5 Deal Killer (23 page)

“I see.” Quickly Darby ran through the discoveries she, Gina, and Miles had made over the course of the last few days. Were any of them really facts, or were they just conjecture, or even worse, interesting tidbits? It was a fact that Penn Cooper’s firm had been engaged in a lawsuit with Alec Rodin, but was that FBI worthy information? Sherry Cooper had been a standout fencer in college. Did that mean she’d murdered someone?

“You know about the sword coming from Vera Graff’s apartment,” she said lamely.

“Yes.” His tone was impatient. “It was what killed Rodin.”

Her heart fluttered a little. Had they possessed real confirmation of this fact before?

“Alec Rodin was in a lawsuit over some investment advice,” she offered.

“Yes, Corcoran, Corcoran, and Sterling. They’ve been forthcoming.”

“Penn Cooper lives in the building where the Kazakovas live.”

“Huh.” He sounded unimpressed. “Listen, Darby, I recall that you
seemed to enjoy playing detective back on Hurricane Harbor. Ed Landis humored you, I know. But this isn’t Maine. This is New York. You’re way out of your league here, and things aren’t what they seem. I suggest you enjoy the rest of your visit with Mr. Porter, and then head on back to California.” He paused. “Call me if you have some real information. Goodbye.”

The line went dead. Darby turned to Miles, her mouth agape.

“Now that was a brush-off,” she said, her voice becoming angry. “I remember that guy was annoying, but … ugh!”

Miles gave a small smile. “As frustrating as that was, Cardazzo’s call gave us yet another piece of the puzzle.”

“Not really. All he did was confirm that the sword was the murder weapon. I guess that’s something, sure—”

“No, I mean that because of the timing of his call, we were still sitting here on this bench, and I happened to see Kazakova’s driver leave the building from the private exit. Do you know who was seated behind the driver?”

“Mikhail? Natalia?”

“The dog walker.”

“No! Miranda Styles?”

“I’m pretty positive.”

“How could you tell?”

“She leaned forward, and I saw her arm and part of her face. I’m sure it was Miranda.”

“Maybe they’re taking Korbut to the vet.” Darby started giggling, and Miles joined in.

“Or off to buy him some dog treats.” He grinned. “If anyone will know what’s going on, it’s Ramon. Let’s go pick his brain.”

They practically ran across Central Park West until they met up with the doorman. As usual, he ribbed Miles and flattered Darby.

“Still here with this broken-down Brit, eh? Well sometimes I think the redcoats won after all. Women hear an English accent and they go all gooey. Isn’t that right, Mr. Bean?”

“True, my friend. I’m tempted to give you some lessons so that you, too, can charm the—uh—knickers off the ladies in your life.”

“Deal.” He gave a broad smile and then narrowed his eyes. “Okay, watcha looking for?”

“Miranda Styles and Mikhail Kazakova. We just saw them leaving together.”

Ramon shifted uncomfortably and let out a sigh. “That’s a toughie.” His dark eyes darted around the opulent lobby. “I could get in big trouble for saying something.”

“Let me ask the questions, then, and you won’t say anything.” It was a technique Miles taught his students in the beginning investi
gative journalism class. He found that once a source gave a few nods,
they were more likely to start talking without any prompts.

“Are Mikhail and Miranda romantically involved?”

A quick nod from Ramon.

“Has this been going on for some time, say a year?”

Another nod. “At least.” Ramon chewed the inside of his lip. “They
are super discreet, but still …” he paused, looked around again. “I
know Kazakova’s driver.”

“I see.” Miles thought a moment. “Miranda walks his dog, too, along with several others.”

More nods. “She does something else, too, but I don’t know what it is. In between walking dogs she has another life.”

Another life.
Darby thought about that as she and Miles rode in silence up to the ninth floor. What was Miranda Styles doing with her time, when she wasn’t with Mikhail or her canine charges?

“Personal trainer,” Miles said aloud as the elevator doors opened. “She’s extremely fit.”

“That’s as good a guess as any.” Darby yawned.

“Nap before dinner? I’ve got my sights set on a little Indian place tonight.”

“You’re on. I feel like my brain needs a rest.”

“Good idea. Let the brain rest and the body work.” He waggled his eyebrows and opened the door.

_____

Rona Reichels found the Midtown address without any trouble. She paused before a nondescript door, her heart pounding. It was eight o’clock and she could not believe she was going to confront the man who’d been Devin’s lover.

She gave a discreet knock and the door opened. A balding, middle-aged man in red boxers and a tee shirt stood before her, his face changing from delight to dismay.

“You’re not my baby angel,” he faltered.

Rona pushed her way in. “No, I’m not. Your baby angel is dead, and I’m her mother.”

He deflated like a balloon. “Devin … dead?”

“Yes.” She looked around the apartment with her appraising real estate eye and thought
Expensive
. Whatever his outward appearance, this guy had money. “We need to talk.”

“Let me put on some clothes.” He hurried from the room.

Rona thought briefly of her safety and decided she did not really care.
Bring it on,
she thought grimly.
Gun, knife, whatever.
She was ready.

He returned wearing a pair of dark pants and a button-down shirt. “I didn’t get your name,” he said.

“Rona.” She exhaled. “I’m trying to figure out a few things. Were you and Devin a couple?”

He gave a kind of chuckle and sigh at the same time. “I wish. A knockout like Devin … and a guy like me.” His grin was sappy-sad. “No. We connected through a website service that matches young women with older men.”

“A dating site?”

“No, more like … companionship.”

“And sex?” Rona stared him down. “Is that part of the bargain?”

He looked away. “It can be.”

“Ugh.”

“Hey, I’m not ashamed. Devin signed up to be an angel of her own free will. We connected, and I showered her with gifts. She seemed
to enjoy being with me.”

“Money? Did you give her money?”

“Sure. She was struggling to pay back loans, and it was tough. Her mother was always on her back …”

He stopped.

Rona shook her head, moved to the door, pulled it open.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “Really, I am. I liked her. She was very sweet.”

Rona bit her lip and walked away.

twenty-two

“Okay, let’s get back
to basics,” said Darby to Miles. They were at a bustling Indian restaurant not far from Central Park Place, enjoying curry and an intriguing Indian beer.

“What do you mean by ‘basics’? You mean, who had a motive?”

“Yes, but I was thinking of starting with the murder weapon itself. It’s the only piece of evidence we have—the antique sword.”

“Saber, really
…
” Miles broke off a piece of a papadum and dabbed it into a green curry.

“Okay, saber. Who could have stolen it? Remember Vera said there was no evidence of a break-in, so either they left their apartment unlocked, or someone used a key.”

“Or it was one of them. After all, Detective Benedetti said it was a woman.”

“True, but even if those two weren’t ensconced in their apartment all afternoon, I doubt they’d have the physical strength to kill Rodin. That’s got to be a pretty forceful thrust to penetrate the chest cavity, puncture the lungs, right?”

Miles looked down at his dinner.

“Sorry if I’m ruining your appetite! Think about it though—who could have gotten into that apartment easily and with a key?”

“The superintendent.”

“Yes. And he could have sold the sword to an antique shop.”

“I wonder if Benedetti checked any shops nearby? He wouldn’t be very good at his job if he hadn’t.”

“Who else had easy access?”

“Well, Natalia was in there a fair amount, but I doubt she’s got a key. Cleaning lady?”

“That’s Yvette, remember?”

“Who else gets keys to properties?”

Just then Darby flashed on her lawsuit with the Davenports, how a key she’d had to the house didn’t work, because the entire door unit had been changed. A nagging voice said: why had it been changed? She tabled that question for now and turned to Miles.

“Real estate agents have keys, and I bet you that Rona was the listing broker for this apartment when Vera bought it.” She grabbed her smartphone and checked the list Todd Stockton had sent her. “Yes!”

“So Rona keeps the keys from when she lists the property, then sneaks in and steals the saber, uses it to kill Alec Rodin because, four years later, she’s still angry over losing all that money. The fact that it’s an antique weapon makes it look like it’s some sort of Russian crime of passion.”

“What should we do? Should we try to talk to Rona?”

“Why not?” Miles glanced at his watch. “It’s only nine-thirty, early by New York standards. Let’s settle up here and go see what she says.”

_____

Gina phoned while Darby and Miles were making their way back to Central Park Place.

“Anything new? Seems like ages since we talked.”

Darby brought her up to date on the conversation with Agent Cardazzo as well as Miles’s spotting of Miranda and Mikhail.

“So they are an item,” Gina mused. “Wonder if Natalia knows?” She was silent for a moment. “Something I just remembered about Miranda … something I thought was strange at the time. She wears a gun. I saw it when Vera collapsed and she was helping me.”

Darby told Miles who frowned. “Perhaps she’s worried about being attacked by dogs?”

“I heard that,” Gina said. “Pepper spray I can see, but what dog walker wears a gun?” She sighed. “Where are you guys headed now?”

Darby described their hunch that Rona could still possess keys to Vera Graff’s apartment.

“Are you going to point blank ask her?” Gina wondered. “Isn’t she going to just deny it?” She thought of her ruse with the dog collar. “What if you pound on Rona’s door and ask if there is any chance she has a key to Vera’s, because you’re worried about her and you can’t reach the super. Say that you hear weird noises or something, and nobody answers when you knock.”

“Great idea, Gina, and it might actually work.”

_____

Darby and Miles climbed the stairs to three-twelve. Both were panting slightly from the exertion of climbing, which they thought would add to their performance. “Ready?” Miles whispered.

“Ready.”

He pounded on the door.

Almost instantly, Rona opened it. She was wearing a satin robe over pajamas, and her face was bereft of any makeup. Darby remembered Devin’s recent death and her heart clenched for the woman.

“We’re checking to see if anyone can help us. The old lady in five-fifteen is making strange noises and we can’t get the super. Nobody answers when we knock and we’re worried that something is going on.”

“Five-fifteen … that’s Vera Graff. Have you called the police?”

“Not yet,” Miles lied. “We were trying to get in there first. We don’t want to embarrass the old lady if it’s nothing, but all the same, every second counts.” He wrung his hands. “Somebody mentioned that you are a real estate agent and that you might have a key.”

Rona started, glanced into her apartment and back. “I don’t think so.”

Inwardly, Darby groaned. It was not going to work.

“I know Mrs. Graff will be thankful if we don’t have to call the authorities, make a big fuss …”

Rona must have seen dollar signs because she put up a finger. “Let me just check. Sometimes I do have old keys rattling around.”

She returned minutes later, handing him a key with a flourish. “Didn’t even know I had it. Bring it back as soon as you can and let me know how she is.”

Miles muttered a thank you and grabbed the key. He and Darby ran to the elevator. When the doors were safely closed they looked at each other with amazement.

“What now?” Miles asked.

“Fifth floor. We need to see if it works.”

At first, no one answered the buzzer at Vera’s, but then a frightened voice asked what they wanted. Darby explained and the woman told them to go away. A moment later, another voice, more commanding than the first, requested their names.

A moment later the door opened and Vera Graff stood scowling into the hallway.

“What is this all about?”

Miles brandished the key. “We are trying to figure out who stole your saber,” he said.

“That rusty old thing?” She frowned. “I hardly think it is worth waking my housemaid and I up in the middle of the night …”

“That sword was used to kill a man,” Darby said quietly. “And this key may help us find the killer. May we see if it works?”

“Now? Be my guest,” Vera said, shaking her head as if the whole thing was ridiculous.

Miles inserted the key and turned the lock. “I’d say it works perfectly.”

Yvette murmured something in French and put a trembling hand to her lips.

“Why don’t you go and sit down, Yvette,” Vera suggested. “I’ll handle this.”

The woman scurried away. As soon as she was out of earshot, Vera gave them a fierce look. “Just what kind of game are you playing, coming here like this and terrorizing my maid?” Her voice was a raspy hiss. “Where did you get that key?”

“Rona Reichels.”

“The real estate woman? What is she doing with a key to our apartment?”

“We think she’s had it since she listed the property,” Darby
explained. “The point is, someone could have used it to come in and take the sword.”

The old woman’s scowl faded.

Darby and Miles exchanged glances.

“We’ve become friends with Gina Trovata, and I know you and she have spent time together,” Darby said. “We’re trying to get to the bottom of this, with Gina’s help.”

Vera Graff nodded. “Gina knows about other things that went missing as well. You can ask her.” She seemed to sway on her feet slightly. “I’m too tired to talk about this now. I’m heading back to bed, but I’d ask that you keep us posted on what you find out. In the morning, that is.” She held out her hand. “We’ll change our locks as soon as possible, but in the meantime, I’ll have that key.”

The door closed and Miles gave a low whistle. “Back to Rona’s for the confrontation?”

Darby nodded. “Let’s go.”

_____

Across town, in one of the city’s most expensive restaurants, Mikhail Kazakova took a bite of his quail. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” He offered his companion a taste. “This is absolutely marvelous. Try a bite.”

“No, thank you,” Miranda said. She looked around the quiet dining room, searching for anything or anyone out of the ordinary.
She’d felt unsettled ever since Mikhail’s admission of the violent push
he’d witnessed, a push she was sure had been meant for him.

A man across the room caught her eye. He was thin, and short, with a neatly trimmed goatee and glasses. Several times she’d seen him glance in their direction. Now he was rising to his feet, crossing the room … and stopping at a table in the center of the room. He spoke to the diners who rose and hugged him, obviously friends.

She turned her attention back to Mikhail.

“My red snapper is exquisite,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m just a little jumpy, that’s all.”

“You’re not still concerned about that incident I told you about, are you?”

“Actually, I am.” Miranda gave him a level look. “I think your life is in danger.”

“Miranda, really—”

“Hear me out. Someone killed Alec, and since I know it wasn’t you, I have to surmise that you are now the one whose life is on the line.”

He gave a mischievous grin. “You are sure I did not slip into that alley and kill Rodin? God knows there were times I thought about it.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“I will play what you call the devil’s advocate and ask how you know I am not the killer.”

Her face was deadly serious. “I know you didn’t do it because I’ve been tailing you.”

“Me? You’ve had me under surveillance? Whatever for?”

“I was hired to investigate you.” She picked up her wine glass. “I’m a private investigator.”

“Aha!” He said, bringing his hand down on the table. “I knew you were in some sort of covert work.” His eyes twinkled. “Dog walking! What a red herring.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Only one question remains: who are you working for?”

Miranda reached out and traced the shape of a letter on his powerful hand. “Someone who cared about you very much, it turns out.” She paused. “Alec Rodin.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alec hired me to find out whether you were planting misinformation about him with the Russian authorities. When I gave him proof that you were discrediting him with the FSB, he understood it was to protect Natalia and prevent her from going back to Russia.”

“Then why did he insist on going through with the marriage? Why not break it off?”

“He struggled with the decision, I know, but he needed Natalia for his cover.”

“Cover? I do not understand.”

“Alec was an informant for the FBI,” she said. “He uncovered evidence of massive fraud in several Russian cities, but he knew that to go to the authorities would be futile. As you know, several have tried to work within the Russian legal system, and have been tortured and killed for their honesty. Alec thought he could go through different channels, but I’m convinced that’s why he was killed, and why your life is now expendable.”

Mikhail’s face was pale. “This has the ring of truth to it. I always trusted and admired Rodin. This is why I wanted Natalia to be his
wife in the first place.” He put his head in his hands. “Poor Alec. Can
we find his killer?”

“I don’t know,” Miranda said, “but I’m trying.”

“There is one more thing I need to know. Is our relationship part of
your
cover?”

“No,” she smiled. “I’m off the job. For good.” She touched his hand again. “Now I’m involved because I care.”

The Russian oligarch grinned. “Then I am one very lucky man.”

_____

“I’ve had those keys tucked in a drawer,” Rona said to Darby and Miles. “I only just found them the other day. If someone got into Vera’s apartment and took things, they didn’t do it with my key.” She rubbed her eyes. “I can’t believe this. I ought to call the police. My daughter died two days ago and you’re pulling this crap on me? You ought to be ashamed.”

The door slammed.

“Well,” said Miles. “That didn’t go very well.”

“No.” Darby grimaced. “I do feel badly. She did just lose her daughter.”

“Yes, but she’s lying, Darby. Did you see the way her eyes were darting back and forth? Plus she said ‘keys.’ Plural. Trust me, they did not just turn up in her drawer. She copied and kept them for a reason.”

“You’re right. There’s more behind it.” She stifled a yawn. “Come on, Sherlock. Let’s call it a day.”