Glory in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Okay. Last night?”

  “While I was hanging, I saw Mr. Angelini go out. About eight, I guess. Then, late, probably closing on midnight, this other dude, flash car pulls up. He didn’t get out for awhile, just kinda sat there like he couldn’t make up his mind.”

  Barry did a quick whirl-a-loop, dancing up the length of the board. “Then he went in. Walking funny. I figured he’d been dousing a few. Went right on in, so he knew the code. Didn’t see Mr. Angelini come back. I was probably zeeing by then. You know, catching winks.”

  “Sleeping, yeah. I get it. Did you see anybody leave this morning?”

  “Nope, but the flash car’s still there.”

  “I see. Thanks.”

  “Hey.” He scooted behind her. “Is being a cop a rocking thing?”

  “Sometimes it rocks, sometimes it doesn’t.” She climbed the short steps to the Angelini home and identified herself to the cool tones of the greeting scanner.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, there is no one at home. If you would like to leave a message, it will be returned at the first opportunity.”

  Eve looked directly at the scanner. “Process this. If there’s no one at home, I’m going to walk back to my car, request an entry and search warrant. That should take about ten minutes.”

  She stood her ground and waited less than two before David Angelini opened the door.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Mr. Angelini. Here or Cop Central? Your choice.”

  “Come in.” He stepped back. “I just arrived in New York last night. I’m still a bit disorganized this morning.”

  He led her into a dark-toned, high-ceilinged sitting room and offered her coffee politely, which she declined with equal politeness. He wore the slim, narrow cuffed slacks she’d seen on the streets of Rome with a wide-sleeved silk shirt of the same neutral cream color. His shoes matched the tone and looked soft enough to dent with a fingertip.

  But his eyes were restless, and his hands tapped rhythmically on the arms of his chair when he sat.

  “You have more information about my mother’s case.”

  “You know why I’m here.”

  He flicked his tongue over his lips, shifted. Eve thought she understood why he did so poorly at gaming. “Excuse me?”

  She set her recorder on the table in full view. “David Angelini, your rights are as follows. You are under no obligation to make a statement. If you do make a statement, it will be logged into record and can and will be used against you in court or any legal proceeding. You have a right to the presence and advice of an attorney or representative.”

  She continued the brisk recitation of his rights while his breathing quickened and grew more audible. “The charges?”

  “You are not yet charged. Do you understand your rights?”

  “Of course I understand them.”

  “Do you wish to call your attorney?”

  His mouth opened, a breath shuddered out. “Not yet. I assume you’re going to make the purpose of this interrogation clear, Lieutenant.”

  “I think it’s going to be crystal. Mr. Angelini, where were you between the hours of eleven P.M., May 31 and twelve A.M., June 1?”

  “I told you I’d just gotten into the city. I drove in from the airport and came here.”

  “You came here, directly from the airport?”

  “That’s right. I had a late meeting, but I—I canceled it.” He flicked open the top hook of his shirt, as if he needed air. “Rescheduled it.”

  “What time did you arrive at the airport?”

  “My flight got in around ten-thirty, I believe.”

  “You came here.”

  “I’ve said so.”

  “Yes, you did.” Eve angled her head. “And you’re a liar. A bad liar. You sweat when you bluff.”

  Aware of the damp line running down his back, he rose. His voice tried for outrage but ended on fear. “I believe I’ll contact my attorney after all, Lieutenant. And your superior. Is it standard police procedure to harass innocent people in their own homes?”

  “Whatever works,” she murmured. “Then again, you’re not innocent. Go ahead and call your attorney, and we’ll all go down to Cop Central.”

  But he didn’t move toward his ’link. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “For starters, you’ve lied on record to an investigating officer. Call your attorney.”

  “Wait, wait.” Rubbing a hand over his mouth, David paced the room. “It isn’t necessary. It isn’t necessary to take this that far.”

  “That’s your choice. Would you care to revise your previous statement?”

  “This is a delicate matter, Lieutenant.”

  “Funny, I’ve always thought of murder as a crude matter, myself.”

  He continued to pace, working his hands together. “You have to understand the business is in a tenuous position at the moment. The wrong kind of publicity will influence certain transactions. In a week, two at the most, it will all be resolved.”

  “And you think I should hold off on all this until you get your financial ducks in a row?”

  “I’d be willing to compensate you for your time and your discretion.”

  “Would you?” Eve widened her eyes. “What sort of compensation are you suggesting, Mr. Angelini?”

  “I can swing ten thousand.” He struggled for a smile. “Double that if you simply bury all of this for good.”

  Eve crossed her arms. “Let the record show that David Angelini offered a monetary bribe to investigating primary Lieutenant Eve Dallas, and the aforesaid bribe was refused.”

  “Bitch,” he said softly.

  “You bet. Why were you at Channel 75 last night?”

  “I’ve never said I was.”

  “Let’s cut the dreck. You were recorded by gate security entering the property.” To emphasize, she opened her bag, took out the hard copy of his face, tossed it on the table.

  “Gate security.” His legs seemed to fold from under him and he groped into a chair. “I never thought—never considered. I panicked.”

  “Slicing someone’s jugular can do that to you.”

  “I never touched her. I never went near her. Good God, do I look like a murderer?”

  “They come in all styles. You were there. I have documentation. Hands!” she said sharply as her own jumped to her shoulder harness. “Keep your hands out of your pockets.”

  “Name of God, do you think I’m carrying a knife?” Slowly he drew out a handkerchief, wiped his brow. “I didn’t even know Louise Kirski.”

  “But you know her name.”

  “I saw it on the news.” He closed his eyes. “I saw it on the news. And I saw him kill her.”

  The muscles in Eve’s shoulders bunched, but unlike David she was good at the game. Both her face and voice were bland. “Well then, why don’t you tell me all about it?”

  He worked his hands together again, linking fingers, twisting. He wore two rings, one diamond, one ruby, both set in heavy gold. They clinked together musically.

  “You have to keep my name out of this.”

  “No,” she said evenly, “I don’t. I don’t make deals. Your mother was a PA, Mr. Angelini. You should know if there are going to be any deals, they’re going to come through that office, not me. You’ve already lied on the record.” She kept her tone flat, easy. It was best when working with a nervous suspect to ease them in. “I’m giving you a chance to revise your previous statement, and again reminding you that you have the right to contact your attorney at any time during this interview. But if you want to talk to me, talk now. And I’ll start, to make it easy for you. What were you doing at Channel 75 last night?”

  “I had a late meeting. I told you that I had one and canceled. That’s the truth. We’ve been—I’ve been working on an expansion deal. Angelini has some interest in the entertainment industry. We’ve been developing projects, programs, features for in-home viewing. Carlson Young, the head of the entertainment division of the channel, had done
quite a bit to bring these projects to fruition. I was to meet him in his office there.”

  “A little after business hours, wasn’t it?”

  “The entertainment field doesn’t have what you might call normal business hours. Both of our schedules were tight, and this was a time that suited us both.”

  “Why not handle it over the ’link?”

  “A great deal of our business was done that way. But we both felt it was time for a personal meeting. We’d hoped—still hope—to have the first project on air by fall. We have the script,” he continued, almost talking to himself now. “The production team’s in place. We’ve already signed some of the cast.”

  “So, you had a late night meeting with Carlson Young of Channel 75.”

  “Yes. The weather held me up a bit. I was running late.” His head came up. “I called him from my car. You can check that, too. You can check. I called him a few minutes before eleven when I realized I would be late.”

  “We’ll check everything, Mr. Angelini. Count on it.”

  “I arrived at the main gate. I was distracted, thinking of . . . of some casting problems. I turned. I should have gone straight to the main entrance, but I was thinking of something else. I stopped the car, realized I’d have to backtrack. Then I saw—” He used his handkerchief, rubbed at his mouth. “I saw someone come out of a door. Then there was someone else, he must have been standing there watching, waiting. He moved so fast. It all moved so fast. She turned, and I saw her face. Just for a second, I saw her face in the light. His hand jerked up. Fast, very fast. And . . . dear God. The blood. It gushed, like a fountain. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t believe—it just spurted out of her. She fell, and he was running, running away.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I—I just sat there. I don’t know how long. I was driving away. I don’t even remember. I was driving and everything was like a dream. The rain, and the lights from other cars. Then I was here. I can’t even remember how I got here. But I was outside in the car. I called Young, and told him I’d been delayed again, that we needed to reschedule. I came inside, there was no one here. I took a sedative and went to bed.”

  Eve let the silence hum a moment. “Let’s see if I’ve got this. You were on your way to a meeting, took a wrong turn, and saw a woman brutally murdered. Then you drove away, canceled your meeting, and went to bed. Is that accurate?”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “It didn’t occur to you to get out of your car, to see if she could be helped? Or perhaps to use your ’link to notify the authorities, the MTs?”

  “I wasn’t thinking. I was shaken.”

  “You were shaken. So you came here, took a pill, and went to bed.”

  “That’s what I said,” he snapped out. “I need a drink.” With sweaty fingers, he fumbled for a control. “Vodka,” he ordered. “Bring the bottle.”

  Eve let him stew until the server droid arrived with a bottle of Stoli and a short thick glass on its tray. She let him drink.

  “There was nothing I could do,” he mumbled, goaded, as she’d intended, by her silence. “I wasn’t involved.”

  “Your mother was murdered a few weeks ago by the method you’ve just described to me. And this didn’t involve you?”

  “That was part of the problem.” He poured again, drank again. Shuddered. “I was shocked, and—and afraid. Violence isn’t part of my life, Lieutenant. It was part of my mother’s, a part I could never understand. She understood violence,” he said quietly. “She understood it.”

  “And did you resent that, Mr. Angelini? That she understood violence, was strong enough to face it? Fight against it?”

  His breathing was shallow. “I loved my mother. When I saw this other woman murdered, as my mother had been murdered, all I could think of to do was run.”

  He paused, took a last quick swallow of vodka. “Do you think I don’t know you’ve been checking on me, asking questions, digging into my personal and professional lives? I’m a suspect already. How much worse would it have been for me to be there, right there, at the scene of another murder?”

  Eve rose. “You’re about to find out.”

  chapter fourteen

  Eve questioned him again, in the less comforting surroundings of Interview Room C. He’d finally taken up his right for counsel, and three pinstriped, cold-eyed lawyers ranged beside their client at the conference table.

  Eve had privatedly dubbed them Moe, Larry, and Curly.

  Moe apparently was in charge. She was a tough-voiced woman with a severe bowl-cut hairstyle that had inspired Eve to christen her. Her associates said little but looked sober and occasionally made important-looking notations on the yellow legal pads that lawyers never seemed to tire of.

  Now and again Curly, his wide forehead creased, would tap a few buttons on his log book and murmur conspiratorially in Larry’s ear.

  “Lieutenant Dallas.” Moe folded her hands, which were tipped with wicked looking inch-long scarlet nails, on the table. “My client is eager to cooperate.”

  “He wasn’t,” Eve stated, “as you’ve seen for yourself from the first interview. After recanting his original story, your client admitted to leaving the scene of a crime and failing to report said crime to the proper authorities.”

  Moe sighed. It was a windy, disappointed sound. “You can, of course, charge Mr. Angelini with those lapses. We will, in turn, claim diminished capacity, shock, and the emotional trauma of his mother’s recent murder. This would all be a waste of the court’s time, and the taxpayer’s dollar.”

  “I haven’t charged your client with those . . . lapses as yet. We’re dealing with a larger theme here.”

  Curly scribbled something, tilted his pad for Larry to read. The two of them murmured together and looked grave.

  “You have confirmed my client’s appointment at Channel 75.”

  “Yeah, he had an appointment, which he canceled at eleven thirty-five. Odd that his diminished capacity and his emotional trauma eased off enough for him to take care of business.” Before Moe could speak again, Eve turned and pinned Angelini with one hard stare. “You know Nadine Furst?”

  “I know who she is. I’ve seen her on the news.” He hesitated, leaned over to consult Moe. After a moment, he nodded. “I’d met her a few times socially, and spoke with her briefly after my mother’s death.”

  Eve already knew all of that, and circled her quarry. “I’m sure you’ve seen her reports. You’d have a vested interest, as she’s been covering the recent murders. Your mother’s murder.”

  “Lieutenant, what does my client’s interest in the news coverage of his mother’s death have to do with the murder of Ms. Kirski?”

  “I’m wondering. You have seen Nadine Furst’s reports over the last couple weeks, Mr. Angelini.”

  “Of course.” He’d recovered enough to sneer. “You’ve gotten a lot of airtime out of it, Lieutenant.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “I think it’s appalling that a public servant, paid by the city, would seek notoriety through tragedy.”

  “Sounds like it pissed you off,” Eve said with an easy shrug. “Ms. Furst has been getting plenty of notoriety out of it, too.”

  “One learns to expect someone like her to use someone else’s pain for her own advancement.”

  “You didn’t like the coverage?”

  “Lieutenant,” Moe said with her patience obviously straining. “Where’s the point in this?”

  “This isn’t a trial, yet. I don’t need a point. Were you annoyed by the coverage, Mr. Angelini? Angry?”

  “I—” He broke off at a sharp look from Moe. “I come from a prominent family,” he said more carefully. “We’re accustomed to such things.”

  “If we could get back to the business at hand,” Moe requested.

  “This is the business at hand. Louise Kirski was wearing Nadine Furst’s raincoat when she was killed. You know what I think, Mr. Angelini? I think the killer hit the wron
g target. I think he was waiting for Nadine and Louise just happened to choose the wrong time to go out in the rain for cigarettes.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with me.” His eyes darted toward his attorneys. “It still doesn’t have anything to do with me. I saw it. That’s all.”

  “You said it was a man. What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him clearly, his back was to me. It happened so fast.”

  “But you saw enough to know it was a man.”

  “I assumed.” He broke off, struggling to control his breathing while Moe whispered in his ear. “It was raining,” he began. “I was several meters away, in my car.”

  “You said you saw the victim’s face.”

  “The light, she turned her head toward the light when he—or when the killer—went toward her.”

  “And this killer, who might have been a man, and who came out of nowhere. Was he tall, short, old, young?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark.”

  “You said there was light.”

  “Just that circle of light. He’d been in the shadows. He was wearing black,” David said on a burst of inspiration. “A long black coat—and a hat, a hat that drooped down low.”

  “That’s convenient. He was wearing black. It’s so original.”

  “Lieutenant, I can’t advise my client to continue to cooperate if you persist in sarcasm.”

  “Your client’s in hip deep. My sarcasm’s the least of his worries. We’ve got the three big ones. Means, motive, opportunity.”

  “You have nothing but my client’s admission that he witnessed a crime. Further,” Moe went on, tapping those dangerous nails on the conference table, “you have absolutely nothing to link him with the other murders. What you’ve got, Lieutenant, is a maniac on the loose, and a desperate need to appease your superiors and the public with an arrest. It’s not going to be my client.”

  “We’ll have to see about that. Now—” Her communicator beeped, twice, a signal from Feeney. Her adrenaline surged, and she masked it with a bland smile. “Excuse me, I’ll only be a moment.”