“It’s working fine from my side of it. Thanks for this.”
“Will it help?”
“It may.”
“Then no thanks necessary. I don’t stand for some man putting hard hands on a woman. I met my wife that way.”
“You put hard hands on her?”
He laughed, and the tension he’d held in his face the whole time drained with it. “That’ll be the day. I came out of a bar one night. In Jersey City where I was hanging out with a cousin, a couple of pals. I came out and in the parking lot this girl’s fighting off this drunk. He’s dragging at her and she’s struggling, cursing him a blue streak. He smacks her right in the face.”
“Ouch.”
“Didn’t slow her down, but, well, let me tell you, I don’t stand for that. So I went over, shoved him off, told him to get going. Punched me, but he was too drunk to put much behind it. I wasn’t near as drunk, and put him down.
“One year and three months later, I married the girl. That was thirty-three years ago.”
“I’d say you pack a good punch, Carmine.”
She went back to her office, added the interview to her book, considered her board. A connection, however thin, was a connection. One vic’s business used the same rental company as the Strazzas. One vic’s business partner had used that same company.
She’d see where it led her.
But now, she needed to go back to the beginning.
* * *
Eve stood outside the Strazzas’ townhouse, hands in her coat pockets. She imagined the dark, and the thin icy breeze. The rental company van at the curb, cargo doors open, ramp down. A couple of valets in dark heavy coats by a portable heater making small talk with the rental crew.
Streetlamps send out their white pool of light. The door of the house opens, and its backwash of light silhouettes all.
He’d stride down the sidewalk—purposeful strides. Perception was reality, right? So he’d give off the perception of someone who knew where he was going, had a reason to go there.
Big, dark coat with theatrical flaps billowing some in the cold breeze. Dark hat, brim pulled low. A scarf—yeah, she’d bet on the scarf. Dark again, wound around the neck, arranged to cover most of the lower face. Add sunshades.
A flamboyant look, which was smart. People at a quick glance would notice the outfit more than the person wearing it.
Shiny boots with some heel. To add to the look, or because he was sensitive about his height? Or, again, to give the casual observer the perception of more height.
She let it roll around in her mind as she climbed the stairs. Main entrance, quicker in and out for the rental crew, and that had been client priority.
She broke the seal, mastered open the locks, then stood just inside with the doors open. She scanned the area from what would have been Luca’s perspective.
Big, wide foyer that opened onto the living area. Two of the crew hefting one of the ten-tops. Supervisor’s going to watch them.
Don’t bump anything. Hurry it up, it’s cold. Can’t keep the damn doors open all night.
Glances back, sees the suspect sweep up the stairs, ’link to his ear.
I’m here now, okay?
Smart again, give that impression of having the right to enter with attitude, words, a little impatience. Move fast, but not suspiciously fast.
Brisk. Move briskly. Straight in, annoyed, running late, and head right up the stairs. Like you belong.
Eve closed the door.
And walked in the killer’s footsteps.
Had he known where to find the master suite, or had he walked from room to room until he found it? Either way, she thought, he’d done a little walk-around, a little hunt.
Plenty of time, plenty of places to hide if he’d heard anyone coming. Because the show didn’t start until everyone but the Strazzas had left the house.
Plenty of time, she thought again. So he had the patience to wait—close to three hours. Had to set the stage, she mused as she went into the master.
She blanked out the bloodstains, the sweeper dust, the signs of struggle, let herself see the room as the killer had.
Rich, maybe a little on the hard-edged side, but rich.
“I bet you went through the closets.” Eve moved to Daphne’s closet as she spoke. “Sure you did. And you picked out the dress you’d take with you. I’d put money on that. Plenty to choose from.”
He had set the stage, but he’d have waited. Just in case someone came in before showtime. He’d only have to keep the door open, maybe step a few feet outside the room to hear the guests over dessert, those saying their good nights.
Excitement builds.
Check your makeup, adjust the mask. Set out the tools, set the lights.
Ease behind the door as you hear them coming up. Makes you hard. Curtain’s going up.