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“I would have preferred driving you home, but all I can do tonight is see you to the subway. I’ve got to go to the precinct.”
“Did Mercy find you?”
“Neither mercy nor grace, unfortunately. I’ve been stuck with sloth and greed all day.”
Mia grinned. “I meant Mercy, the pet concierge.”
“Right. Uh, no. No, she didn’t.”
“She told me a couple of things you should know. Come on, walk me to the subway and I’ll fill you in.”
He didn’t take her hand, but she thought he wanted to. She sure did. Instead, she did what she knew was safe. Told him all she could remember about her conversation with Mercy. She was terribly professional and when they were standing at the subway steps and he looked at her with his deep brown eyes, she melted like an ice cream cone in summer. At least on the inside.
She thought about him all the way to Brooklyn Heights. Even the murder didn’t stand a chance of chasing Bax away. As she climbed into bed at ten-thirty, she had to admit it. He wasn’t just a crush. No crush had ever made her feel like this. She was a goner.
DESPITE THE FACT that it was almost lunchtime, Mia didn’t do the sensible thing and relax in the break room. Oh, no. She decided to steal away to the trailers and deliver a rather large fruit and muffin basket that had been left for Danny Austen. Maybe she could get him talking. He might open up to her more than he would to a police detective, right?
She made a quick restroom stop just to make sure she looked her best, then hauled the basket from behind the desk and headed out.
The security guard at the exit was sweet, holding the door for her and asking if he could be of help, but this was something she needed to do alone.
The garage was pretty empty, which meant this trip was probably a waste of time. Usually, when there was no one by the trailers it meant they were all on the set. Oh, well. She would still deliver the basket.
She had to switch hands twice before she found his particular motor home because the basket was so heavy. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to carry it much further. Resting on the step in front of the door, she knocked. “Mr. Austen? I have a delivery.”
She waited. Thought about breaking down and buying something from the vending machines in the break room. Something naughty.
Another knock. “Mr. Austen? Delivery.”
She waited for half a mo, then tried the door. It was open. She’d seen the way the movie people were with these so-called trailers. They were like offices, and people seemed to go in and out without much concern. Still, she poked her head in. Nothing.
With a push and a heave, she went inside, amazed again at the opulence. She could have easily lived there. Heck, they could have taken off the wheels and she’d have been happy.
Mia put the basket on the table. Walking toward the back of the motor home, she touched the marble countertops. They didn’t seem like a veneer. One thing she hadn’t seen in the empty trailer was the bathroom.
She went back and opened the first door, but that was just a closet. Then she opened the second door.
And screamed.
Danny Austen, naked as the day he was born, was in a very tiny shower with another very naked man. They were both all soapy and foamy, which made sense because there was no water running to wash them off.
She jumped back and slammed the door shut.
The stupid thing bounced and flew open again, giving her an even more unfortunate view.
One more time, she shut the door, catching it this time with both hands.
She was out of that trailer almost as quickly as Piper was going to fire her.
THERE WAS NO GOOD time to read a tabloid. Bax realized that profound truth immediately, but there was also no turning back.
The cover in his hand had all the bold printed scandals that would fit, but he was only interested in the central picture. Bobbi Tamony, dressed in something gold and slinky, was sitting at a banquette, her head bent over a large mirror. There was a rolled-up bill at her nose through which she was snorting what looked like several hundred dollars’ worth of cocaine.
The photograph wasn’t credited and the date given was the unhelpful sometime last week. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if this picture was worthy of murder. How had the paper gotten the photo? From which paparazzo?
The last thing he wanted to do was talk to those cretins. One was worst than the next, yanking out their First Amendment rights at the drop of a hat, despite the fact it was clear they had no idea what the First Amendment said.
But what choice did he have? The paparazzi were Geiger’s people. This afternoon Bax had three of them lined up, the most interesting of whom was Henry Toth. According to his compatriots, Toth and Geiger were rivals, not just with work, but on a personal level.
That wasn’t for another half hour, though, so Bax went back to the magazines. He really hated that he’d spent perfectly good money on this crap. That, in fact, he had a whole stack of tabloids staring at him. He cared nothing about which stars’ diets were now disasters. Which plastic surgeries had gone horribly wrong. Or what starlet was the latest to be dumped.
He also hated that he’d been read the riot act last night by the captain. Not that he was doing anything wrong, just that he wasn’t doing the right things faster. Much faster.
Seemed Oscar Weinberg had friends. Lots of them. In very high places. Who didn’t seem terribly concerned that a paparazzo had been killed. In fact, the subtext had been that the killer had done a public service.
On the other side of the coin were the tabloids themselves, rallied to a cause that had more to do with sensational headlines than actual concern, but a cause nonetheless that made the NYPD look bad.
Why, then, was it taking him so long to find the murderer?
He hadn’t bothered to answer the captain’s questions. The captain hadn’t become the captain because he was a stupid man. He understood exactly why things were moving at a snail’s pace. He also understood that by giving Bax grief, he was absolving himself of any guilt associated with the case. He could happily move on to the next crisis, leaving Bax to take whatever blame might come. Would come.
Bax sighed as he picked up the next tabloid on the pile. It too had a picture of interest on the cover. Not of Bobby Tamony, but of Danny Austen. Nothing about his sexual preferences unless you counted partying with a barely eighteen-year-old starlet.
Something about the picture… He went back to the front page featuring Bobbi Tamony, then put the two magazines side by side. There, in the background in both pictures, was the same woman. Nan Collins, the glorified extra. There was no mistaking her, despite the blurriness of the photos.
She wore a cut-down-to-there blouse, the same blouse in both shots. In one picture, she looked directly at the camera. In the other, she looked to the right. A man might surmise the picture had been taken on the same night.
Perhaps Bobbi and Danny had been at the same club? It didn’t look like the Hush hotel bar. The décor was all wrong. Mia would know. She might just know something about the woman, too. He’d better go—
He put the brakes on. He needed to be careful about her. Yes, she was an excellent resource, but to depend on her and her gossip too much could lead him to unwarranted conclusions. It was so easy to believe everything she said, even after her own admissions that she was repeating rumors. He liked her. He wanted her to be right. It was a recipe for mistakes the case couldn’t afford.
So was this an instance when going to Mia was justified? Or was he making excuses to be near her?
The answer was both. She was an excellent source, and so far the information she’d given him was all worthy of being checked out. He also wanted to see her.
He wasn’t the type to feel lonely. Not when there was a book to be read. But last night? His apartment had felt empty, and he’d picked up three different books, none of which had held his attention.
He closed the office door behind him and went to the lobby.
SHE KNEW BAX WAS THERE even before she looked up. Something in the air had shifted, or maybe it was a new kind of personal radar attuned to his scent, his molecules.
His smile made her blush and she finished up her call as quickly as she could.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” he said.
“What for?”
“I wanted to meet you out there, but—”
“It’s okay. I appreciate the thought.”
He touched the edge of her cuff briefly, then pulled back. “I’ve got some pictures, some tabloid shots I’d like you to look at when you have a break.”
“I can come now.”
“No, you’re working. And I have some paps to talk to as soon as I finish with Bobbi Tamony. Has Weinberg come back?”
She shook her head. “He should be back sometime this evening. We’re getting his suite ready for him.”
“Okay. I just…”
“What?”
“Nothing. If I’m not in the office, give me a call. You have my cell number, right?”
“Yep. And you have mine.”
“That I do. I should call you just to hear that ring of yours.”
“It’s distinctive.”
“It’s Wagner.”
“And what’s wrong with Wagner?”
“Not a thing.” He slapped the top of the desk lightly. “See you later, huh?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
As she watched him walk away she tried to get her heartbeat to slow. He looked good. Jeans again, which she liked much, much better than the brown pants. A white button-down shirt. A black jacket, nothing heavy, maybe linen or cotton. It was a good combination. Especially with his rebellious hair and his dark eyes.
Man, she had it bad.
He’d mentioned tabloids. She should run to the gift shop, but no, the front desk was busy. As long as she had a minute, though, she could call her expert. Carlane would have all the latest rags already, and if there was anything about the murder, her friend would know.
She wondered if she should tell Carlane about what she’d seen in Danny’s trailer. No, that was private information. Very private.
Mia was still amazed she hadn’t gotten fired. But then, Piper wasn’t in-house, so maybe Danny was waiting to express his outrage personally. It was quite possible this would be her very last day at Hush. That would break her heart. But she’d deal. She’d have to.
In the meantime, maybe there was one more thing she could do to help Bax before she was kicked out on her keister.
“YOU SAW THE PICTURE, I assume?”
Bax walked over to Bobbi, who was sitting in a chair that had her name on it. They were on the Madison Avenue sidewalk and the camera was set up in the little coffee shop where he and Mia had first had dinner.
There were several occupied chairs around them, but Danny Austen’s was empty. As was Peter Eccles’s. Bax pulled Austen’s chair closer to Bobbi and sat down. “Want to tell me about it?”
“If I tell you it was cold medicine, will you believe me?”
“No.”
“Will it matter?”
“Only if that picture is what got Geiger killed.”
She shifted on her chair, crossing one famously long, slender leg over the other. Her outfit today seemed pretty casual. A denim skirt, sandals, a little sleeveless T. He wondered if the clothes were hers or if she was in costume.
“I don’t know who took that picture, Detective.”
“They let a bunch of paps into those nightclubs, do they?”
“For all I know, the bartender had a camera in his cell phone.”
“Right.”
“You think I want the world to see me like that?”
“You’re on the cover.”
“You’re a cynical man, Milligan.”
“I’m a peach. It’s the job that makes me cynical.”
Bobbi smiled. “You know what? I believe you. I wish I could be of more help. I don’t remember much from that night.”
“What night would that be?”
“Four nights ago? Five? It’s hard to recall.”
“I’ll bet. You remember a woman standing behind you? Tall redhead? Name of Nan Collins?”
She shook her head. “If she was there, I didn’t notice.”
“Was Danny partying with you that night?”
“Danny? We don’t tend to hang out after work. You know how that is.”
He could see he wasn’t going to get anything useful from her. He’d do better waiting to talk to Mia. Maybe that pet concierge was available. Or maybe he should get on the horn with the tabloids, not that they’d tell him anything without being compelled by the courts.
“Detective?”
He got up, looked around for Austen or the director. Neither one was on the street. But shit, were there ever crowds. Tons of people held back by the barricades. Lots of off-duty cops getting some sweet moonlighting money. “Yeah?”
“I do remember someone who was partying with me that night.”
“Oh?”
“Our dear director. And I don’t think he was having a very good time.”
Bax nodded. It was probably a misdirection, probably nothing. But because she’d said it, he’d do his damnedest to get to the truth. Which was funny, considering. “Have a good day, Ms. Tamony.”
“You, too, Bax.”
YOLANDA WAS GETTING Oscar Weinberg’s suite ready, which wasn’t a simple thing to do. Mia had no business interrupting. No business being there at all. But did that stop her?
“Yolanda?”
“Hello Miss Mia.”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Just getting this room ready.”
“I came to check on a few things, if you don’t mind.”
Yolanda, who was an excellent maid and a very nice person, stepped away from the door. “No problem, Miss Mia. You do what you need to. Let me know if I can help.”
Mia nodded as she walked inside. Oh, man, she was stepping close to the line here. Okay, over the line. Yes, she was going to check to make sure Mr. Weinberg’s pillows were perfect, but mostly she was going to snoop.
Yolanda had disappeared into the master bedroom, so Mia had the living room to herself. First thing she did was go to the to the big closet. There were clothes in there, and two suitcases. With her heart racing, Mia checked both cases. Empty. She felt for pockets on the jackets and came up with nothing there, either.
Okay, second bedroom. As she hurried, the theme music from Mission Impossible played in her head even as she told herself this was not a game. If she was caught here, she could lose her job. On the other hand, she was probably already on the cut list, so what the hell.
The second bedroom looked pristine and had already been turned down. Mia had no idea if Weinberg ever used the second bed, but it was ready if he wanted to.
The closet in there was empty and Mia was just about to shut the door when she realized that there was a mirror on the side wall. She’d been in every suite in the hotel, but she couldn’t remember seeing a mirror like this one.
She stepped inside the closet. The mirror had a wooden frame, very polished. It was maybe two feet long and four feet wide. The more she thought about it, the more sure she became that this mirror wasn’t standard.
She looked out to make sure she was alone, then peered at the side of the mirror. It was at least two inches in depth, which made her think that perhaps it wasn’t for looking in so much as it was for hiding things.
With held breath, she pulled on the left side, then the right. Nothing budged. She let her fingers trail around the entire frame. She felt a break in the upper right corner. Tugging did nothing, so instead, she pushed. Something gave, although it didn’t open.
The push gave her hope, though. She had a friend in Toronto who built secret-compartment boxes, and with her love of puzzles, Mia had found them endlessly fascinating. The important part of puzzle boxes was that at least two mechanisms had to be manipulated concurrently to release a catch.
Mia stood on tiptoe to study the break in the frame. She tugged, pushed and lifted in every way she could think of when the frame popped open.
Her sigh was loud in the little closet and she’d already stayed too long, so she swung the mirror out, expecting jewelry or drugs or both.
What she got were memory cards. The kind that went inside digital cameras. Lots and lots of memory cards.
She picked one up and saw that it was 256K. She turned the little electronic gizmo over and whoa, there it was. Initials written in a very small hand. BT.
She put that card back and picked up another, this one from a different stack. The initials on this one, PE.
In the next few minutes, she found many initials she couldn’t decipher. And many she could.
DA for Danny Austen.
GG for Gerry Geiger.
SG as in Sheila Geiger?
PD which might or might not be Piper Devon.
Mia’s already racing pulse went zooming out of control. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d found, but she knew, just knew, it was something important. She couldn’t even conceive of how many pictures were stored here. Thousands upon thousands.
Did one of these cards hold the key to Geiger’s murder? Was the killer none other than Oscar Weinberg?
She thought about taking the card with GG on the back, but she just couldn’t. There was no way she could justify stealing so blatantly. God forbid Weinberg kept an inventory and discovered the theft. Where would his finger point? Right at Yolanda, that’s where.
No, she and Bax would have to come up with another way to get these memory cards into evidence.
“Miss Mia?”
Mia jumped what felt like ten feet, then slammed the mirror closed. Thankfully, Yolanda was still in the other room. “Yes, Yolanda?”
“I finished the bedroom. You want to come check?”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there.”
THE PET FACILITIES WERE on the 20th floor, adjacent to the elaborate and expansive spa. Bax had to admit he was curious about the pet concierge. Dog walking? Puppy sitting? He’d never been to a hotel that had pet facilities, unless you count lawns. Of course, it had been years since he’d had a dog. That was one of his first priorities when he got to Boulder. He’d grown up with pets and he missed that. The companionship, the exercise. He’d be able to hike to his heart’s content in Boulder, a trusty mutt beside him.
He pushed the door open and walked into a world that was as outside his own reality as a movie set.
PetQuarters had a front desk, just like downstairs, barring his view to the pets, and a very attractive young woman wearing a modified Hush uniform holding one of Bobbi Tamony’s yappy dogs. He knew it was Bobbi’s because of the way his hackles rose hearing that bark.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mercy.”
The young woman sighed. “Aren’t we all.”
Bax laughed, but cut it short as the woman’s expression told him she meant that quite literally. He coughed, hoping to let the moment slide.
“Mercy should have been back ten minutes ago. And Eddy had to leave for class, and then Ms. Tamony came to deliver her dogs, and well, I’m kind of on my own, but if I can be of any assistance?”
“No, it’s fine. You have your hands full. I’ll come back later.”
“Would you like Mercy to give you a call? I can take your number.”
“No, but thanks.” He was curious about the parts of the puppy hotel he couldn’t see, but he’d explore it later. For now, he’d go see if Mia had some time for him. She’d been too busy a few minutes ago. He’d been tempted to just watch her as she did her thing, but he’d nixed that plan.
He waited around in the reception area, hoping Mercy would show up. Thinking about his interview with Henry Toth.
According to Toth, who he’d have mistaken for a panhandler if it hadn’t been for his very expensive cameras, Geiger had some very tight connections with both Bobbi and Danny Austen. That he knew for a fact that Geiger was tipped off by someone working for Weinberg. And that Gerry Geiger had just bought himself a hell of a nice duplex in Little Italy.
Toth also suggested that Geiger was more than a little fed up with his wife’s drinking.
The sad thing? That bunch of schoolyard gossip was the most he’d gotten from any of the paparazzi so far. They were a tight-lipped bunch of bottom-feeders.
It didn’t appear that Mercy the pet concierge was coming back anytime soon. As Bax rounded the corner toward the elevator he spotted a man in the spa window. He was hefty, balding, wearing a robe.
Bax went into the spa’s reception area, but the man was gone. There were two ladies looking at some cosmetics, one man who Bax had seen on some TV show, and the women behind the desk.
The woman closest to him, a little older than her compatriot, smiled at him. “May I help you?”
He pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge. “I need to know if Oscar Weinberg is inside the facility.”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
“Great. Which room?”
“He’s in the middle of a procedure at the moment.”
“I don’t mind.”
She looked at her coworker, then back at him. “Can you give me a minute, please? I honestly don’t know how to handle this situation and I’d like to ask someone.”
“Is this the only exit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take your time.”
While she called whoever she called, Bax picked up one of the brochures from the counter. The services were vast and expensive, and some were downright odd. Hot stones? Oxygen facials? What he knew about spas could fit on the end of his pen, but he was once again, as he was so often lately, impressed by what the rich would buy. He was sure they would defend the spa services as crucial to their health and happiness. Hell, maybe they were right.
“Officer?”
He put the brochure down. “That’s Detective.”
“Sorry. Detective. I can take you to see Mr. Weinberg now.”
“Great.”
She led him inside the spa proper, down a long hallway. It smelled good, like trees, and the lighting was low. Music played softly in the background. New-age stuff, of course, but it hit all the right marks for a spa.
After a few turns, she stopped in front of a closed door. A gentle knock was followed almost immediately by the door opening a crack.
“I’ve got a client.”
The woman nodded. “The detective needs to speak to Mr. Weinberg.”
“He’s still got half an hour to go.”
Bax moved closer to the door. “I’ll be busy in a half an hour.”
“I checked with Piper’s office,” the woman whispered. “We have to let him in.”
The massage therapist was tall and wiry, not bulging with muscles as Bax would have thought. He looked strong though, strong and pissed. The one thing that did match Bax’s preconceived notions was the uniform. All-white T-shirt, slacks and shoes. Clean. Antiseptic.
After a meaningful shrug, the therapist stepped back.
Bax thanked the nice woman and went inside the even darker room.
Turns out it wasn’t dark enough.
Oscar Weinberg lay naked on the massage table. Face up. With no sheet covering any part of his large body.
Bax almost turned around and walked out, but his personal discomfort couldn’t possibly be worse than Weinberg’s, so why not go for it?
“What the hell is going on, Larry?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Weinberg. I was told to let him in.”
Weinberg looked Bax over. “Who the fuck are you?”
Bax took out his badge, making sure Oscar saw his holster as he did so. “Detective Milligan.”
“This can’t wait?”
“I figured I better catch you when I could. With that private jet and all.”
“Did I say I wanted you to stop the massage?”
That was to Larry, of course, who hopped to it.
Bax had no idea what Larry was in fact massaging as he was focusing one hundred percent on Weinberg’s face. “When did you get back to the hotel?”
“About an hour ago.”
“And the first thing you wanted was a massage?”
“Is that what you came here to talk about?”