Before leaving the office, Ive had called the gallery and Simone’s cell phone but got no answer from either. She’d decided to drive over to check the place out, anyway. She shut off the engine and stepped out of the car. As she crossed the street a woman sashayed into view, turning to the front door of the gallery.
Just the woman Ive was looking for.
Simone Loveless looked very different from when Ive had last interviewed her. Ive remembered her as a gaunt, over-the-hill, never-quite-made-it model, hanging on desperately to the illusion of her sexual magnetism—the skin-tight black dress, the just-out-of-bed hair, the five-inch stilettos, the fire engine red lipstick. But the Simone today was all business, tailored clothing in neutral colors, pale blond hair sleek and lustrous, even her shoes were of an elegant height. She could pass as one of those haughty curators in any of New York City’s elite museums.
Ive hopped onto the sidewalk just as Simone was about to step down to the Gallery door. “Ms. Loveless.”
Simone spun around, alarm flashing across her face. “Detective Ricca, what are you doing here?”
“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Loveless. May I have a few minutes of your time? I called earlier but you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry, I must’ve muted my cell. But please come in,” Simone said, casting Ives an icy as-you-wish glance before popping open her large clutch to pull out a bunch of keys.
Yep, still the ice queen. Ive shifted her eyes away from Simone’s stare to Simone’s hands which were sorting through about half a dozen keys on a silver ring. A crystal ornament the size of a dollar coin dangled from a short chain on the key ring.
They entered the gallery. Simone went straight to the guest reception and dropped the clutch and keys on her desk. “So, what can I do for you, Detective?” she asked, taking off her coat and hooking it on the hanger next to the desk. She plopped herself down behind the desk without inviting Ive to sit down.
Ive looked away from the shiny ornament on the key ring. At closer range, she noticed the ornament was attached to a smaller ring which also held a large brass key. “How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Blackwell?” The question was impromptu, not how Ive had planned to start the conversation.
“What do you mean? I never had a relationship with Mr. Blackwell, he was my boss’s friend.” Simone’s voice cracked slightly with emotion.
Ive pulled over a chair and sat down, meeting Simone’s stare from the other side of the desk. “Not even professionally?”
“Define professional.”
“Such as coordinating Mr. Blackwell’s travel itineraries and event schedules, running errands, or even attending social events with Mr. Blackwell and your boss?”
“I was not Mr. Blackwell’s secretary, but sure, I did coordinate with Mr. Blackwell’s schedule if it was related to the gallery. But as you said, Detective, it was strictly professional,” Simone said indignantly.
“Okay. So you would agree that there were times your professional duty would require you to stop by Mr. Blackwell’s penthouse, you know, to fetch something or deliver something business related, or attend gatherings for friends and colleagues of the gallery?”
“Of course, a couple of times. Mr. Blackwell only had the penthouse for about a year. Are you trying to insinuate that I had a personal and intimate relationship with Mr. Blackwell and therefore I could be a murder suspect? I have multiple alibis you know. Wesley and I were with Chinese artists at the 21 Club on the night of the murder. We were there from seven-thirty to past ten. After that, Wesley and I went to his apartment and had one more drink together to discuss what we needed to do for the upcoming exhibition.”
“I understand, Simone. Many women would envy the glamor and perks of your job, but we both know no job is perfect. Remember what you told me about struggling to make it in the modeling world? How many girls had the same dream and ambition but never even made it as far as you did? And of course most of them may not know the pain and humiliation you had to put up with. I appreciate your being discreet, to protect the privacy of the celebrity men you work for. But we’re talking about murder here and it’s my job to ask all the questions I believe can help solve the case. Now, if you remember anything important later, give me a call. You can’t bury something bad and hope it won’t come back to haunt you.”
“I will, Detective, but as I’ve said, there’s nothing I could tell you that you don’t already know,” Simone’s voice softened. There was a tinge of hesitation, Ive could tell.
“Thank you very much, Simone.” Ive rose and proceeded to the front door as Simone stood quietly at her desk, watching the detective take her leave.
The bell rang and the door buzzed open. Before Ive could grab the doorknob, Wesley Walters’s masculine form filled the entire doorway.
“Detective Ricca, what a pleasant surprise.” Walters was all smiles, but his eyes looked right over Ive’s head to fix on Simone for a second. “Is there anything I can do for you, Detective?” He stepped in and closed the door behind him.
Ive gave him a nod. “Mr. Walters, I was just leaving. I had a couple of loose ends I needed to tie up regarding Mr. Blackwell’s murder, and Simone has helped me with that.”
“Right, how’s the investigation going? Are you guys getting close to solving the case? Sure you don’t need to talk to me, too?” Walters gestured for Ive to follow him to his office.
“I’ve got everything I need. Thank you both for your cooperation. We’ll get to the bottom of this soon. You all have a good day now.” Again, Ive turned to the front door, but Walters rushed over to open it for her. Ive nodded her thanks and walked out. She could feel Walters’s stare on her back as she crossed the street to her car.
Walters and Simone may be the perfect alibis for each other, but Ive was sure Simone was holding something back about her relationship with Blackwell. Ive also realized that it was the first time she’d been together with Walters and Simone, and judging from the way Walters looked at Simone, the dynamic between those two was strained to say the least. And that crystal ornament on Simone’s key ring . . . There’s someone else I need to talk to.
Chapter 18
New York City, present day
Simone watched Walters watching Ive cross the street. He closed the door and turned to face Simone who was now sorting through some paperwork at her desk.
Stomping toward Simone, he growled, “What did she want? What did you tell her?”
Simone recoiled from the dark figure towering over her. “Nothing important, she merely wanted to know my relationship with William over the past year.”
“What did you say?”
“Just like what you wanted me to say, professional, strictly professional,” Simone said shakily.
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else. I told her my association with William was all related to the gallery business, though William did treat me well, like a good friend.” Simone raised her eyes to peer at Walters.
“A good friend? You’re no friend of his. I’m sure wherever William is now, he wouldn’t want his name spoken by your filthy mouth.” Walters scowled.
“William loved me, if it wasn’t for that French slut . . .” Simone dared her first retort, though in a small voice.
Walters broke out laughing. “Get real, you bitch. You think he didn’t know you’re nothing but a gold digger, whoring around for money all your life. You think because he slept with you a few times he’d take care of you for life?”
Walters laughed and laughed, face turning red.
“What about you? Like you haven’t been whoring around? Don’t tell me you loved William, you fucked him for money, for this so-called ‘high-art’ gallery. You’re nothing but a star-fucker.” Simone didn’t realize she was screaming until Walters’s hand swooped down across the desk and hit her face. Stars burst before her eyes.
“You fucking bitch, get out. Don’t come back here again. GET. OUT!” Walters roared, eyes bulging like two black marbles.
For a second, Simone thought he would reach over and grab her by the collar so he could literally throw her out onto the street. She jumped up, side-stepping to get out of Walters’s reach. Strangely, she felt no fear. She told herself she had nothing to be afraid of. She was no longer his slave. In fact, she’d helped him amass his fortune and fame, and along the way had lost fragments of her soul. But at least she now had as much at stake in the W Gallery as he did, and she knew all the dirty secrets and where the dead bodies were buried. Why should she just walk away? How stupid she’d been begging for money from William while she had Walters’s vault—her vault. She just had to find a way to unlock it.
She straightened her dress and stood tall. “Don’t worry, Wes, I have no desire to stick around, but I have a proposal to make so you and I can part ways fairly,” Simone said coolly.
“Really, what might that be?” Walters groaned, suspicion flaring in his eyes. But he seemed to have checked his explosive anger.
Simone cleared her throat, she wanted to make sure her voice would be steady, without fear. But a cell phone rang. Since her phone had the same ring tone as Walters’s, she reached for her clutch, but Walters had already pulled his cell from his jacket pocket and tapped the screen to answer the call. Walters’s face grew dark and his voice grave. Ignoring Simone, he quickly stepped into his office.
*
Once in his office, Walters slammed the door shut and sank into the nearest chair. “How can that be? What exactly is Madam Jin chasing? Fake or real, she’s got both seals now, I don’t know what else she’s looking for.” He tried to control the decibel of his voice.
“Just like the last one, the face of the seal is a piece of cheap rock, Madam’s not pleased. She paid you handsomely, but she could send you back to that stinking hole in Chinatown if you don’t produce results soon.” The voice on the other side was mechanical, like a robot.
“What else can I do? Blackwell is dead and I have no access to his properties anymore . . .”
“That’s not our problem. You haven’t kept your end of the bargain. But as usual, Madam is willing to give you a clue.”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Blackwell might be dead, but you must still know some of his closest friends. Now, according to the information we’ve gathered, there’s someone Mr. Blackwell was particularly fond of. You should’ve been on guard against her a while ago, but you were obviously not capable . . .”
It hit Walters like a bolt of lightning. “You mean that French designer?”
“You got it right, that little French fox. She visited Crystal Palace a few hours before Mr. Blackwell died, and she could have something to do with the treasure Madam wants.”
“How—how do you know she visited William . . .”
“We know. Who do you think owns the Crystal Palace Hotel? Now, you have seventy-two hours to track down what Madam wants. Or you can crawl back to that rat hole you came from.”
The phone went dead before Walters could utter another word. For a moment, he stared at the phone, not knowing what to think of the situation at hand. The Empress Seal had made his life a circus for the last few months, but now it was turning into a freak show with no end in sight.
Wesley Walters was the one who had initially come up with the plan to solve William’s blackmail issue. He was the one who had searched for the right designer and then went on William’s behalf to Paris to meet Gerel and André at the Cartier House. He was with William when they delivered the original Empress Seal from his London home to the Tate Museum a day before the seal’s homecoming ceremony. On the day of the ceremony, after the unnerving rendezvous with Madam Jin at the Ritz, he’d witnessed the authentication of the seal by China’s so-called most distinguished gemologist. Walters was sure he’d heard the gemologist’s verbal certification—the Empress Seal was indeed coined according to the cloisonné technology used in late nineteenth century China. When that happened, the curtain should have been drawn. As a matter of fact, Wesley Walters thought he had deserved a bonus for a job well done. He had expected Mr. Heikkinen to pay the gallery a long overdue visit.
But after the Empress Seal had arrived in Beijing and been laid to rest in the Forbidden City, Madam Jin had called again. She had been fuming, he could almost feel the phone burning as she spoke. “I wanted the Empress Seal to come back in one piece, but it didn’t. Your weasel of a boyfriend tricked you, we were all tricked.”
Madam Jin believed the face of the Empress Seal had been tampered with. She had wanted Walters to rectify the problem. “Find out what your friend did with the real stone or I’ll make your life so miserable you’ll regret you were ever born.”
That bastard. Walters had thought of the replicated seal immediately after Madam Jin hung up. William must have switched the stones at the last minute. When William showed him the original Empress Seal for the first time, he stated that the face was made from a Burmese ruby, pigeon’s blood, rare in that size and therefore very valuable. It was a pity that William had to let such a treasure go, Walters had lamented. Then he’d convinced William to have a replica made so the history of the Empress Seal wouldn’t be completely lost in the Blackwell family. And of course, so that Wesley Walters would also gain notoriety if the replica were a permanent exhibit at the W Gallery. After all, he’s the one who had gotten William out of the blackmail mess and made him a hero in the hall of public opinion. William owed him.
But William had changed his mind at the last minute, secretly instructing Gerel to fashion the seal face using a cheap garnet. Walters had found out only after the replica had been completed and delivered to William’s London home. He’d thought William was just being cheap. But Madam Jin’s phone call had made everything clear. William didn’t want to spend too much money on the face of the replica because he was planning to put it on the original Empress Seal before it went back to China. He had wanted to keep the pigeon’s blood for himself. So, the original Empress Seal had gone back to China with an imitation face. Madam Jin had all the reason to be angry, she’d lost her face.
It had all made sense for a while. William didn’t just trick him, he had betrayed him. But the signs had been there for quite some time. The fact that he, Walters, was agonizing in his gallery while William was running around China was a clear sign that the relationship between them was coming to an end.
Walters had had no choice. He had to put pressure on William to bring the damned imitation seal to New York. He didn’t want Madam Jin to make his life miserable, but that wasn’t all. He had been fighting for a chance she’d keep him in her good graces. He’d fallen off the Blackwell gravy train, but he could continue to milk that side business he had with Mr. Heikkinen, if Madam Jin was generous enough to let him. And she couldn’t refuse him if she was still relying on him to hunt down what she seemed to consider an invaluable treasure, strange as it was. A large pigeon’s blood ruby could be out of reach to people like himself but it was insignificant to Blackwell’s family wealth, and truly a tiny drop in Madam Jin’s gigantic bucket of fortune. Yet both had gone to such lengths to be the one in possession of this particular stone. Why? He had begun to wonder.
At that point in time, Walters had read and watched anything that involved the Empress Seal. He’d convinced himself that maybe it wasn’t just about a gemstone, it might have something to do with how the stone became the face of the legendary Empress Seal and why a rose pattern had been etched on it. But he didn’t have time to indulge in historical research. He only had a very narrow window in which to maximize the size of his bank account, on which the near future of the W Gallery was counting on until he could find the next William Blackwell—if he was lucky enough to find the next William Blackwell.
To his relief, William had called him from London after he’d returned from China. He told Walters that he’d be in New York the next day, for business reasons. William had sounded cold and aloof. It was over between them. But Walters was not going to give up yet. He begged William to bring over the
replicated seal as a loan to his gallery for a few months, for the sake of their friendship. It worked. William had agreed to loan him the seal.
Walters had been successful in retrieving the replica from William’s penthouse at the Crystal Palace and immediately afterward had left it in the hands of a special courier according to Madam Jin’s instructions. What was not in his plan was William’s death, and those two detectives that had been sniffing around like bloodhounds ever since. But they seemed to have changed the direction of their investigation having been unable to put him on the suspect list. Relief had washed over Walters’s tense nerves when Madam Jin confirmed the receipt of the goods, the replicated seal. That was days ago. Walters had thought he could finally close the curtain on the Empress Seal Act Two, the final act, together with the chapter of his life with the late William Blackwell. For a while, Walters had truly mourned his friend. The days with William when they still considered each other soul mates were no doubt quite sweet but they now seemed to be just a dream from a previous life. Walters had been ready to move on until minutes ago—the disturbing news, announced by that robotic voice.
So the whole Empress Seal was a sham. It was the face of the seal that mattered. But was it really a pigeon’s blood ruby? Or was there more to it?
William you bastard, what did you do with that bloody face? A rock. Walters cursed. But it has to be a very valuable rock, more than a pigeon’s blood. What am I to do next?
A soft knock on the door interrupted Walters’s chaotic thoughts.
“Yes?”
The door pushed open and Simone stuck her head in. “I need to talk to you.” Her voice was still a bit shaky, but she was biting down every word with determination.
“What do you want?” Walters snorted. He was in no mood to engage with a woman who was nothing but a pathetic lowlife.
The Face of the Seal Page 22