Eve moved to a closet tucked into the wall near the front door and pressed it to open. Inside were jackets, wraps, a man's overcoat she suspected was Hammett's, and a fleet of umbrellas in varying colors.
"She takes out the umbrella she bought to match the suit. It's automatic, her mind is on her meet. She doesn't take a lot of money, so it's not a payoff. She doesn't call anyone, because she wants to handle it herself. But when she gets to the Five Moons, nobody meets her. She waits nearly an hour, impatient, checking her watch. She leaves a few minutes after one, back into the rain. She's got her umbrella and starts to walk back to the subway. I figure she's steamed."
"Classy woman, kicking in a dive for an hour for a no show." Feeney popped another nut. "Yeah, steamed would be my take."
"So, she heads out. It's raining pretty hard. Her umbrella's up. She only gets a few feet. Someone's there, probably been close by all along, waiting for her to come out."
"Doesn't want to see her inside," Feeney put in. "Doesn't want to be seen."
"Right. They have to talk a couple of minutes according to the time frame. Maybe they argue – not much of an argument, there isn't time. Nobody's on the street – nobody who'd pay attention, anyway. A couple of minutes later, her throat's slashed, she's bleeding on the sidewalk. Did he plan to do her all along?"
"Lotsa people carry stickers in that area." Thoughtful, Feeney rubbed his chin. "Couldn't get premeditated on that by itself. But the timing, the setup. Yeah, that's how it shakes down to me."
"Me, too. One slice. No defensive wounds, so she didn't have time to feel threatened. The killer doesn't take her jewelry, the leather bag, her shoes, or her credits. He just takes her umbrella, and he walks away."
"Why the umbrella?" Feeney wondered.
"Hell, it's raining. I don't know, an impulse, a souvenir. As far as I can see, it's the only mistake he made. I've got grunts out checking a ten-block area to see if he ditched it."
"If he ditched it in that area, some chemi-head's walking around with a purple parasol."
"Yeah." A visual of that almost made her smile. "How could he be sure she'd zap the recording, Feeney? He had to be sure."
"Threat?"
"A PA lives with threats. One like Towers would shake them off like lint."
"If they were aimed at her," he agreed. "She's got kids." He nodded toward the framed holograms. "She wasn't just a lawyer. She was a mother."
With a frown, Eve walked over to the holograms. Curious, she picked up one of the boy and girl together as young teenagers. A flick of her finger over the back had the audio bubbling out.
Hey, big shot. Happy Mother's Day. This will last longer than the flowers. We love you.
Oddly disturbed, Eve set the frame down again. "They're adults now. They're not kids anymore."
"Dallas, once a parent, always a parent. You never finish the job."
Hers had, she thought. A long time finished.
"Then I guess my next stop is Marco Angelini."
Angelini had offices in Roarke's building on Fifth. Eve stepped into the now familiar lobby with its huge tiles and pricey boutiques. The cooing voices of computer guides offered assistance to various locations. She scanned one of the moving maps and ignoring the glides, hiked her way to the elevators along the south end.
The glass tube shot her to the fifty-eighth floor, then opened onto solemn gray carpet and blinding white walls.
Angelini Exports claimed a suite of five offices in this location. After one quick scan, Eve noted that the company was small potatoes in relation to Roarke Industries.
Then again,she thought with a tight smile, what isn't?
The receptionist in the greeting area showed great respect and not a little nerves at the sight of Eve's badge. She fumbled and swallowed so much Eve wondered if the woman had a cache of illegal substances in her desk drawer.
But the fear of cop had her all but shoving Eve into Angelini's office after less than ninety seconds of lag time.
"Mr. Angelini, I appreciate your time. My sympathies for your loss."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Dallas, please sit."
He wasn't elegant, as Hammett was, but he was powerful. A small man, solidly built with jet hair combed slickly back from a prominent widow's peak. His skin was a pale, dusky gold, his eyes bright, hard marbles of azure under thick brows. He had a long nose, thin lips, and the glitter of a diamond on his hand.
If he was grieving, the former husband of the victim hid it better than her lover had.
He sat behind a console-style desk that was smooth as satin. It was absolutely clear but for his still and folded hands. Behind him was a tinted window that blocked the UV rays while letting in the view of New York.
"You've come about Cicely."
"Yes, I was hoping you could spare some time now to answer some questions."
"You have my full cooperation, Lieutenant. Cicely and I were divorced, but we remained partners, in business and in parenthood. I admired and respected her."
There was a hint of his native country in his voice. Just a whisper of it. It reminded her that, according to his dossier, Marco Angelini spent a large part of his time in Italy.
"Mr. Angelini, can you tell me the last time you saw or spoke with Prosecutor Towers?"
"I saw her on March eighteenth, at my home on Long Island."
"She came to your home."
"Yes, for my son's twenty-fifth birthday. We gave him a party together, using my estate there, as it was most convenient. David, our son, often stays there when he is on the East Coast."
"You hadn't seen her since that date."
"No, we were both busy, but we had planned to meet in the next week or two to discuss plans for Mirina's wedding. Our daughter." He cleared his throat gently. "I was in Europe for most of April."
"You called Prosecutor Towers on the night of her death."
"Yes, I left a message to see if we could meet for lunch or drinks at her convenience."
"About the wedding," Eve prompted.
"Yes, about Mirina's wedding."
"Had you spoken with Prosecutor Towers since the day of March eighteenth and the night of her death?"
"Several times." He pulled his fingers apart, linked them again. "As I said, we considered ourselves partners. We had the children, and there were a few business interests."
"Including Mercury."
"Yes." His lips curved ever so slightly. "You are an… acquaintance of Roarke's."
"That's right. Did you and your former wife disagree on any of your partnerships, personally or professionally?"
"Naturally we did, on both. But we'd learned, as we had been unable to learn during our marriage, the value of compromise."
"Mr. Angelini, who inherits Prosecutor Towers's interest in Mercury after her death?"
His brow lifted. "I do, Lieutenant, according to the terms of our business contract. There are also a few holdings in some real estate that will revert to me. This was an arrangement of our divorce settlement. I would guide the interests, advise her on investments. Upon the death of one of us, the interests and profits or losses would revert to the other. We both agreed, you see, and trusted that in the end, all either of us had of value would go to our children."
"And the rest of her estate. Her apartment, her jewelry, whatever possessions that weren't part of your agreement?"
"Would, I assume, be left to our children. I imagine there would be a few bequests to personal friends or charities."
Eve was going to dig quickly to learn just how much Towers had tucked away. "Mr. Angelini, you were aware that your ex-wife was intimately involved with George Hammett."