He relaxed a fraction. “What did she do?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“A week ago. We hooked up.”
“We’d heard you two broke up,” Malcolm said.
“We did, but that didn’t get in the way of some good clean fun.”
“A week ago would be last Wednesday?”
“Yeah. We were at an impromptu cast party. We had a great time.” His eyes narrowed. “I can promise you that the sex was consensual.”
“No doubt.”
“If she’s not complaining, then why the visit?”
Instead of answering, Malcolm countered with another question. “What do you do for a living?”
“I work construction,” Gold said.
“Where?”
“The job site is out in Fairfax.”
“Missed any work lately?”
“No. You can ask my boss. I’ve been working overtime for the last couple of weeks so I could have time off for play practice.” He supplied his boss’s name and number.
Malcolm wrote it down. “And you come here right after work?”
Gold’s frown deepened. “Ask anyone. I just about live here. What’s this about?”
“We’ve found Sierra’s body. We’re trying to retrace her steps,” Malcolm said.
That undercut Gold’s bravado. “Oh. That’s rough.”
“Yeah. Rough. So the last time you saw her was at the party?”
“Yeah, and she was alive and kicking. After we did our thing, she said she had a better dude waiting for her. He was rich. She took off to see him.”
“This dude got a name?”
“Don’t know.”
“Anyone show great interest in her that you were aware of?”
“Sierra attracted attention like honey does bees. She knew how to work a room, and when she wanted to she’d light it up. If you could get Sierra at your party, she made it fun. And for the record, I didn’t send her those notes.”
“What notes?”
“The ones that said she was pretty.”
“Where did she find these notes?”
“Front door. Car. Dressing table. The guy even gave her an ivory pendant.”
“Who would have the notes and jewelry?”
“Zoe, I guess.”
“That Zoe Morgan her roommate?” Garrison said.
“Yeah.”
They’d put calls into Ms. Morgan but hadn’t connected with her.
“Go see Zoe,” Gold said. “Knowing Sierra, all her crap is still piled high in Zoe’s spare room.”
* * *
Zoe Morgan’s third-floor walk-up was located in Old Town over a dress shop that had GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE signs in the front window. The racks in the store looked picked over, and only a few half-interested women milled around inside.
They climbed the stairs. On the second floor the distinct scent of roasting chicken wafted out from one of the apartments. The sound of a television and a woman talking loudly leaked out from behind another door.
Police work was hardly the glamorous stuff he saw on television. It was a lot of mundane legwork that produced too much information that had to be sorted through for the few nuggets of gold. But to give in to the mundane was dangerous. In a blink the routine could explode in violence.
The stairs that led to the third floor narrowed. They found her apartment and knocked. Zoe answered her door on the third knock.
Dressed in a dark suit and a white silk shirt, the woman who greeted them looked as if she’d just gotten home from the office. A tight ponytail held back brown hair and accentuated a high slash of cheekbones and a peaches-and-cream complexion that needed no makeup.
“Can I help you?” the woman said.
Garrison pulled out his badge. “We’re with Alexandria Police. Are you Zoe Morgan?”
Her shoulders edged back just a fraction. “That’s right. What’s the problem?”
“May we come in?” Malcolm prompted.
“First tell me what this is about.”
“Your roommate,” Malcolm said. “Her body was found yesterday.”
Zoe’s lips parted in surprise, and the muscles in her face tightened. She stepped aside. “Come in.”
The place was neatly arranged. A floral couch, two chairs, a flat-screen television, a built-in shelf loaded with books, and a large window that allowed the fading afternoon light to flood into the apartment. On several walls were framed posters of ballet productions: Giselle, Swan Lake, and The Nutcracker.
Malcolm made no effort to disguise his appraisal of the room. He’d discovered living spaces said a great deal about people. “How long was Sierra Day your roommate?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “About a month. It was only supposed to be for a few days, but I should have known better with Sierra. Once she’s in a place it’s hard to get rid of her.”
“You two were friends?”
“I wouldn’t say friends. We were acquaintances. I’m the marketing director for the Washington Ballet. She worked at most of the theaters in the metro area. We ran in the same circles. When she asked me if she could stay for a few nights it seemed the nice thing to do.”
“How did you two meet?”
“She was my understudy in a play a few years ago.”
“You the actress that suddenly got sick just before opening night?”
Dark brows creased. “How did you know?”
“Grapevine says that Sierra gave you a little something that made you sick so she could step into your role.”
Zoe frowned. “That’s not true.”
“What was wrong with you?”
She hesitated. “Food poisoning.”
“That’s a bad break.”
Zoe was cool, controlled. “Not really. I was trying to act when I could no longer dance. Acting was not a good fit for me. I landed the ballet marketing job a few weeks after that play shut down.”
“Why’d you let Sierra move into your place?”
“She needed a place to crash. That play stuff was water under the bridge.”
“Okay.”
Zoe folded her arms over her chest. “So where did you find her?”
“She was found at Angel Park.”
She arched a brow. “Really?”
“That means something?” Malcolm said.
“Her last reviewer called her an ‘angel on stage.’ She liked the description and repeated it a lot.”
“A lot of people heard it?” Garrison said.
“Knowing Sierra, yes. She was no shrinking violet. How did she die?”
Malcolm would bet that Zoe was no shrinking violet either. “We’re still trying to figure all that out. Did she pay you rent?”
A smile tipped the edge of Zoe’s lips. “Not a dime. But then it was just supposed to be a few days.”
“How long has it been since you last saw her?”
A crease formed on her smooth forehead. “Ten or eleven days. A Wednesday, I think.”
“It didn’t surprise you that she didn’t come home for so long?” Garrison said.
“No. She’s been coming and going like that since day one. Last Friday night I paused and wondered if she’d come home. I peeked in her room, but couldn’t tell if she’d been through or not. It’s always a wreck. I left early on Saturday for a seminar and just got back today.”
“Where was the seminar?”
“New York. It was a medical convention focused on healing injuries.”
“You want to dance again?” Malcolm said.
Her fingers tightened very slightly around her forearms. “Yes, I do. I used to be a very talented dancer. A car accident changed all that. I’d hoped the seminar would show me new healing techniques to strengthen my right ankle.”