I nodded. “I’m not buying it either. Sci, I want you to stay here. Run your own analysis on the scene. The shooter might have touched something or had contact with someone on his way in. See if you can track his arrival. Find out how he got here.”
Letitia Jones, the Parkers’ lawyer, had arranged for us to be accorded every professional courtesy by the Exchange. Any help they could offer to bring the killer to justice would play well in the media, and I had no doubt the executives were terrified by the prospect of being hit with a wrongful death and negligence lawsuit by the Parker family.
“What are your relationships like with NYPD?” I asked.
“Good,” Sci replied.
He regularly traveled the world giving lectures on forensic science, and shared our resources with the FBI’s Quantico lab and police departments around the country. He was well respected by law-enforcement agencies everywhere.
“See what they’ve found,” I suggested.
“Will do,” he replied.
“What about me?” Justine asked.
“Find out about the chopper they used to escape,” I said.
She nodded.
“And Mo-bot, I want you to come with me. We’re going to find out what Karl Parker wanted to tell me.”
CHAPTER 18
JESSIE HAD PROVIDED us with one of Private New York’s staff cars, a black Nissan Rogue. As I drove Mo-Bot out to Long Island, she talked about anything and everything other than the case. How New Yorkers were crazy to put up with this weather when California was open for business; what was happening in the world of quantum computing; the latest developments in artificial intelligence; her planned vacation to Cairo to visit the Pyramids of Giza. For ninety minutes I forgot about failing Karl Parker and almost felt like my old self again. If Mo-bot’s rambling monologue was designed to take my mind off things, it worked.
Then we arrived at Karl and Victoria’s beachfront home and reality came crashing in when I was confronted with the trappings of the life that had been taken. Karl had come a long way from his Marine instructing days. A double gate opened onto a long drive that led from Hilltop Avenue toward the coast. High trees heavy with snow lined the driveway, and after a quarter of a mile or so, they gave way to a paved courtyard which lay in front of a huge two-story beachfront mansion. A Mercedes G-Wagen and a Bentley were parked outside a six-car garage that stood near the house.
“Some place,” Mo-bot observed as we parked beside the other cars.
We got out and crunched across the snow-covered drive to the front door, where a housekeeper waited.
“Come in,” she said. “Mrs. Parker is in the library.”
The housekeeper introduced herself as Ermilita. She led us through a beautifully decorated house to a large library that overlooked the beach. Bookcases lined three walls, and in the middle of the room were a couch and two armchairs that faced the floor-to-ceiling windows. Victoria Parker was standing by one of the windows, looking out at the beach. There were patches of snow here and there, but most of it had been swept away by the saltwater. Victoria turned to face us as we entered, and it was obvious she’d been crying.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
Victoria gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Thanks for seeing us,” I said. “This is Maureen Roth. Maureen’s our resident technology expert.”
The two women shook hands.
“Where do we start?” Victoria said.
“I’d like to ask you some questions about Karl, and Maureen will take a look at Karl’s computers and files, if that’s OK,” I replied.
“Let me show you his office,” Victoria said.
We were on our way out of the library when a buzzer sounded. Ermilita hurried ahead and we heard the front door open. Words were exchanged, but I couldn’t make out what was being said.
“Ma’am,” Ermilita called. “There’s a package for … well, you’d better come and see.”
Mo-bot and I followed Victoria, and we found a UPS delivery driver waiting by the front door. He was holding a package about the size of a shoebox.
“What is it?” Victoria asked.
“Look at the writing, ma’am,” Ermilita replied.