"You clean up good. But I miss your old man's Cubs hat." He winked.
Most of last night, she'd debated what she'd wear to the Dunhill mansion. Her navy pantsuit hid all her usual accessories of gun, badge, and handcuffs. So function won out. For fashion's sake, she left the ankle-strapped .38 in her locker at work. This hour of the morning, a massive shoot-out seemed unlikely at the posh estate. And with the welcoming committee out front, she'd be severely outgunned.
"Before we get in there, let's talk game plan, Raven. What did you find out about Fiona Dunhill?"
She shifted her weight in the front seat and turned to her partner. "From what I've researched, Dunhill Corporation doesn't fund all this grandeur. That's just a smokescreen. The real money came from the illegal arms trading of Charles Dunhill, the late husband of Fiona."
"Yeah, kinda remember him from the old days. To tell you the truth, I was kinda surprised a socialite like Fiona Dunhill would've taken over the business after her old man's murder. Crime families run by women are so rare, but I guess it's not unheard of," Tony reflected. He turned his gaze toward the front door. "And she's evidently doing a damned fine job of it."
"But she's still involved with that dirty little business, Tony. Or maybe she's just turned a blind eye to it." Furrowing her brow, she corrected herself. "Actually, from what I've read, she took that side of the business and went underground, laundering the dirty money with the legitimate end of her investments."
Raven's life had been about order and the law. So a woman like Fiona Dunhill didn't add up in her book. But she knew her partner would temper her strong tendency toward black and white. Tony was far more pragmatic, better able to tolerate the gray in their world.
"I'll give her this, the woman's a total contradiction. And she's pretty shrewd, not being caught and all. Hard to track that kind of money trail." He shook his head.
"So, what else do we want out of this visit?" Raven prompted.
"You heard the chief—quick and by the book. Kind of pie in the sky to think we can bring her down on all her illegal activities, no matter how tempting that might be. But we've got a murder to solve." Reaching for the door handle, Tony looked concerned. "I just hope she doesn't erect any major roadblocks."
Raven stepped from the car and slammed the door. She felt the thrill of the chase as she caught Tony's eye, but butterflies the size of vultures were cavorting in the pit of her stomach.
"Come on, partner. Game face on. We're crossing the line."
In the hallway of the second floor, Fiona gazed at her reflection in the ornate gold-framed mirror. The same dark green eyes stared back, but the intensity of youth was long gone. Or maybe her tired expression had more to do with the news she'd heard from the guards at the front gate. Two police detectives were now in the parlor, waiting for her.
"We are not punished for our sins, but by them," she muttered.
Short, auburn hair streaked with gray framed her face. Mindlessly, she tugged at its strands. Her once-flawless complexion looked pale in this light, without the blush of youth. She'd grown accustomed to the deepening lines on her face. But this morning, they were more pronounced and showed every one of her fifty-four years. While her socialite friends were being jabbed with syringes of Botox or scheduling discreet facelifts, she had been determined to live with every crease. She would accept her penance with grace.
"Time to face the music."
With her hand sliding along the banister, Fiona took her time coming down the steps. Her pale blue silk ensemble clung to her body. The fitted material made her feel manacled. She kept her eyes on the open door to the parlor, near the front entry. A young woman sat on the divan by the hearth. Her shoulder-length, jet-black hair reflected an aura of crimson with the fire crackling behind her. Even in profile, the young detective was most attractive. A dark-skinned man in khaki pants and brown sport coat paced in front of her, adjusting his tie and collar with a finger. At the base of the staircase, she raised her chin and drew back her shoulders, donning the persona of her public life.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Detectives?" Fiona breezed into the room.
"Good morning, Mrs. Dunhill. I'm Detective Tony Rodriguez and this is Detective Raven Mackenzie." Both held their badges for her inspection. "We're investigating—"
"Before we get started, may I offer you coffee or tea?" she interrupted, with a casual smile. Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward her attendant standing inside the door. "Benjamin. Please bring in a coffee service and some pastry for our guests. I'll have my usual Earl Grey tea. Thank you."
When the manservant left the room, Fiona seated herself in a brocade wingback chair and adjusted her dress hem over her knees. Detective Rodriguez relaxed enough to sit next to his partner on the davenport. The warm glow of the fire flickered on their expectant faces.
"Sorry to interrupt. Please continue."
The male detective spoke. "I'm afraid I've got some disturbing news. We're investigating a murder. And the victim was one of your security people, Mickey Blair. His body was found last night at St. Sebastian's, a local church in downtown Chicago."
She fought to keep the look of shock from her face, but she was certain she failed. She would have to do better.
"Mickey Blair, you say? In security?" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat to disguise her mistake. "I'm not sure I recall the name, but I have a large number of people under my employ at Dunhill Corporation." As she suspected, her past had come calling, not a welcome visitor.
"We'll need access to Mr. Blair's duties and his personnel records, anything to give us a clear picture of him. Who can help with that type of information?" he asked, flipping open a notepad.
Detective Rodriguez commandeered the conversation, but the young female detective captured her interest. Raven Mackenzie sat, her eyes fixed on Fiona's every move. Even returning her stare, she couldn't shake the young woman's dark eyes. They hadn't faltered for an instant—unnerving. But intimidation would turn the tables.
"Dunhill records are confidential, and as for his duties, that is certainly off-limits."
For the first time, the young female detective spoke. "Why would you fight us on a murder investigation of one of your employees? Especially if you aren't familiar with the man or his duties, as you say."
Detective Mackenzie was too clever for her own good. Rigid in her chair, Fiona clenched her jaw and took a breath before speaking. A potential solution came to mind.
"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Certainly I would like to get to the bottom of this. But unless I can be assured you're working with one of my own people in this investigation, without limitation, then my full cooperation shall never be granted."
Turning two detectives loose to pry into her dealings with Mickey Blair was unthinkable. Without question, she trusted only one person to look out for her interests. Yet she couldn't picture him working with the police, under any circumstances. She'd have to do some pretty fast talking to convince him to do her bidding. And he'd have to set aside his animosity for law enforcement. But she knew he would be her only hope.
"A court order would be required, making your efforts an uphill battle. And the head of my security would conduct his own private investigation, completely autonomous to your endeavor." She kept her face stoic, a payoff from living a life in charge. "And I may not be in the mood to share."