Joan Pickart - Body of Evidence

It was then Colin had tried to signal Darien Wilson with a flick of his eyes. She caught it and smoothly took the woman’s arm, using body language and tone of voice to invite the woman for a nice, long venting session.

“It seems that way, doesn’t it? Perhaps you can help with the investigation, I’m sure an observant citizen like yourself must have noticed some things.”

The woman smiled, clearly pleased as she was led away. “Oh, I have all right, I could tell you…”

Relieved to have her removed, Colin turned back to Carter. The man gave him a look that was both sheepish and wary. “I didn’t tell her he’d been killed. The detective last night, he said I shouldn’t talk about it to anyone. Since she can’t keep anything secret, I figured that included her.”

“You made the right choice.”

“I’ll remember that when she chews me out for keeping such big news from her.”

As jarring as it was to have a murder reduced to such cold terms, Colin knew it was true; the death of a Gardner was just that, big news.

“I’ll need a list of all the tenants from you.”

The man grimaced. “They’re not going to like that. They pay a lot of money to live here, and they expect their privacy.”

“So did Franklin Gardner,” Colin pointed out.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. But, do I need to see like a search warrant or something?”

Rescue me from sidewalk lawyers, Colin thought. “I can get you a subpoena for the records, if you want,” he said easily, pulling a notepad out of his jacket pocket. “I’ll just need to verify all your identifying information for the court records, in case they need you to testify about the delay.”

It worked, as he had guessed it would. The only thing the average citizen disliked more than getting involved was having to appear in court to explain why.

“We’ve already talked to many of them,” Colin said. “It won’t come as any surprise to them when we go to follow up.”

“I’ll get the list,” Carter grumbled. He turned and disappeared through a doorway that led to a bedroom he apparently used as an office.

The apartment itself, although smaller, was as elegant as the others Colin had seen in this building. But there the resemblance stopped; Carter might be the super of one of the fanciest buildings on the Gold Coast, but obviously they didn’t pay him enough to match the other residents in decor.

Or maybe his tastes are just more like mine, Colin thought ruefully; his own furnishings ran to whatever was comfortable and things he could put his feet up on. After four years of marriage to a woman who kept the living room for company only, he’d sworn he’d never have a room he couldn’t live in.

He continued his cursory inspection, looking for anything that jumped out at him, anything out of tune. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. There were afghans tossed over every chair and the couch, and someone living here was obviously the source, judging by the large basket full of yarn festooned with scissors and what he guessed were knitting needles. There were some amateurish oil paintings on the walls, of floral arrangements and bowls of lopsided fruit, and he wondered if they were by the same hand. The upholstery was floral, much like the things his mother had preferred, which probably explained why he felt more at home here; he might not like all the fussy details but he’d grown up with the stuff, unlike the marble and leather of the late Franklin Gardner’s abode.

Carter came back with the list of tenants. “Must have been tough,” Colin said, pretending to scan the list while in fact he was watching Carter with his excellent peripheral vision, “to have your wife dislike your star tenant so much.”

“She’s that way about anybody with that kind of money, not that we’re doing all that bad. I mean, we live in this building, after all. Anyway, I just try…tried to keep her out of his way.”

“Hmm,” Colin said, wondering just how deep Mrs. Carter’s dislike of the penthouse tenant had gone. It seemed unlikely a woman could take him. Gardner had been a strong, healthy, athletically built man, but the element of surprise could turn any situation on its head.

“Who were the regular visitors to the penthouse that you knew about?”

Carter thought for a moment. “Ladies, of course. He had lots of those. And he held a lot of business meetings and dinners up there. He and Mr. Reicher.”

Hmm. Second time that name had popped up. “What was he like? Mr. Reicher.”

“Oh, he’s much worse than Mr. Gardner. Mr. Reicher wasn’t very pleasant at all. Very cold, my wife says.”

Colin asked a few more routine questions, gave the man his card and told him to call if he thought of anything that might be useful.

“What’s your take on the wife?” he asked his new partner as they left the apartment.

“Bored out of her mind, so she minds everyone else’s business,” she answered.

“Social climber? Aspires to the Gardner level?”

She thought about that one. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t really like them enough to want to be one. It’s not envy, she seems to view them more as an affliction.”

“To be eliminated?”

She stared at him. “You’re thinking of her as a suspect?”

He shrugged. “Just curious about her attitude. And thinking those knitting needles in there could leave a wound a lot like an ice pick.”

Quickly she glanced back over her shoulder as if she could still see into the apartment they’d just left. When she looked back at him there was acknowledgment in her eyes, he supposed for seeing something she’d missed.

“I don’t think so,” she said after a moment of thought. “She’s more of a complainer than a doer, I think.”

Colin listened, then nodded. “All right.”

He saw an odd expression flit quickly across her face, as if she were surprised he had accepted her assessment so easily. But he’d arrived at the same conclusion after his short interaction with the woman, so in fact she was simply confirming what he already thought.

“What’s next? A door-to-door?” she asked, indicating the tenant list he now held with a nod of her head.

“Chances are you’ll get mainly staff this time of day,” he said. “Family should probably come first.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t sound particularly nervous about going up against a family the stature of the Gardners. Colin didn’t know if that meant she was sure of herself, or too naive to realize what she was about to get into.

“You drove from home?” he asked. She nodded. “Let’s take my city car, then. I’ll bring you back here when we’re ready to head to the barn. Or on my way home.” He didn’t mention that would likely be well after normal quitting time; he guessed they’d be putting in a lot of long hours on this one.

“All right. Shall we pick up his computer now?”

“Might as well. I’ve got an evidence lock box in the trunk. We’ll secure it there.”

The lock boxes were an innovation added after one too many cases had been lost due to a fast-tongued defense lawyer convincing a jury that somebody could have broken into a police unit trunk, tampered with evidence, and then locked it back up and leave no sign, nor be seen by any witnesses. They never explained why that “somebody” simply hadn’t stolen the evidence altogether, but logic didn’t seem to apply much to such things.

He doubted logic would apply much to this case, either.

“Now this is more like it,” Darien said.

“Think you could live like that, Wilson?” Waters asked, gesturing toward the huge house in the distance as they drove up the sweeping, half-circle driveway.

She glanced at her new partner. “I didn’t mean the house. I just meant the space.”