“I’ve had some experience in that area, on the wrong end, unfortunately.” I touched his arm. “I’m just curious, you know? And worried. Because it’s Robin.”
“I know, darling.”
“I guess I just want to know whether you saw anything that would cause Inspector Lee to arrest her.”
“Frankly, no.” But a frown line marred his forehead. “I can’t imagine they would think she ransacked her own apartment.”
“Ransacked? What do you mean?”
“You didn’t notice?”
“No. I must’ve been distracted by the body. You’re telling me that someone searched her place?”
“It was a shambles, so if they were searching for something, they didn’t do a neat job of it. Things were upturned and pulled off shelves, sofa cushions thrown every which way. Nothing truly damaged, just tossed about.”
“Oh, hell, that stinks.” Poor Robin, as if she didn’t have enough to deal with.
“Yes, it does. However, what struck me as even more odd was that the victim had absolutely no identification on him. No papers, no passport, no driver’s license, credit cards, cash. Nothing.”
“No wallet?”
“No. I assume whoever killed him must’ve taken it.”
“They must’ve,” I said. “Nobody walks around without identification or money. Or a credit card. Hell, a Costco card. Something.”
“True.” Derek clutched his coffee cup. “But his pockets were cleaned out.”
“Wow.” I was stymied. “So the killer searched Robin’s place and stole this guy’s identification papers. I don’t get it.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t either. And until Robin is strong enough to return to her home, there’s no telling whether something was stolen or not.”
“I doubt she’ll want to go inside and find out anytime soon.”
“No.” He pondered the facts for a moment. “She was able to drive to your home, so she had her keys, at least.”
“Right,” I murmured. “And she had her purse. So I assume the guy didn’t steal her wallet. Which kind of creeps me out even more. I mean, a burglary would make sense. But this.” I rubbed my arms. “It’s disturbing.”
“Yes.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “While looking through his clothing, I noticed his shirt label was in Russian.”
“Russian? From a Russian shirt company? Printed in Russian letters?”
“Cyrillic lettering, to be precise.”
“Right. Robin said he was from Ukraine. Do Ukrainians speak Russian?”
“It’s a source of friction, but yes, Russian is spoken by many Ukrainians. The two countries were still united up until twenty some years ago.” He finished off his coffee and tossed the cup in a nearby trash can. “Let’s get back to the shirt, which I happen to know came from a well-known men’s store in Russia.”
“You know the store it came from?” I asked in amazement. But why was I surprised? The man had traveled all over the world. He’d worked with British intelligence, so he might’ve spent time in Russia. Or Ukraine. Or anywhere else, for that matter. He spoke, like, forty-three languages. Okay, seven or eight, but who was counting?
“Yes, I do,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “Uomo Firenzi is a high-end men’s store. There are several branches in Moscow and one in Saint Petersburg.”
“Have you shopped there?”
“No. The clothes are of Italian design but they cater to… Russian tastes.”
I smiled at the tone of distaste in his voice. “Not your style, I take it?”
“Beautiful craftsmanship, very expensive, but no, not my taste.”
“Not Burberry enough for you?”
He pursed his lips to keep from smiling. “No. Not a bit of plaid or an elbow patch to be found anywhere.”
“What a shame.”
“Indeed,” he said with a regal nod.
I sipped my coffee. “So he’s Russian or Ukrainian. He’s wealthy, with expensive taste in clothing.”
“And exceptional taste in women,” Derek added.
“Right, because he zoned right in on Robin. But he’s got seriously questionable taste in friends.”
“Or enemies.”
“More likely.” I chewed my last bite of muffin. “Which leaves us precisely nowhere. Except wondering how or why in the world Robin got mixed up with this guy.”
He patted my knee. “Let’s go see how she’s doing and perhaps find out more about this mysterious Ukrainian.”
Before we left the bakery, I purchased four of their fluffy red velvet cupcakes, hoping they would cheer Robin up.
As we walked, my mind went back to wondering how Robin had dealt with the grizzly scene in her apartment earlier that morning. Had she realized her apartment was a mess? A shambles, as Derek said? And not just from blood and death. Someone had apparently torn her place apart.
She hadn’t mentioned it earlier. Had she even noticed? Or had Alex’s death eclipsed all else?
As we walked back on Noe Street and turned on Elizabeth, I asked Derek’s opinion. “Do you think Robin simply didn’t notice, or do you think someone came in later, after she was gone, to search for something?”
He gritted his teeth, indicating that he’d had those same questions. “My gut instinct tells me she simply didn’t notice. She shut down, grabbed the essentials-her keys, purse, coat-and ran. That same instinct makes me think whoever killed Alex searched the place immediately afterward, before Robin awoke.”
“Why do you think so?”
“The killer and the searcher are probably the same person. As long as Robin slept through the killing, why wouldn’t they stay and search the place right then and there? Otherwise, they’d have to leave and take a chance on returning later, unobserved.”
“True. And the thought of two different people breaking into her home in one night stretches the realm of probability pretty far.”
“Yes, it does,” he said, and took hold of my hand.
As we walked, I tried to imagine someone traipsing through Robin’s apartment, throwing her things around, looking for God knew what. It was disturbing, to say the least, and I made a concerted effort to push it out of my mind. Instead, I focused my thoughts on those four sweet red velvet cupcakes inside the white box I was carrying. Ah, happy thoughts. Peace. Love. Food.
It was noon by the time we got back to Sharon’s and found Robin slouched in the recliner again, looking exhausted. Inspectors Lee and Jaglom were sitting at Sharon’s dining room table carrying on a quiet conversation. Sharon was in her kitchen, cutting something on her chopping-block table in the middle of the large, sunny room. She looked up and smiled, and I had the thought that despite her very real concern for Robin, she would be able to dine out on this story for a long time.
Inspector Jaglom focused his patient eyes on me. “We’ve told Ms. Tully that she’s free to go for now, but she won’t be able to go inside her place for a few days.”
“She’ll stay with me,” I said.
He nodded, then caught Robin’s gaze. “You won’t leave town without contacting us first, will you, Ms. Tully?”
“I promise I won’t.”
Inspector Lee pushed away from the table and stood. “Commander Stone, can we have a word with you? It won’t take long.”
Derek handed me his keys and motioned for me to take Robin down to his car. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“Okay,” I said, grabbing the key ring. Then I turned to the two detectives. “I guess I’ll see you both later.”
“No doubt,” Lee said.
That’s what I was afraid of.
While we waited for Derek in the Bentley, Robin rested in the backseat. An earlier request to pack up some of her clothes and essentials had been refused, so Robin would be stuck using my stuff for a day or so until we could get back into her apartment. I had extra toothbrushes and sundry items she could use, but beyond a sweatshirt and sweatpants, my clothes would be a problem for her. Robin was five feet, two inches tall with great curves, while I was seven inches taller and thinner by a size or two. I could see a shopping trip in our future.