Terri Reed - Double Threat Christmas

“What time did he leave?” Paul asked.

“Eight-ish, I think.”

Paul exchanged a glance with Andy. So far Sinclair’s alibi checked out. “Was he here the whole time?”

Rod shrugged. “I don’t know what time he came in. He ordered his first drink from me sometime after seven.”

“Did the woman pay with a credit card?” Andy asked.

Rod shook his head. “No. Actually, Mr. Sinclair picked up the tab.”

“For her wine, as well?” Paul asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can you describe her?” Andy asked.

Rod raised his hand shoulder height. “She was about so tall, curvy in the right places. Blond, blue-eyed. Pretty.”

Paul gauged Rod to be about six feet. If the woman came only to his shoulder, she was about five-five or-six. “Had you seen her before?”

“No. First time on my shift. But I could tell she wasn’t comfortable here. A couple of guys tried hitting on her, but she made it clear she wasn’t interested.”

Paul exchanged a curious glance with Andy.

Paul closed his notebook. “You’ve been a big help.”

Andy handed the guy a card. “If you think of anything else about Sinclair or the lady, let us know.”

Rod slipped the card into the pocket of his black silk dress shirt. “Yeah, sure.”

“Just a sec,” Paul said to Andy. “I have one last question for Angela.”

He tracked her down near the kitchen doors.

She paused with a plate of salad greens in hand and a pepper grinder tucked against her body by her elbow. “Detective? Was there something else?”

“One last question. Did Sinclair stay in his seat the whole time he was in your section?”

She thought for a moment. “No. He actually was gone for about ten minutes. I assume he used the facilities.”

Time unaccounted for. Paul jotted that down. “Thanks.”

Paul preceded Andy out of the restaurant and to the car. He shook off the snow and climbed in. Once they were moving, Paul said, “Alibi has some holes. And he changed his pattern. Angela said he usually comes in on Thursdays for dinner and Fridays for lunch. Why’d he go to Figaro’s tonight, exactly when the murders were taking place? And she said he left his table for a while. The gallery’s not that far from here. He could have slipped out the back and gone to the gallery, killed Drake and Vanderpool and then returned without anyone questioning him.”

“Yeah. Could have happened like that. He must be one quick clean-up artist though,” Andy stated dryly. “What’s with the woman? Random or what?”

“I don’t know. But it’s interesting that Sinclair didn’t mention the lady. Probably more worried about his wife finding out.” Paul consulted the papers with the employees’ addresses on it that he’d received from Sinclair. “Let’s go see the assistant.”

Paul gave Andy the address to an apartment in SoHo on Prince Street. Andy parked a few blocks away from the prewar, six-floor, elevator apartment building. They hustled down the street and under the overhang to the building to get out of the snow and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The dimly lit hallway extended to the last apartment, 4D.

From the other side of the door, music blared. The metal door had a round peephole. Paul knocked and held up his badge. Paul knocked harder. The music abruptly stopped, and the door was yanked open.

Paul stared in surprise at the curly haired, little girl standing in the doorway. He guessed her to be about six. “Is Lacy Knight here?”

The girl frowned. “Lacy’s out. What do you want?”

“Is there an adult here with you?” Andy asked, his gaze searching beyond the girl.

“Momma!” the girl yelled, and moved away from the door, leaving it wide open.

Paul shared a look of disbelief and anger with Andy. They could be serial killers. What was this kid doing opening the door to strangers?

A young woman stumbled out from a doorway to the right of the small kitchen. She had the same curly blond hair and blue eyes as the kid. She wore floral flannel pj’s and fuzzy slippers. Her eyes widened when she saw Paul and Andy. Paul held up his badge for her to see.

She rushed forward. “Is something wrong? What are you doing here?” She turned toward the little girl now sitting on the couch tucked under a blanket. “Susie, go into the bedroom.”

“Aw, Ma,” little Susie huffed but took her blanket and stomped away.

“Ma’am, we’re looking for Lacy Knight,” Andy stated, his voice harder than normal.

The woman waved her hand. “Lacy’s not here. She’s staying with her parents uptown. Susie and I are just camping here for a few days.”

“And you are?” Paul took out his notepad to record her name.

“Jasmine Oliphant and that’s my daughter, Susie.”

“How do you know Lacy?” Paul asked.

“We met a few years ago at an AA meeting. Is Lacy in some kind of trouble?”

“No, ma’am. We just have some questions. You said you met at an AA meeting. Is Lacy an alcoholic?”

Jasmine’s gaze grew defensive. “Recovering. Just as I am.”

Paul made a note of the information in his notepad. “If you could give us her parents’ address?” Paul asked, his pen poised to take down the address.

Jasmine’s mouth turned down. “I don’t know it. I never asked for their address. She works uptown at some art gallery, though.”

“Yes, we know.” Frustration knocked at Paul’s ribs.

He’d have to wait until Lacy came in to work tomorrow to interview her. He flipped his notepad closed. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“No bother.” She smiled, two dimples appearing near her mouth.

“Ma’am, I’d suggest you have a stern talk with your daughter about opening doors to strangers,” Andy stated. “We wouldn’t want to have to come back to find you both raped or murdered.”

Jasmine paled. “Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.”

Paul stared at Andy. He wasn’t usually so harsh.

Just as they were stepping into the hall, Paul thought to ask, “Where were you this evening?”

She blinked, her gaze shot up to the right. “Here. Here with Susie.”

She was lying.

She was about the right height, blond and blue-eyed, as Rod described. But Rod hadn’t mentioned the dimples and they were hard to miss. Looked like Paul would be revisiting Figaro’s. “Thank you. Good night.”

Back in the sedan, Paul gave his partner a sidelong glance. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“You know what. You deliberately tried to scare that woman.” Paul had been just as bugged by the lack of child safety, but Andy’s blunt words had taken Paul by surprise.

Andy sighed. “When my sister was about eight, she opened the door. She wasn’t as lucky as those two were tonight. Alesha can’t have kids now from the attack and she’s still plagued with nightmares.”

“Oh, man. I didn’t know.” Empathy for Andy’s pain dug at Paul. Nothing like that had ever touched Paul’s life. At least not here in the States. He’d seen more death and destruction during Desert Storm than he’d care to think about.

“Yeah, well. Life goes on and all we can do is try to help others not make the same mistakes,” Andy said, his voice grim.

“You got that right,” Paul agreed. Fighting in Iraq had been hell on earth. But the war they fought every day in New York City, trying to keep their piece of the world safe, was just as fraught with heartache and devastation as a battlefield.

Sometimes Paul missed the military life. At least then he knew who the enemy was supposed to be. Here…the enemy could be a blue-eyed art curator with a propensity for cleanliness.

“Let’s head to the station. I think we’ve let Ms. McClain cool her heels long enough,” Paul stated.