A Matter of Blood Page 6

  “Who do you see as locked in?”

  Cummings sat up straighter. She looked like a kid asked to tattle on her friends. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed it. She thought for a moment. “Gertrude, Gus’s sister for one. She’s totally dependent on Connie. She gets paid a lot of money, but I gather she doesn’t do much of anything except cause trouble. She seems angry all the time, makes nasty cracks about Connie and gossips about Connie’s personal life.”

  Cummings tucked her hair behind her ears. “There’s also Joel Feldman, the man who had my position before me. She fired him and was making it impossible for him to get another job. Phil Rieger, the VP of Finance clashed with her a few times but nothing serious. And I heard she and Jenny Hornsby, the head of HR, were having some difficulty. Oh, and, I hate to say it, Gus. Their relationship appeared troubled in the few months I’ve known them. He seems to fluctuate between obsequiousness and screaming rages.”

  “One more question, Ms. Cummings. What did you decide Friday night?”

  Her generous mouth widened to a killer smile much like her brother’s and her eyes sparkled. “I didn’t. Around six on Saturday morning I drove out to Sag Harbor and spent the weekend on my boat with friends. That crowd,” she said, pointing to the pictures on the credenza. “But there’s nothing like sailing to clear your mind. I came in this morning to give Connie my resignation.” She stared into Corelli’s eyes. “You should try sailing. I’d love for you…er, you both…to come out on the boat sometime, if you’re interested.”

  Chapter Seven

  The intensity of her reaction to Brett Cummings astonished Corelli. After Marnie died she’d felt nothing but grief, loss, and guilt. Being undercover had drained her of even those feelings, left her numb and cut off from life, alone in the empty space left by Marnie.

  Her connection with Cummings was intense and instantaneous. And it seemed that encounter had jump-started her libido. And her feelings. Grief, loss, and guilt were edging back. Yet, suddenly she felt lighter, filled with hope and anticipation.

  In the few minutes it took her to walk from Cummings’s office to the office of the Senior Vice President of Human Resources, Corelli meditated, trying to center herself and refocus on the investigation. She sat behind the desk.

  Parker arrived with Jennifer Hornsby, a bird of a woman, small with thin legs and a large rump. The short feathery style of her brown hair suited her beaked nose, close-set eyes and tiny pinched mouth. Head bobbing, hands tucked into the armpits of her brown plaid dress, she leaned forward as if to balance herself as she carefully picked her way into the room. Corelli almost expected to hear her chirp, so bird-like were her movements.

  Parker guided Hornsby to a chair and introduced Corelli.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Hornsby said nothing. She appeared fascinated by her right hand, which was fiddling with her gold wedding band.

  “Ms. Hornsby—”

  She started at her name. “It’s Mrs.”

  “Mrs. Hornsby. What time did you leave the office on Friday?”

  “Where’s Connie? What’s wrong?” Her voice was far from chirpy. It sounded weighed down by the heaviness of each word.

  “What makes you think something is wrong with Ms. Winter?”

  “I don’t know…It’s…” She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “The hubbub outside her office, the police. Who else?”

  Corelli waited but Hornsby didn’t add anything.

  “I’m sorry. Ms. Winter was found dead in her office this morning.”

  The hand motion stopped. “Dead? Who killed her?”

  “What makes you think someone killed her?”

  “I don’t know. Was it natural then?”

  “No, she was murdered. Sometime over the weekend.”

  “I see.” The ring action started again. “Do you know who did it?”

  “Tell me about Friday night.”

  “Is that when it happened?”

  “What time did you leave the office?”

  “About a quarter to six. I visited my husband in Beth Israel Hospital.”

  “What time did you leave there?”

  “I got home about nine.”

  “Did you see or speak to anyone after you got home?”

  “No, I was exhausted. I ate, read for a while, and went to bed.”

  “Was Friday a particularly stressful day?”

  A sad smile flickered at her lips. “Every day is stressful recently.”

  “Why?”

  “My husband is dying. Both my boys are in college and without my husband’s income, I…” She took several quick shallow breaths. “And Connie was angry that I didn’t go watch her receive a prestigious award from the governor Tuesday night.”

  “Why didn’t you go? It sounds like a big honor.”

  “I didn’t feel well and I knew all the other officers were going. She bought twelve tables at five thousand dollars each, so she had more than a hundred guests—employees, clients, police officials, fire officials, politicians. To be honest, I didn’t think it would matter to her if I missed it.”

  “But it did?”

  “Yes. She felt my not being there was a betrayal. And that coupled with…Well, she’s been pressuring me to do things I’m not comfortable doing.”

  Hornsby put her hands in her lap, and for the first time, she seemed calm, almost as if the thing she was trying to avoid saying had come out and she could relax. “When she decided to fire Joel Feldman, I told her he would have good cause to sue. His performance was excellent, investment income was up, and customers seemed happy. But when one of the financial papers ranked investment people and he wasn’t the top-rated, she fired him. She didn’t want him, but she didn’t want any other Wall Street firm to have him, so she spread lies.”

  Corelli glanced at Parker to make sure she was writing this down.

  “What were you unwilling to do?”

  “Initially, Connie wanted me to create false work records to show he’d been warned about poor performance. I was reluctant but I probably would have done it. But when he filed a lawsuit, she insisted I testify instead of her and perjure myself, saying he didn’t show up or came in drunk, and screwed up deals. All lies. I told her on Friday that I didn’t want to do it.”

  “How did she respond?”

  “She admonished me to think it through before I refused. She had me over the proverbial barrel. I didn’t want to commit perjury, but my husband hasn’t worked for a long time and I need the income and the health insurance. Also, we both knew getting another position would be difficult because she’d make it difficult. Just like she did for Joel.”

  “Did Ms. Gianopolus tell you that Ms. Winter was thinking of firing you?”

  She flushed and began to work the ring again. “I didn’t believe her. Gertrude acts like Connie confides in her, but everyone knows Connie despises her.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have killed Ms. Winter?”

  She laughed, a funny quiet laugh. “You don’t have enough time or people to investigate everyone.”

  “I gather you didn’t like her very much.”

  “She was a seducer and a user. She pursued people and lured them into her web with attention, gifts, and flattery. She made you feel special, and she could be sweet and generous and kind, but the minute you gave yourself up to her, she owned you, and she lost interest. She trapped me like she trapped everyone.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “She paid much more than you could earn anywhere else and provided more benefits, so it was difficult to leave voluntarily. If you sucked up to her and followed orders, you’d have a lucrative and prestigious job. Otherwise, she’d fire you. Then, of course, there was the unspoken threat: a ruined reputation making it impossible to find a job in the same field.”

  “So she replaced Feldman with, er, Cummings?”

  “Brett is ranked top in the field and Connie always wanted the best, be it food, pe
ople, decorations, children, whatever. It had to be the best. Also, Brett wasn’t interested in the job or the company and that always attracted Connie. People who didn’t grovel were especially appealing to her, a challenge, and she would go all out to seduce them.”

  “You mean sexually?” Parker blurted.

  Hornsby’s laugh, if that’s what it was, was harsh, dry. “Not sex. I can only equate it to things I’ve read about serial killers who are turned on by the kill. When Connie was after someone, nothing and no one else mattered. She almost glowed during the chase.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sandra Edwards stared out the window. Her face was puffy and raw, her eyes slits. Corelli took a chair across the table from her. “We’re almost done, Ms. Edwards.”

  Edwards sniffed and nodded.

  “So far, besides you, we’ve spoken to Mr. Gianopolus, Ms. Gianopolus, Mrs. Hornsby, and Ms. Cummings. Someone will interview the assistants later. What about the other officers?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. In the excitement I forgot that some of the officers are on vacation and some take long weekends during the summer. Let me check my schedule.”

  They followed her to her desk. Officer Shaunton was back at the door of Winter’s office. Edwards unlocked her desk and removed the schedule.

  “Terry O’Reilly is hiking in Nepal until next Monday. Karl Silver is in Hawaii and should be in next week. Lewis Brooks has been in Japan on business for a week and is scheduled to be there for the rest of the month. Phil Rieger was scheduled to be in today. Let me check my voice mail.”

  Edwards shook her head. Rieger hadn’t called. “By the way, before she went downstairs, Brett Cummings asked me to tell you that we’re obligated to conduct some business, executing orders, running the computers, things like that. The people who have to come in will be working on the lower floors. Those not needed will be sent home.”

  “Thanks. Please give Detective Parker the addresses and phone numbers for Mr. Rieger, Ms. Winter, Ms. Gianopolus, and the chauffer. And if you have contact numbers for the three officers who are out of the country, we’d like them as well. Then we’ll have a car drive you home. I need you here tomorrow to help us with any questions that come up, so I’m going to have someone pick you up about seven thirty in the morning.”

  “That would be fine.”

  They stopped in the lobby to talk to Gerry Gordon, the guard behind the marble desk.

  “How do you guys work?” Corelli asked.

  “There are three of us, two during the week and one over the weekend. Monday through Friday one of us is on six to six and the other seven to seven. People with IDs pass through the turnstiles, but visitors have to go to the desk. Anybody on the guest list gets a pass and goes up. Otherwise, the person they want to see has to approve letting them up.” He hesitated.

  Corelli nodded. “I’m with you.”

  “There’s a porter who works Monday through Friday, four to midnight, cleaning, getting rid of garbage, stuff like that. When the seven to seven guard leaves, the porter locks the door. People can get out anytime without a key, but the only way to get in after seven is to ring the outside bell. The porter answers the door but only lets in people who have a building ID or who are on a list the guard gives him when he leaves.”

  “Was there a list Friday night?”

  Gordon paged through a binder on the counter. “Not this Friday. So only people with IDs could have come in.”

  “Would the porter have noted anyone he let in?”

  Gordon made a face. “He’s supposed to but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “What about this weekend?”

  “The weekend guy is on vacation so I worked this Saturday. I got here a little before eight Saturday morning and locked up at six. The building is only open on Sunday if special arrangements are made, and there were no special arrangements this weekend, so it was closed from Saturday six p.m. until six this morning.”

  “Was the front door locked when you got here Saturday?” Corelli asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you adjust the temperature on the thirty-fifth floor?”

  “No. Mihailo, the night porter, locks the elevator and turns the air-conditioner off when he leaves. Nobody from Winter Brokerage came in this Saturday, so I didn’t touch either. Why?”

  “So nobody went up to the thirty-fifth floor?”

  “No. Only the regular weekend people from Winter Brokerage came in on Saturday and they use a different elevator.” He reached into a drawer and placed a black three-ring binder on the counter. “See for yourself.”

  She turned to the entries for Saturday and noted that the only people who came in on Winter’s side of the building all went to the thirty-first or thirty-third floor. She closed the book.

  “Who turned on the thirty-fifth floor air-conditioning this morning?”

  He pointed to the other guard. “Louie, did you turn on CWB’s air this morning?”

  “Nah, you forgot to turn it off Saturday so I didn’t touch it. And you left the elevator open too. You could have at least unloaded the garbage to make it easier for me this morning. Better be nice to me today or I’ll report you.”

  He shook his head. “Damn. Mihailo did it again. I had no reason to touch the thermostat or check the elevator Saturday. Bad enough I had to move the ladder out of the lobby when I came in.”

  “Speaking of the ladder, we need copies of the security discs. Who’s responsible?”

  “It’s tapes. I’ll pass the request on to the building manager when he comes in.”

  She nodded. “Do tenants have the key to the building?”

  “Only us guards, Mihailo, and the building manager have keys. No tenants.”

  He smirked. “So I hear Ms. Winter was murdered?”

  “Who told you that?” Corelli said, her face telegraphing her anger.

  He lifted his chin in the direction of the front doors. “Them.”

  Chapter Nine

  Corelli and Parker stood just inside the lobby checking out the activity in front of the building. The vans of every TV station were visible, as were the reporters and photographers hanging over the barricades, watching the doors. Corelli rubbed her forehead. What a pain in the ass. She was going to kill whoever tipped the media. “Let’s find the freight entrance.”

  Parker jingled the car keys. “We left the car in front, remember?”

  “Right.”

  “Should I get the car and pick you up at the back of the building?”

  “The Wall Street area is like a maze with little alleys and one-way streets. You’d never find me again.” She smirked. “And while you might like that, we have a murder to solve. Let’s go.”

  As they stepped out of the building, flashbulbs popped, TV lights blasted, and the crowd surged toward them, screaming Corelli’s name and waving microphones and cameras in her direction. She staggered back, her hands covering her head, and started to go down. Parker grabbed her from behind and pulled her back into the building. Parker whispered in her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe in New York City.”

  She opened her eyes. The lobby was quiet and cool. She glanced over her shoulder. The guards and a few people were staring. Parker looked concerned. She brushed Parker’s hands off and turned to face her. “Why the hell are you using me as a shield, Parker? Can’t you handle a few cameras?”

  Parker stepped back but didn’t respond.

  Corelli wiped the sweat off her face with her handkerchief then pressed her hands against her temples and took several deep breaths to steady herself. When the police had pushed the crowd to the other side of the street behind the barriers, she turned to Parker. “Let’s try this again.”

  They slipped out the door and stood under the building overhang between the pillars. The press was still screaming, flashbulbs were popping and TV cameras were rolling, but this time Corelli was prepared. Taking a minute to assess the situation, she noticed the officers were doing their job, keeping the crowd behind the barri
ers, but since they considered her a traitor they turned their backs, showing her the blue wall. Could she trust them to cover her back when the chips were down? And what about Parker? She’d done a save just now, but what if the bullets were flying? She took a deep breath. If she let the ostracism immobilize her, she might as well leave the job now. She leaned in close to Parker. “Smile for the cameras, act professional and confident, or you’ll look like a scared rabbit on TV tonight and in the newspapers tomorrow.”

  Parker visibly relaxed her body and plastered a smile on her face.

  Corelli did the same. “Let’s run for it.”

  As Corelli ran around to the passenger side, the crowd surged through the barriers and she realized the questions they were throwing out weren’t about the victim or suspects. They were asking whether it was true that the brass wanted her removed from the case. She jumped into the car and locked the door. Parker did the same.

  “Vultures,” Parker muttered.

  “They were asking if I was being thrown off the case.” Would they, whoever they were, try to keep her from working any case, or was there something special about the Winter case?

  “Do you think it’s true?”

  Corelli stared at the uniforms herding the crowd back behind the barricades, at the gaping mouths, popping eyes and wild gestures of the media. She felt like the star in her own private horror movie. “Anything is possible.”

  She sensed Parker’s gaze on her. “Thanks for covering for me. It takes time to adjust.” She said it quickly, to the windshield. She didn’t want Parker’s sympathy, or any of that shit. She turned to Parker. “But don’t get excited. You’re not getting a reprieve from me. And how about you do your job, keep your eyes on the freaking street and get us out of here?”