Parker glared at her, then put the car in gear. The crowd surged forward but the uniforms held them back long enough for the car to pass.
“Are you a good enough driver to lose them?”
Parker narrowed her eyes. “I won’t even deign to answer that.”
“Deign? Well, in that case, turn left at Water Street as if you’re headed for the house. When we’re out of sight, go straight for the FDR north.”
“Yessuh, boss lady.”
Atta girl. Corelli looked out the side window. And smiled.
Chapter Ten
Winter lived in the affluent Sutton Place neighborhood on the east side of Manhattan, an elite enclave for old and not so old money. Sutton Plaza, a short street with two large town houses on each side, intersected Sutton Place. A high fence enclosed the four houses and a small guardhouse inside the fence controlled entering traffic. Gates topped with barbed wire protected the only other entrances to the compound, the walkways behind the houses on each side of the street. Security cameras attached to the houses monitored the three gates.
As Parker pulled up to the gate, Corelli shook her head. “Looks like Winter thought she lived in Iraq.”
“Ironic. She spends tons of money on home security and gets knocked off in her office.”
“Maybe you should write a poem about it.”
“You are one sarcastic bi—”
“I’m more interested in how she got approval to block a public street.” Corelli leaned forward, tapping her fingers on the dash as she scanned the compound.
“Money talks.”
“You should know.”
Before Parker could respond, the guard, wearing a green cap, green uniform, and white gloves, leaned into the car window. He studied them with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, as if evaluating their worth. He parted his disapproving lips to speak, but Corelli flashed her shield, and announced Detectives Corelli and Parker were on their way to see Mr. Gianopolus. Hearing her name, he backed out of the car so fast his head hit the top of the window. He swore, rubbed his head, and started back to his little house, tossing angry instructions over his shoulder.
“When the gate opens, pull in and park in front of the last house on the right, number seventeen.”
Only a low brick wall and bushes separated the houses from the sharp drop to the East River Drive and the East River shimmering in the sunlight. Apparently the guard had called ahead, because a middle-aged black woman wearing a maid’s uniform opened the heavy wooden door before they could knock. They identified themselves and the maid ushered them through a large foyer to a small, wood-paneled elevator that contained a purple velvet cushioned bench, on which two could sit. She pressed four and the elevator moved up.
No one had mentioned Winter being handicapped, so Corelli wondered whether one of her children had a problem. “Is someone in the family unable to use the stairs?”
The maid, who had identified herself as Cora Andrews, laughed. “No, they all can walk, but no one does, especially Ms. Winter. She never walks if she can ride. The others just follow the leader.”
She spoke of Winter as if she was alive. Had Gianopolus not told her?
Andrews tut-tutted. “These kids lose their heads if they’re not attached. I cleaned this morning and they already leaving their junk in here.” She picked a comb off the seat and bent down to retrieve a drawing charcoal, a large eraser, two lipsticks, a blue pencil, a bicycle glove, and a package of tissues. She stuffed everything into the pockets of her uniform.
The elevator opened onto a dark, cool room that smelled of stale cigarettes and fresh cigars. It appeared this family didn’t worry about the effect of second-hand smoke on the children. They waited as Andrews turned on a lamp near the door and announced them. The room resembled the lobby of a luxury hotel. Definitely not a room designed for comfort. The far wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows, but now the tightly drawn drapes kept the sunlight at bay. Paintings marched in neat rows and columns on the two side walls. The French provincial furniture was arranged in conversational groupings on top of the plush, Oriental carpets. The sofas, chairs, tables, lamps and ruffled lampshades were all white and pink, as were the elaborate drapes and swags that covered the windows. No doubt about Winter’s favorite colors.
Gus Gianopolus sat alone, dwarfed in one of the chairs facing a white marble fireplace; cigar butts and ashes spilled out of a huge ashtray to his right. His head hung as if he were asleep, and he didn’t react when the light went on or when Andrews said their names. Her pursed lips and shaking head left no doubt about her opinion of his behavior.
No sign of the kids or his sister. If this was her family, Corelli thought, the house would be filled with relatives and friends and neighbors. There would be food, coffee, and drinks, and the women who were not immediate family would have already decided amongst themselves who would be cooking and serving which meals for the extended family during the wake. A long way from this isolated vigil.
They trailed Andrews as she picked her way through the room to where Gianopolus was sitting. She turned on the lamp next to him and touched his hand. “These detectives come to talk about Miss Connie.”
He lifted his head, blinking from the light, and seemed confused until he noticed them. “You again,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Can’t you leave me alone?”
He no longer resembled the dandy they’d seen earlier. Now his shoes were splayed in front of him, his pants wrinkled, and his white shirt spotted with ash.
“Sorry, but we’ve got to move quickly,” Corelli explained.
Andrews crinkled her nose in distaste as she lifted the dirty ashtray and replaced it with a clean one from a nearby table. She caught Corelli’s eye, tilted her head toward the elevator, and getting a nod, left them with Gianopolus.
Parker sat in a chair that shared the light of the lamp, near Gianopolus but out of his line of vision. She opened her notebook as Corelli began. “I’d like to confirm the last time you saw your wife.”
His lips tightened. “Friday.” His tone implied he thought Corelli a moron. “Every Friday we leave the office at five thirty, have dinner, and drive out to our house in Southampton. Last Friday, I went to her office about five fifteen to remind her to get ready, and she told me to go without her because she had things to do in the city. I said goodbye. She asked me to send the chauffeur back to wait for her. I said I would and left.”
“Did you usually spend weekends apart?”
“Is this any of your business?”
She leaned toward him, her voice hard. “Everything is my business in a murder investigation. Sir.” Out of the corner of her eye Corelli noted Parker lift her pen and stare. Was she shocked? Too bad. Parker needed to learn this lesson. You can’t always be nice. Sometimes you need to be tough.
He studied his drink. “Sometimes, if she had something she wanted to do in the city. Quite often lately.”
“You left the office. Then what?”
“Rino, the chauffeur, drove me here.”
“What did you do then?”
“Are you insinuating that I killed my wife?”
“Routine, sir. We need to confirm everyone’s whereabouts.”
He pushed himself out of the overstuffed chair and went to the liquor cart, poured himself another glass of scotch, downed half of it, and refilled the glass. He stumbled over his shoes as he made his way back to the chair. Was he stalling to concoct a story?
“I changed my clothes and walked over to Un Bon Repas, a French restaurant a few blocks down, near the UN. After dinner I came home to pick up some things. I got my car and left for Southhampton about nine.”
“Anybody see you?”
“The waiters at the restaurant. And our guard. No one else that I noticed.” He sipped his drink. “I didn’t think I would need an alibi.”
“Where were your children?”
“I didn’t see them. It’s possible they were here but I didn’t notice.”
Parker’s head jerked up, h
er pen hung in midair. If he heard her intake of breath, he didn’t bother to turn. Gus Gianopolus was the kind of man who ignored people he considered unimportant, so he didn’t see the disapproval on Parker’s face.
“Who cares for the children?”
“They take care of themselves. They have credit cards, so they can get cash or charge anything they need.”
“What about the maid. Does she keep tabs on them?”
“She goes home at six unless Connie needs her. And she doesn’t work weekends.”
Now Corelli was incredulous. Winter protected her papers and secrets at the office, had guards, gates, and barbed wire to protect her house, but she left her fourteen-year-old kids in New York City without supervision?
“Do the children usually come to Southampton on weekends?”
“If they want to.”
“So if you both go to Southampton, they’re allowed to stay in the city alone?”
“They’re very responsible. When I was fourteen, I was working to help support my mother and sisters.”
“Is there anyone who can verify the time you arrived in Southampton?”
He took a swig of his drink, shifted in his seat, and began to tap his fingers on the glass. His ears turned bright red.
“How many times do I have to say this? I was alone. That’s A-L-O-N-E. Should I write it down for you?”
She decided she’d pushed enough for now. “I have a few questions about your wife.”
He relaxed. “I’m not sure I can answer them.”
“Well let’s see. How old was she?”
“Almost fifty, I think.”
“Where was she born?”
“Somewhere in the Midwest.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“No. She was an orphan, raised by her Aunt Clara who died when she was sixteen. Sometimes she said Indiana, sometimes Wisconsin, sometimes Ohio. It was hard to pin her down.”
“Does she have a will?”
“She did, but she hinted that she was changing it so I’m not sure where it stands.” He squirmed. “I called her new attorney, Paul Donaldson, but he hasn’t gotten back to me. I’d like to know if she…I’d like to know where I stand.”
“If the children are home, I’d like a minute with them.”
His face darkened again. “What could they possibly tell you?”
“It’s routine to talk to the whole family.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Are you hiding something?”
He narrowed his eyes and considered her. Whether he got that she wouldn’t relent or he realized that he had nothing to hide, he caved.
“Wait here.”
He left the room and Parker let her breath out in a whoosh. “Kind of spineless.”
Corelli threw Parker a two-finger salute. “Very perceptive, Parker.”
“You think?”
Gianopolus returned with a willowy, brown-eyed, blond girl wearing a light green tank top and skimpy green shorts that exposed most of her tanned body. She was stone-faced, and looked more like thirty than fourteen. A shorter, brown-eyed boy with auburn hair trailed behind in baggy brown shorts and a very large T-shirt that proclaimed he was a Computer Geek. He was a sodden lump, with swollen eyes and traces of dried tears on his cheeks. He seemed younger than fourteen. Huddled together on the end of the sofa farthest from their father, they appeared connected despite the different feelings evoked by their mother’s death. He introduced them as Gus Jr. and Aphrodite.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Corelli said. “We’re investigating your mom’s death and we need to know everyone’s whereabouts Friday night.”
“We didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the girl said. “We just fantasized about it.”
The boy tucked his arms into his armpits. He stuttered, “D-D-Don’t say that, Aphrie.”
“Answer the question, Aphrodite,” Gianopolus said. “We don’t need your histrionics today.”
“Feeling in charge are we?”
He flushed but swallowed the rage that flashed on his face. “Answer the question so the detectives can work on finding your mother’s killer instead of wasting their time talking to us.”
Gussie elbowed her. “Ouch.” She rubbed her side and made a face at her brother. “I came home about six and didn’t go out again until Saturday when I went to visit Aunt Gertie.”
“Your aunt said you dropped in Friday about eight o’clock.”
“Oh, I forgot.” She shifted uncomfortably…tugged her shorts down and pulled her hair back. “I hung out with her about a half hour or so. Then I came home.”
“Did you expect to see your mother this weekend?”
“I assumed she went out to the beach with Dad.”
She turned to the boy. “And you?”
He looked down. “Got home about four on Friday and stayed in my room playing computer games and drawing. I felt sick so I stayed in all weekend.” His voice was as soft as his sister’s was hard.
“Thank you. I’m so sorry. We’re done for now. I know this is difficult but we’ll probably need to speak to you both again.” The boy began to sob, a lonely, muffled sound. Aphrodite pulled him closer and whispered. Their father acted as if it wasn’t happening.
Corelli turned to Gianopolus. “Before we leave, Mr. Gianopolus, we’d like to examine Ms. Winter’s bedroom and her office, if she had one at home.”
He started to object but caught himself and pressed a button on the table next to his chair.
Aphrodite cleared her throat. “I need some cash.”
Gianopolus frowned, reached into his pocket and placed five one hundred dollar bills in her outstretched hand. Without a word she left, pulling her brother after her.
After they left the room, Corelli again addressed Gianopolus. “When can you go to the morgue to view the body?”
“How does she look?”
“Not bad.” At least she won’t after they clean her up.
He twisted the glass in his hands. “I…Can I do it tomorrow?”
“Somebody will contact you to make arrangements.”
He extracted another cigar from the box on the table and performed the ritual with the concentration of a priest consecrating communion: sniffing it, clipping it, lighting it, exhaling and studying the swirls of smoke he seemed to find fascinating.
Corelli and Parker watched the performance in silence.
Ms. Andrews bustled in. “You want me?”
He seemed surprised to see her standing there and hesitated before removing the cigar from his mouth. “Show the detectives Mrs. Gianopolus’s room and her office. Stay with them and let them out when they finish.”
He puffed his cigar and picked up his drink, dismissing them. Corelli had not missed the “Mrs. Gianopolus” as an assertion of ownership.
“Did they share this room?” Corelli asked.
Andrews glanced at the door. “No, they have…No, his bedroom is down the hall.”
“How did they get along?”
She glanced toward the door again. “All right I suppose. Didn’t seem very close. Always argued some, but it seemed like more in the last few months.”
“Argued about what?”
“Mostly over the kids. He didn’t like the way she treated Gussie and he felt Aphrodite was running wild. Recently I heard him say something about divorce. She never raised her voice, so it was only him I heard.”
“How long have you worked for them?”
“Since they was married, fifteen or sixteen years, but I worked for Ms. Winter for about five years before she married him.”
“Do you have anything to do with the children?”
“You mean like take care of them or watch them?”
“Anything.”
“When I’m here I’ll make them something to eat if they want. But when they were real little, up to round four years old, I watched them during the day and a nurse come in at night. But then it got so I couldn’t handle Aphrodite.
She wouldn’t listen at all. Whenever I complained to Ms. Winter, she took the girl’s part, even if she was doing something foolish or dangerous. So I told her I didn’t want the responsibility.”
“Did she accept that?”
“Ha. I was sure she was gonna fire me, but she knows I’m loyal, so she said must be that they need a real nanny who knows about children. I had a good laugh because I raised four children by myself while I was working for her, and I never had such problems, and she knew it. None of my four, even the boys, ever had any real trouble and now all four have college educations and good jobs.”
Her pride was apparent in the wide smile, but then she became serious again. “That girl is strong-minded and stubborn. You say no, she gets crazy. They went through about seven or eight nannies after me. All of them had the same problems. If they tried to punish her or make her do something, Ms. Winter fired them. So the twins been staying alone from the time they was about eleven or so.”
“How did she get along with the children?”
“Didn’t show no interest in the boy but thought Aphrodite was the sun and the moon. Always trying to please her, giving her things. Aphrodite was nasty to her, nasty to everybody, except me and Gussie and that aunt of hers. They always been like two peas in a pod, always played together. He’s easygoing, so she pushes him around, but every once in a while she pushes too hard and he fights back, but she never admitted he gave her the bruises, scratches, or black eye. She’d say she fell or something to protect him from Ms. Winter, like a little mother.” She smiled.
They found nothing of interest in the bedroom. The décor was in line with what they had seen of her taste so far—very frilly, very expensive. A picture of her with Aphrodite was the only personal touch. It could have been a room in an expensive hotel, except there was no Bible.
They moved into the office. It was impressive, all leather and wood which gave it a warm feeling missing from the parts of the house they’d seen. The walls were lined with bookcases of cherry wood and stocked with books bound in leather that, for the most part, looked like they had never been opened. A cart similar to the one in the living room was stocked with bottles of liquor and soda, but no ice.
A Matter of Blood Page 7