CHAPTER
28
DEVINE LEFT THE FLOOR AND headed to another using his security card. Right now he needed to answer a question, and he thought he knew who might be able to help him. When the cops saw that entry log, things were going to go from bad to infinitely worse for him. He was surprised they hadn’t already seen it and arrested him.
He got off on the forty-first floor and found Wanda Simms about a minute later. She normally got in early, he knew, and she had her office on this floor. She was striding through the halls making sure that everything in her domain was ready to go for when everyone arrived. He imagined her home would be spotless and well organized right down to the kitchen cutlery drawers and the kitty litter box.
“Hey, Wanda.”
She saw him, and her expression changed to a look of terror, all professionalism ripped right from the woman. She rushed forward and gripped his arm.
“Did you hear about Sara?”
“Yeah, I did,” he said grimly.
“I can’t believe it. There’s a killer somewhere around here.”
“I’m sure the police are doing all they can.”
“I just wish they’d do it faster.”
“I had a question about something here at the office.”
“What?” she said, all efficiency again.
“I talked to some folks who said there was no one on the fifty-second floor the morning Sara was found. You said you were up there looking for people, but I don’t think anyone was there. At least that’s what I heard.”
She was already nodding. “There was a seminar for the M and A Division that morning. They were all over at the Ritz, well, all except the support staff, of course. The police found me and asked me to make sure the floor was clear. I told them about the seminar, but they still insisted I go office to office with two police officers. But I wasn’t surprised when no one was there. It was an all-hands seminar, you see, no exceptions.” Her expression grew sad. “Sara didn’t deserve to be killed like that.”
“No one does,” said Devine.
* * *
The cascade of financial data washed across his computer screen, but Devine wasn’t really focused on it. He was just treading water in a shark tank. It couldn’t be long now, could it?
He still flinched when the knock came. The door opened and a woman’s face appeared. She was one of the staff here. He couldn’t recall her name at the moment. His mind was already moving past her.
He started to rise even before she spoke. “Mr. Devine? Someone wants to speak to you.”
He slipped past the other cubicles. Several heads lifted to glimpse him for a moment before falling back to their screens and the pursuit of vast wealth thereon.
He followed her down the hall toward the elevators. There were two men there, both in suits that looked more like his than most of the other suits here, meaning rumpled and cheap.
One was a little taller than him, about six two, beefy, around fifty with grayish hair parted on the side. His partner was in his forties, balding, five ten and lean, with an expression that gave away nothing. The woman didn’t make introductions. She just scurried off while the men showed Devine their badges and identified themselves.
The tall one was Ralph Shoemaker, the shorter one Paul Ekman. They were assigned to the NYPD’s Homicide Squad and were investigating Sara Ewes’s death, Shoemaker said. His voice was low but sharp. Ekman’s was even sharper, with a helping of falsetto on certain words. Whether that was for effect or had something to do with his vocal cords, Devine didn’t know or care.
“We’d like to talk to you, Mr. Devine,” said Ekman.
“Okay. Seems like lots of people want to talk to me lately.”
“We have a room. This way.”
He followed them down the hall and into a space not much larger than the storage closet Ewes had been found hanging in. There were three chairs. Ekman told Devine to sit and he did. Both men sat across from him. There was no table separating them. They were nearly knee to knee. Devine knew this was intentional. Take away personal space and you got your target on edge from the get-go. He had done this very same thing interrogating Taliban and Al-Qaeda fighters they had captured. Even with a translator present, you could still put the screws to people. And they were doing it to Devine right now, or at least trying to.
Ekman took out a notebook, while Shoemaker leveled his gaze at Devine.
Shoemaker said, “Ranger, huh? My son’s in the Army. Infantry. He’s in South Korea.”