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“Like I said earlier, happy my partner’s alive,” Thompsonsaid. “Listen, Rosella wanted me to call you. You asked about a company named Paladin doing work for the hedge fund that invested in Duchaine.”
“Okay?”
“They did use Paladin,” he said. “But, you know, turns out all sorts of companies and law enforcement agencies are using them. NYPD even has a contract.”
“Does it? What about the Duchaine company itself?”
“Uh, I don’t know that. Let me ask and get back to you.”
“Thanks, Detective.”
“Back at you, Chief.”
Bree got up, put her shoes on, and freshened up in the bathroom. As she was leaving the bedroom, she heard keys jangle and dead bolts thrown down the hall.
Phillip Henry Luster came in and saw her. “Still here?”
“I’m so sorry, Phillip,” she said. “I never intended to stay even overnight.”
“Nonsense, I’m thrilled,” he said with genuine enthusiasm. “We’ll order in. Can I do the honors?”
“Please,” she said, following him into the kitchen.
“Chardonnay?”
“Double please,” she said. “Who was Frances Duchaine’s head of marketing?”
Luster pulled the cork from a chilled bottle of chardonnay. “That would be Nellie Ray. She’s an old friend of mine and she’s assured me up and down that she had no idea whatsoever about the human-trafficking allegations.”
“You’ve spoken recently?”
“A few days ago. Why?” he asked, pouring wine into their glasses.
“I’d like to talk to her.”
“About?”
“A tech company outside Boston that I suspect Duchaine used.”
The fashion designer pursed his lips, then dug out his phone. A few thumb taps later, he put the phone on speaker and set it between them on the counter.
“Phillip?”
“Hello, Nellie. I’d meant to call earlier.”
“Didn’t we all?” Ray said, her speech sounding a little slurred. “I can’t count the number of people I’ve called since I heard. It’s a nightmare!”
“It is.”
“You were cochair of the gala, weren’t you?”
Luster said, “I was.”
After a long pause, Bree heard ice clinking in a glass. Ray said, “I know it wasn’t your fault, Phillip. But I can’t help thinking the security should have been better, you know?”
That annoyed Luster. “Nellie, I am standing here with one of the women who fought the Russians after they shot Frances.”
Bree leaned over the phone. “Hi, Nellie. My name is Bree Stone, and I agree with you. Frances Duchaine should have had tighter security around her, given what happened at Paula Watkins’s party.”
