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I picked out a handful of likely residents—a grey-haired couple, a blond guy in a suit with a trophy girlfriend on his arm, and a perfectly coiffed lady in yoga gear who might have been thirty or forty or fifty depending on how much surgery she’d had. Most of the activity came from the worker bees wealthy folks surrounded themselves with. Maids, masseuses, personal trainers, shoppers, stylists, even what looked like a psychic dressed in a flowing purple robe. A dog walker departed with a fluffy white pooch. A guy with long hair and a backpack sporting a logo from the Houseplant Hub jogged up the steps and hovered by the desk as the concierge checked him off against a list. A limousine pulled up outside, waited as the jobsworth of a concierge helped an elderly Chinese woman into the back seat, and glided smoothly into traffic.
My phone rang. Dan.
“Did you get a good look at her yet?”
“She doesn’t seem to go out much, but I got to see Collier in Spandex shorts, so that’s something.”
“Thighs like tree trunks, right?”
“How long does he spend in the gym?”
“There’s one in his building, and I’m pretty sure he spends more time there than in his apartment.”
Belgravia Place had a gym too. And a spa, a pool, a movie theatre, a residents’ lounge, and a virtual golf simulator. No wonder Mrs. Cavallaro didn’t feel the need to leave the building.
“When does he sleep? He’s been working from dawn till dusk.”
“Yeah, about that. The New York office is slammed right now, so we’re gonna need to borrow him back for a while.”
My heart sank. I’d grown to like having Collier as a partner, and working surveillance alone sucked.
“So I’m on my own?”
“I didn’t say that.” What was with the fake cheer? “Now that this has moved from an investigation into more of a logistical, how-can-we-get-a-photo-of-the-Mob-boss’s-wife kind of job, we figured you’d be okay with a less experienced partner.”
“Like an intern?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Dasha will be with you later this afternoon. Save her a seat.”
“Dasha? Are you joking? I can’t work with her, no way.”
“Relax, sweetie. She’s great with faces. Just don’t let her shoot anyone. Gotta go—I’m meeting Emmy and Sky for lunch. Ciao.”
I couldn’t argue, not in the middle of a café, and besides, Dan had hung up anyway. Just don’t let Dasha shoot anyone? I was almost sure Dan was joking because nobody could stop Dasha from doing anything she wanted to do.
Collier showed up an hour later, minus his bicycle and dressed more appropriately in jeans and a T-shirt. Both too tight, of course. Maria-slash-Daisy hadn’t made an appearance yet, but I was learning plenty about the residents of Belgravia Place. These people did literally nothing for themselves. One woman even had an assistant to carry her purse, and I’d seen not one, not two, but three catering services arrive at the building. Did any of the wealthy layabouts know their neighbour was an arms dealer?
“Have you heard the news?” I asked Collier.
“That I’m being bumped? Yeah, I heard. Sorry to leave you in the lurch. More cases came in, and Jake’s on paternity leave. Fuckin’ twins. I hear he wants to come back to the office for a break, but his wife won’t let him.”
“She did the hard work. It’s only fair that he takes a turn.”
“True enough. Look, if you need backup, call me. I’ll help out off the clock if I can.”
“They’re sending a colleague from Richmond to assist.”
“Someone I know?”
“She’s new.”
“Any experience with surveillance?”
“I believe so.”
