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Salazar said, “Why weren’t you at the party, Ms. Duchaine?”
Sounding bewildered, she said, “Can you imagine if I’d gone?”
“Why didn’t you?”
Frances Duchaine shifted uncomfortably. “I’d rather not say.”
“That won’t work. This is an investigation into a mass murder, Ms. Duchaine. Why weren’t you there?”
Duchaine’s jaw tightened and she glanced at French, who nodded.
“I had hosted a large fundraiser at my estate in Greenwich and I was tired. But it was more than that. I … I was recently diagnosed with Crohn’s disease and I was having a flare-up all yesterday afternoon.”
In the observation booth, Bree studied the fashion icon, who seemed embarrassed. She glanced at the only other two people in the booth: Blaine Roy, chief of detectives for NYPD, and Ellen Larkin, Salazar’s supervising lieutenant.
“My sister has it,” Lieutenant Larkin said. “Times you can’t drag her off the pot.”
Chief Roy’s nostrils flared. He asked Bree what she thought.
“Plausible but convenient,” Bree said.
In the interrogation room, Salazar said, “We’d love to talk to the doc who diagnosed you.”
“Dr. Leeann Webb at Lenox Hill,” Duchaine said without hesitation. “I called her yesterday around five. She gave me a new prescription. I have it all documented.”
“We’d like to see those documents,” Salazar said. “Crohn’s disease. That’s brought on by stress, right?”
Duchaine shook her head. “The flare-ups can be, but not the disease itself.”
“You were feeling stressed yesterday?”
The fashion icon nodded. “I had a ridiculous amount of design work due.”
“Nothing to do with finances?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think about finances. That was Paula’s job. And Ari’s.”
In the observation booth, Bree said, “Don’t let her have a pass on that.”
As if hearing her through the mirror, Detective Salazar said, “You do grasp your financial situation, though, correct?”
The fashion icon looked at her attorney. “What’s she asking?”
French looked at Salazar, seeming puzzled. “What financial situation is that?”
The detective rubbed her belly before saying, “By severalaccounts, your company has experienced a seventeen percent decline in revenues in the aftermath of a massive expansion of your retail arm. Your company now carries a crushing debt load. You have balloon payments on over four hundred million dollars, which you are personally on the hook for, coming due in less than ninety days. Do you understand, Frances?”
It was the first time Salazar had addressed Duchaine by her first name. The fashion mogul tried to act imperious. “I don’t have the foggiest what you’re talking about, Detective … whatever your name is.”
“With all due respect, Frances, you are either a liar or a fool.”
Her attorney stood. “That’s enough.”
“Not by a long shot, Counselor,” Salazar said firmly. “Sit down or we’ll start looking intoyourrole in all of this.”
“My role in all of what?” French demanded.
“A criminal enterprise inside Duchaine Inc. that’s engaged in human trafficking here in the city and over state lines to underpin the company’s and Frances’s rotting finances. Those are city, state, and federal offenses, Counselor, with extreme penalties.”
