and inside, then went back down.
The interior looked the same as it had the last time they were here. But because of all the traffic, it was useless as a crime scene. Nonetheless, Steve asked them to put on latex gloves and began with the dining-room china cabinet. Nothing. They next checked the commode across from the small dining-room table. Nothing. The same with the hall closet.
Then they went through the cabinets in the kitchen beginning with those beside the sink, then under the sink and above the stove.
“Here,” Steve said.
Above the refrigerator was a small storage space. Sitting amongst some bottles of liquors and white wine was a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. The liquor store had had it in stock after all. And he had never gone in to check, fearing he’d be recognized.
With rubber gloves he removed the bottle by the foil creased around the cork knob and placed it on the countertop. He made a nod and Dacey opened the fingerprint kit and began to dust the surface with a camel hairbrush. When she finished, she took close-up photos, then with lengths of tape she removed each print. She inked a pad and had Steve put his prints on a blank sheet. When she was finished, she used a magnifying viewer and inspected each of the prints.
“Okay, we’ve got a match.”
But there were some stray prints also on the bottle. “My guess is those belong to Terry and the liquor store people. You file her prints with IAFIS?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Farina’s laptop still sat on the floor. Steve plugged it into the wall. “Go ahead, call them up.”
“Steve, this is not protocol.”
“Marie, you came to me on suspicion that I came up here and killed Terry Farina. I didn’t and I’m going to prove that to you. That’s protocol enough.”
She looked at him without expression then looked to Hogan, who nodded.
Dacey sat at the laptop and after a few minutes had retrieved the fingerprints of Terry Farina from the database. Through the magnifier she studied the prints on the bottle. “Yeah, they match.”
Steve found the sunglasses in a case in a kitchen drawer. Using the same procedure, Dacey lifted some partials from a lens. It was Steve’s. Another was Farina’s. No others were found.
Steve removed the receipt from his wallet. “I called ahead then stopped at Central Street Liquors for the champagne.” He showed them. “Purchased at 6:22 P.M. Her UPS was half an hour earlier. I dropped it off with the glasses and note in the mailbox then headed home. You can check that it’s the same bottle because there’s the retailer’s code under the UPC on the back label.”
Dacey passed the receipt to Hogan, who nodded.
Steve then pulled his PDA from his belt and scrolled down the outgoing calls to Farina’s number, which showed the call being made at 5:53 on June second. Steve pressed the SEND button and the telephone rang. Hogan picked it up and heard Steve’s voice.
“Somebody else was here after me.”
“How do you figure that?” Hogan asked.
“The champagne she was drinking was Taittinger. Someone else brought it.”
“So how did the Clicquot and glasses get up here if you didn’t bring them up?”
“Probably Terry. Maybe she went down to open the door and saw them in the box.”
“Why not your second visitor?” Hogan said. “He shows up with his own champagne then brings up both, but they drink the Taittinger instead.”
Steve shook his head. “Except the bottle wasn’t wiped clean.”
“Maybe he handled it without getting his prints on the bottle.”
“Mean he shows up palming it by the knob? Doubtful,” Steve said. “This was a premeditated murder. Even if he saw the Clicquot with the note and saw an opportunity to frame me, he staged it to make it look like an accidental death.”
“So what are you saying?” Dacey asked.
“I’m saying Terry came down to look for me or maybe unlock the door. She spotted the bottle and sunglasses in the mailbox and brought them up. Meanwhile, somebody else e-mails or text messages to say at the last minute he’s coming by. She tidies up and changes, he drops by with a bottle of Taittinger, she lets him in, and he kills her.”
Dacey and Hogan were quiet for a moment as the scenario sank in. Then Hogan said, “Unless she had the Taittinger on hand.”
“Check the codes to see if you can trace it to a retailer.”
Dacey nodded.
“So why did you drop them off in the box and not come up?” Hogan asked.
“Because,” he said, “I’m still a married man.”
They packed up their stuff and turned off the lights and headed back out. “You know we’re going to have to file a report,” Dacey said.
“Yeah,” Steve said. He looked at the two patrol cars double-parked across the street. “You going to bring me in, or you got statement enough?”
“I think we got enough,” Dacey said.
Hogan nodded and put a call in to Captain Reardon. Steve would still have to face him.
“Thanks.”
They drove him back home. He went up to his apartment not knowing where the investigation would lead. He knew he’d have to face Reardon in the morning and maybe his suspension from the force. He was ready for that.
But for the first night in three weeks the pea was gone.
68
Dana loved her nose.
The ugly bump was gone. She could look aslant and not see the obstruction. Gone also was the sausagey thickness. In its place was a sleek, perfectly sculpted work that harmonized with her other features.
A week had passed since the dressing had come off, yet she’d still sneak up on a mirror, half-expecting to see her old face looking back at her. But it was gone, really gone.
As Aaron Monks had said, it would take another few weeks for final definition to set in, but she looked remarkably different even straight on. The swelling on her upper face had diminished and the purple bruising, though faded, still smudged her face. And even though she could cover that with makeup, she still felt self- conscious about going out into public.
Of course, Aaron understood and told her not to worry. In the meantime, he said they should formally celebrate and suggested Independence Day, which had a nice symbolic touch.
She agreed.
69
“It’s your princely taste that saved your ass.”
Captain Charles Reardon stood behind his desk, peering down at Steve like a face hewn from Mount Rushmore.
“Your bottle of Veuve Clicquot had the distributor’s own product label, which was traceable to Central Street
