She spent the next few hours watching the hotel while going over Henry St. Michel’s finances. The holo-projection from her earpiece could only create a small, flickering screen, so that took a while and gave her very little information. He’d taken out a lot of cash recently, but before then, his accounts were steady. He clearly wasn’t rich, and the business wasn’t thriving, but he was surviving in the city, which was more than a lot of people could say. Linnea’s finances were separate; Danny had tried to access them, but they were behind a heavily encrypted server that would take a while to crack. Simone told him not to bother. There was nothing here.
She’d been watching the hotel, camera at the ready, for nearly four hours. The Blonde hadn’t showed, and she had other things to investigate. And now a private meeting with Sorenson to wonder about. Maybe The Blonde had already checked out, or maybe Simone had been spotted and The Blonde had cancelled her plans to avoid being seen. Waiting and patience were part of a good detective’s job, but so was adaptability. There were other alleys of investigation to go down. Simone stubbed out her cigarette and left the newspage behind.
HENRY AND LOU’S BUSINESS didn’t look different from the outside. Henry’s name hadn’t been removed; there wasn’t a sign that said “Closed due to death of a partner.” Simone knocked and went in without waiting for an answer.
Inside didn’t show the signs of a hasty exodus that Simone had half-expected. No frantic Lou packing up goods in messy balls of plastic wrap and cardboard. It was the same as before. Lou sat at the same desk, a cigarette drooping from her mouth. It smelled good—real tobacco. Simone wondered how she could afford it. Wondered if she’d share. She looked up when Simone came in.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Simone walked closer to Lou.
“The cops said I shouldn’t talk to you,” Lou said, standing. “Said you weren’t whoever you said, from Canada. Said you’re a shamus and you helped Henry take his last drink.”
“That last one is a lie,” Simone said. “I want to find out who killed Henry.”
“That’s nice.” Lou took the cigarette from her mouth. She blew smoke out through her nose.
“You don’t seem too broken up over the death of your partner.” Simone sat down in the chair across from Lou.
“That’s a dumb line,” Lou leaned back in her chair. Simone stared until she looked away and started talking again. “Henry was a good guy. He worked for my husband, before he died. I liked the kid, but he wasn’t family. He was always closer with my husband.” She didn’t talk about Henry as though he were her son, Simone thought. More like he was a family pet.
“So who would have killed him? Was he working on anything big?”
“I told you the cops told me not to talk to you.”
“If you really cared what the cops thought you would have called them the moment I came in.”
Lou barked a laugh. “Fair enough.”
“So was he working on anything?”
“Nothing abnormal. You can look at his desk calendar if you want. The cops took his touchdesk server, but he kept everything on paper, too—people get old-fashioned in our business.” She gestured with her cigarette towards Henry’s desk. “Why are you even on this, anyway?”
“Linnea hired me,” Simone said, standing and walking over to Henry’s desk. “She thought he was cheating.”
Lou laughed again. “Cheating? They may not have cared much for each other anymore, but he wasn’t fool enough to cheat. Linnea was the one with the money.”
“What makes you think they didn’t care for each other?” Simone flipped through the calendar, finding the night he was shot. Usual business stuff was written down, but at the bottom of the page was the name Misty and “7 p.m.” No address. No last name. Simone took out her camera and shot a photo.
“Oh, nothing specific. He didn’t talk about her much; sometimes he sounded tense on the phone with her. But he didn’t confide in me. You should ask his mother.”
“His mother?”
“Trixie. She’s uptown, on the Paradise—you know, the cruise ship they made into an old-age home? Tasteless name. When I was younger I thought it was so tasteless it was funny. Now, just tasteless.”
“I know it.”
“It’s like a prison for people like me. I wouldn’t be caught dead on one of those. I’m still in the same apartment my husband and I bought before the water started rising.”
“You were there when it was retrofitted?”
“Oh yes. It was one of the late ones, built ten years before the water, so it was ready for it. Lots of neighbors moved out anyway. Cowards. Now I have a younger sort of neighbors. Noisier. I don’t mind it, really, but… Howard used to ask them to quiet down, and they would listen to him. I don’t bother.” Lou sighed and took a long drag on her cigarette. “Anything interesting on his calendar?”
“Do you know this Misty he was supposed to meet with the other night?” Lou shrugged, then turned to her touchdesk and pressed a few keys. “I don’t know the name, and we don’t have anything on record.” Simone filed the name away—maybe it was The Blonde.
“Don’t suppose you know where Linnea is?”
“Linnea? I hardly ever see her. Is she missing?”
“Not picking up her phone, anyway.”
“Isn’t that the sort of thing you’d call suspicious?”
“My dad always taught me to view everything as suspicious.” Lou cocked her head, half a nod of agreement. “Do you recognize this woman?” Simone found a photo of The Blonde on her camera and handed it to Lou. Lou held it away from her face, and lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose.
“No. Should I?”
“She had dinner with Henry the night before he died,” Simone said.
“She have a name?” Lou asked. Simone shook her head. “Well, I could see why Linnea might be jealous. But no. I don’t know her.”
“If you do see her, or she shows up asking questions, or Linnea pops up, would you mind calling me?” Simone took out one of her cards and put it on the desk.
“I’ll consider it.”
“That’s the best I can hope for.” Simone headed for the door but turned around as she opened it. Lou was staring at the card Simone had left on the desk, unmoving. “And thanks.”
“Police are idiots,” Lou said, not looking up. “But you seem like you might be smart. Don’t disappoint me. He might not have been family, but he was home. Part of… this.” She threw her arm out, gesturing at the empty room, then looked down at her desk, as if ashamed to have shown a flicker of sadness. Simone stared at Lou a moment longer and saw the wrinkles around her face slowly falling, like a wave in slow motion. She looked sad. Tired. Alone. Simone nodded and left. This wasn’t a moment she was invited to participate in. And she’d gotten enough.
LINNEA AND HENRY’S PLACE was just a half-hour walk uptown, around NYU. Once outside, Simone lit a cigarette and started walking. Her phone buzzed, announcing a new message. She tapped her earpiece as she walked away from the shipping company. The message was from deCostas.
“Simone,” her phone read to her, “I hope we’re still on for more exploration. I have selected more buildings, specifically One Wall Street, Clinton Tower, and 590 Madison Avenue. I hope you’re up for it. I promise to be a good boy this time and follow your every command.”
Simone took a drag off her cigarette as she walked. She didn’t really have time for babysitting deCostas anymore. But… he was still easy money and easy on the eyes. She could handle both cases. deCostas would just have to stay on the back burner. A lot depended on what she could get out of Caroline on Saturday, what she found at the St. Michel house, and what she learned from Henry’s mother. She had tomorrow open. She wrote him back that she’d meet him at his hotel and take him to One Wall Street. Best to do that one earliest, considering what it became at night. But for now she needed to figure out what was going on with The Blonde before she saw Caroline, and that meant finding Linnea, if she could. She finished her cigarette and tossed it into the water, then stared up at the St. Michel townhouse. If Linnea really had run off, she might have left behind some evidence of where she was going.