“Thanks, I’ll be right there. And the other?”
“Before I went home last night, I hocked one in that Chinese.”
Agda Larsson had dressed up for her interview. She wore vintage wear from the East Village accessorized with a pink and white Swatch Beach Volleyball watch on one wrist and a knotted twine bracelet on the other. She pinch-rolled one of the knots between her thumb and finger and said, “Am I in some sort of trouble?”
“No, this is just a formality.” That was only partially true. Nikki was basically crossing Ts with this interview; however, she did want to satisfy one question, the nagging one. She would work it in at the right time. “How are you coping with all this? Between the murder and the burglary, you must be ready to go right back to Sweden.”
Agda wagged her head in disbelief at it all. “Oh, it is quite upsetting, yes? But we have murder in my country, too. Almost two hundred last year, they say.”
“In the entire country?”
“Yes, isn’t that terrible? It is everywhere.”
“Agda, I want to ask you some questions about life inside the Starr family.”
She nodded slowly. “Mrs. Kimberly said you would want to do that when I told her I was coming here.”
Nikki’s antenna went up. “Did she caution you against talking about those things?”
“No, she said to say what I wanted.”
“She said that?”
The nanny chuckled and shook her blond hair so it fell straight. “Actually, she said it did not matter because the police are incompetent and they could eat it.” Agda read Nikki’s lack of amusement and frowned, a futile attempt to look serious. “She says what she likes, Mrs. Starr.”
And gets what she wants, thought Heat. “How long have you worked for her?”
“Two years.”
“How is your relationship with her?”
“Oh, she can be tough. Out of nowhere, she’ll snap at me, ‘Agda get Matthew out of here to the park,’ or she knocks on my bedroom door in middle of the night, ‘Agda, Matthew got sick and threw up, come clean it.’ ”
“Day before yesterday Mrs. Starr and her son went out of town.”
“That’s right, they went to Dr. Van Peldt’s beach cottage in Westport. In Connecticut.”
“You didn’t leave with them. Did you meet them up there, or possibly at Grand Central?”
Agda shook no. “I did not go with them.”
“What did you do?”
“I stayed the night with a friend at NYU.”
Heat jotted “NYU” in her notebook. “Is that unusual? I mean, if Mrs. Starr is knocking on your door at night with child care issues, I’m betting she takes you along on her out-of-town trips.”
“This is true. Usually, I go on vacations and trips so she can enjoy herself and not be bothered with her son.”
“But not that day.” Nikki got to what was nagging her. “Was there a reason she didn’t want you to be with her?” The detective eyed her keenly and continued, “Like some reason Mrs. Starr didn’t want you around?”
“No, I only stayed behind so I could handle the piano delivery. She wanted Matty to get off the computer and get some culture, so she bought him a grand piano. It is gorgeous. When they took it out of the crate I almost fainted. Must have cost a fortune.”
Grief takes many forms, thought Nikki. “Tell me about your relationship with Matthew Starr.”
“Oh, much what you would expect. He likes me but calls me names when I tell him to go to bed or to turn off The Suite Life of Zack and Cody for dinner.” She raised questioning eyebrows to Nikki. “You mean like that?”
Detective Heat made a mental note that she was not sitting across the table from the poet laureate of Sweden. “Thank you, now let me ask you about Matthew Starr, Sr. What kind of relationship did you have with him?”
“Oh, that was a very good one.”
“In what way?”
“Well, he was very kind to me. Mrs. Starr, she snaps her fingers and she’s all like, ‘Agda do this,’ or ‘Agda keep him quiet, I am having my yoga time.’ ”
“Agda? About Mr. Starr?”
“Mister was always sweet. He would comfort me after she yelled at me. Mr. Starr would give me some extra money and treat me to a dinner out on my night off. Or take me shopping for clothes or…See, he gave me this Swatch.”
“Was Mrs. Starr aware of this?”
“Oh, tvärtom, no. Matthew said to keep it only to us.”
Nikki was amazed by her guileless sharing, and decided to keep that ball rolling. “Was your relationship with Mr. Starr ever physical?”
“Of course.”
“To what extent?”
“He would rub my shoulders to comfort me after I got yelled at. Sometimes he would hug me or stroke my hair. It was very soothing. He was so gentle.”
“How old are you, Agda?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Did you and Matthew Starr ever sleep together?”
“You mean have sex? Skit nej! That would not be appropriate.”
There had obviously been some raucous laughter and jock snapping going on in the Observation Room during her interview with the nanny to the Starrs. It carried back to the bull pen when Roach and Rook followed her there.
“What’s your take on Agda?” asked Raley.
Rook considered and said, “She’s like Swedish furniture. Beautiful to look at but pieces missing.”
“My favorite part,” added Ochoa, “was hearing how this guy was basically horndogging her under his wife’s nose and she says she didn’t have sex with him because it would be inappropriate.”
“That’s called horndogus interruptus,” said Raley from over at the coffeepot. “I think Agda’s just one of the deals Matthew Starr never got a chance to close before he was killed.”
Rook turned to Nikki. “Hard to believe she’s from the same land that brought us the Nobel Prize. Did she tell you anything useful?”
“You never know until you know,” said Heat.
The theme from Ghostbusters by Ray Parker, Jr., started to play. “Rook, please tell me that’s not coming from your pants,” she said.
“Custom ringtone. Like it?” He held up his cell phone. The caller ID read “Casper.” “Ghostbusters, get it? Excuse me, Detective Heat, my source may have information related to this case.” Rook strode off to take his call with an air of smugness.
In less than a minute, he returned, still on the phone but stripped of arrogance. “But I was the one who introduced you to her…. Can’t you just tell me?” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine.” Rook extended his phone to Nikki. “He says he’ll only share this with you.”
“This is Nikki Heat.”
“A pleasure, Detective. First, assure me that Jameson Rook is in anguish.”
She looked at Rook, chewing his lower lip, straining to eavesdrop. “Quite.”
“Good. If ever anyone needed a swift dismount from a high horse, it is he.” The old man’s soft, smoky tone warmed her ear. Hearing Casper without seeing him isolated his voice and she heard David Bowie with notes of Michael Caine’s mellowness.
“To business,” he said. “After your visit, I burnt some midnight oil because I could tell time was pressing on you.”
“Never had a case where it wasn’t,” said the detective.
“And although you downplayed it, you do believe there is a murder connected to this art theft.”
“Yes, I downplayed it, and yes I believe it. Perhaps two murders.”
“A wonderful art appraiser, a fine woman who knew her business, was killed this week.”
Nikki jumped to her feet. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No, I only knew Barbara from occasional meetings years ago. But she was among the best. Let’s say knowing her death might be part of this only engages me more in your investigation.”
“Thanks for that. Please call me with anything you find out.”