“I doubt there are any usable prints on it,” she said, handing the bag to Urbanska. “Judge Knott and I both handled it before we realized what it was, and I suppose Luna DiSimone did, too.”
“I’ll have it checked,” Urbanska promised.
Hentz still had Lundigren’s keys and he led the way across the lobby, unlocked the door to the stairwell, and held it for the others while Lowry rang for the self-service elevator.
Dinah Urbanska paused and looked up at him. “What do you think, Sam? Is our killer the person who wore that flip-flop or is it Antoine Clarke? And has Clarke killed the Wall boy?”
“Let’s hope not,” he said grimly.
When the elevator doors opened, they found themselves face-to-face with the excitable Vlad Ruzicka. The big ruddy man was white-faced and spluttering. “Thank God! I was just coming to find you. Oh my God, I can’t believe it! It’s horrible!”
“Calm down,” said Lowry. “What’s happened?”
Ruzicka immediately grabbed Lowry’s arm and dragged him through the outer door where two large wheeled garbage bins sat ready to roll up to the curb for tomorrow’s pickup. At the top of the ramp, on the sidewalk, the lid of a third bin was raised. “So heavy. Like a ton of lead. I said maybe somebody tossed another set of encyclopedias or some bricks or something, so I opened it up and oh my God!”
Lowry leaned over the open bin and gingerly turned back the top of a black plastic bag.
A young man stared back at him with open lifeless eyes.
“Oh shit,” he said when he realized who it was.
Bracing herself, Sigrid stepped forward to look into the bin. Instead of the white teenage boy she expected, she saw the narrow chinstrap beard that outlined Antoine Clarke’s dead face.
CHAPTER
19
—
, 1909
Thinking to kill two birds with one rock, I started down the hall to Luna’s apartment, remembered the door, and went back to give it a second pull. As I suspected, the latch had not fully engaged and I had to give it a hard yank before I heard a satisfactory click.
“Oh, hi, Deborah!” Luna said when she answered her door. “Did you come to see what my place looks like in its winter clothes?”
She pulled me in and I was astonished by the transformation. Gone was every trace of Saturday night’s summer ambiance. The oversized room actually had a warm and cozy feel now. Nothing remained to show that white wicker and rattan made up the bones of her furniture. The chairs and couches and even the swing were covered in thick plush slipcovers of rich jewel tones that glowed in the soft indirect lighting. It was still a good party space, but large Persian rugs defined various interlinked furniture groupings, and real-looking gas logs burned in the fireplace. A whole menagerie of colorful Mexican animals pranced across the mantelpiece. Huge abstract canvases added more warmth to the walls, and the windows were now draped in dark purple velvet over the white sheers that had made the room so breezy during the party.
“This is absolutely amazing,” I said, thoroughly impressed.
Luna beamed. “I told you that Cam was a genius. He designed the slipcovers and found someone to make them. And he arranged everything so that the room doesn’t overwhelm the furniture.”
“Have you known him very long?”
“Just since last year. Phyllis knew him first.”
“Phyllis?”
“Phyllis Parrish. She’s the one who was with me when we rode up in the elevator together Friday night. She lives next door. Plays the French maid on
She saw my blank look. “One of the daytime soaps. It’s only a bit part but it pays the mortgage, and she gets to do summer stock in New England. We’ve known each other since our
“Does he have a shop?”
“Well, he does, but it’s only by appointment when a client’s ready to look at quirky accessories like my Oaxacan animals or—” She shrugged and grinned.
I gave her my best girl-to-girl smile. “Or things a little more bawdy?”
She giggled. “You know it! When he first staged my animals, I had to redo them before I could let my mother come over and see how the apartment looked. My cat was getting it on with the horny-looking horned toad. You should see his huge collection of little hand-blown glass figures that people bring him from Venice. There’s one set that’s like a symphony orchestra with all the players in tuxes and every single musician is doing something dirty, including the conductor who’s using his willy as a baton.”
As soon as she said that, memory snapped into place. Of course! Cameron Broughton had been one of four men who pleaded guilty to a D&D when I held court in Wilmington a couple of years back. No wonder Broughton had tried to avoid me.
I couldn’t wait to tell Sigrid. He might not be a killer, but he could well be the thief that had taken her grandmother’s bronze thing.
“Are the paintings by your friend Nicco?”
