. Rina said, “Maybe I’ll go grab a book.”

“What do you think of him, Rina?” Decker asked. “Do you think he’s lying?”

“I’m not an expert, but I don’t think he’s lying. He’s just prickly.”

“I agree with you,” Oliver said.

“The iceman cometh,” McAdams whispered.

“More like the snowman,” Oliver said. “He’s white.”

Merritt said, “The application form in my computer has been erased. But I keep the paper applications in a separate file. On it, he claims his father died five years ago.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Dear God! What is going on?”

Oliver said, “We need your client list.”

“I can’t give it to you, Detective. It’s confidential.”

“We’ll get a warrant.”

“Then do so.”

“And while we’re doing that, whoever else is brutally murdered is on your conscious.”

“That’s a horrid thing to say.”

“Don’t get mad at him,” McAdams said. “He just doesn’t want you to wind up like me. At least I’m breathing. The next one may not be so lucky.”

Merritt buried his head in his hands. Decker looked at him. “We need the list.”

“What makes you think that Gerrard was dealing illegally with one of my clients?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

Merritt nodded. “Wait here. I’ll print it out for you.”

“Thank you. You’re doing the right thing.”

After he left, Oliver said, “Who do we contact about Gerrard? NYPD? Philadelphia PD?”

“I’ll do Philadelphia first. Cindy works there.”

“Yeah, right. How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine. She should be moving up to detective soon.”

“Good for her. And the boys?”