“The victim would have died between two and five this morning,” Milo concluded.
“I’d agree with that assessment.” Richards slid his gaze to Terry. “That is why I don’t base TOD on one factor alone.”
Terry clenched his jaw.
At that time of day, Oliver easily could have been fast asleep and wouldn’t have heard anything happening in the hallway, let alone in Yasmine’s apartment, no matter how much of a light sleeper he claimed to be.
“Given the way she was found, I’d surmise that she was lying down, likely sleeping, at the time of the shooting,” Richards went on.
Madison’s eyes went to Yasmine again and quakes tore through her. She stared at the hole in the young woman’s forehead, letting her vision blur out of focus and her mind drift. Yasmine could have been in the middle of a good dream, the imaginary trip cut short, her life along with it. She hadn’t had any idea that she wasn’t going to wake up when she’d fallen asleep. Would Constantine do the same to her? She doubted she’d get off that easy. He’d want to toy with her mentally and then torture her physically before he took her life. Well, he was already succeeding in the former.
“Detective Knight?”
Her name struck her out of nowhere, but everyone’s eyes were on her, including Officer Gardener’s. He was the one who had called her name.
“The landlord wants to talk to you again,” Gardener went on. “He’s in the hall.”
She was on the move immediately, and not long later, she was standing in front of Oliver.
“I’ve decided to tell you who I saw.” Oliver’s eyes went to Gardener’s trainee, who was posted next to Yasmine’s door, and the older man’s facial tic told Madison he wasn’t comfortable with the officer hearing what he had to say.
Madison guided Oliver down the hall a few doors. “Who was it?”
“You know the man running for mayor?” Oliver paused. “He used to be the police chief. You know him, don’t you?”
Her heartbeat was thumping in her ears. “Patrick McAlexandar?”
Oliver pointed a finger at her. “That’s him.”
McAlexandar had been more than just a shady cop. He had been a corrupt one. He’d been in bed with Dimitre Petrov, at least in the past, but as the saying goes, a leopard doesn’t change its spots.
“You saw him in the lobby?” She didn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation.
“Yes. I know it was him,” Oliver confirmed.
“And did you ever see him here before, or ever see him with Yasmine?” As she asked the question, the assumed answer sank in her gut. Yasmine had been seeing a married man.
“First time seeing him here,” Oliver said.
Madison’s anxiety ebbed slightly. It was possible McAlexandar had come to see someone else in the building. But her gut wasn’t convinced. He had ties to the Russians and so had Bates, and it seemed Yasmine had, too. And while Madison had never pegged McAlexandar as one to do the dirty work, it was his violation of confidential information that had led to the assassination of Sergey and Anatolli, Dimitre’s former right-hand men. Of course, none of that could be proven so McAlexandar walked about a free man, flaunting his worldly success in Madison’s face any chance he got.
Madison snapped out of her moment of reflection to find Oliver staring blankly at her. “Did you see when he left?” she asked.
Oliver looked down the hall and didn’t say anything.
“Did you?” she repeated firmly. A moment later, she pressed him again. “You didn’t see when, did you?”
Oliver met her gaze and shook his head.
So much for seeing everyone’s comings and goings…
“Well, thanks for letting me know who you saw.” She left Oliver standing there and met up with Terry, who was stepping out of Yasmine’s apartment.
“We’re going to see Patrick McAlexandar,” she said, grabbing his arm and guiding him down the hall. “I’ll explain on the way.”
-
CHAPTER
22
THE FRAME OF THE DEPARTMENT-ISSUED vehicle rolled with each turn as Madison raced through the city. But Terry, who was normally a nervous passenger, wasn’t saying a word about her driving or even gripping the dash. Instead he was shaking his head, and Madison guessed he was preoccupied with the fact that the former police chief had even been in Yasmine’s building.
“I can’t believe it,” Terry said. “He had to be there to see someone else.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“I thought you were convinced Constantine was behind Yasmine’s murder.”
“Oh, I’m not abandoning that idea, but we both know that McAlexandar isn’t a saint. He’s communicated with Dimitre in the past; we have the warden from Dimitre’s previous prison who has already confirmed that much.” Except he wouldn’t go on record saying that.
“I don’t know if I can see McAlexandar taking a life with his own hands, though.”
Madison wasn’t going to admit to having the same doubts earlier, in case she came to regret them. “He’s a proud man. I think he might go a long way to protect his way of life.”
“You think Yasmine had something on him?”
Madison glanced over at Terry. “Yasmine had admitted to sleeping with a married man—one she refused to name. McAlexandar is high profile—the former police chief and now running for mayor. He had a lot to lose if they were sleeping together. And if Yasmine was going to expose him to his wife…”
Terry blew out a breath. “That could be reason enough. People have killed for less.”
“We just have to keep an open mind,” she said, channeling Terry’s earlier comments. “Hopefully we can at least confirm if he was having an affair with Yasmine.”
She breezed through the tail end of a yellow light.
“And you expect him to confess to that?” Terry asked skeptically.
“Oh, I’ll get him to talk.”
“Um, how do I say this?” Terry pursed his lips. “He doesn’t like you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” She certainly wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the fact that McAlexandar didn’t like her.
Her mind spun with hypotheticals now as to how McAlexandar fit into all this. If Bates was passing along messages from Dimitre, were they going to McAlexandar and then on from there?
She made the final turn into McAlexandar’s driveway.
The house was an ostentatious display, not that it surprised her given how much importance the man placed on material things.
Guess that’s what blood money gets you.
Being an inside man at the police department wouldn’t have come cheap even if Dimitre could easily intimidate McAlexandar. And with McAlexandar set on becoming the next mayor, if he was appointed, he could provide Dimitre an ally in political power. McAlexandar could potentially have even more pull than he’d had as police chief.
Madison parked the car, and she and Terry headed to the front door. She rang the bell and knocked immediately afterward.
Footfalls came toward them, and the door cracked open. It was McAlexandar’s wife. Madison recognized her from a charity gala for fallen officers months ago, but McAlexandar had never made a proper introduction. Although, with McAlexandar’s secrets, he did a pretty good job of keeping his personal life private, even with a media spotlight on him.
“Detective…” The woman squinted in thought. “Knight, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Madison. And this is my partner, Terry Grant. I’m not sure I ever caught your name.”
“Holly,” she stated.
“We need to talk to Patrick. Is he home?”
Holly stepped aside to let them in. “He’s in the den having his afternoon tea and reading the paper. It’s this way, let me show you.” She led them through the home to a lavish office with mahogany walls an
d built-in bookcases. There was a large wood-burning fireplace, and flames were raging on the hearth. The mantel showcased an antique clock, and a painted portrait of the McAlexandars was mounted on the wall.
Patrick McAlexandar was sitting in a plush leather chair next to the fire, his legs crossed, with a paper in his hand and a cup of tea on a side table.
“Darling, you have company,” Holly said.
He slowly pried his eyes from what he was reading, but when he saw Madison and Terry, he did a double-take and got to his feet.
“Thank you, Holly.” McAlexandar pretty much backed his wife out of the room and then closed the door. He turned and came to within a few inches of Madison. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too.” Every word dripped with sarcasm.
“Why are you here?” McAlexandar’s nostrils were already flaring, and they hadn’t even started questioning him yet.
Madison bypassed him and sat down on the leather couch. She put her feet up on the table in front of it.
“If you don’t mind, that table costs more than your yearly salary,” McAlexandar snapped.
I don’t mind, but you’re an idiot for paying that much for a coffee table!
McAlexandar waved his hands for her to put her legs down, and she smirked as she complied.
His jaw clenched. “Why are you getting comfortable anyhow?”
“I figured we might be here awhile.” She tossed out a sardonic grin just to provoke him, if for nothing more than the fun of it.
“I asked you what you’re doing here,” he repeated firmly. He glanced at Terry, obviously thinking he might have more luck getting an answer by redirecting his question.
Terry gestured to Madison, directing McAlexandar’s gaze back on her. Questioning him would bring her more pleasure than it would Terry, and her partner knew it. Not only did she despise him for his lack of ethics but he’d treated her horribly when he was chief and had always been pursuing her badge.
The former police chief puffed out his cheeks and wagged a finger at her. That was his signature move, and while she hadn’t been on the receiving end of it in some time, she hadn’t missed it.
“Get talking,” he ground out.
She relaxed back into the couch and crossed her legs at the ankles. “Do you know Yasmine Stone?”
“No,” he answered quickly.
“So you’ve never heard of her?”
“That’s right.” He jutted out his chin, and his body stiffened.
“Why were you in her apartment building yesterday afternoon, then?”
McAlexandar sat back down on the leather chair. “Who said I was?”
Madison managed not to gloat—somehow—but she’d trapped him already. If he didn’t know Yasmine, he would have responded with an inquiry on where the building was, not with concern over who had seen him. He’d as well as admitted to being there and knowing Yasmine. He must have been getting slower since he retired from the police force.
“Who saw you doesn’t matter right now,” she said nonchalantly. “Because Yasmine Stone was murdered this morning.”
His face fell, and he put a hand to his forehead.
If there was any doubt that he’d known Yasmine before, there certainly wasn’t any now.
For Madison, this clinched the idea that McAlexandar was the married man Yasmine had refused to identify. “How long were you lovers?” she asked, going for the jugular and daring him to deny his acquaintance with Yasmine again.
He began rubbing his jaw. His eyes were glassy, and Madison was surprised by the emotion he was showing. The man had always struck her as disconnected from everyone else. Then again, he was probably more worried about how the media would spin this than Yasmine’s death.
“My wife doesn’t know anything about her,” he confessed.
“They usually never do,” Madison said drily.
McAlexandar fixed his beady eyes on her. “I know you think I’m a piece of shit, but if you’re here because you think I killed her, you’re knocking on the wrong door.”
Madison put on an air of indifference and leaned forward. “You sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he spat. “I think I’d remember killing someone.”
She shrugged. “Where were you between two and five this morning?”
“I was here with my wife,” he hissed.
“So if we asked her…?”
“She’d tell you I was here.” He clenched his jaw and glared at her. “But I’d prefer you don’t say anything to her.”
She scoffed. “Of course you would.”
McAlexandar didn’t touch her comeback.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon around three, three thirty?” she asked next.
A pulse tapped in his jaw.
“You know what?” Madison waved a hand. “We know where you were.”
McAlexandar’s gaze chilled and glazed over. She’d push him more, see if she could bait him. “Yasmine had other lovers besides you, you know.”
“I’d expect she would have,” McAlexandar said.
“Two days ago, one of those men was murdered. His name was Jimmy Bates.”
He pursed his lips and reached for the arm of his chair, nearly upending his tea in the process. He eased himself farther back in his chair, staring off into space.
Minutes passed, and then she asked, “Why does hearing about his murder bother you so much?”
He remained in his own world.
She decided to take a leap. “Is it because Bates served as a liaison between you and Dimitre Petrov?”
McAlexandar met Madison’s eyes, and his were aflame.
“I wonder,” she continued, “how the fine citizens of Stiles would feel if they found out a candidate for mayor is in bed with murderers.”
“You’ve always been a good storyteller.” McAlexandar turned to Terry. “I see nothing’s changed.”
“That’s right,” Terry said, and McAlexandar’s bitter expression began to sweeten. “She’s still a damned good detective.”
Attaboy, partner!
Her former superior’s face twisted back into a scowl.
“We know that you were in direct communication with Dimitre Petrov at one time,” she told him. “You tipped him off as to where Sergey and Anatolli would be—and when—so he could arrange for their assassinations.”
McAlexandar gave a brief belly laugh. “If you had any proof of that, we wouldn’t be talking.”
“I still wonder how people would take the accusation, though. Your poll numbers would no doubt plummet.” He was already working the circuit, trying to rouse up voters, flinging crap at his opponent, Leo Blackwell. “I’m sure Blackwell would love to know what I know.”
He ground his teeth and crossed his arms. “I should ask you to leave my house.”
“Maybe,” she said dismissively. “But you’re not going to. And you know why?”
He splayed out his hands. “Amuse me.”
She hadn’t let him intimidate her in the past, and she wasn’t going to start now. “I have something on you, starting with your affair with Yasmine.”
“I’ll deny it.”
“A rumor is enough to destroy your political aspirations,” she pointed out. “People love scandals, but scandals don’t garner votes.”
He was seething now. “You bitch.”
“And not only were you cheating on your wife, but your mistress ended up dead,” she goaded. “The media sure would be interested in hearing that.”
“But I didn’t kill her!”
“Again, all it takes is a rumor.” She held eye contact with him. “Give us something, Patrick, or we’re leaving, and our next stop will be the Stiles Times.”
“What do you want from me?” Sickening desperation leeched into his inquiry.<
br />
“You were shocked and upset by Bates’s murder,” she said. “Why?”
“No, no, no.” He was shaking his head so fast that his otherwise unnoticeable jowls jiggled. “I’m not commenting on that at all.”
“Suit yourself.” She moved to get up.
“Listen, I can’t say anything,” he rushed out. He swallowed a few times and licked his lips.
She was getting the distinct impression that he was afraid of something or someone.
“We know that Constantine is back in town.” Even though she strove to separate this investigation from the threats on her and her family, shivers ran through her.
McAlexandar’s eyes widened. “Do you think he killed Bates?”
“You know we’re not at liberty to discuss an open investigation with a civilian.”
“I’m the former police chief,” he roared.
“As you said, former,” she retorted.
Scowling, he said, “I should have both your badges for coming into my home and accusing me of murder and conspiracy with the Russians.”
“And I should tell your wife about your affair with Yasmine.”
“I don’t know if Constantine killed Bates,” he mumbled.
She didn’t know what had prompted him to say this, but there was something more that McAlexandar wasn’t communicating. Factoring in his upset over Bates’s murder and McAlexandar’s ties to Dimitre, Madison suddenly had a feeling that Dimitre hadn’t ordered Bates’s death. But if that was the case, what were they looking at? Had Constantine gone rogue?
“Did Bates work closely with Dimitre?” she asked.
Silence.
She’d take his lack of response as confirmation. “That’s why the news shocked you,” she said. “That also means you’re still in touch with the Russian Mafia czar.”
McAlexandar stood, moved to the door, and opened it. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Madison rose to her feet, pleased. She’d touched a nerve. “Stay in town.”
Once Madison and Terry got into the department car, she leaned her head back on the headrest. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but it can’t be good,” she started. “It seems like the people being murdered have been targeted as part of a bigger picture. I’m also wondering if Constantine is acting on his own.”
Power Struggle Page 16