No One Left To Tell

MBA and a minor in computer sciences. He had also received training from the FBI SWAT school in Denver and had achieved expertise in hand-to-hand combat, handguns, executive protection, and high-speed driving—all the credentials of a security specialist.

But his unique training method in the dark seemed highly unusual, almost a personal fixation. Raven made a note in the margin of a page. The thought steeped in her brain as she tapped the eraser of her pencil against the file.

Overall, he was squeaky clean. Certainly, nothing implicated him as a killer. The chief wanted a briefing on the investigation by the end of the day. And they didn't have much to report.

'You know, after we checked out Blair's apartment, I kept thinking we missed something,' she muttered, looking up from the manila folder. 'We found an SUV in his garage, but the man struck me as a guy with more extravagant taste in vehicles, so I checked DMV. His Mercedes was AWOL. I issued an APB on it. Maybe something will turn up.'

'Yeah, good idea. It's shaping up to be a long day. After Delacorte, we talk to the ME, then update the chief. He'll wanna know about the autopsy report before his press conference at six.' He knitted his brow. 'Want a cup of coffee? I'm buying.'

'Very generous of you, Rodriguez, considering this swill is closely related to toxic waste. They wouldn't dare charge for it. Maybe we should analyze the stuff in the forensics lab.' She shook her head, declining his offer.

'Not a good idea, Mac. In this case, I'm a firm believer that ignorance is bliss.'

Before making the trip to the break room, Tony called home to let his wife, Yolanda, know he'd be late. The sound of Spanish spoken softly into the phone had grown familiar. She'd even begun to pick up a word or two. After hanging up the phone, he reached for his wallet.

'Five bucks says he's late. You gonna take that bet?' Tony taunted her with money. He waved it under her nose and dropped it on her desk as he walked by. 'Guy's got a lot of attitude.'

When he returned, sipping his coffee, Raven replied, 'Yeah, I'm gonna take that bet. I got five that says he won't be late. Let's synchronize our watches. Six till three.'

'No, nothing doing. We use the bullpen clock, and according to that, he's got three minutes to—'

Before Tony finished, the desk sergeant stuck his head through an open door. 'Hey, Mackenzie and Rodriguez. Got a man by the name of Delacorte asking for you two. What shall I do with him?'

'We'll come get him.' She smiled, then stood and pocketed Tony's five-dollar bill. 'Aha! You shouldn't be placing any bets today. That clip-on tie is bad luck.'

'I think you're right. Wish I'd thought of that.' He yanked the tie from his shirt collar and tossed it onto his desktop, then unbuttoned his shirt. 'Not sure I've ever heard when a clip-on tie brought any other kind of luck.'

With a sly look, Tony asked, 'Hey, wanna bet the vampire Lestat has never owned a clip-on? Give me a chance to get my money back?' After she graced him with only a raised eyebrow, he whined, 'Come on, Raven. Where's your sense of fair play?'

Christian Delacorte would have stood out in any crowd, but amidst the tangle of street riffraff lining the hallway by the front desk, the man looked terribly out of place.

Yet he didn't flaunt his difference. Hands in the pants pockets of an elegant charcoal-gray suit with black turtleneck sweater, he stared out a nearby window onto a harbor pier on Lake Michigan, lost in thought. The man looked good enough to eat with a very small spoon. But such a trivial analogy didn't fit Delacorte. He deserved better.

Alone in a crowd, he wasn't part of the world she knew. And as Raven stepped toward him, she caught the subtle fragrance of his cologne, another distinction from the smell of sweat and desperation in the waiting area.

'Guess after your shower, you're willing to accept a proper greeting.' Extending her hand to force the issue, she kept her eyes on him. 'Hi, I'm Detective Raven Mackenzie.'

He turned and glanced down at her hand. She wasn't sure he'd reciprocate, but slowly he acquiesced. A firm grip.

'Can we get started?' The man was all business.

Tony raised his fingers in a wave. 'Hey, how's it going? We got ourselves a room to talk. It's up on two. Raven will take you there. Can I get you some coffee? I'll brew a fresh pot.'

Delacorte glared at them both, probably wondering if the coffee was laced with strychnine. Raven knew their brew didn't need poison to be considered downright lethal. But the man eventually accepted the offer.

'Yeah, make it black.'

As Tony disappeared among the throng of people, Raven escorted Delacorte to the elevators. After she punched two on the elevator panel, they were hoisted to the second floor. Glancing to her right, she caught his reflection in the dull metal doors. Those eyes. She remembered her visit to St. Sebastian's cemetery, seeing the name Delacorte chiseled in stone. The man's past reflected in his eyes now. Then again, maybe she read too much into him.

When they reached their destination, the doors opened. Out of reflex, Raven touched his elbow to direct him to the interrogation room. An innocent gesture. But the intensity of his stare took her aback. Her reaction had been tangible—like an electrical shock to the heart. Damn it all. Control yourself, Mackenzie.

'This way.' She swallowed hard. 'We've got number four.'

Delacorte held out his hand, indicating she take the lead. Still, he hadn't said a word since the first floor. His effortless sensuality unnerved her. Only one way to combat that.

'You know, if you've lost your voice, maybe we should stop off on three. File a report.'

Her sarcasm earned her continued silence on his part, but for an instant, she thought she saw a spark of humor in his eyes. His expression softened for a second. It caught her by surprise.

Aha! Score one for the Raven lunatic. She basked in the glow of her small victory. More than likely, wishful thinking tainted her perception. She'd love to melt his icy veneer to see what lay beneath. Then again, maybe his true nature would leave her wishing she'd left well enough alone. The thought of him with his guard down sent shivers across her skin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this. It scared the hell out of her!

He allowed her to enter the room first, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the table strewn with photographic evidence. Raven was eager to see his reaction after they'd staged it for that purpose. And if he didn't recognize the church, she would ask him point-blank about the significance of the location. But his reaction had been anticlimactic. If Delacorte had been shocked by the graphic nature of the scenes, he never let on. His expression remained poised and unreadable as he sat in one of the chairs.

'The body was found in the small chapel at St. Sebastian's.' She hesitated, allowing him time to react. Her eyes held firm, watching for a change in his body language. But the man looked unflappable as he thumbed through the photos.

'Was Mickey religious?' she finally asked.

A low chuckle escaped his chest, sounding more like he'd cleared his throat. 'The only thing Mickey revered was the almighty dollar.' Raising his gaze, he added, 'And himself.'

'Dunhill must pay pretty well. His apartment's nicely furnished and his clothes cost more than I'll make in a lifetime.' She sat in the chair across from him. Her eyes never left his.

'That sounds like you're insinuating something, Detective.' A thin smile appeared, then vanished. 'Tomorrow morning, eight sharp at the Dunhill Tower on Michigan, ask for me. I trust you can detect your way there. I've got you set up with the Human Resources Department. They've been instructed to give you all that you need on Mickey Blair.'

As if he'd heard a sound, he raised his head toward the large picture mirror along the far wall. Staring beyond his image reflected in the glass, Christian shifted his focus. Raven knew Tony stood in the next room, watching. Uncanny; the man seemed to sense her partner's presence.

'We'll want to see his office, too.' Her voice rose a notch, echoing in the small room as she tried to distract him. 'And any other place he might have personal effects.'