Fatal Deception

by Russell Blake

  The thought made her cringe inwardly. Maybe life was deterministic and pointless, but her father had mattered – to her, and to her mother. Perhaps that was all that was required. She’d loved him with all her heart, and as long as she kept his memory alive, that flame kept a small part of him alive inside of her.

  That some monster could snuff out such a precious gift as life without a second thought made her question her own humanity. She’d tried to imagine how such a being could operate, what motivations could drive it, but couldn’t – or more accurately, didn’t want to. That Ron had to put himself in the shoes of killers every day was beyond anything she could conceive of. If it had been her, she would have quit and moved to a very small island in a vast sea, and spent the rest of her existence trying to extinguish the stain left on her soul by the experience.

  She smiled at the mental image. Ron would probably just say that someone had to do the job, that someone had to protect the flock from the wolf, and that it would be a waste of his unique gift to turn his back on that obligation. It was that dogged sense of centeredness that was part of his appeal. In a world gone mad, where nothing was as it seemed, Ron was a rock, unmoving and unmoved.

  “There you are,” Claire said, slipping her phone into her pantsuit jacket pocket as she emerged from the bedroom. “What do you think? Did I tell you, or what?”

  “You worked a miracle, Claire. It’s a completely different apartment.”

  Claire gave a slight nod at the praise. “Now we need to convince some poor shmuck he just has to have it.”

  Tess glanced around. “Think it’ll be hard?”

  Claire checked the time as though she hadn’t heard the question and then shrugged. “That, my dear, is why I get paid the big bucks. Have no fear. I’ll drag someone kicking and screaming to the table if I have to.” She smiled. “Seriously, this should go quickly. It’s a desirable area. You’ll make out well.”

  “I hope so.” Tess paused. “Also…I’ve been procrastinating, but I need to find a place in the city for myself. Nothing this big – maybe a loft, or a one bedroom with some storage.”

  “Piece of cake. Rent or buy?”

  “What would something like that, maybe toward the Village, sell for?”

  Claire mentioned a number that sounded astronomical to Tess. She shook her head. “Maybe rent, then.”

  That number was equally surreal, and Tess had to remind herself that she was well-heeled now, with the proceeds from the sale of her dad’s business, the insurance, her government settlement, and now her half of the apartment.

  “Well, if you have anything that would be a good value, I’d probably be a buyer,” Tess said.

  “How soon would you be prepared to move?”

  “Whenever. I have the money.”

  Claire’s smile never reached her eyes. “Let’s set up a time to look at a few prospects. I’ll run a search and see what I come up with. When do you have time to look?”

  “Let me deal with my schedule over the next few days. Maybe next week?”

  “Call me when you’re ready. Half the places we’d look at will be off the market by then.” Claire sized her up. “You have my number.”

  “Will do.”

  Tess walked to the front door and took a few photos for her sister and, after thanking Claire for the help, made for the elevator while the realtor finished her inspection. She exhaled in relief when the elevator reached the ground floor, the most unpleasant part of her day over early.

  That left her with nothing to do but go back to the hotel and try to see whether the hours of sleep that had eluded her could be found.

  She smoothed her hair and pulled her windbreaker tight as she passed the doorman and nodded at him. “Have a good one, Steven,” she said.

  The doorman nodded. “Won’t be the same around here without your father, Tess. We all miss him.” He seemed to run out of words and averted his eyes.

  “Thanks. So do I,” Tess said, her eyes misting. She quickly slipped on her sunglasses and waved over her shoulder, unwilling to let the man see her pain, the ghosts of the past threatening to choke her as she hurried down the sidewalk, now just another of the ants on its meaningless way.

  Chapter 35

  Regis and Prefect was located in a towering building on Wall Street, occupying three floors of the commanding edifice with views of the harbor and Statue of Liberty. When Ron arrived, the Street was teeming with earnest young men in bespoke suits, phones melded to their heads as they made and lost fortunes, their eyes clear and ruthless and calculating.

  Ron showed his badge to the security guard in the lobby and rode the elevator to the eighteenth floor. After being kept waiting for ten minutes, he was shown to a conference room and offered Perrier or dark roast Colombian coffee, which he accepted as the receptionist went in search of Jeremy.

  Ron eyed the rich wood paneling and antique oil paintings, the furnishings reeking of money, and tried to quell his impatience at being stalled as though his time was of no value. Realistically, he’d come unannounced, and people like Jeremy were probably juggling transactions with millions, or billions, of dollars in the balance, so he couldn’t reasonably expect them to drop everything at a moment’s notice. But he was feeling anything but reasonable after a restless night’s sleep, and his headache was threatening to overwhelm his common sense.

  He’d had one of his subordinates pull Jeremy’s records, and there had been nothing unusual. A native of Virginia, he’d graduated from Wharton before going to work on Wall Street. Ron’s assistant had left a message for the sheriff of the small town where Ron had grown up, but hadn’t received a return call over the weekend. Ron wasn’t concerned – he already felt like he knew enough to understand what made a privileged banker like Jeremy tick.

  When Jeremy arrived with a puzzled expression, Ron was three-quarters of the way through his coffee and preparing to go ballistic. He looked the young man up and down and did his best to choke back his resentment – Jeremy was a good-looking, fit, tanned specimen who radiated intellectual superiority as only the Ivy League graduate offspring of the elite could.

  “Yes, Detective…I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name,” Jeremy said, offering his hand.

  “Stanford. Ron Stanford,” Ron said, reaching for his badge case instead of shaking. He flipped his credentials out so Jeremy could see them and then put the case back into his pocket. Jeremy nodded, but his expression remained puzzled as he sat down opposite Ron.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Might want to close the door so the whole office doesn’t hear our discussion,” Ron said.

  Jeremy nodded and reached behind him to push the door closed, and then turned to face Ron again. “Okay, what’s this all about?”

  “Where were you on Wednesday night?”

  “Why?”

  “We’re trying to verify the whereabouts of everyone close to a young woman named Dakota Reed.”

  Jeremy held Ron’s stare without flinching. “I see.”

  “Look, I’m not here to piss in your Wheaties or ruin your reputation. I ran a background check before I came by, and I know you’re married. But like it or not, I need to clear you from the suspect list. So answer the question: where were you on Wednesday?” Ron repeated, steel in his tone.

  “Perhaps I should retain legal counsel.”

  “Be my guest. While you’re at it, you can explain to your wife and co-workers why the police are questioning you.”

  Jeremy sighed. “I was here Wednesday night. Till about five in the morning. Working on a presentation I have to make in” – he checked his watch – “one hour.”

  “You were here the entire time?”

  “Other than to grab a snack and a soda, yes.”

  “The security desk downstairs. Is it manned twenty-four hours?”

  “Of course.”

  “How long were you gone when you went out for your snack?”

  “I…I don’t know. Maybe – an hour?”

&nb
sp; “Why so long?”

  “Nothing’s open on Wall Street at that hour. Not that serves anything edible.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I just wandered uptown and bought a hot dog from a street vendor. I like walking to clear my head. Gets the blood moving, keeps me sharp.”

  “Where was the vendor, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “You can’t figure it out?”

  Jeremy’s face fell. “Wait. You can’t believe I had anything to do…”

  “You’re the boyfriend. Most murders, the killer knows the victim. Crimes of passion.”

  “That’s absurd in this case. Anyway, you can check with security.” Jeremy frowned. “Is there anything else?”

  Ron held Jeremy’s gaze. “Did you know she was pregnant?”

  Ron watched for any tells – a twitch, a sidelong glance, a blink – but got none. “She was?” Jeremy asked, and then broke eye contact. “Good God.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Where were you the prior Friday?” Ron asked, abruptly switching gears.

  “Ten days ago?” Jeremy thought for a moment. “Oh, I was at a fundraiser for the children’s hospital, with my wife.”

  “Where?”

  “Carnegie Hall. There was a cocktail reception after the concert, and we stayed until, I don’t know, midnight or one o’clock. With about five hundred witnesses.”

  “And after?”

  “We went home. My wife can testify to that, as can our housekeeper – she put the kids to bed and waited for us to get home.”

  After another five minutes of questions, Ron was done. He left Jeremy to his thoughts and showed himself out. Downstairs, he stopped by the security desk, but the guard wasn’t able to pull up any records – only the supervisor could, and he wasn’t there. Ron left his card with the man and exited the building, replaying his interview in his mind as he walked toward the subway. There was something off about Jeremy. Ron had developed a keen appreciation for the abnormal, and Jeremy’s reaction when he’d told him that Dakota had been pregnant was…unsettling. There had been not a trace of empathy or surprise or…anything. Just a veiled stare, completely unreadable.

  Ron had no doubt that Jeremy was highly effective at his job if it involved negotiation, because he’d been unable to detect any trace of emotion in the man, only the expected reaction after a moment to consider what might be appropriate.

  He had to remind himself to stay on track. Jeremy might have a screw or three loose, but he couldn’t be the Rose Killer. Ron had discharged his obligation to Tess and interviewed him, but at this point the only thing that could be said was that he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants – a sin which many of the masters of the universe on Wall Street were probably guilty of. Ron didn’t like the man, but that had nothing to do with whether he was a murderer, and if the security logs came back verifying his whereabouts, as he suspected they would, Jeremy was a dead end.

  Chapter 36

  Tess hung up on Ron, angry after their conversation and the information he’d relayed: that Jeremy had an alibi for the night Dakota was killed, which he was in the process of verifying.

  “In the process? What does that mean?” she’d snapped.

  “It means that there’s no reason not to believe his account, Tess. He’s got an ironclad alibi for the prior murder. Look, I know you think he could be guilty, but it doesn’t hold water. Trust me on this.”

  “Sounds like you’re just going down the road you already decided to.”

  “I’m going down the road that has the best likelihood of catching the killer, Tess. That’s my job. I’m sorry if that doesn’t match what you think I should be doing.”

  “It just seems to me that nobody’s concentrating on Dakota – like her killing is an afterthought. Have you spoken to her roommates yet? The people at the theater or the ballet?”

  “I’m going to put a team on it, Tess, but things don’t happen instantly. We have an entire task force, remember? I have to get everyone pulling on the same oar.”

  “Which doesn’t involve prioritizing Dakota. I get it, Ron. You tell me her boyfriend is married, which is a motive in neon a mile high, but you have more important things to do than go after him. Did I miss some nuance?”

  “Tess…”

  “Save it. I’m headed out the door.”

  She was fuming at his attitude, even if a part of her recognized the truth of his words. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it, and it certainly didn’t mean that she had to sit around and take up quilting instead of further investigating her cousin’s death. And the bombshell about Jeremy being married – there was no way Dakota had known, so he was a lying sack of shit.

  Or could she have? Was it possible Dakota knew and didn’t care? Or could he have given her the oldest line in the book: that he was leaving his wife to be with her?

  Her phone rang. It was Dianne, Dakota’s roommate, calling. Tess blinked away her fatigue and answered. Dianne’s voice sounded subdued compared to the prior day.

  “Hey,” Dianne said. “Sorry it took so long. I slept late, and then I had to go through Dakota’s stuff…”

  “No problem. You find anything?”

  “Well, yes and no. There was no phone. She must have had it on her.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” Tess paused. “Anything else?”

  “Not really, just some receipts and stuff.”

  “For what?”

  “Doctor’s visit, some pointe shoes, a flight…”

  “A flight?”

  “Yeah. To Chicago.”

  “When?”

  “Next week. We have two days with no performances. I guess she was planning to fly home.”

  “That’s weird. She never mentioned it.” Tess hesitated. “What about the doctor?”

  “Her gyno. A few days before she…disappeared.” Dianne cursed softly. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I need to run. I can call later if I find anything else.”

  “Please do. Oh, wait. When did she book the flight?”

  “The day before she was killed.”

  Tess disconnected and frowned at her phone. There was nothing suspicious on its face about Dakota buying a plane ticket to visit her mother, but the timing certainly made it seem like she was flying home to talk to her about her pregnancy. Which made sense. That wasn’t the kind of news you broke over the phone.

  She remembered Dakota’s mood at lunch, which even at the time Tess had guessed to be related somehow to relationship issues.

  Damn. Dakota had told Jeremy. That was it. It had to be. She’d learned about her pregnancy and dropped the bomb at dinner, and he’d freaked, his lie about leaving his wife put to the test.

  So he’d killed her. To shut her up.

  The only problem being that he had an alibi for the prior murder, so it couldn’t have been him. Unless…

  It was a copycat to throw the cops off the scent.

  She redialed Ron, who sounded harried when he answered. She told him her theory, and when she was finished, he was silent for several beats. When he spoke, it was obvious that he was struggling to be patient.

  “You had her roommate search her room?” he asked.

  “You’re not doing it,” Tess countered.

  “Tess, I told you to stay out of this.”

  “She’s my cousin, Ron. What about my theory?”

  “It’s a great one, except that there are a number of things we didn’t let leak about the videos, and the one with Dakota is an exact match for elements only the Rose Killer could know about. Other than that, it’s swell.” Ron grunted. “Which is why I told you to leave this to the professionals, Tess. No disrespect, but we really do know what we’re doing. I know you mean well, but nothing you’re doing is helping.”

  Ron’s words stung, and she had no facile retort. Of course they would have already considered the possibility it was a copycat.

  “
I’m just frustrated, Ron. He’s got to be involved somehow.”

  “No, Tess, he doesn’t. I understand how you feel, but that’s why we have to be dispassionate about the case. I can’t allow my emotions to cloud my judgment, and you shouldn’t either. The evidence will lead us to the killer, not our feelings about whether Jeremy is a scumbag or lied to your cousin. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear that, but your theory’s wrong, and my bet is that his alibi will hold up.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “Then I cross that bridge when I come to it. Tess, I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ve got a staff meeting starting in a few minutes. I’ll call you later today.”

  “Sure, Ron. Do that.”

  She resisted the temptation to throw the phone across the hotel room and instead drew deep, measured breaths. She didn’t know which was worse – having Ron talk to her like she was a schoolgirl, or her own disappointment at not having thought about the police keeping elements back from the public. She should have known from her father’s murder, and later, Nick’s, that they would do so.

  Tess reached for her tablet and went to Dakota’s Instagram account, where all her selfies were still on display. She choked up at the last photo Dakota had uploaded, taken backstage in makeup as she prepared for a performance, her eyes alight with excitement. Tess scrolled back through her string of photos, each more heartbreaking than the last, some with captions, others only the snap. There was one of herself and Dakota she’d taken at lunch: Dakota throwing a peace sign, Tess smiling, with a caption introducing her bestest cousin in the whole world. Tess spent half an hour aimlessly reviewing her social media and then stopped when she came to a photo of a café with a geotag and a brief description of it as the most romantic morning-after place in the world, just downstairs from her dream man’s apartment.