Knox accompanied me to Dex Abrams’s apartment on the Upper East Side, muttering into his phone the entire way. I had an eye out to the streets, hanging on to the neon blur of the city, but listened to every word he said. He had the task force pull everything they had on Abrams, but to do it with extreme caution. He phoned his lieutenant and discussed my entire theory with him, and it got to the point where I thought the task force would have to be called off. Somehow, Knox convinced his lieutenant otherwise, but now his job was on the line, too, because the lieutenant did not want any of this getting back to the sergeant until there was more of a grip on the facts. This was a highly-sensitive person we were going after, but Emme was becoming a highly-publicized case, and any deliberate missteps on the part of the police force would be caught by the media and torn apart.
Emme was a young, beautiful woman taken under mysterious yet violent circumstances, a case the press drooled over until the perpetrator was arrested and charged. Even Knox’s superiors couldn’t ignore the link fostered by Emme’s father. They could put a plug in it for a while but eventually there’d be a leak. That made Knox’s and my task even tougher, because we were not going to be given a lot of leeway to stretch this Abrams theory out. Either we got something tonight or we were done.
In that respect, Knox called Levi next and asked him to interrogate Jack further. I couldn’t gather all the information and Levi could squeeze out the rest. Knox and I would take Abrams’s wife in hopes that she could give us something. Knox didn’t bother to leave me behind this time, probably because he knew I’d follow and conduct my own investigation anyway. Might as well utilize less time and hear my results the instant they’re happening as opposed to after the fact.
I texted Becca, asking her to stay with Jack and Perry, make sure Jack didn’t do anything he’d regret. Becca was confused and I didn’t elaborate further via text, but she agreed to go over there and sit with them until she heard from me again.
“Right here’s fine,” Knox said to the taxi driver.
The driver pulled over to the right and Knox and I both got out, straightening our jackets.
“What floor is she on?” Knox asked me.
I thought back to one of the dinners I’d gone to, where Abrams liked to have his protégés over and impart his wisdom and experience. They were fond memories because he was a man I’d looked up to and hoped to emulate in the courtroom. A lot of those dinners were spent in detailed discussion with him, from everything to do with hostile witness tactics to football. But to think of him as a father figure right now would be a lethal mistake. I could have all the time to grieve the loss of our relationship later, when Emme was back safe. “He’s the second penthouse,” I said.
“Old money?” Knox asked as we stepped through the revolving doors and into the lobby.
“His wife, I think. Trust fund baby.”
Knox showed his credentials to floor security and I also introduced myself. After they called up to the penthouse, we were waved through and told that Eugenie was waiting for us.
We took the elevator in silence, both of us in our interrogatory worlds. I’d never questioned anyone with Knox around, and neither had he with me, but I had no problems believing we’d play off each other fine. We could read each other’s mannerisms like brothers.
“I’ll lead,” Knox said when the elevator slid open. I nodded my agreement, preferring to jump in when a thought struck anyway.
We rang the doorbell, and who greeted us was an eighteenth-century maid. I expected one of Abrams’s staff to welcome us but Knox sure didn’t. His slack mouth was enough to have me pushing him the rest of the way in and mentioning, “Eugenie likes her staff to be traditional.”
“Does she also own a feather duster?” Knox asked, still staring at the woman’s black and white outfit as she led us through the hallway.
“There’s even a special one for the ceiling fans,” I said.
Knox glanced over, unsure if I was shitting him or not.
“Mrs. Abrams, these men are here to see you. I’m sorry, what are your names?” the maid asked, in heavily accented English.
“Detective Anthony Knox, and this is my colleague, ADA Spencer Rolfe,” Knox said.
The titles impressed her not one bit. She repeated our names even though Eugenie was seated well within hearing distance, but this was the tradition I’d grown to expect. The maid departed in the same way she entered: with the feet of a fairy.
Eugenie was seated on one of the love seats facing the expansive view of Manhattan, comprised of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, lit up for their nightly showcase of colors. Tonight, on the Empire State’s lighting calendar, was green and blue.
Eugenie’s robe was of the highest quality and she also wore a nightcap, likely disguising the sleep rollers she used to keep her hair curled every morning. I remembered it being, like most of her appearance, a subtle honey brown. Nothing this woman did was untoward or humorous. She was the pillar of propriety and was probably priming herself to be the perfect First Lady.
“How can I help you gentleman?” she asked before reaching to the side and sliding manicured fingers through the handle of a teacup.
“We apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour,” Knox said. “Do you mind if we sit?”
She waved her acceptance with her free hand. I noticed Knox, like me, perched at the edges of the velveteen couch across from her, our backs awkwardly straight. Like we were schoolboys being disciplined before a headmistress.
“We’ll be out of your hair shortly.” Knox broke the thick silence. “We were wondering if you knew where your husband was.”
Eugenie canted her head and said, “I told the young man on the phone, I don’t know.”
“Does he usually work late nights?” Knox asked.
“You should know,” Eugenie said, directing her answer at me. “Do you attorney types work late nights?”
“Often and always,” I replied with an easy smile, though my blood was boiling. This woman took her time with the game of conversation. “As I’m sure you know, a woman went missing recently and we’re having to investigate all leads, regardless of their strength.”
“And what does that have to do with Dexter?” she asked.
“We’ve learned of a conn—”
“I was hoping DA Abrams could assist us in that,” I said, cutting into Knox’s sentence. “It’s becoming a high profile case and I’ve mentioned it to him before. If you have any idea where he is, we’d appreciate it. We’ve already checked his office.”
Her stare beamed down on me and I attempted not to squirm. “I’m no prude, and I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating.”
Knox turned to me. “I’m sorry, what are we insinuating exactly?”
“You’re assuming my husband is out with a woman, are you not, and that is why I don’t know where he is?”
“Ma’am, we are asking no such thing,” Knox said.
“Nobody calls me ma’am except for the delivery boy,” Eugenie said, and if she had the power of murder by derision, she would have done it. “And that is only because I tip him.”
“It is by no means a late hour for a lawyer like himself,” I said, the sweetness cloying. “Is he possibly out for dinner with a client? Or drinks at the Harvard club?”
“Your partner had the better idea,” she clipped out.
“Forgive me for the clarification, but are you saying your husband is having an affair?” Knox asked.
“Can you hear?” she retorted.
“Eugenie.” I leaned forward. “I’m sorry we have to barge in here and get so personal. The last thing we’re here to do is dig up dirt about DA Abrams and yourself.”
“If it doesn’t relate to the investigation, there is no need to disclose the information,” Knox added.
Eugenie’s attention on Knox could only be described as withering. “You think I don’t know how investigations work? How the law works? My only issue is why Dexter is being searched for in the first place. And why you”—she leveled her gaze on me—“are a part of this scuttlebutt. Dexter is your superior and I’m shocked he’d allow you to be tramping around with a detective when you have piles of casework on your desk that should be your priority. I remember Dexter at your age, and he didn’t let anything get in the way of his rise. Still isn’t. And you boys sit here thinking it was on his own steam; but I’ll tell you right now, without me, he’d be reading the dregs of a whiskey glass as his career guide.”
“You knew DA Abrams when he was fresh out of law school?” I asked.
“We met in the first year of college.”
My mouth twitched at the similarity to Emme and I. “So, you must’ve been well acquainted with his friends.”
“His friends were mine.” Eugenie hooked her teacup and hovered it near her lips as she pinned me over the rim.
“Then you know Jack Beauregard,” I said.
“Of course. Rough around the edges, that one. A farm boy. I was shocked when Dexter hit it off so well with him. Jack was a regular on our couch.”
“You and DA Abrams were living together?” I asked.
I swore a gleam of amusement caught her eye. “In sin, yes. Dexter didn’t want to marry me until after he completed law school. I assume it was because that was when all his loans were due and he needed my money.” She sipped at her tea, her pinky finger raised high.
I tried not to react to her frankness, as I suspected that was exactly what she was looking for. “It sounds like Jack and Dexter—DA Abrams—were close pals, but they can’t’ve gotten along all the time. There must’ve been quarrels sometimes.”
Eugenie’s eyes became smaller over the rim. “If you’re asking if they ever fought over a girl or had the kind of argument that ruined their friendship, I think you know the answer to that.”
Knox shifted beside me, and I hoped he read body language in his peripheral vision because I sent him the stiff mental command to stay relaxed.
“A few years after graduating, Jack quit his lucrative career in the city and moved to Wyoming with his wife. As far as I know, he and DA Abrams never spoke again,” I said.
“Quite correct.”
Knox chimed in. “Do you know what that argument was about?”
“What are fights between men always about?”
“Eugenie,” I said, and laid my steady stare on hers. “Have you always disliked Jack Beauregard?”
The teacup hit its saucer a bit too hard. “What makes you say that, young man?”
“Jack graduated top of his class, with DA Abrams a close second. Jack got offered an associate’s position at one of the top law firms in the country, a position I believe DA Abrams also applied for. I’m not one to judge if that irked you just a little. I’m a hell of a competitor, too, and I don’t accept anything below champion.”
“It ended up all right in the end, didn’t it?” Eugenie smirked. “My husband is now on track to become a senator. And then…who knows?” She added softly, “And where did you say Jack was? Back to his roots? Milking cows?”
She blinked, and there might as well have been cobra eyes regarding me before she blinked again.
“He did move back to his home and started a family,” I said. “In fact, the very woman we’re searching for is Jack’s daughter. Emme Beauregard.”
“Such an unpleasant thing to happen to a parent.” Eugenie gazed down at the floor, her brows suffering greatly at Jack’s loss. “It’s why Dexter and I decided never to have children. All they do is break their sires’ hearts.”
“We’re doing our best not to cause such heartache,” Knox spoke up. “Which is why it’s crucial we gather information from all sources, including you and your husband. You can see now why we’re here. You both have a connection with Emme’s family.”
Eugenie scoffed. “If you can call it a connection. I haven’t seen that man in years. Never met his daughter, either.”
“I’m not sure that’s fair to say,” I said. “Didn’t you and DA Abrams meet Emme at a function recently? A few months ago?”
Eugenie fluttered her hand. “I meet so many individuals at these constant events Dexter wants to attend. I may very well have met her, but don’t assume I remember her.”
No doubt, with her razor edge, Eugenie would’ve noticed Emme the instant Emme uttered her father’s name.
“Moving on,” Knox said after an unobtrusive elbow to my arm. “Do you and DA Abrams own any property outside this penthouse?”
Eugenie smacked her lips at Knox like she was regarding a snail crawling across her couch, and to kill it, she’d have to stain the velvet. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m doing us all a favor and getting straight to the point. Vacation homes, anything like that?”
“No.”
“None?”
Eugenie sighed. “We rent a house in the Hamptons every summer, but don’t you dare repeat that. I’d hate for it to get back to our friends that we’re…” She had extreme difficulty stating her next word. “Renters. But Dexter doesn’t want the added stress of multiple homes. His success is here, in the heart of New York City. He has no interest in owning—and maintaining—multiple properties across the globe.”
Knox smiled, and it was so vapid I nearly laughed. “Thank you so much for your candidness, Mrs. Abrams. We’ll get back to you.”
As he stood, I followed, but I attempted one last prod. “I don’t suppose you give us a list of Dex’s mistresses’ addresses?”
“My boy,” Eugenie said, her lower jaw working as if she were chewing on my tongue. “I will be sure to report your nuisance to Dexter once he gets home. Maybe start clearing your desk now.”
“Right. I’ll just ask his secretary then,” I said, and after receiving a rewarding startle, I went with Knox into the hallway and then out to the hallway.
As we were waiting for the elevator, Knox hooked a thumb into the front of his pants and pulled, glancing down. He then looked to me and asked, “You still have yours?”
“I think a piece of it is still dangling.”
“That is one bitter-ass woman.”
“What do you expect?” I asked as we headed into the elevator. “Sociopath recognizes sociopath.”
“That was such a complete waste of our time. A girl’s been taken by a psycho and that woman is up there drinking tea. Did you get anything from this?”
I spent some time pondering. “She’s filled to the brim with resentment, hates her husband, but needs him in order to climb the rungs to ultimate power, allows him mistresses—probably prefers it—since it means she doesn’t have to fuck him. Despises Jack Beauregard for the same reasons. He was incredibly successful in his field and direct competition to her own ascension.”
“You think she was hiding something?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I said. The doors dinged open to the lobby. “It’ll come as no surprise when we discover she knew exactly what her husband did twenty years ago, and was probably the one who suggested Abrams rope Jack into it somehow in order to start his fall.”
Knox said beside me as we walked through the simplistic opulence, “She would’ve had to know Jack couldn’t mentally handle the secret and would leave his career behind.”
“Jack’s a nice guy. He’d do anything for a friend, but at the same time, he has morals. He doesn’t have the evil required to keep living the gifted life while knowing a girl died and her family will never have the true answer.”
“He wasn’t moral enough to go to the police with it.”
“Because he had a pregnant wife. A daughter on the way. The one thing that can get in the way of morals and doing right, no matter who you are, is love.”
“When did you start subscribing to storybook happiness?” Knox mused.
I frowned. “Not for a second,” I said, and pushed through the revolving door.
Knox got a call the instant we hit the sidewalk.
“Levi,” he answered. “What’s up? Yeah?” Pause. “Huh. Yeah, I’ll tell him. We’re heading to you now. See you soon.” He clicked off.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Kind of. Hail a cab for us, will you? I gotta text this into my notes.”
“Sure.” I stepped off the curb with Knox trailing behind and raised my arm.
“Levi’s been talking to Jack, as you know, but hasn’t gotten much. Or anything to add to what you got out of him. Becca’s there, too, giving the parents some comfort.”
“Huh. Haven’t seen her in a while.”
Knox kept staring at me.
My lungs deflated. “She can’t go much longer, Knox.”
Knox said, “It’s not over, yet.”
What Knox meant was, we didn’t have a body and there was still a chance. I faced the road so he wouldn’t catch on to the stress.
“Levi mentioned a bit more about Jack and DA Abrams’s relationship, and sure as shit, Jack was better than Abrams in all respects. Jack was top dog, like you said. And good-looking, wanted by all the pretty girls. And Abrams was…well, you know what he looks like.”
“Abrams must’ve hated that,” I said.
“It’s shocking Abrams was able to act so friendly with the guy. The Snow Queen of Narnia up there had it right: Jack stayed with them often and even moved in for a few months in the summer because he couldn’t afford to rent his own place.”
“Mm,” I said, and continued searching for a cab. The millions of yellow cars that passed were all occupied. My feet had pins and needles in them. I needed to move, to be charging toward Emme, but the stagnant weight of a dead-end kept me anchored to the tarmac. I debated calling an Uber—a technological leap my flip phone would probably blow up over. We could discuss Jack and Abrams’s relationship all night, but where did that leave Emme? Where did we go from here?
“And predictably, because Jack’s the good guy, he helped Abrams out once, too,” Knox continued.
“How so? Where the fuck are the cabs?”
“Ubers are about ten minutes away, too,” Knox said, briefly glancing up from his cell. “Eugenie’s trust fund didn’t kick in until she was thirty. So weird.” Knox feigned his flummox. “She forgot to mention that.”
“Jack loaned them money?”
“Better. When he left the city, he owned a place in Brooklyn. Our Jackie-boy was doing quite well in his first years as an associate and Brooklyn wasn’t back then what it is now. In other words, it was affordable twenty years ago.”
“So, Jack sold it and gave Abrams and Eugenie the money?”
“Nope. Gave them the house.”
I lowered my arm, but Knox didn’t see the shift. He was busy typing the facts into his phone.
“They lived in Jack’s old place. For how long?” I asked.
“A few years, I think, but don’t get excited. They sold it soon after.” Knox glanced up, genuine sorrow in his expression. “It’s what I thought at first, too, but Abrams no longer owns this property.”
To feel a leap of hope only to have it peeled away like an entire layer of skin burned like you wouldn’t believe.
“You okay?” Knox asked.
“Fine.” I rubbed at my jaw. “Just waiting to wake up.”
“You’re pushing yourself too damn hard.”
“Who owns the house now?”
“Why?”
I jerked a thumb to his phone, still held in his palm. “Call Levi. Ask him to figure it out.”
“Fine.” Knox exhaled and regarded me a little like a mental patient. But he got on the phone with Levi and communicated the request. At the same time, a cab finally responded to my arm.
We rode in silence, Knox not bothering to poke the bear and me deciding not to bite his face off. I wasn’t about to go anywhere, I would sit in the precinct and spend all night questioning Jack or bothering Abrams’s secretary for a list of addresses or basically being a pain in everyone’s collective asses. Tough shit, and I think Knox knew that.
The vibrations of Knox’s phone passed over our shared leather seat, and he answered. “What do you got? Uh-huh. Yep, I’ll tell him—”
I yanked the phone from Knox. “What the fu—”
“Levi?” I said into the phone, ignoring Knox’s cursing. “You find out who owns the place?”
“Yeah, hey,” Levi said. “So, from what I gather—and it’s late, so I can’t make the calls I want—but with a little digging online the next deed to that house, after the Beauregards and after the Abrams, is to an LLC corporation.”
“What’s it called?”
“Uh…” I heard typing coming from his side. “DKI Rentals, LLC. They still own it and rent it out. Stands for Deacon Knight Investment Rentals.”
“Okay.” I rubbed at my eyes. Another hope dashed. I wasn’t sure why I thought Levi would say something like Oh my God, it’s Kidnapper Central that owns it, but I guessed this was what desperation looked like. “One last thing—what’s the actual address of this place?”
“We’ve been so focused on tracing ownership. Let’s see…wait a minute. Let me just…I need to double check something, because this…I’m looking at a list of…damn it. This corporation is a sub corporation and it’s a mess. If I could…wait. Wait one sec while I pull this list up.” Levi typed, clicked, and then said, “there’s a bunch of places listed. Sub corbs and other properties—fuck. I’m just gonna send you this, okay?”
I growled. Not at Levi, but at my fucking flip phone. “Send it to Knox’s cell. I’ll take a look at it there.”
“You got it. There, sent.”
“Thanks, Levi,” I said and clicked off.
Knox held his hand out for his phone, which promptly turned into a fist when he figured out I was going to scroll through it instead.
“What are you doing, man?”
“One sec,” I said, squinting at the glare of the screen.
The ding came through and I tapped into Levi’s text. I enlarged the image he sent and was soon combing through the list of entities that DKI Rentals was involved with.
“Spence?”
My voice was barely audible over the car’s engine. “Shit.”
I pushed off the back of the seat.
“What?” Knox asked.
“Arabella Delacourt. Fucking Arabella Delacourt.”
I blacked out the phone looked to Knox, unable to contain the utter bafflement in my expression.
“What?” Knox asked again.
“I know where Emme is.”