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“You’re a sarcastic, difficult woman.”
“Having a couple of dead bodies on my hands that were beaten, tortured, and strangled just doesn’t bring out my sunny side.”
“Lieutenant.” Myers spread his hands. “We understand completely that you have a responsibility to fulfill. As we do. And believe me, everyone here wants those responsible for what happened to Natalie and Bick caught and punished. Our concerns on a secondary front are for our clients who trust and depend on us. There are people—competitors, if you will—business adversaries, ex-spouses, the media, who would go to considerable lengths to learn the contents of the files you’re confiscating today.”
“Are you insinuating I’d be open to a bribe by one of these parties to pass on that information?”
“No, no, not at all. But others who lack your integrity may be tempted.”
“Any and all who’ll have access to the information in those files will be hand-picked by me or my commander. You want reassurance that the data will remain secure, you have it. On my word. Unless such information is determined to be the motive behind or connected to the murders of Copperfield and Byson. That’s the best you get.”
She waited a beat. “Since we’re all here, let’s clear up some business. I’ll need your whereabouts for the night of the murders. Midnight to four A.M.”
Sloan laid his hands on the table in front of him. “You consider us suspects?”
“I’m a cynical so-and-so. Your whereabouts, Mr. Sloan.”
He drew breath through his nose, expelled it. “Until approximately twelve-thirty, my wife and I were entertaining our grandson and his friend. At that time, they left our home and my wife and I retired. I remained home with my wife until the following morning when I left for the office. At seven-thirty.”
“Names, please? Grandson and his friend.”
“His name is mine. He was named for me. His friend is Rochelle DeLay.”
“Thank you. Mr. Myers?”
“I was entertaining out-of-town clients—Mr. and Mrs. Helbringer from Frankfurt, their son and daughter-in-law—until sometime after one A.M. We were at the Rainbow Room.” He smiled wanly. “And, naturally, I have the receipts. My wife and I returned home, went to bed just before two, I believe. I left for work the next day about eight-thirty.”
“And how can I contact your clients?”
“Oh, God.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I suppose you must. They’re staying at the Palace. Your husband’s, I believe.”
“Small world. And Mr. Kraus.”
“Also entertaining clients with my wife, in my home. Madeline Bullock, and her son Winfield Chase, of the Bullock Foundation. They were our guests for a couple of days while they were in New York. We had dinner and played cards. Until about midnight, I believe.”
“I’ll need to contact them.”
“They’re traveling. I believe they’re making a stop or two on their way back to London, where the Foundation is based.”
So, she’d track them down.
“Mr. Kraus has stated that neither of the victims approached him with any questions or any problems pertaining to their jobs, or their personal lives. Did they approach either of you?”
“No.” Sloan said it flatly.
“I spoke with Bick a few days before this happened,” Myers began. “Regarding the execution of a trust fund for a client’s new grandchild. He never mentioned a problem.”
“Thank you. It may be necessary for me to speak with all of you again, and will certainly be necessary for me to interview the supervisors and associates of the victims in this matter.”
“Gentlemen, would you excuse us.” Sloan lifted a hand. “I’d like a word with Lieutenant Dallas in private.”
“Jacob,” Kraus began.
“I don’t need legal counsel, for God’s sake, Robert. Leave us alone.”
When they were, Sloan pushed away from the table, walked to the wall of glass. “I liked that girl.”
“Excuse me?”
