“But, begging your pardon, sir. How do you know if a club is social or otherwise?”
“It’s in the patches,” Saks replied. “But if you look at the back, you’ll get the story. Social clubs like mine have a one piece or sometimes two patches. One-percenters always have three pieces. We call the top and bottom semi-curves rockers.”
“It’s that simple?”
“Yes.”
“Imagine that. You do learn something new every day.”
With a single ding the elevator door slid open, leading Chrissy to step out. Except, her usually confident steps slowed to a sudden halt.
On high alert, Saks’ muscles grew taut. “Chrissy?”
“Robert,” she called back
, fear strung in her voice, “call the police.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When the police finally left, Chrissy sagged against the breakfast bar. She was entirely drained of energy and somehow riled up for action all at the same time. All the while they’d been there, the inspector had lobbed uncomfortable question after question at her as if she’d had something to do with it all. Saks had stood passively against the wall outside the apartment with his arms crossed, even after the police inspector questioned him as if he were a suspect, too. Chrissy supposed the Hades Spawn jacket he wore didn’t help. But a quick check of the airports records confirmed that they were nowhere near the apartment when whatever happened did.
The entire thing was a damn mystery.
The apartment had been ransacked as if someone was looking for something, but Chrissy couldn’t answer the officer’s question as to what that could be. Pearson rarely kept items of value, aside from his personal jewelry in the apartment.
They’d found Jessica’s bags, still packed, and the tux Pearson had worn the night before she’d left hanging in the closet. It hadn’t moved an inch from where she’d left it.
“And that’s significant how?” the police officer asked.
“The dry cleaners would have picked up his dry cleaning yesterday.”
“He gets his formal wear cleaned after one use?”
“All his clothes, Officer, yes. He’s very fastidious.”
Chrissy confirmed that nothing was missing. In fact, she found the iPad on Jessica's bed; more than anything, that one item left her stomach churning with worry.
The officer wrote up a statement, and Chrissy signed it. But it was apparent that this burglary, as the office called it, didn’t spark the same concern in the police as it did in Chrissy.
“Okay, Miss. We’ll canvass the building and check the cameras. This will get turned over to an inspector for further investigation. Here’s my contact information. How can we contact you?”
Chrissy gave the officer the contact number of the New York Office. “They’ll call me right away and relay any messages.”
“Then we’ll be going now. If you realize anything is missing, or you hear from Mr. Pearson or Miss Saunders, please call us.”
“You got everything you need?”
“Yes, Miss, we’ve taken your prints and dusted throughout. But you’re right. Aside from the toss, everything here is very clean. We found no prints.”
Chrissy thanked them, and motioned Saks further into the apartment. With her arms perched across her chest she let out a hefty sigh and stared. Seat cushions had been tossed to the floors, drawers were pulled open and dumped out, tables had been upended, and every last bit of mail had been sliced open.
Whatever had happened was violent, yet the police seemed to be treating it like it was nothing.
“So, what now?” she asked aloud, without expecting an actual answer.
“I need to make a call home and I don’t have international coverage on my phone.”
Chrissy handed him her phone. “If you did I’d think you had some Ukraine sweetie who you had phone sex with at night.”