"No problem, John," the older one said.
Parker looked at Mary Ann Gardner's mother. She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. She caught his curious stare and made an attempt to tidy her hair. He walked away into the master bedroom. The king-size bed was messed up with disheveled sheets hanging over the sides. The top left side of the fitted sheet had come undone from the mattress. Two of the four pillows were on the floor. The center of the fitted sheet was stained, and a single strand of black curled-up hair lay in the stain. He moved his nose close to it and smelled the unmistakable musk of sex. He looked around the tastefully furnished room for Mary Ann Gardner's pocketbook. He didn't see it. He hadn't noticed it in the foyer or the living room either. He stepped into the bathroom; it wasn't there. Coming back into the bedroom he focused his eyes on the messed-up bed. He went over and knelt, running his hand under the sheets. Not feeling anything, he lifted them up and looked under the bed, spotting the pocketbook standing up against the wall on the bed's right side. He pulled it out and, sitting on the floor with his back up against the bed, opened it. He took out her cosmetics pouch. The thick wallet was stuffed with credit cards, three hundred ten dollars, driver's license, and her car registration. There were several photographs of Mary Ann with girlfriends. A photograph of her and her parents. He slid the photographs into his pocket and took out her appointment/telephone book. He flipped the pages to yesterday, Saturday, April 22. The one p. m. entry read: "Jean for lunch at JD's." The next entry caught his attention: "3 P. M. lover boy." He flipped pages, scanning entries. There were a lot of lover-boy entries.
Parker told the crime-scene detectives that he wanted exact measurements and a crime-scene sketch in addition to photographs and fingerprints. "There's some love juice and a black pubic hair on the bed. I'd like you to run DNA on both of them. " He suddenly walked away from the crime-scene detectives and lifted Mary Ann Gardner's nightgown. Her pubic hair was blond. Walking back to them, he said, "I'd also like you to vacuum the pillow and the bed."
The detectives opened their valises and went to work.
"Hello, Jack." Dr. John Goldman had been with the Manhattan ME 's office for over ten years. He was a short guy with thin lips and a cheerful smile.
"What brings you out, Doc? You usually tell us to tag 'em and bag 'em."
"We have standing orders to respond to all high-profile homicides. And Sutton Place South is about as high profile as they go in this town."
Parker agreed and watched him kneel to examine Adele Harrison's body. After he finished there he walked over and examined the other corpse. After five minutes he came back over to Parker and said, "I can't be sure until I get them on the table, but my guess is sometime between ten and midnight." A strange expression came over the ME as he looked down at the body with the bullet hole in the temple and said dryly, "Looks like someone hit you a ground ball."
"Grounders aren't always grounders, Doc. You know that. "
"Why is every detective I know a philosopher?" "Because we deal with the shits of the world. " The guest bedroom had a brass trundle bed against one wall and a bookcase on the other. A desk stood by the window that overlooked the river. On it were a computer, a laser printer, and a fax machine. Parker's attention was drawn to the blinking e-mail cursor on the computer's screen. A template sat on top of the keyboard above the function keys, denoting the various functions each key performed. F-10 was the e-mail key; he pressed it. "You have one personal message" came onto the screen. He touched the key again. The message came up. "I love you and can't wait to be with you again. I'll be home Sunday evening around six. I'll come right up to you. Frank."
Walking out into the foyer, Parker motioned the uniformed cops away from the victim's mother. He dragged a chair over, sat down in front of her, and said, softly, "I'm John Parker, Mrs. Gardner. I've been assigned to investigate this tragedy. "
She looked at him, disbelief clouding her face. "Why would anyone want to hurt my Mary Ann? She never harmed anyone in her life. Why? Why?"
"Did your daughter live alone?"
"Yes. She wasn't married."
"How well did she know Mrs. Harrison?"
She shook her head and said, "Mary Ann never once mentioned her name to me. I don't think she knew her."
"What about her boyfriends?"
"My daughter never talked to me about that part of her life."
"Was your Mary Ann expecting you today?"
"Yes. We spoke yesterday and arranged to have brunch to-gether today. I have my own key, and she left word with the concierge not to announce me. She was afraid that she might be in the shower when I arrived and didn't want me to have to wait in the lobby."
"Tell me what happened when you arrived here this mom-ing. "
Her face set as she tried to recall everything. "I got off the elevator and walked down the corridor to the door. I took out my key and let myself inside. As soon as I stepped into the foyer I knew something was wrong. That awful smell and the silence. Mary Ann's apartment was always noisy: music, the television, her on the phone. I called her name and there was no answer. I went to walk into the living room and saw them, dead on the floor. I lost control and started to scream. The next thing I knew the apartment was full of policemen."
"Do you remember touching anything in the living room, or rushing in to hold your daughter?"
"I don't remember. I don't think I left the foyer."
Parker heard the photographer snapping pictures of the crime scene. "Mrs. Gardner, can you think of any reason why anyone would want to hurt your daughter?"
"No."
"Have you told your husband what happened?"
"David passed on four years ago."
"Did your daughter work?"
"Not really. She had several trust funds from her grandparents and her father. She dreamed of becoming a screenwriter. She must have written a dozen screenplays, but none of them was ever produced. She was very excited about her latest one. It was about 'relationships. ' "
"When you spoke to Mary Ann yesterday, how did she sound?"
"Very upbeat. She'd found a producer who was interested in her screenplay."
"Did she tell you the producer's name?"
"No, she never mentioned it."
"Weren't you curious?"
"Of course I was. But if Mary Ann had wanted me to know, she would have told me."
"Who is Jean?"
"Jean Bailey was Mary Ann's closest friend." Elizabeth Gardner's tears had caused her makeup to run; mascara smudged her eyes. She was a beautiful woman with long legs, high cheekbones, and full lips. She had deep brown eyes that looked almost black. Parker continued the interview for another fifteen minutes and then asked one of the uniformed cops to drive the bereaved woman home.
The doormen had locked the front entrance in order to keep out the haughty media crowd that had descended on the Sutton Place co-op.
The doormen turned their backs on the horde, ignoring them.
Walking over to the concierge, Parker looked out at the black-tipped microphones pressed up against the glass doors and asked the man behind the desk, "How long has the wolf pack been outside?"
"They arrived shortly after you did."
Parker extended his hand. "I'm John Parker."
"Frank Baffin," said the concierge, shaking hands.
"How long you been working the desk?" Parker asked.
"Twenty-one years come December." He was a short, wiry man with wisps of gray hair sprouting around his otherwise bald head. Small, round green eyes peered out from under his overhanging brow.
"Guess you could tell some stories, huh?"
"Hey, when I retire I'm thinkin' of writing a book about the shenanigans of the people who live on Sutton Place."
Looking down at the visitors' log, Parker asked, "Are all visitors entered in that book?"
"Yes, 'cept when a tenant accompanies them into the building."