A Matter of Blood Read online

  She grabbed his arm. “Your office, please.”

  He pivoted and led her down the hall. He stopped abruptly as he entered the room, and she had to side-step in order to avoid knocking him over. His cologne was familiar, but unlike Edwards’s perfume, it was light, with a tinge of citrus.

  “What the hell is going on? I want to speak to my wife.”

  Now that he spoke with controlled anger rather than shouting, she could hear a slight lisp and traces of a regional accent she couldn’t identify. He glared at her, fists curled at his side, obviously used to throwing his weight around. He scrutinized her bruised face, and when she didn’t flinch or respond, he shifted his gaze to the left of her shoulder, loosened his fists, and stepped away, defused. He went to his desk, straightened the blotter and leaned against the credenza behind him, nearly knocking over the three pictures lined up there.

  The first picture showed a boy and girl dressed in bicycle gear, each with a leg over their bicycle. In the second, the boy leaned against a golf cart watching the long-limbed girl swing a golf club. The third appeared to be a family picture: Gianopolus, the boy, the girl and Winter.

  Parker entered, sat at the small conference table and opened her notebook.

  Corelli moved to face Gianopolus across his desk. “What time did you leave the office Friday night?”

  He gazed over Corelli’s shoulder. “My wife and I have no tolerance for games, Detective. Tell me what’s going on or get the hell out.”

  “I need your help, sir. A few questions and I’ll give you a full explanation.”

  He puffed his cheeks and pushed air through his lips. “Our chauffeur picked me and my sister Gertrude up around five thirty.”

  “What about your wife?”

  “What about her?”

  “When did you last see her?”

  He tugged on the tuft of chin hair. “Right before I left on Friday. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “So, the last time you saw your wife was Friday night at five thirty?”

  “Didn’t I just say that? Are you deaf or is it that you don’t listen?” He reached for a wooden box on the credenza, brought out a cigar, and giving it his full attention, clipped and lit it. He puffed a few times, removed the cigar from his mouth, and raised defiant eyes to Corelli’s face as he blew a stream of smoke in her direction, like a seventh grader waiting for her to challenge his smoking in the building. She maintained eye contact and silence. He exhibited great interest in the cigar again, coughed and sighed. “Why are you asking about my wife?”

  “Did you see her over the weekend?”

  He glanced at the door. “Enough. Either you explain or I’m out of here.”

  She wouldn’t get anything from him. “Please, have a seat. I have bad news.”

  He moved forward but remained standing. She didn’t like him, but it was never easy to announce the death of a loved one, or what one assumed was a loved one. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Gianopolus, I’m sorry, your wife is dead.”

  The cigar stopped en route to his mouth. “Connie dead? How?”

  “She was murdered in her office sometime over the weekend.”

  He sagged into his desk chair. It rolled back with the force of his weight, and slammed into the credenza. No tears, no angst, but shock could do that.

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to harm your wife?”

  “Right now I can’t think.” He pressed his temples. “Maybe later. I wonder…”

  “You wonder what?”

  “Never mind. I need some time alone.”

  She posted Shaunton outside his office with instructions to keep him there and to call for help if needed. She glanced back and noticed he’d swiveled his chair so he was facing the windows, making it difficult to observe his emotional state. Was that intentional?

  Chapter Five

  Gertrude lumbered into the conference room, breathing as if she’d run a marathon. She was smaller than Corelli remembered from the squabble earlier, but not any more attractive. The reek of cigarette smoke and the nicotine-yellowed teeth and fingers signaled a heavy smoker.

  Parker, right behind her, benefited from the contrast: slim, fit, neat hair, eyes like glittering coals, dressed in her expensive tailored black suit and an ice-blue silk shirt. A striking professional package behind a bag of rags.

  Gertrude dropped into the chair, as if suddenly her legs would no longer bear the weight of her ample body. She kicked off her shoes, stretched and seemed to relax, but when neither detective spoke, the constant flitting of her eyes between them revealed her apprehension. After a brief silence, she couldn’t contain herself. “Well, is somebody going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “When was the last time you saw your sister-in-law?”

  Gertrude shifted and pulled herself up in her seat. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Her left hand fiddled with the straps on her purse.

  “What’s she saying about me?”

  Gertrude had the same accent as her brother but the similarity ended there. His voice was soft and raspy, and even with the lisp, pleasant, while her voice was harsh and ragged.

  “Please answer the question.”

  “Friday morning, in the limo on the way to work. Since she didn’t allow me on this floor, I didn’t see her before we left Friday night.”

  When neither of them asked why she wasn’t allowed, she went on the offensive. “Hey, what have you done with my brother?” She swiveled in her chair and scanned the room, as if she thought they’d hidden him.

  “If you’re not allowed on this floor, why did you come here this morning?”

  Gertrude swiveled back. “Um, curiosity. I asked the guard about all the police cars and vans on the street. He told me there was a police investigation on the thirty-fifth floor.”

  Corelli nodded. “What time did you leave Friday night?”

  “We always leave at five thirty on Fridays because Connie has to eat dinner before they drive to Southampton.” A simple statement, but Gertrude managed to sound aggrieved. “But Connie decided to work late Friday, so we left without her.”

  “What time did you get home?”

  “Must have been about six fifteen when our chauffeur dropped me off.”

  “Where?”

  She puffed on her cigarette and flicked the ashes to the floor. “Park Avenue and 80th Street.”

  “And what did you do after that?”

  “Do I have to answer all these questions?”

  Like brother, like sister. “A few more. What did you do Friday night and the weekend?”

  “Friday night I called out for Chinese food and watched movies until I went to bed about midnight. The rest of the weekend was kind of the same.”

  “Did you see anyone or talk to anyone after the chauffeur left you at your apartment?”

  “My niece Aphrodite dropped in about eight, but she only stayed fifteen or twenty minutes. About eight thirty the doorman buzzed to let me know the Chinese food was on the way up, and I spoke to the delivery boy. Aphrodite stopped in again Saturday afternoon. That was it.”

  She took another drag, waved her cigarette, and mimed putting it out. Parker lifted the wastebasket and held it while Gertrude squashed the cigarette against the side. “No more questions until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “Your sister-in-law is dead. She was found in her office early this morning.”

  Gertrude flushed. “I…That can’t be.” She crisscrossed her arms, lowered her head and leaned forward, seeming to deflate.

  “I’m sorry, but it is,” Corelli said. “Do you need some water?”

  Gertrude raised her head. “What happened? I know it wasn’t suicide.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She rummaged in her bag, extracted a semi-shredded tissue and dabbed at the sheen of sweat on her upper lip.

  “Um, she was too…” Gertrude appeared to be struggling to find the answer. She dabbed her lip again, leaving bits of tissue behind
.

  “Too what?”

  She stared out the window, her hands rolling the damp tissue into particles. The words tumbled out in a rush of anger. “Too sure she was right about everything. Too sure she could do whatever she wanted no matter who it hurt. Too sure…” She turned her gaze to Corelli. “Was it an accident?”

  “She was murdered.”

  She flushed and looked away again. Her breathing seemed to quicken. “Who did it?”

  Neither Corelli nor Parker responded.

  “I couldn’t stand her, but I wouldn’t ever intentionally…I couldn’t…and neither could Gussie.”

  “If it wasn’t you or your brother, who do you think did it?”

  She sat up, and as if someone was standing behind her with a pump, she inflated. “She was nasty.” She leaned in close. “Lots of people hated her.”

  “Who?” Corelli asked again.

  She thought for a minute. “Maybe Joel Feldman. She fired him a couple of months ago and spread rumors so he couldn’t get a job with any other Wall Street firm.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows? She didn’t need a reason. If she decided it was so, that was it.”

  “Who else?”

  She scratched her head and rubbed her chin. “Maybe Jenny Hornsby. I told her Connie was thinking of firing her, and she knew Connie would do to her what she’d done to Joel.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Yes. Henry Bearsdon. Henry and his wife Marcia were Connie and Gus’s closest friends, but she dumped his law firm Tuesday night with no warning because…” She took a breath and said scornfully, “He wasn’t loyal. Can you imagine?” She looked from Parker to Corelli, gauging the impact of her revelation. “So it could’ve been Henry, but Connie was such a bitch it could’ve been anybody. Maybe, a stranger, someone she was screwing or, more likely, screwed.”

  “Can you be more specific, Ms. Gianopolous? Do you have information about a stranger she was screwing? Or screwed?”

  “No. I just meant it could be anybody.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “What was so awful about Ms. Winter?”

  Gertrude’s hand shot up to her face, the fingers splayed over her mouth, broadcasting a confidence coming. “She was mean and vengeful. She treated everybody, and I mean everybody, except her daughter Aphrodite, like dirt, unless they could be useful to her. Then she would be sweet and generous. She used people and tossed them away like dirty tissues, without a thought for their feelings.” She shivered as if the memory chilled her. “Connie ruined Aphrodite. She’s totally out of control, won’t listen to anybody, not even her father. Whoever heard of a fourteen-year-old going to school when she feels like it? She’s been thrown out of almost every private school in the city.” Her speech was fast and choppy, sometimes muffled by her hand, and Parker seemed to struggle to keep up.

  “And poor Gussie, Aphrodite’s twin. Connie never gave him the time of day, called him pussycat in a nasty voice. He’s sensitive and artistic, very talented, but she was going to send him to military school to toughen him up. Poor kid was traumatized.”

  Corelli stood. “That’s all for now, Ms. Gianopolus. I’ll have someone drive you and your brother home. I’m sure we’ll have more questions later.”

  As they walked to their next appointment, Corelli turned to Parker. “Tell me, Parker, who the hell names their daughter Aphrodite?”

  Chapter Six

  Corelli examined the photos on the credenza behind the desk in Brett Cummings’s office. Assuming he was the very tall guy in both pictures, he appeared to be in his early thirties with shoulder-length blond hair, a tanned, muscled body and a killer smile. He was gorgeous. Definitely not what she’d expected.

  In one picture, he and a group of people lounged on a boat, everyone turned toward him with glasses raised. In another picture he leaned against the mast of the boat with a lovely blond woman in his arms. Both faced the camera, glowing with health and energy, radiating joy. Corelli felt a surge of longing followed by an overwhelming sadness. Marnie. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the photograph, but she couldn’t block the kaleidoscope of images of Marnie that flashed on her eyelids like a movie.

  “Detective Corelli.”

  Parker’s voice startled her. Her eyes flew open. “What?” Her voice was too loud.

  “Brett Cummings is here.”

  Corelli composed herself and turned—to face the woman from the photo. Their eyes locked and something passed between them like a jolt of electricity, creating an immediate intimacy that shut out everything and everybody else. The intensity of the connection shocked and terrified Corelli. She wanted it to go on forever, but she also wanted to turn and run. She was having trouble getting enough air. It’s too soon. She forced herself to look away.

  Brett Cummings seemed to be in a similar state. Her shallow breathing seemed loud in the silence. She recovered first. “Expecting a man, Detective?” Her smoky voice contained a tinge of amusement.

  Glad for the distraction, Corelli pointed to the picture. “The tall, blond guy holding you.”

  Cummings laughed. “My brother, the priest, celebrating his ordination on my boat.” She sailed across the room and offered her hand. Caught off guard, Corelli hesitated before she waved her battered right hand and offered her left. Without losing a beat, Cummings dropped her bag on the floor and clasped the proffered hand. She repeated her name, “Brett Cummings,” in the warm throaty voice that felt like a caress. “That hand looks painful. And your face.” Cummings gently brushed the battered side of Corelli’s face with the fingers of her free hand. Corelli recoiled but Cummings held onto her hand.

  “Sorry,” Cummings said.

  She didn’t look at all sorry. In fact, Cummings seemed to glow. Or maybe it was the sunlight shimmering off her silk outfit, a long-sleeved turquoise shirt and matching turquoise pants, with a gold chain draped around her waist. Her golden hair hung in a long shag, framing her tanned face and accenting her eyes, which reflected the turquoise of her clothing. She radiated vitality and sensuality. And heat.

  Parker cleared her throat. Corelli extracted her hand and eased herself into the chair behind the desk. “Please sit.”

  Cummings hesitated a moment before turning to sit next to Parker in one of the chairs facing the desk. She adjusted her clothes, slid back in the chair and clasped her hands in her lap.

  Cummings watched Parker open her notebook and uncap her pen while Corelli admired the eyes that had mesmerized her and the fingers that had caressed her face. Cummings wore an emerald ring, its intense green stone the color of life, beauty, and constant love. No. No. Get a hold of yourself, Chiara. It’s too soon. She raised her eyes and found Cummings smiling at her. A burst of heat pulsed through her body. She glanced at Parker, who dropped her gaze to her notebook, but couldn’t hide the smile flickering on her lips.

  Corelli felt-lightheaded, as if someone was brushing her body with feathers. Never in her life had she had such an immediate and visceral reaction to anyone. Not even Marnie. She cleared her throat and straightened the already neatly aligned folders on Cummings’s desk. “What time did you leave the office Friday night Ms. Cummings?”

  “Friday? I didn’t check the time but it was probably about nine. Why?”

  “And did you see Ms. Winter before you left?”

  “Yes. I was heading for the elevator at seven thirty and she grabbed me, ostensibly to get my input on her plan to bring in more business, but what she really wanted was for me to admire her plan. We worked together until about eight thirty.”

  “And then?”

  “I went down to the operations center on the thirty-third floor and checked on a few things. Then I came back up here to pick up some work I needed to do over the weekend and left.”

  “Do you know why we’re here, Ms. Cummings?”

  “Please call me Brett. She offered a smile to each of them. “The officer said an investigation was in progress but I’m not sure what that means.”<
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  “Ms. Winter was found dead in her office this morning.”

  A quick intake of breath before she asked, “My lord, how did she die? Does Gus know?”

  “She was murdered. Sometime over the weekend.”

  “Murdered?” She stared at Corelli, horrified, not flirting now. “Why in the world would someone kill the poor little ugly duckling from West Virginia? She had a lot of enemies, but in the financial world we normally don’t literally kill the competition.”

  “Is that how you saw her? Ugly duckling?”

  “Well, she wasn’t very attractive, physically, or as a person, not to me anyway.”

  Interesting. The electricity between them suggested Cummings was a lesbian. Was that confirmation? “You’ve been here a short time. How did you meet Ms. Winter?”

  “She recruited me from Sanford Philips & Associates, one of the largest Wall Street firms. She pursued me for months, inviting me out to dinner, the theater, her beach house. Each time raising the offer. Connie always got what Connie wanted. But it wasn’t the money that attracted me. I have more than I need. It was the challenge. And, I was curious. So about four months ago I accepted her offer.” She paused. “She wasn’t well-liked, but it’s hard to believe someone would murder her.”

  “What did you do after you left here Friday night?”

  “Our discussion upset me and I needed to think. So I went home—I live in Battery Park City—changed into running clothes and jogged up the Greenway to the 79th Street Boat Basin.”

  “In the rain?”

  “Cooled me off. I had a sandwich and a beer at the café and walked back. It was close to one when I got in.”

  “Did you see anyone you know at the café?”

  “I waved to the manager but Friday nights are busy there. I’m not sure she’d remember.”

  “What did you need to think about?”

  “I learned that Connie’s plan for growth was stealing clients from small brokerage houses, essentially putting them out of business. I pointed out she could accomplish the same growth by wooing clients from larger firms without bankrupting them. She laughed and said why waste her time. The smaller firms were the low-lying fruit.” Cummings frowned. “I shouldn’t have been shocked but I was. I realized I’d made a mistake coming here, but I wanted to think things through before taking any action. A run always helps me think. Sanford Philips said they would match her offer if I came back within six months, so I’m not locked in like some of the others.”