“Your doorman says he rang up about that time to let you know that you had a package waiting. He rang a couple of times but you didn’t answer.”
She ground the cigarette in the ashtray and fingered the pack as if considering whether to light another. “I was here. Maybe I dozed off for a minute. Maybe I was in the shower. Maybe the TV was too loud. Maybe he buzzed the wrong apartment. How would I know why I didn’t answer?”
* * *
On the drive to Winter’s house Corelli touched Parker’s arm. “I owe you an apology. Your question about Gertrude’s art exposed her resentment and anger to an extent we haven’t seen before. That kind of emotion can drive a person to commit murder.”
“Gertrude doesn’t fit my image of an artist and I was surprised at how good her paintings are. It’s as if she puts most of herself on the canvas and leaves a bitter shell for the world to see. I wished I could take the question back when I saw your face. But I didn’t plan to ask it and I was actually curious.”
“Don’t knock instinct.”
Cora Andrews answered the door and led them upstairs. Gus Gianopolus was in the same chair, in the same smoke-filled room, with the same overflowing ashtray, sipping a drink. From his appearance, it wasn’t the same drink. He seemed shrunken, like a rooster without his feathers. Gray and black stubble blanketed the once closely shaved, cologne-bathed face. His hair stood on end, and instead of the elegant suit, he wore pajamas. Most telling was the army of empty bottles lined up next to his chair.
It was ten in the morning. The drapes remained drawn, and he sat in the dark, the silence broken by the hum of the air-conditioner, the occasional siren going by, or a helicopter flying overhead. He blinked against the glare but didn’t acknowledge them when Andrews turned on the lamp near him. Shaking her head, she dumped the ashtray into the wastebasket nearby, picked up a few empty bottles, and left the room. He refilled his glass from the bottle of scotch on the table next to him and continued to ignore them.
“Mr. Gianopolus, we have a few more questions,” Corelli said.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his head in his hand, his elbow on the arm of the chair. “Did you find her killer?” he asked, his raspy voice made rougher by the booze and the cigarettes.
“Did your wife ever wear a small, hammered-silver cross?”
“Are you kidding? Connie wouldn’t be caught dead in silver.”
He didn’t seem aware of the humor in what he’d said. “Are your children adopted?”
“No way. Her daughter had to have her precious genes.”
“That’s what I thought. But the autopsy showed that your wife was never pregnant.”
He took a drag on his cigarette. “What’s this got to do with her murder?”
“We don’t know if it’s important or not but we have to ask.”
Aphrodite burst into the room. “Do you…” She skidded to a stop at the sight of the detectives. “…um, have any cash?”
He waved his hand. “My wallet’s on my dresser. Amex said it should be here today.” She headed for the door.
Corelli stepped into her path. “One minute, Aphrodite.”
“What?” All her teenage exasperation conveyed in that one word.
“What happened to your American Express card?”
Gus answered. “She lost it over the weekend. Damn kids are always losing something.”
“Were you in your mother’s office Friday night?”
Gus sat up, suddenly alert. “Where are you going with this?”
“We found pieces of an Amex card on the floor of the office. The last name and the expiration date were the same as the card in your wife’s wallet. I believe Aphrodite didn’t lose her card. I believe your wife cut it up.” Corelli watched the girl pale. “Aphrodite, were you in your mom’s office Friday night?”
“I’m leaving. You can’t question a minor.”
Parker moved to block the door.
Aphrodite glared at her father. “Be a real dad for once. Stand up for me. I didn’t kill her.”
Under the anger Corelli detected fear. “Nobody’s accusing you, Aphrodite. You may have seen or heard something that could help us find her killer.”
Aphrodite sagged. “You’re not mad I lied?” Her defiance gone, she looked like the fourteen-year-old she was.
“Just tell the truth now.”
“We had a fight that morning and I told her if she sent Gussie to military school, I was leaving home. Later that day I tried to use my card and they said it had been canceled. So I cut it to pieces and went there and threw it in her face.”
“What time?”
“Right after I left Aunt Gertie. I had my bike so I got there fast. Nine-ish?”
“And she was okay?”
“She was her usual bitchy, controlling self. She said I could leave home if I wanted, but I’d go without her money. Then she gave me all the cash in her wallet and told me to think about it.”
“Did you see anyone while you were there?”
“I heard music from an office near the elevator, but I didn’t see anybody.”
“How did you get into the building?”
“That creepy, smelly guy opened the door when I rang the bell.”
Maybe the door was locked. “Thank you,” Corelli said. “You can go.”
The girl flounced out. Gus sat back and drained his glass.
Before he could drift away again, Corelli said, “About the children?”
He sighed, puffed up his cheeks and expelled his breath showing how put upon he felt. An older version of his daughter.
“It’s a long story.”
“We’d like to hear it.”
“I don’t think it’s any of your damn…” He caught himself. “Oh, what the hell.” He seemed surprised to see they were still standing. “You might as well sit. And what I say is confidential.”
Corelli didn’t agree or disagree. If it was necessary to her case she would use it, otherwise she had no need to gossip.
His voice rumbled from a distant place, as if he’d fallen into a hole inside himself. “You’ve seen pictures of Connie. She wasn’t very attractive and I admit that initially it was her money that interested me. She actually pursued me at first and I was flattered, but not attracted. But as I got to know her, I was seduced by her…her drive, her self-discipline and her belief she could do and have anything she wanted. All qualities I lack. I admired her. She seemed to think I was wonderful, and our sex life was pretty good. I thought it was love.”
He poured another drink and with a sardonic smile, he continued. “About a year after we were married she declared she wasn’t interested in sex anymore and suggested we skip it. Up to that time she seemed to enjoy herself, so she caught me off guard. When I protested, she told me to find it somewhere else, which was even more shocking. In desperation, I reminded her she wanted a daughter. Naturally, Connie being Connie, she had an answer for that objection. She had no desire to be pregnant, but surrogate mothers are legal in California. At that point, I still thought I was in love and that we could work it out, so I agreed. We spent time there looking for a suitable surrogate and undergoing the procedures needed to harvest her eggs for the in vitro fertilization. When her eggs, fertilized with my sperm, were transplanted to the surrogate we came back to New York. But we spent a lot of time in California with the surrogate during the pregnancy. That’s how we had children without her being pregnant.”
“Your twins are obviously not identical. How did you end up with two children?”
He laughed from that hollow place. “They implanted multiple fertilized eggs and two of them took. I was overjoyed. But she wanted to abort the pregnancy and go through the process again with only a girl. I convinced her to let the pregnancy go to term.”
He cracked his knuckles. “Then when the twins were born, she changed her mind and wanted to put the boy up for adoption. That was the only time in our marriage that I stood up to her. I threatened to divorce her and figh
t for custody of both children if she did that. She wasn’t ready for a divorce and she definitely didn’t want the bad publicity, so she agreed.” He rubbed his eyes. “I never expected her to make Gus Jr.’s life so miserable. I should have stopped her from hurting him, but I was afraid she would divorce me, and with all her money, get custody of the kids. And I would be broke for nothing.”
“How did she hurt him? Physically? Sexually?”
“With words. And withholding love. She never let him get close. He wanted her to love him like she loved Aphrodite. But Connie didn’t even pretend to love him, or like him for that matter. It got worse as he got older. She pushed him away if he tried to touch her as if, as if…I don’t know. Anyway, she criticized and ridiculed him all the time.” He coughed and sipped his drink. “She only cared about Aphrodite. She showered her with gifts and adoration and let her do whatever she wanted, right or wrong. But instead of getting love and appreciation from Aphrodite, she got rejection and ridicule. Aphrodite treated Connie exactly the way Connie treated Gus Jr.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “But he’s the only one who loved her. Ironic, huh? Aphrodite always tried to protect him, always defended and fought for him. But I…I sacrificed him to save myself.” He stared into his drink.
“Has the surrogate mother or someone in her family ever tried to blackmail you?”
“No. She and her family died in a car crash when the twins were two.”
“Ms. Winter told you she was an orphan. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“We believe she has family in West Virginia.”
He sat forward, alert. “Why would she lie? Maybe it’s someone after her money.”
“The local police have verified his story but we’ll be checking it out too.”
“Will he be able to make a claim against the estate?”
“That’s a question for your attorney.”
He nodded and she could almost hear the wheels turning. “Why did you sign the prenuptial agreement?”
“I didn’t want to, but I was in love and she seemed to be in love. To be frank it was sign it or no marriage, so I signed. It was a mistake.”
Corelli wasn’t sure whether he meant the marriage or the agreement—or both. “Did you know she was planning to divorce you?”
“I think I did. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? It’s been hanging over my head as a possibility since I stood up to her when the twins were born. You were either for or against Connie and she considered anyone who disagreed with her, even once, disloyal. I’ve been waiting for her to dispose of me like she did anyone who was no longer useful to her. Then Henry, Henry Bearsdon her attorney, hinted at it a month ago, and I’ve been walking on egg shells, hoping it would pass.” He drained his glass and lifted the bottle to refill it, but it was empty.
“Was your wife having an affair?”
He frowned. “What makes you think that?”
“We have several reports of her meeting and drinking in her office late at night with a tall, blond man. It seems kind of secretive.”
He frowned. “I…had no idea. But Connie was secretive about everything so it could be someone she wanted something from…I doubt it was sex. Who is he?”
“We were hoping you could tell us?”
“Sorry. I haven’t the foggiest.”
“One other thing, Mr. Gianopolus. Have you thought of anyone who could corroborate your arrival in Southampton last Friday night? The fact that Ms. Winter was planning to change her will and file for divorce gives you a compelling motive for killing her.”
His head jerked up. “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t see her after I left the office. Don’t try to pin this on me.”
“What did you do with the pictures?”
“What pictures?” He went to the cart for another drink. When he returned, he looked Corelli in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please leave.”
She stood. Parker followed suit.
“Wait.” He put out a hand to stop them. “You said she was planning to change her will. Does that mean she didn’t execute the new will?”
“That’s right.”
They left him sitting in the chair, more alert than when they’d arrived.
“No parents would be better than parents like those two narcissists.” Parker said, half to herself as they descended in the elevator. “At least if you don’t have parents you don’t expect anything.”
“Remind you of Senator Daddy?”
“Leave my family out of this.”
“Or what? You gonna report me to Daddy and he’ll call a press conference?”
“Fuck you.” Parker turned and walked to the car.
“Ah, so you do know some dirty words.” Looking at Parker’s rigid back Corelli felt a pang of guilt. Parker had been nothing but loyal. Why am I keeping her at arm’s length?
* * *
Corelli had planned to stop by Jennifer Hornsby’s house on the way to the airport but when she called from the car Hornsby didn’t answer.
Now driving to the airport, she tried to make amends. “Sorry if I hurt your feelings, Parker.”
“No, you’re not.”
Her feelings are bruised but so be it. “True, but we need to get back to the case. We know Gus and, therefore, Gertrude gain financially from Winter’s death and Jenny Hornsby keeps her job, but none of them were in the building after seven when it was locked. We now know the door was locked when Aphrodite got there about nine o’clock, so only Cummings, Rieger, the porter, the mysterious cop, and the cleaning woman were in the building.” Corelli stared out the window. “Neither Rieger nor Cummings appears to have a motive. The porter and the cleaning woman both have powerful motives but Winter would probably have fought either of them. Besides, I doubt the cleaning woman would jeopardize her baby. And we don’t know about the cop.”
“What do you think, Parker? The porter was definite that he didn’t let the mysterious cop in but why should we believe him when he didn’t mention letting Aphrodite in.”
Parker sighed. “I don’t trust the porter. You think a cop did her?”
“Working undercover taught me that cops are capable of anything. Maybe they were having an affair and she threatened to call his wife.”
“Just her style.” Parker snorted. “But how many cops could she meet tooling around in her limo, going to expensive restaurants or sunning herself in the Hamptons?”
“Given what we know about Winter’s personality, odds are it wasn’t the uniform on the corner. The mysterious cop is most likely a high-ranking officer. Maybe someone she met at a charitable or political event. According to Hornsby, Winter’s guests at that awards dinner included police officials. Maybe he was there. Let’s get a list of people she invited and any video footage from the evening.”
Parker nodded. “I’ll take care of it when we get to the airport.” She glanced at Corelli. Then, keeping her eyes on the road, she took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “We keep going over this list but it feels to me like we’re stuck. Stuck on the door. Stuck without motives. Stuck without the cop’s identity. How do we figure this puzzle out, oh wise one?”
Corelli didn’t miss Parker’s hesitation to offer her opinion. Attacking Parker was counterproductive. If she didn’t exercise self-control, Parker would stop asking questions and offering her observations. That would be a loss for both of them. Alienating Parker could be an even bigger loss for her. “We keep asking questions, collecting information, and fitting the pieces together. Until we get a complete picture, we continue to dig.”
Chapter Thirty
It took them a little more than an hour to drive from the Charleston Airport to the Hope Falls police station, where a uniform escorted them to a conference room. A few minutes later, Detective Stephanie Louise Brown, a slender, dusty-blond, strode in wearing a side holster under a baggy blue linen jacket, jeans, a white T-shirt, and western boots. She walked with her arms held out from her sides, like a sheriff abo
ut to draw, but she still managed to look graceful. Perhaps she’d been a ballerina in another life, Corelli mused.
They introduced themselves and shook hands. Brown motioned for them to sit. She placed a file on the table and removed a photo and several sheets of paper. She handed the photo to Corelli. “John Broslawski. He has a record. Mostly minor stuff: petty thievery, disorderly conduct, driving while under the influence. Works as a maintenance man at the local supermarket. Been there about ten years. Has a brother, Peter, who lives in town and owns a small construction firm. Also has a sister, Constance, who ran away from home at sixteen. Eighteen years later she showed up in a stretch limo, rebuilt the library and had its name changed to honor her. She came to town to visit her niece for a couple of years and then disappeared again.
Brown thumbed through her papers. “The mother died giving birth to Constance. The father died of lung disease about five years ago.” Brown looked up. “He was a miner, lots of old guys around here die from that. He never remarried.” Seeing no reaction, Brown continued. “John lives with his wife Theresa in a trailer they own. She’s a hairdresser in a beauty parlor in town. They have a son, Frederick, married with two children. There’s also a daughter, Stacy, a drug user. At first John denied he was in New York, but we checked the bus station in Charleston and got an ID. The ticket seller remembered him because he made a scene about the cost of the ticket. He took the bus to New York last Thursday evening. Claims he went to ask for money to put his daughter in a detox program.”
She closed the file. “That’s all we’ve got.”
“Thank you. You’ve done a very thorough job in a short time.” Corelli stood. “I appreciate the help. Are you coming with us?”
“Might be better without me.”
“Why so?”
“I got a little rough with him when I found out he lied to us.”
Detective Brown had warned them about the peeling sign, so they had no trouble finding the Hope Falls Trailer Park, even though the sign read, ‘ PE ALL ARK’. In any case, park was something of an exaggeration since there wasn’t a tree in sight and the cinder blocks supporting the rust-streaked trailers stood on parched earth dotted with scattered wisps of brownish weeds. Only the occasional old tire or wreck of a car differentiated the yards.
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