Suddenly she sat bolt upright. “Wait a minute …” she handed Darby the phone. “Take a look at that name.”
Darby glanced down, read the list of invitees. “How odd.” Her eyes flew up to meet Gina’s. “Oh, my goodness—I’ve been blind. All this time …” She grabbed her phone. “We’ve got to speak with Cardazzo right away. If what I’m thinking is right—we may already be too late.”
_____
Special Agent Cardazzo met them at the entrance to the hospital. “This better be good,” he muttered.
“It is,” Darby said. She turned to Gina. “Head on upstairs and make sure nobody leaves. We’ll be up as soon as we’ve briefed Detective Cardazzo.”
His eyes were quizzical. “What are you planning here? Some sort of bust?”
“Yes, actually,” she said. “In a few minutes, you’ll have the person who masterminded Alec Rodin’s death, as well as the nearly fatal poisoning of Mikhail Kazakova and Miranda Styles.”
“I hope ‘nearly fatal’ is still accurate,” Miles said quietly. He put down his phone and sighed. “Natalia just texted. Mikhail Kazakova’s dying.”
twenty-four
Ramon could not understand why one of the private chef uniforms was missing. He knew that he’d spoken to the laundry service and that they were all in Monday’s delivery. Where had the misplaced one disappeared?
Of course, dealing with linen was not a duty of a doorman, but at Central Park Place, the staff members pitched in, no matter what the situation. The head housekeeper wanted Ramon’s assistance in tracking down the uniform, and he was happy to lend a hand. They were a team, and, if anything, the disaster with the gas leak had brought them closer.
He once again checked the closet where the uniforms were kept. One was definitely absent. He stroked his chin and headed back upstairs to his post. Yes, it was perplexing.
_____
The private waiting room was quiet, except for the soft sobs of Natalia Kazakova. She was flanked by Sergei Bokeria, whose enormous bulk could barely be contained in his chair, and Jeremy Hale, who was holding her hand and murmuring in a soft voice. Across the room stood Miranda, her eyes rimmed with red, although Darby didn’t know if it was from sorrow or from her exposure to the fumes of gas.
Gina sat by the door, waiting. She said nothing when Darby and Miles entered, but her eyes reflected gratitude that they’d arrived. A moment later the door to the waiting room opened, and all eyes turned to see Rona Reichels.
“I was told to come—” she looked around the room. “What’s this about?”
“Have a seat, Rona,” Miles said. “We’ll explain in a moment.”
Again the door opened and Sherry and Penn Cooper stood on the threshold. “Gina, what’s up?” Penn asked.
“Come in,” she said. “Have a seat.”
“What’s going on?”
“You’ll find out in a minute.”
“I don’t have ‘a minute,’” Penn said, “I’m in the middle of a merger …”
“Oh, Penn,” Sherry said, “Just sit down.”
The last person to arrive was Todd Stockton. He nodded, slipped in, and took a seat without speaking.
Darby cleared her throat. “I want to tell you all some good news. Mikhail is on life support, but it looks as if he may pull through.”
“Papa?” Natalia cried out. “I must go to him.” She rose to her feet, along with Jeremy.
“I know, Natalia, but please, wait a few minutes. It’s very important—for his and your safety.”
Beside her, Sergei Bokeria frowned. “Safety?”
“Yes.” Darby looked around the room. “The gas leak in Miranda’s apartment that nearly killed her and Mikhail was no accident. Someone gained access to the unit and destroyed a valve, letting gas flow freely into the apartment.”
“The doctor said one of the things that saved us was an open window, right by the bed,” Miranda said softly. She gave a tired smile. “Mikhail insists on opening the window, no matter what the season, regardless of the temperature. He has to have fresh air.” She looked at Gina. “The other thing that saved us was Gina Trovata’s quick actions.”
There was a murmur of approval from the assembled group.
“Who was the target?” asked Jeremy. “Miranda?”
“No,” Darby said. “Despite the fact that this happened in Miranda’s apartment, the person who turned on that gas was trying to kill Mikhail.”
“It wasn’t the first time, either,” said Miranda. “Earlier in the day a man was pushed into traffic and killed. Mikhail had the distinct impression it was supposed to have been him.”
“Where?” Sherry Cooper cried. “At Central Park Place?”
“Downtown.”
“This is interesting as hell, but I have to get back to my office,” Penn Cooper said, standing up. “If you’d excuse me.”
“Can we first talk about the lawsuit Alec Rodin brought against you?” Darby asked.
“Not me, my company,” Penn huffed.
Darby’s look was somewhat sympathetic—after all, she knew how he felt. “Your name was on the suit. Something about bad investment advice?”
“Yes, but—that’s been dismissed.”
“Only because Rodin is dead.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Rona Reichels pulled out her phone.
“Are we boring you, Rona?” Miles asked.
“I don’t even know you,” she glared. “Are you the guy staying in Charles Burrows’s apartment?”
“That’s right. Charles is the one whose marriage you broke up when you sold him the condo, isn’t that right?”
Her eyes smoldered. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this,” she said, rising to her feet. She shoved her phone in a voluminous pocketbook.
“Oh, but you do,” Miles said. “Because you’ve broken just about every real estate rule in the book. Maybe sleeping with your clients doesn’t violate any laws, but keeping keys to their apartments certainly does.” He waved in Todd Stockton’s direction. “I think you know Todd? He’s on the board of the New York Real Estate Commission.”
“I never even used those keys!”
“You may not have,” Miles said. “But someone else did. Someone used those keys to break into Vera Graff’s apartment and steal an antique saber, along with several other items worth thousands of dollars.”
She started. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Then you won’t mind if the authorities search your apartment when we’re through.”
Darby, ignoring Rona’s protests, glanced around the room. “Solving the murder of Alec Rodin involves answering one big question: who could have gotten those keys from Rona and stolen that sword? This was a question I pondered for a long time. Finally I realized there was only one answer, because there was only one person who could have known those keys existed: Devin, Rona’s daughter.”
“But Yvette and Vera hardly ever leave their apartment,” Gina said. “Did Devin go in at night, while they were sleeping?”
“I doubt it. That would have been extremely risky, since both women are elderly and light sleepers. Chances are she watched and waited until she saw them leave Central Park Place together. Devin had been in the apartment before, years earlier, when she fed their cat for a few days. She might have remembered that they had an antique sword—a saber—along with some other antiques. Or maybe she happened across the valuables by accident. In any case, Devin unlocked the door, went in, and stole the weapon. There was no sign of forced entry, nothing to indicate any theft, because she’d used a key.”
Natalia rose, visibly upset. “I must see my father.”
“In a minute, Nat,” Miles said. “Please—it’s important.”
She sunk back into her chair.
“So Devin possessed the murder we
apon,” Darby said. “Was she Alec Rodin’s killer? What possible motive would she have had?” Darby thought a moment. “We know that Detective Benedetti believes the murderer was a woman, right? He looked at the thrusts of the sword and did calculations to determine the height of the attacker. Devin fits that profile perfectly.”
“Devin could have killed Rodin to avenge her mother,” Gina said.
“It’s true that Rona was cheated out of a large commission when Mikhail bought the penthouse,” Darby said. “How much was it, Rona? A million dollars? After all, it was Rodin who counseled Mikhail not to use Rona as a broker. Rodin was the deal killer. Revenge could have been Devin’s motive.”
“But the more I thought about it,” Darby continued, “the more I realized that helping out her mom didn’t seem like the kind of thing Devin would do. This was a woman who, by all accounts, did not have a close relationship with her mother, who could be, well—rather selfish.”
Rona swallowed.
“It certainly appeared that Devin killed Alec. She had the weapon, she fit the size of the killer, and she did not have an alibi. But why? What would have been her motive?”
“Before we could answer any of these questions, Devin died of an accidental drug overdose. That would seem to be the sad end of it, right? But then, immediately following her death, two attempts were made on Mikhail Kazakova’s life. That started me thinking: What if Devin’s death was not an accident?”
Rona shook her head at Darby. “What are you saying?”
“Devin Finnegan had an accomplice—more than that, really—a mastermind. This person planned the murder of Alec Rodin with her, giving her encouragement and helping her practice the swordplay itself.”
Rona remembered the textbook in Devin’s apartment. She closed her eyes. It had been anatomy and physiology …
“Once Devin successfully killed Rodin, this person decided she was expendable. Maybe Devin had gotten cocky, or regretful—or maybe it was always what the mastermind had planned all along. And so, she was drugged and killed.”
Rona put her face in her hands.
“The mastermind now had one more person to kill: Mikhail Kazakova. Again, we ask ourselves, why?”
The room was absolutely silent, as if no one dared to breathe.
Darby continued. “Was Mikhail hated by someone whose family member had suffered health affects due to an environmental accident at a fertilizer company in the Ural Mountains?” Darby looked pointedly at Sergei, and then shifted her gaze to Sherry Cooper. “Or was murdering him a temptation because the lure of owning the penthouse was just so strong?”
Sherry Cooper shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “You can’t suspect me of any of this.”
“Really?” Miles asked. “But aren’t you a champion fencer?”
She glowered. “Sure, back in college. But I had no reason to kill either one of them. May I go back to work now?”
“Yes,” Jeremy Hale said, standing, “some of us have jobs to do …”
“And what’s yours, Jeremy?” Miles said.
“I’m a trader on Wall Street.” He looked around the room. “Really, this is ludicrous …”
He bolted for the door of the waiting room and yanked it open. Natalia screamed and Miles sprang across the room. There was a scuffle, and several seconds later Special Agent Cardazzo pulled Jeremy Hale to his feet.
Darby Farr strode across the room. “Here’s how you saw your job, Jeremy. Eliminating Mikhail Kazakova so that you could marry his daughter.”
Natalia gasped, shook her head. “No,” she moaned.
“Yes,” said Darby gently. “And the reason you were told earlier that your father was so close to death was because we were worried for his safety. It would have been so easy for Jeremy to finalize his plan.”
Natalia put her head against Sergei’s bicep, as if the massive bodyguard was her only form of support.
Agent Cardazzo tightened his hold on Jeremy Hale.
“Before I cart him away, I have to ask: How did you make the connection?”
“It was something you said, actually,” Darby admitted. “Things aren’t what they seem. I was trying to find links between Devin and an accomplice, and then Gina found proof that Devin and Jeremy knew each other. I realized things weren’t what they seemed. Not only did these two know each other, but they were partners in crime.”
“It won’t stand up in court,” Jeremy Hale boasted. “You’ll see. I’ll be a free man.”
“Shut up!” Cardazzo ordered.
“Did you love her?” Rona demanded, easing slowly from her seat. Tears were rolling down her face. “Did you love my baby?”
Jeremy’s lips curled in scorn. “Devin? Sure. After all, she’d do anything for money. What wasn’t to love?”
It was all Darby could do to keep from punching his smug face.
_____
After Jeremy Hale had been handcuffed, read his rights, and dragged from the hospital, the rest of the room exhaled, practically in unison. Rona wobbled unsteadily out of the room. The Coopers and Gina followed.
“I can’t believe it,” Miranda said. “He hatched this whole thing?”
Darby nodded, her heart clenching for Rona.
“I feel like an idiot,” said Natalia. “A total idiot.”
Beside her, Sergei frowned.
“You shouldn’t,” Darby said. “Jeremy Hale exhibits all the qualities of a psychopath. He’s charming and manipulative, plus a pathological liar. Clearly he has no remorse for his actions.” She looked into Natalia’s eyes. “People are taken in by psychopaths all the time. You’re certainly not the first. Luckily he didn’t get the chance to succeed with his plan.”
“After my father, I might have been next,” she said grimly, then shuddered. “I must go see Papa now, but I don’t know how I can thank you.”
“Thank Miles and Gina,” Darby said. “It was a team effort.”
Natalia stood and bowed her head slightly, as if words weren’t enough. Beside her, Sergei Bokeria shifted his massive weight.
“You did not get everything quite right, Darby Farr,” he said gruffly. “The relative you found in the Ural Mountains? She is a distant cousin, from a branch of the family the rest of us do not like.” His face contorted in what Darby imagined was a smile.
“And Sergei would never do anything to harm my father, because he knows it would hurt me,” Natalia said. “Come on, let’s go see him.” She took his elbow and steered the big man out the door.
Miranda watched them walk down the hallway to Mikhail’s room. “Good work, Darby. Very impressive. I started thinking along these same lines after a little episode that happened yesterday. I’d stopped at the penthouse to get Korbut and saw Natalia—well, let’s just say I came to the conclusion that her relationship with Jeremy had really heated up. And that got me wondering whether it had developed as innocently as it seemed.”
Darby nodded. “I hope Natalia doesn’t blame herself too much for falling for him. We checked with several associates at Jeremy’s office. He’s known as an impulsive risk taker.”
“The ideal characteristics of a successful trader, right?” Miranda grimaced. “I’ll make sure Natalia gets some support with this whole situation, starting with some face time with her father.” She gave a little wave, her long legs striding down the hallway.
Todd Stockton came up beside Darby and Miles. “I’m heading out too. Other than a slap on the wrist, I’m not going to go too hard on Rona. I think she’s learned her lesson. I will make sure she returns those valuables, though. What did you say they were?”
“Not to worry,” Darby said. “I believe she’ll find Detective Benedetti waiting for her at Central Park Place.”
“Will he arrest her?” Miles asked.
“No. She found the antiques in Devin’s apartment. But Gina will be on hand to help Vera
identify them and get them back.”
“Whew,” Todd Stockton said. “This is crazy. I’ve had more than my share of excitement for a while. If I don’t see you before you head back to California, have a safe trip, Darby, and I’ll be in touch with details on Hideki’s purchase.”
“Great.”
At last Darby and Miles were alone.
“Well done, love,” Miles said.
“Well done, love, to you,” she said.
“Your last day in New York,” he said. “Any requests?’
“Tiffany’s. I feel like ogling expensive jewelry and channeling Audrey Hepburn.”
Miles grinned. “Let’s go.”
_____
Gina helped Vera carry the stolen objects back into her apartment, under the watchful eyes of Yvette. She looked on as Vera placed the items carefully on a shelf, saving for last something wrapped in purple velvet.
It was a light pink enameled egg, encrusted with diamonds and pearls. Lovingly Vera fingered the egg, touching one of the panels, so that it sprang open. Gina peered at the jeweled egg, amazed. Inside was a heart-shaped frame and three tiny portraits.
“Beautiful,” Gina breathed. She glanced toward Yvette who was smiling—a sight the younger woman had never seen.
“I heard Natalia ask you if this was an egg created by the famous Russian artist,” Gina said softly.
“Faberge,” said Vera. She glanced at Yvette, said something in rapid French. Yvette scowled but then nodded.
“The truth is,” Vera continued, “we don’t know, and we don’t care, do we?”
Gina gave a small smile. “Your own little mystery.”
“Yes,” Vera said, glancing first at Yvette and then back to Gina. “Sometimes a mystery is good.” She said something again to Yvette and the maid scurried out. “I’ve sent her for tea,” she said, her voice conspiratorial. “It’s the only way she’ll leave me alone.” She sighed. “Oh, I’m tired, Gina, and I’m sorry to hear that Natalia has undergone such troubles. Please tell her that if my health allows, I wish to continue our interview sessions. Will you do that?”
5 Deal Killer Page 26