“How do you explain the locked room?” Spencer asked. “She had to be alone when she was shot.”
But Connie shook her head. “It sure wasn’t suicide — no weapon and no powder bums. She let the killer in, probably arranged to meet him in the first place. What else would she be doing there in the middle of the night? She let him in, he shot her from across the room, and then he got out.”
“Leaving the door locked behind him?”
That didn’t stop Connie. “He may have been hiding someplace when the captain found the body — in a closet or under the desk.”
But Leopold shook his head. “There’s no closet in the room. The desk is out because, you’ll remember, I had two officers help me break in the door. A hidden killer might have sneaked out past me, but not past three of us.”
“So what do we do with Max Rosen?” Frawly asked.
“Turn him loose. We’ve been holding him for eight hours and we have no evidence to charge him.”
But Connie objected. “The doctor thinks we might be able to speak with Fletcher for a few minutes this afternoon. We can hold Rosen till then, at least, in case Fletcher saw who shot him.”
“All right,” Leopold agreed. “Meanwhile, I want to speak with Al Haskins again. If Petrov approached any of the crew about doing some private tile work, he might know about it.”
Leopold drove back out to the Bellview Sound Estates and waited at the gate while the guard recorded his name. “You know there’s vacant land just east of here,” he told the man. “Anyone could take a boat or even wade over and avoid the gatehouse.”
The guard eyed him suspiciously. “Once the tenants move in, we’ll have a beach patrol. No one will get by us.”
“I hope not.”
He found Al Haskins issuing instructions to a couple of his men after the lunch break. Haskins was not too pleased to see him. “What’s this about you holding one of my men? Is he under arrest?”
“Max Rosen? We’re just questioning him. He’ll probably be released later this afternoon.”
“I hope so. I need a full crew to finish up this job.” He sent the others on their way and started back into the nearest doorway.
“Wait a minute,” Leopold said. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”
“I told you everything I know about Petrov’s killing.”
Leopold walked up to him so they wouldn’t be overheard by the other workers. “Did he ever ask you or your crew about doing some personal jobs for him? Mosaic work?”
“Not me. I don’t know about the others.”
“Might he have asked Max Rosen?”
“Why do you keep harping on Max? I know he was in prison, but he served his time. He’s trying to make a fresh start.”
“We’re just trying to find Petrov’s killer. There was a second murder during the night, in case you haven’t heard.”
There was a sudden sharpness in his eyes, visible even behind the glasses. “Did that detective die? I heard about it on the radio.”
“No, this was an art dealer named Rachel Dean.”
He nodded slowly. “I think she was up here with Petrov once. They were discussing the right paintings for his condo.”
“Was that the only time you saw her?”
“I guess so. He usually came alone, or with his wife.”
“Did Sally Petrov ever come here without him?”
“No. She seemed content to let him handle things. The only thing I remember her picking out were those Cleopatra tiles for the shower.”
They were standing near one of the interior doors, and Leopold realized the locking mechanism was the same as the door to Rachel Dean’s office — a round knob with a locking button in the middle. “Tell me something, Al. Do you know a way someone could gimmick this lock, walk out the door, and leave it locked from the inside?”
He shook his head. “You have to turn the knob to get out of the room, and turning the knob unlocks it. See?” He demonstrated for Leopold. “If you push the button while the door’s open, it pops out when you shut it.”
Leopold was convinced. “Thanks for your help.”
He went back to his car and radioed in to Connie. “What time are you going to the hospital?”
“Right now, Captain. The doctor says we can see Fletcher for five minutes after three o’clock.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ve got something for you. I know how that locked room trick was worked.” She sounded pleased with herself.
“You do?”
“I’ll tell you at the hospital.”
Fletcher was awake, swathed in plastic tubes that ran to his arms and disappeared beneath the bedclothes. Another tube delivered oxygen to help him breathe. Leopold wondered if one of the bullets had nicked a lung. “How are you feeling, Fletcher?”
“Real dopey. Not much pain, though. Carol was in just before you two.”
Leopold nodded. They’d spoken to his wife on the way in. She was his strength, and always had been. “Did you see who shot you?” Leopold asked.
“No. Just a dark figure at the door. I thought it was Rosen.” He turned his head slightly. “Connie, what’s happening with the squad?”
“Don’t you worry. The commissioner got Captain Leopold to lend us a hand till you’re back on your feet.”
Fletcher nodded just a speck. “You’ll do it, Captain. You’ll get the one who shot me.”
“We’ll get him, Connie and the rest of the squad. Rest easy now.” He could see the nurse looming in the doorway.
Outside, down the hallway in the waiting room, Leopold said a few comforting words to Carol Fletcher. “He’ll be out in no time, and back on the job.”
She gave a weak smile. “Our son is flying in from California. He’ll be here tonight.”
“I’ll be back then.”
“Will you have the one who shot him?”
“Yes,” Leopold promised.
Back in the car with Connie, he said, “Tell me about the locked room.”
“It was so obvious we didn’t see it. The killer shot her but she didn’t die immediately. He left, and she held the handkerchief over her wound, struggling to the door to lock it in case he returned. Then she got back to her desk, tried to write a message, and died.”
He took her hand and held it, smiling like a father to his daughter. “Connie, you’ll make a great detective someday, but not yet. If it happened that way, why didn’t she pick up the phone on her desk and call for help?”
“But — but there’s no other explanation!”
“There is one. Rachel Dean told us herself, with her dying message — ICON. Think about it.”
“I’ve been thinking about it! I don’t see—”
“Give me your weapon, Connie.”
“What?”
“The Glock you carry in your holster. Give it to me.”
“What for?”
“It has to be tested by ballistics. You killed Rachel Dean, Connie, with your wild shot last night. It was Rachel who murdered Vladimir Petrov for those icons, Rachel who shot Fletcher when he caught her planting one in Rosen’s apartment, Rachel who drove back to her office, dying, and started to write a confession. ICON — I confess that I killed Vladimir Petrov.”
By the time ballistics had confirmed Leopold’s explanation that evening, he’d gone over it all with Connie. “I’ll tell Fletcher tomorrow, but I want you to hear it from me first. You see, in a case full of icons we all leaped to the wrong conclusion. But it suddenly occurred to me that Rachel Dean couldn’t have been writing icon, because she didn’t spell it that way. On the copy of the appraisal she gave me, she used the alternate spelling, ikon. She was trying to write a longer word or sentence. I immediately thought of I confess and started looking for confirmation. Was there any? Yes, in the soft cloth used to wrap the icons. Rachel claimed she’d only seen the one recovered from Petrov’s trunk, and that she’d wrapped it in that cloth herself to protect it. But when we found the second icon, hidden in Rosen’s closet, it was wrapped in the identical soft cloth. It had obviously been in Rachel’s possession and she’d lied about not seeing it.”