A.R. Winters - Valerie Inkerman 01 - Don't Be a Stranger (6 page)

Laurence Lindl’s apartment was a massive granite block in a leafy part of Park Avenue. It was exactly the kind of place ambitious gold-diggers hoped to land by marrying their kind of guy, and when I stepped into the marble foyer and spoke to the uniformed doorman, I could almost understand why. 

Laurence opened the door himself; a tall, wrinkled man who was clearly trying to hold his emotions in check and be polite.

I followed him into a formally decorated living area. The room was stuffy and old-fashioned, with a maroon Persian rug, oil paintings cluttering up the walls, dark leather sofas and fabric covered tub chairs. The coffee tables were crowded with tiny marble figurines, no doubt picked up during Laurence’s travels through France and Italy, and a trio of authentic-looking African masks hung near a massive potted palm.

I sat down awkwardly on a red velvet tub chair opposite Laurence.

He eyed me warily, and I stared at the floor, took a deep breath, and reached into my handbag to find my private investigator’s badge. I handed it over to him, wordless, and he flicked his watery grey eyes over it.

He handed it back to me. “What’s that mean?”

His voice was raspy and impatient, and I said, “I’m really very sorry. I couldn’t explain over the phone. I’m a private investigator, I’m looking into Esme’s death.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t the NYPD have enough cops on the force?”

“They do.” I took a deep breath. “I’m an independent PI. I’ve been hired by someone who’s been wrongly accused of being a suspect.”

Laurence’s grey eyes lit up with an angry fire. “You have some nerve!” he said softly. “You come into
my
house, to talk to me about
my
daughter, and you’re working for the man who might’ve killed her.”

“But he didn’t,” I said quickly. “He’s innocent. The police aren’t looking any more, but I’m still looking for whoever really did this.”

“That’s bullshit! You’re looking for evidence to cast reasonable doubt on this murderer, and I’m damned if I’ll help!” I tried to say something, but Laurence cut me off. “Did you seriously think I’d help my daughter’s murderer get away with it?”

I waited a few seconds, hoping Laurence would calm down. This was terrible. I felt like a heel, intruding on an old man’s sorrow. And for all he knew, I was scum, trying to help a murderer get off scot-free.

“This man’s innocent,” I said softly. “If I don’t investigate, we’d be sending an innocent man to Death Row.”

Laurence shook his head. “Can you imagine what it’s like to have to bury your child? I’m an old man –
she
should’ve buried
me
! And you – now you say that…” His words trailed off, and he stared at me angrily.

I wanted to just pick up my bag and leave, but I needed to give this one more shot. “Jerry’s dad hired me,” I said. “No father wants to see his son go to prison unnecessarily. Kyle Spilatro told me to–”

“Hang on – what did you say?”

“Uh. Jerry’s dad hired me.”

“No, you said Kyle Spilatro hired you?”

I blinked. “Yes.”

“And the guy – the one who’s suspected – is Kyle’s son?”

“Yes.”

We were silent for a few minutes, and I was prepared to apologize and leave, when Laurence finally said, “I know Kyle from way back. He’s a good man.”

This was my chance! Maybe I could say something about how Kyle was only trying to do something good, and that I should ask a few questions. Or maybe I could ask about how they knew each other – but then again, maybe I should… After a few seconds went by and I couldn’t decide what the best thing to say would be, I just said, “Oh.”

“We worked together,” Laurence said. “And I suppose – I suppose he might be right. He wouldn’t hire you if he didn’t believe in this… being a mistake.”

I nodded, not daring to say anything.

“Well, what did you want to ask?”

“Uhm, aah…”

“I don’t have all day! Did I not mention that I’m old?” He cracked a wry smile.

“I really appreciate you talking to me.”

He flipped his hand through the air. “Don’t mention it. If Kyle thinks the cops might not’ve done their job properly – well, maybe they haven’t.”

I decided to jump straight in with my questions before he could change his mind. “Tell me about Esme – what was she like?”

Laurence looked at me seriously. “I wore my heart on my sleeve. That girl – she was perfect. I’ve got two other kids, mind you, but they’re nothing like her. Did you ever meet her?”

“I did – very briefly, at that party.”

Laurence’s face darkened and I quickly said, “What did she do? Career-wise, I mean?”

“She was a lawyer.” Laurence beamed with pride. “She went to Harvard Law and was top of her class. The smartest girl you’ve ever met. And hard-working, too. And friendly – she’d always have friends coming over and she was always going out to meet people.”

I nodded. In the brief time that I’d met her, she’d certainly seemed friendly enough.

The intercom buzzed, and Laurence got up to answer it. I heard him grunting into it, and then he walked over to the door.

“That’s my other daughter, Michelle,” he said, as he opened the door. “You might as well talk to her, too.”

I watched from my seat as Michelle gave Laurence a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. She looked nothing like Esme. Where Esme had short, dark hair, Michelle had shoulder-length, perfectly coiffed blonde hair. Her makeup was perfect, and her clothes screamed of expensive labels.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I saw Laurence indicate toward me, and then Michelle turned her head and our eyes met. She seemed surprised, but she covered her expression with a quick smile.

She and Laurence walked over, and he introduced us.

“I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about Esme,” I said to Michelle. “Anything at all – you never know what might be important.”

Michelle nodded, and exchanged a quick glance with her father. “I’m not sure if I can help much, though,” she said. “Esme was eleven years younger than me – twenty-six. Our lives were very different.”

“I see. So what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m very active on the boards of some important charities. So there’s lots of dinners I have to organize, and that takes up a lot of time. And then, of course, I do fund-raising work as well, and if you want to be good at fund-raising, you need to do lots of socializing.”

As she spoke, I noticed that her father was watching her through half-amused, half-disinterested eyes. I wondered how he felt, having a law superstar for one daughter and a vapid socialite for another. What had made them each grow up so differently?

I glanced at Michelle’s fingers – they were starkly devoid of any rings. “You’re not married?”

She shook her head. “I was – for a few months. I got divorced last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That’s ok. The guy was a jerk. Esme warned me, of course. But I was thirty-six and thought I’d be an old maid all my life. Well, now I can be a divorced old maid.”

Her tone was bitter, and I said, “Well, you know what they say – forty is the new twenty. Everyone’s just getting started with their lives at forty these days.”

“Really?” She glanced at me curiously, and then shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”

I turned to Laurence. “You were telling me about Esme’s work – at the law firm?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, glancing at Michelle. “She was doing very well.”

Michelle laughed lightly. “Daddy was sure she’d make partner in a year.”

“Uh-huh.”

I wondered how often Laurence had bragged about Esme to his other children. I only had one younger sister, and since she’d chosen to stay in Madison and get married straight after high school, our parents never bothered comparing us. Still, Michelle must have had a hard time vying for Laurence’s attention.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the air, and I said, “What about her social life? Was she seeing anyone?”

Laurence and Michelle both shook their heads.

“Not that I know of,” said Laurence. “She’d tell me if she was.”

I wondered for a moment if they knew everything – after all, Esme
had
told Jerry that she was seeing someone. But she might have made that up as a polite excuse to rebuff him: her family would’ve known if she really was seeing someone.

“Yeah. Her career was too important to her,” said Michelle lightly, and I wondered if I was just imagining the sarcasm underneath her words. “She never had any time for dating.”

“She did,” added Laurence slowly. “She dated, but she was picky. As she should be,” he added proudly, before freezing for a split second and correcting himself. “Should’ve been.”

Michelle glanced at her dad and moved over to him, perching on the arm of his chair and giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Esme’s last boyfriend was Kevin,” she said. “They broke up almost a year ago, but maybe you’ll want to talk to him?”

I nodded. “I probably should.”

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask Daddy?” Michelle said.

The tired lines around Laurence’s face seemed sharper than ever. Michelle kept her hand protectively on his shoulder, and I shook my head. I hated to be the one to make him feel worse.

“I should go,” I said. “Michelle, if you could maybe walk me out?”

“Of course.”

She and Laurence stood up slowly, and Laurence gave me a sharp, piercing look.

“I trust you,” he said softly. “I hope you can do your job.”

I shook his hand somberly. “I appreciate your time. I’m sorry – I’m sorry for everything.”

He half-nodded and released my hand, and I followed Michelle to the door.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she said.

We stood in the foyer, close to each other and far enough away from Laurence that he couldn’t hear us. Standing right next to her, I could smell the subtle aroma of her perfume – probably something expensive and limited edition. Her face was devoid of the lines of stress and worry and sadness that Laurence had. In fact, now that I was paying close attention, I couldn’t even make out the wrinkles a normal thirty-eight -year-old would have.

It was tempting to ask her where she got her Botox done, but instead, I said, “I just wanted to grab the name of Esme’s law firm. I should probably get in touch with her co-workers.”

“Of course.”

Michelle reeled off a name, and I said, “Hang on a sec.”

I rooted around in my purse till I found my tiny notebook and a pen, and I wrote down the name that Michelle told me – the office was Lipkin, Lipkin and Mizrahy, and Esme’s boss was Alan Peterman.

“And do you have her ex’s phone number?”

“Sure.” Michelle pulled out a sleek smartphone. “It’s Kevin Ewans, and his number is…”

She reeled off the digits, and I wrote them down and then dutifully recited them back to her. Michelle nodded and put her phone away. “Was there anything else?”

“Um – just – did we miss anything? Should I know anything else about Esme? Any secrets your dad didn’t know?”

Michelle smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. With Esme, you got what you saw. She didn’t really have any secrets.”

“Right.” I nodded. “You must miss her a lot.”

Michelle shrugged. “It’s too soon. I can’t really believe it yet.”

“Of course. Were you – do
you
think she did the right thing? Becoming a lawyer and all?”

“You mean, was I jealous of her? Of course not!”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way, I mean–” I’d put my foot squarely in my mouth and I tried to backtrack rapidly. “What I meant was, were people at her work nice to her? Was she having any work troubles, maybe?”

“Oh, no. Well, not that I know of.”

“Right, right. One last thing before I leave – and I hate to ask this – but where were you on Friday night?”

Michelle smiled thinly. She was obviously reaching the end of her patience. “I was at The Chemistry Club. You can check with my friends, Gloria and Koko, who were there with me. Now, if that’s all…” She put one hand on the doorknob, as though to turn it, when there was a soft knock on the door.

We both stepped back, and then Michelle opened the door a crack.

“Darren!” she exclaimed, flinging open the door to reveal a tall, dark-haired man. His eyes were green and crinkled handsomely, and the two hugged spontaneously.

When Michelle stepped back, her face was glowing with pleasure.

“Who’s this?” said Darren.

I could tell that Michelle wished she could just get rid of me without wasting any more words, but she was too polite to be so blatantly rude.

“This is Valerie, she’s a PI investigating Esme’s death. Valerie, Darren.”

“A PI,” Darren said, looking at me as though that was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.