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  “You get many prostitutes here?” Erin asked. “If you can pick them out of a crowd, you must.”

  Barry gave her a cynical smile. “Detective, I worked Vice for four years before I landed this gig.”

  “You’re too young to be pensioned off,” she said. “What happened?”

  “Partial disability. Messed up my knee in a fight with a pimp. He cracked the cap with a tire iron.”

  “Ouch,” she said with a sympathetic wince. “You know Tad Brown? Vice Sergeant down at the Eight?”

  “Yeah, I know Brown. I worked a couple busts with him back in the day. He made Sergeant, huh? Good for him. Tell him Caldwell says hi.”

  “I’ll do that,” Erin said with a smile. She was glad to hear Barry had been one of their own. “Why do you say this girl’s a hooker?”

  “Hotel policy is to keep ‘em out,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But everybody knows they get in. And what’re you gonna do? Ask to see a marriage license? What we mostly get are high-class call girls. Our clients have plenty of cash to sling around, so they go for the good ones. As long as nobody causes trouble, I don’t get involved. I like having a job, y’know? But I know the look. I’d say she’s working for an escort service, sure.”

  “Great,” Erin muttered. That could make the victim very hard to identify. “I guess we can always check Missing Persons.”

  “This Stone,” Webb said. “Is he local, or is he staying at the InterContinental?”

  “Just a sec,” Barry said, returning to his computer and bringing up the guest list. “Hey, looks like you hit the jackpot, Lieutenant. He’s staying here, all right. Last night and tonight.”

  “I suppose it’s too much to ask for him to be in his room right now,” Webb said. “Which room is it?”

  “503,” Barry said. “Listen, sir, I don’t wanna make any trouble for you, but could you try not to make any for me? You start hassling the guests, Mr. Feldspar’s gonna come down on me hard. You really need to talk to this guy?”

  “He’s one of the last people to see our victim alive,” Webb said. “We have to talk to him. But I’ll be polite.”

  “I won’t,” Vic said.

  “Then you can stay here and keep going over the footage while O’Reilly and I go upstairs,” Webb said.

  “Walked right into that, didn’t I,” Vic said gloomily.

  “Like stepping in a big pile of fresh dogshit,” Erin agreed. “Rolf. Komm!”

  The Shepherd was immediately awake and on his paws, ready to go to work. Maybe chasing and biting would be back on the agenda.

  “You and Neshenko getting on better?” Webb asked Erin on the elevator ride.

  “I think so,” Erin said. She couldn’t tell him that Vic was still pissed off at her for hiding her relationship with Carlyle. Hell, he was pissed at her for being in the relationship at all. But he’d tumbled to the fact that Carlyle was now cooperating against the O’Malleys, which at least meant he recognized they were all more or less playing for the same team. Unfortunately, Webb wasn’t in on the secret, which meant he couldn’t know anything about it for reasons of operational security.

  “I don’t really care,” Webb said. “I just care that you can work together.”

  “We can, sir,” Erin replied. “You’re all heart.”

  “I have to be,” he said. “The cigarettes wiped out my lungs. Heart is all I’ve got left.”

  They got out on the fifth floor and went to the door marked 503. Erin leaned her head close to the wood.

  “TV’s on,” she said quietly.

  “Good,” Webb said. “Someone’s home.” He knocked.

  After a moment, the sound of the television was muted. The detectives waited.

  The door opened, which Erin found to be a pleasant change of pace. Often, in police work, people shouted at you through a closed door, or opened it but kept the chain-lock engaged. But this was a fancy hotel in a good part of town, and apparently the man in 503 didn’t feel endangered. He stood there, gray-haired, distinguished, with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, wearing what could only be described as a smoking jacket. Dark red and made of silk, it was nicer than any dress Erin owned.

  “Good morning, sir,” the man said to Webb. His accent was more Boston than New York, saying his Rs like Hs. “Ma’am,” he added, glancing at Erin. Then he caught sight of Rolf and blinked. “I think perhaps you have the wrong room.”

  Webb held up his shield. “Lieutenant Webb, NYPD,” he said. “This is Detective O’Reilly. Are you Wendell Stone?”

  “Wendell Jeremy Stone the Third, at your service,” he said. “I don’t know what possible interest New York’s finest could have in me.”

  “We just need to ask you a few questions,” Webb said, employing the classic detective line. “May we come in?”

  “I’m hardly equipped for entertaining,” he said. “But certainly. It’s better than standing chattering in the hall. Your police dog… I presume he’s well trained?”

  “He’s a working K-9, sir,” Erin said. “He’s better trained than the rookies we get from the Academy.”

  Stone laughed. “Very well then, Miss… O’Reilly, was it? Do come in. I’m charmed to meet you.”

  He offered his hand, on which was a Harvard class ring. Erin and Webb shook. Then Stone got down on one knee and solemnly offered his hand to Rolf.

  Rolf just stared at him. Then he looked at Erin for instruction.

  “He never learned to shake,” she explained to Stone. “He’s better at sniffing out bombs and biting perps.”

  Stone’s room was luxuriously furnished in white and gold. All the furniture looked high-class and expensive. Erin was afraid to touch anything. She stood in the middle of the room, looking for anything out of place. The TV was still on but muted, showing some sort of boring business broadcast with serious-looking guys in suits and stock prices on the screen. The bed was rumpled and unmade. She saw only one pillow with an indentation in it.

  “You attended a charity function here last night,” Webb said.

  “That’s correct,” Stone said. “Would you care for something to drink? It’s early for anything strong, but the minibar here is well-stocked with softer beverages. Orange juice, perhaps? It came up from room service, fresh-squeezed. It’s really very good.”

  “No, thank you,” Webb said. “Your invitation was for you and one guest. Did you bring a companion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you married, Mr. Stone?”

  Stone laughed. “Alas, I haven’t yet encountered the proper lady to bring Wendell Jeremy Stone the Fourth into this world. I remain unencumbered by matrimony.”

  Erin had already noted that, aside from the class ring on his right hand, Stone’s fingers were bare. But that didn’t mean anything. Plenty of married guys didn’t wear wedding rings, especially if they were hanging out with other women.

  “Who was your guest?” Erin asked.

  “A charming young lady of my acquaintance,” Stone said.

  “What’s her name?”

  “She was introduced to me as Miss Crystal Winters.”

  “Crystal Winters,” Webb repeated, deadpan.

  “I shouldn’t wonder if her birth name was something different,” Stone allowed. “But that is the one I was given.”

  “How did you meet Miss Winters?” Webb asked.

  “I encountered her at a similar function to the one last night.”

  “She was a guest at a charity dinner?”

  “Not a guest, precisely. That function included a display of women’s swimwear. Miss Winters wore a lovely aquamarine bikini and I must say, she wore it exceptionally well. I introduced myself to her after the show.”

  I’ll bet you did, Erin thought. What she said was, “Were you romantically involved with Miss Winters?”

  Stone cleared his throat. “Ah, not precisely.”

  “What modeling agency was she working through?” Webb asked.

  “Ethereal Angels.”

  �
��What happened after dinner last night?” Erin asked.

  “After dinner?” Stone repeated. “Dessert, of course. A delicious baked Alaska.”

  “And after that?”

  “After that, we retired to my room for some quiet conversation and refreshment.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “About, oh, I should say eleven o’ clock. Detective, whatever on Earth is this about? Is Miss Winters in some sort of trouble?”

  “She’s dead,” Erin said, being deliberately blunt, watching him for a reaction.

  “Dead? Oh, my.” Stone blinked. “Oh, that poor girl. And she seemed so healthy and energetic. However did it happen?”

  “Did Miss Winters act at all strange?” Webb asked. “Was she frightened? Upset?”

  “No, nothing of the sort,” Stone said. “She was her usual charming self. Although…”

  “Yes?” Webb and Erin said in unison, pouncing on the word.

  “She was rather… how shall I say it…” Stone hesitated. “I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, Detectives. And I don’t wish to disparage a woman’s reputation. But she was rather on edge. Jittery. As if she’d ingested or perhaps injected something which was affecting her.”

  “Are you saying she was using drugs?” Erin asked.

  “I’m hardly an authority in the field,” Stone said. “But the thought crossed my mind.”

  “How much alcohol did she drink?” Erin knew that combining alcohol with hard drugs could have unpredictable and nasty effects.

  “A cocktail and some wine with dinner,” Stone said, rubbing his goatee. “And then three of those little bottles from the bar in my room. Oh dear. She didn’t try to drive in an impaired condition, did she?”

  “We can’t discuss the details,” Webb said. “So, she left here at eleven? Was anyone with her?”

  “No,” Stone said. “I stayed up watching television a short while longer, then went to sleep. And here I have remained. I’m sorry I can’t be more assistance, but I really don’t know what happened to her after that.”

  Erin gave him one of her cards. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”

  “You’ll be the first to know, young lady,” he said with a smile. “Are you married, by any chance?”

  “Sir, that’s not relevant,” she said.

  “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Erin gave him a bland smile. On the scale of rudeness an NYPD officer dealt with, Wendell J Stone III hardly registered.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Stone,” Webb said. “How long are you planning to be in town?”

  “I shall be returning to Boston tomorrow evening.”

  “Flying?”

  “I prefer to travel by rail. It has a more civilized feel, don’t you agree?”

  “Whatever gets me where I’m going is fine with me,” Webb said. “Good day, sir.”

  “Pretentious jerk,” Erin muttered once they were back in the elevator.

  “In my experience, money doesn’t make jerks,” Webb said. “But lots of jerks make money. Street corners or Wall Street, it’s all the same.”

  “That’s almost poetic, sir.”

  They walked back to the security office. From the hallway they could hear Vic’s voice. Erin couldn’t quite make out the words, but he sounded angry.

  “Uh oh,” she said, jogging the last few steps and throwing open the door.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Vic shouted.

  “I mean I don’t know!” Barry shouted back. “I’m not sitting here twenty-four seven, okay? I don’t know what the hell goes on when I’m not in the office!”

  “You’re in charge of security!” Vic yelled. “You damn well oughta know! It’s your job to know!”

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Webb demanded, hurrying in on Erin’s heels.

  “This jackoff,” Vic said, indicating Barry with a contemptuous thumb, “doesn’t know what happened to the footage.”

  “What footage?” Webb asked.

  “I’m missing half an hour of hallway footage from last night. I checked the time stamps and there’s a gap.”

  “When?” Erin asked.

  “Eleven-thirty to midnight.”

  “I assume you didn’t find anything on the rest of the tape?” Webb asked.

  “Of course not,” Vic growled.

  “Look,” Barry said. “Let me check the maintenance logs. Maybe something happened. An electrical glitch or something. That happens sometimes.”

  “Pretty damn convenient electrical glitch,” Vic said. “Right in the middle of our time window.”

  “Convenient,” Erin agreed. “Check the log, would you, Barry?”

  “Working on it,” the security man said. “Look, guys, this isn’t my fault, okay? I don’t mean to get you jammed up.”

  “And yet here we are,” Vic said. “Jammed up. Listen, I don’t care if it’s your fault. It’s your responsibility and it went wrong.”

  “Take it easy, Neshenko,” Webb said. “We’re all trying to solve this thing.”

  As Barry went back to his computer, Erin stepped up beside Vic and whispered, “This is why you don’t get to be good cop in the interrogation room.”

  “Sometimes I think we got nothing but bad cops,” Vic muttered.

  “Looks like we had a fuse go at eleven-thirty,” Barry reported. “It didn’t take out power to the whole hotel, just the third floor. Maintenance was called and they got on it right away, but it took a few minutes to sort it out.”

  Webb rubbed his temples. “Okay. I guess we do this the hard way, then. Thanks for the help, Caldwell. Here’s my card. Give me a call if you find anything else.”

  “Now what, sir?” Erin asked.

  “Levine should have our victim back to the morgue soon,” he said. “In the meantime, it’s unlikely anyone saw anything, but I’d like the two of you to knock on doors. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone was out in the hallway getting ice or something. Neshenko, try the fifth floor and the third floor. O’Reilly, talk to the staff.”

  “If they’re on duty now, they probably weren’t last night,” she pointed out.

  “Then find out who was on duty so we have a list of names,” he said. “If you can get anything, it’ll be more than we have now.”

  Chapter 4

  Erin was right about the staff. None of the bellhops, maids, or other hotel employees she tracked down had been on duty the previous night. She returned to the front desk and got Feldspar to put together a list of the people who’d been working. It was a depressingly long list, but the InterContinental was a large hotel. They’d need to come back in the evening to catch the overnight workers. The only name she recognized from the list was Barry Caldwell.

  “If he was working last night, what was he doing here this morning?” she asked Feldspar.

  “I called him when Rosa found the… when she found… you know, it. He got here right after you.”

  “Have you had any problems with any of the people on this list?” she asked.

  “What sort of problems?”

  “Things going missing? Any shady activities?”

  Feldspar raised his eyebrows. “Detective, if I’d suspected any of these people of anything of the sort, I would have fired them immediately. Do you think I would keep a thief on the payroll? This is a respectable hotel.”

  “So nothing out of the ordinary?”

  “Nothing illegal. That is… nothing that would concern your department.”

  Erin caught the hesitation. “What do you mean?”

  Feldspar glanced to either side. “Detective, every major hotel in New York does it. You know it’s true. With housing and labor costs what they are, you understand we may not completely vet the, ah, credentials of everyone we employ, particularly in the housekeeping and laundry departments.”

  “I understand,” Erin said. Feldspar was saying the hotel employed undocumented workers. And he was right, it was a very common pract
ice. It was technically illegal, but only the folks at Immigration really seemed to care. Erin herself didn’t. She viewed her job as catching criminals, which in her book was people who preyed on other people, not poor folks who’d come to New York hoping to find a better life. Her own ancestors had come from Ireland for the same reason.

  “Good,” Feldspar said, looking relieved.

  “If you do think of anything,” she said, producing a business card, “you’ll let me know?”

  “Certainly.” He sighed. “This is all very unpleasant, not to mention inconvenient.”

  Erin didn’t bother to answer that. She left him standing there at the front desk and went looking for Webb.

  She and Rolf found him in the ballroom, looking at the aquarium. The fish tank was now empty except for the fish.

  “They get the body out okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Levine said she’d get on the autopsy right away. We should have the results by the end of the day, tomorrow morning at the latest. In the meantime, I want you to run down this Angel-Whatever modeling company and see if you can get an ID on our girl.”

  “Ethereal Angels,” she said.

  “Ethereal,” Webb repeated. “I think that means ghostly, or maybe angelic. I hope you know how to spell it, because I’ve got no idea.”

  Erin used the computer in her Charger to look up Ethereal Angels. It didn’t link to any known criminal activity, but that didn’t surprise her. Fronts for prostitution changed identities constantly. She found a website which appeared to be aboveboard, but that might just be window-dressing. She hoped to establish the company’s bona fides before talking to them. And that meant talking to someone from Vice.

  She drove back to the Eightball and went up to the Vice office. It was a converted supply closet, windowless and stuffy. She and Rolf found the Vice Sergeant at his desk. He was examining a strange tangle of black leather straps and buckles.

  “Hey there, Brown,” she said, knocking on the door.

  Tad Brown looked up. He was a heavyset cop with a face and body prematurely aged by bad food and cynicism. Most cops had a dim view of human nature; Sergeant Brown’s was midnight black. When he saw Erin, his face approximated a smile.