CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The afternoon sun was shining directly on the glass high-rise where James Thornton lived.The deep window tint softened what would otherwise be a dangerously hot glow into a dull orange-yellow gleam, but it was still enough that even through her sunglasses, Kate had to squint to see.
“He doesn’t seem to have suffered too much in the divorce,” Marcus remarked.“Places like this go two k for a studio and three for a one-bedroom.”
“Depends on what he owned before this, I guess,” Kate said.“If he downgraded from a spread on Fisher Island like the Carltons had, this is abject poverty.”
“Fair enough.”
They entered the lobby, which was laid out like a four-star hotel.Polished granite tile reflected light from an actual crystal chandelier, though the light was provided by over thirty LED bulbs rather than candles.There was an actual concierge desk with attendants dressed in sharp suits and plastic smiles.Those smiles faltered when Kate flashed her ID and informed them they needed access to the building to talk to James Thornton.
The attendants shared an uncertain glance.One of them, a woman of around thirty with a supermodel’s body and an actress’s face, said, “May I ask what this is about?”
“You may, but we’re not going to tell you,” Kate said.“It’s an active investigation.I’m not at liberty to share details.”
“Well… I’m not sure if we can let you in.”
“You can verify our IDs,” Marcus said.“And when our IDs come back valid, you can understand that the lawrequiresyou to let us in.”
The attendants shared another glance.The other attendant, a man about ten years younger, whispered something to the first attendant who sighed and reluctantly said, “Okay.I’ll give you a visitor’s pass.Mr.Thornton is on the fifth floor, unit 522.”
“Appreciate that,” Marcus said, giving her a smile that made her visibly forget all about how nervous she was.
The two agents took a gleaming brass elevator to the fifth floor, a journey completed silently enough that Kate was only aware of it by the changing numbers on the LED screen above the door.What was it about wealthy people that they wanted everything bright and bold and garish but at the same time utterly noiseless?
The garishness mellowed considerably when they stepped onto the fifth floor.Here, the greatest nod to the luxury of these apartments was the thick velvet carpet that nearly swallowed Kate’s feet.
“Jesus, people like shit like this?”Marcus asked.
Kate's first thought was to ask how Cheryl felt about thick carpet.Her second thought was to marvel that, at her age, she was still capable of such great stupidity.But at least she didn't ask the question out loud.
522 was a corner unit.Marcus informed Kate that such units were usually larger and pricier than ordinary units.Apparently, he was fixated on the fact that James shouldn’t complain about his living situation.Kate suspected other things frustrated him about his divorce.
Marcus knocked on the door.Heavy footsteps shuffled to the door, and a moment later, it opened to reveal a tall, lanky man with veiny arm muscles and an oddly stretched appearance to his neck that suggested he had recently lost considerable weight.
He glowered down at the two agents.“Yeah?”
“James Thornton?”Marcus asked, giving the guy a sheepishhey, buddysmile.
"Who are you?"the stranger demanded.
“I’m Special Agent Marcus Reid,” Marcus said.“This is my partner, Special Agent Kate Valentine.”
“FBI?”
“Yes, sir.”
He blinked.“What the hell do you want?”
“If you’re James Thornton, we want to talk to you.”
“I’m James Thornton.What if I don’t want to talk to you?”
“Well, that might be a problem,” Kate said.“Because we have a record of an assault you committed on Dr.Patricia Hammond.Now she’s dead, along with Richard and Vanessa Carlton, with whom we hear you also had a past.”
James stared at them blankly.“What?What the hell… Get out of my apartment.”
He started to close the door.Marcus brought a hand up and stopped it.“As my partner said,” he replied, still wearing his harmless just-a-guy smile.“We need to talk to you.To be clear, you’re a suspect in these three murders, and—”
