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"I maintained," he grumbled. Giving up on the rock-hard bagel, he tossed it back into the bag. "That's worse than gaining. At least when I gain, I've had fun doing it. When I maintain, I've eaten zip, but my body doesn't cooperate. So I get on that goddamned scale, and my Weight Watchers leader looks at me with those cow eyes, like I'm a kid who needs a hug. Then she gives me a pep talk that makes me want to puke. And I'm right back where I started."
Jeannie's lips twitched. "Sounds like a blast."
"It's not." Frank took another gulp of coffee. "Neither is this case. And keeping things quiet until this morning was a major pain in the ass."
All humor vanished. "Yeah, it delayed grilling Brooks's competitors, that's for sure." Jeannie rubbed her temples, pensively. "On the other hand, we had enough conversations to know that Brooks has lots of money, lots of visibility, and, as a result, lots of enemies. Okay, maybe enemies is too strong a word. Let's say people with a motive to get rid of him."
"True. But how many of them had access to his office? Or to the building, for that matter?"
"All the assailant would need is a key and access to the freight entrance," Jeannie pointed out. "It was Labor Day. Security was light. Two guys and a camera, both stationary. Remember, we're not talking about a high security building here. Eleven West 57th's got a bunch of corporate offices in it. Ruisseau's top-secret stuff is done at the research facilities in Jersey."
"But the man who invented C'est Moi wasn't in Jersey. He was in his office, right here in Manhattan. So was his attorney. Yeah, there's the freight entrance. But there's also the obvious. No one but Brooks and Newport was seen entering the building that day."
Jeannie propped her elbow against the window and turned to face her partner. "You really think Dylan Newport did it?"
A shrug. "He's got a sketchy background. He'd get big bucks and controlling interest in the company if Brooks died."
"Yeah, and he was the only one who knew Brooks had a daughter—one who might very well inherit if Brooks found her and changed his will before leaving this world. That's more than enough motive. But it doesn't answer my question. Do you think Newport did it?"
Frank polished off his coffee and crushed the Styrofoam cup. "I can't decide. Part of me thinks he did. Part of me thinks he's too smart to be that dumb. We know he wasn't lying about Brooks not seeing his assailant. Not only did Brooks confirm the story, but the path the bullet took tells us that the shot was fired from an angle that was behind and below the victim. The shooter was either hunched down or crouched in the doorway when he discharged that bullet. There was minimal chance of being spotted."
"The other thing is I can't help feeling that Newport's concern for Brooks is real. Either that, or he's one hell of an actor." Jeannie rotated her shoulders in a counterclockwise direction to ease her tension. "As for entry keys, every employee at Ruisseau had them. Plus, during those few minutes we had with Brooks, he said that the doors to Ruisseau and to his office, were unlocked. Which means that the rest of the building employees, including security and maintenance—anyone with keys to the building—are suspect. So are their family and friends outside work who have access to those keys. Add to that the fact that the assailant could have bypassed the surveillance camera by avoiding the lobby and taking the stairs, and we're back to square one."
"I realize Brooks was half out of it when we talked to him. Even so, he was pissed as hell when we implied Newport was a suspect. His glare could've lanced through us, and he underlined the words 'no way' about six times. He's devoted to the guy."
"That's going to complicate the investigation," Jeannie murmured. "And it's not just Newport he's defensive about. That glare didn't go away. He's protective of all his employees, whether or not they're personal favorites of his. It's kind of like family loyalty. I'm sure it'll go both ways. We'll soon find out. I doubt we'll get much cooperation from his staff. But now that the news about Brooks is out, we can get the investigation into full swing. We'll head over to Ruisseau right after Radison gives us an update and lets us in to see Brooks."
"If he lets us in to see Brooks."
"He will. Brooks is conscious. We know that much. We also know that Radison's taking him off the respirator and endotracheal tube to see how he does on his own. All we need are a few minutes with him so we can get a better handle on the personal rapport he has with his employees, and which of them might have it in for him. Brooks isn't going to bad-mouth anyone, so we'll have to read between the lines and watch his body language."
"In the meantime, do we tell him about his daughter?"
Jeannie contemplated her partner's question, then gave a thoughtful shake of her head. "No. Not yet. Let's see if Dylan Newport shows up with her like he said. Give him a day to play this out before we stick our noses into it."
"For Brooks's sake or the Radcliffes'?" Frank asked. He and Jeannie had done their homework, checking into the name that appeared on the slip of paper Dylan Newport had given them. They knew just what kind of a hornet's nest this was going to stir up.
/> "For everyone's sake," Jeannie replied. "Including ours. This is a personal situation. Considering the players, it could get very sticky."
"Yeah." Frank made a disgusted sound. "Talk about complications we didn't need. It would be a lot easier if Brooks's daughter had turned out to be an average woman. Instead, she's part of a big-time country club family. This whole thing is like a soap opera—one with lots of potential lawsuits."
"You got that right. It's a pretty safe bet that if Gloria Radcliffe never told Brooks she was pregnant, much less that he had a daughter, the Radcliffes aren't going to be thrilled about being dragged into this."
"I can't figure out Gloria Radcliffe being involved with Carson Brooks back then—not in a long-term affair or a one-night stand. He was a college-age nobody when their daughter was conceived. Gloria Radcliffe was an established designer and a socialite in her mid-thirties. What's the deal with that?"
Jeannie shrugged. "He's a charismatic guy. Maybe he was sexy even as a twenty-two-year-old kid. Lots of women are attracted to guys that age. Why—don't you know rich men of sixty who are shacking up with girls young enough to be their granddaughters?"
"Yeah, and it makes me sick. But you're just proving my point. There's usually an agenda in situations like that. Where's the agenda here? Gloria Radcliffe is a class act. Back then, she was a knockout. You saw the newspaper clippings we dug up. Between her money and her looks, believe me, she'd have men breaking down her door."
"Fine, then I guess Carson Brooks just turned her on. He's far from an average guy. Maybe he knew exactly what women are about, even then. Remember, this is the guy who invented C'est Moi."
"Yeah, right. How could I forget."
Jeannie gulped down the last of her coffee. "Speaking of C'est Moi, what do you think about the idea that someone was trying to silence Brooks because he was the only one who knew the formula?"
Frank grimaced. "I want to toss that theory in the garbage. But the truth is, the stuff is raking in a fortune. And if Brooks is eccentric enough to keep the formula to himself, yeah, I guess it's possible."
A corner of Jeannie's mouth lifted. "Don't sound so skeptical. That whole pheromone thing is a big deal now. And Brooks incorporated it in a product that does handsprings around his competitors. He capitalized on a hot trend, and raked in a huge chunk of the perfume market. The man's a genius."
