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“Dallas, once a parent, always a parent. You never finish the job.”
Hers had, she thought. A long time finished.
“Then I guess my next stop is Marco Angelini.”
Angelini had offices in Roarke’s building on Fifth. Eve stepped into the now familiar lobby with its huge tiles and pricey boutiques. The cooing voices of computer guides offered assistance to various locations. She scanned one of the moving maps and ignoring the glides, hiked her way to the elevators along the south end.
The glass tube shot her to the fifty-eighth floor, then opened onto solemn gray carpet and blinding white walls.
Angelini Exports claimed a suite of five offices in this location. After one quick scan, Eve noted that the company was small potatoes in relation to Roarke Industries.
Then again, she thought with a tight smile, what isn’t?
The receptionist in the greeting area showed great respect and not a little nerves at the sight of Eve’s badge. She fumbled and swallowed so much Eve wondered if the woman had a cache of illegal substances in her desk drawer.
But the fear of cop had her all but shoving Eve into Angelini’s office after less than ninety seconds of lag time.
“Mr. Angelini, I appreciate your time. My sympathies for your loss.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Dallas, please sit.”
He wasn’t elegant, as Hammett was, but he was powerful. A small man, solidly built with jet hair combed slickly back from a prominent widow’s peak. His skin was a pale, dusky gold, his eyes bright, hard marbles of azure under thick brows. He had a long nose, thin lips, and the glitter of a diamond on his hand.
If he was grieving, the former husband of the victim hid it better than her lover had.
He sat behind a console-style desk that was smooth as satin. It was absolutely clear but for his still and folded hands. Behind him was a tinted window that blocked the UV rays while letting in the view of New York.
“You’ve come about Cicely.”
“Yes, I was hoping you could spare some time now to answer some questions.”
“You have my full cooperation, Lieutenant. Cicely and I were divorced, but we remained partners, in business and in parenthood. I admired and respected her.”
There was a hint of his native country in his voice. Just a whisper of it. It reminded her that, according to his dossier, Marco Angelini spent a large part of his time in Italy.
“Mr. Angelini, can you tell me the last time you saw or spoke with Prosecutor Towers?”
“I saw her on March eighteenth, at my home on Long Island.”
“She came to your home.”
“Yes, for my son’s twenty-fifth birthday. We gave him a party together, using my estate there, as it was most convenient. David, our son, often stays ther
e when he is on the East Coast.”
“You hadn’t seen her since that date.”
“No, we were both busy, but we had planned to meet in the next week or two to discuss plans for Mirina’s wedding. Our daughter.” He cleared his throat gently. “I was in Europe for most of April.”
“You called Prosecutor Towers on the night of her death.”
“Yes, I left a message to see if we could meet for lunch or drinks at her convenience.”
“About the wedding,” Eve prompted.
“Yes, about Mirina’s wedding.”
“Had you spoken with Prosecutor Towers since the day of March eighteenth and the night of her death?”
