She looked intrigued. “Will is very good.”

  “But you might be better.”

  “Send me the email and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Jill.”

  After she left, he forwarded her the email. Then Devine took the two remaining names from Ewes’s match list and found them online. The actor was indeed in London’s West End. He was an understudy in a play there, and had actually performed in the lead role on the night Sara had died, so he was obviously out. The businessman was employed at Fidelity in Boston. Devine accessed his Facebook page by using the same skullduggery he had with Christian Chilton.

  On the night Sara had been killed, the businessman and his family had been in the Netherlands on vacation, with pictures to prove it.

  A total dead end.

  Devine grabbed a beer, walked outside, and sat on the front porch of the town house. The air had turned cool, the sky was threaded with stars, and the quiet of the night was immensely soothing.

  He looked over as Helen Speers walked up to him, dressed in a dark jacket and matching skirt, a briefcase in hand.

  “You’re getting in really late. And it’s not safe to walk from the station at this hour,” he admonished.

  “You do it all the time,” she retorted.

  “Yeah, well, I outweigh you by over a hundred pounds and I’m a badass Army Ranger. What were you doing?”

  “Working at a firm in town. Part-time until I pass the bar.”

  She sat next to him and took off her high heels, rubbing her stockinged feet. “Why the sad face?”

  “Just a long, shitty day, no other reason.”

  “Yeah, I had one of those, too.”

  “Then you could use this.” He held up the beer.

  Speers took two swigs and let them go down slow. She handed the bottle back. “Need that lawyer yet?”

  “Getting really close, I think.”

  “NYPD any closer to nailing whoever killed that woman?”

  He took another drink and passed the bottle back and told Speers to finish it. “I don’t know about that. I do know that the guy here asking me questions lied about being with NYPD. There apparently is no Detective Karl Hancock, or at least that’s my take from the reactions of the real detectives who questioned me.”

  “A fake detective? What the hell is that about?”

  “I wish I knew. I seem to be right in the middle of a little conspiracy.”

  She shot him a look. “Are any conspiracies actually little?”

  He eyed her. “Not when you’re in the middle of one, actually. You gonna do your yoga?”

  “Thinking of bagging it, actually. Why?”

  He gave her a look up and down, taking the woman all in; she was just mesmerizing to him right now. “I don’t know,” he lied as he looked away.

  “Don’t you, Travis?”

  He shot her a glance. “What?”

  “You ever see me reading Braille? No. Because I’m not blind.”

  She stood, put on her heels, and said, “Give me a few minutes to freshen up.”

  He glanced up at her, thoroughly taken aback by this abrupt development. “You sure about this, Helen? I mean . . . ” To Devine it all seemed sudden, but also a long time in coming, with lots of glances and sneaked looks and innuendos that danced around probably the most natural, and difficult, phenomena between two people.

  “I’m attracted to you, and you to me. We’re consenting adults, are we not?”

  Devine didn’t answer; he didn’t think he had to.

  He gave her ten minutes and then headed up.

  She was lying on the bed when he walked into her room. She had on a loose-fitting top and a pair of pajama shorts. As he slipped next to her, Speers met him with her mouth. After five minutes of feeling each other out in both familiar and unfamiliar ways, they slowly undressed one another. She pushed him flat on his back and climbed on top.

  She looked at his shoulder where the shrapnel had torn through, with some of the metal still in there. She next glanced down at his damaged calf.

  “Still hurt?”

  “Not right now, no.”

  Her lips curled into a smile. “Thank you for your service, soldier.”

  He grinned back. “Fuck me, legal eagle.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Twenty breathless minutes later, she toppled off her perch and nestled beside him.

  “Been a while,” she said, nicking his chest with her nails.

  “For you or me?”

  “Both, I think.”

  “Yeah.”

  Speers closed her eyes, her hand gripping his, and fell asleep.

  He lay there with her for about an hour before quietly disengaging and heading to his room.

  Later, when four o’clock came and his phone alarm went off, Devine didn’t budge.

  The rain was pouring outside and he heard a crack of thunder. A moment later the accompanying lightning brightened his room briefly.

  No workout this morning. He needed to sleep anyway. But he stared at the ceiling.

  And on its surface Devine saw the image of a dead Sara Ewes. And his heart felt like it was about to break.

  CHAPTER

  37

  DEVINE HAD ARRIVED AT THE train station a little early and had a chat with a man who worked there. The security cameras were often not working, he was told. And the police had not been by to check them. That information had cost Devine ten bucks.

  He had a mobile ticketing app on his iPhone and paid for his train passage that way. The conductor would simply zap the screen with his reader. So there would be a record for when he had used it. The only problem was you could still buy single tickets at the machine using cash. There would be no record attached to that, or so the police would argue. And he could have driven his motorcycle into the city. If he took the Henry Hudson Bridge on the way in there would be a toll and record thereof. But there were alternate routes he could take that did not include toll roads. So that would not be conclusive, again, as far as the cops were concerned.

  But you didn’t use your card to get into the building that night, and your name still showed up on the entry and exit log. Someone cloned your card—the only question is who.

  As he waited for the train, he thought about Cowl. The man must have somehow delayed giving the electronic log to the cops. How he had managed to do that in a murder investigation, Devine didn’t know. The guy was rich and influential and probably had a direct line to the mayor’s office. But at some point he would have to turn it over.

  And Cowl intimated my picture was on the security video. Will the police think I’m stupid enough to have left that kind of trail?

  But criminals were stupid. You heard such stories all the time. But what would his motive be? Not the pregnancy. Ewes had already terminated it. Then something occurred to him.

  If I knew she was pregnant with my child, and I wanted the kid and found out she had terminated it?

  That was a clear motive.

  The train opened its door and he climbed on board. With these perilous thoughts running through his head, he was mentally exhausted before he’d even gotten to work.

  The storm had spent its fury, and the 6:20 ran dry all the way to the palace pool.

  And there she was. Now he knew her name at least.

  Michelle Montgomery was staring into the pool water. This time her bathing suit was—shocker—not a bikini. It was a one-piece the color of the sky. After Devine had met the woman and intimated that there were lots of guys watching her, maybe Montgomery had decided to show some modesty.

  Devine thought that right up until the moment she turned, revealing that the one-piece had a thong backside showing off her tanned buttocks. Montgomery catwalk-stepped away and then raised both her hands overhead and flipped off the morning Harlem Line riders with both barrels.

  He had to smile. The lady had a certain style, he had to admit. Along with a pair of brass balls.

  The train rode on while Devine thought about the previous night, with Helen Speers. It had been a while since he had been with a woman. He knew the exact date, in fact. And that might cause him problems down the road, because that woman had been Sara Ewes. They had had sex at her place in Brooklyn. It had been a wonderful experience and Devine had thought there would be many more. But it was not to be. And it had not been his decision. It had been hers.

  His phone buzzed. By the string of weird digits, he could tell it was an international number.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Devine?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Ellen Ewes. I apologize for the early call.”

  That explained it. The phone number was from New Zealand.

  The mother sounded eerily like Sara on the phone. And he felt immensely uncomfortable hearing her voice when he had just been thinking about having had sex with her deceased daughter.

  “No problem, Mrs. Ewes.”

  “Please make it Ellen. I understand the police have been by to see you.”

  “They have been. I told them what I knew and it was left at that.”

  “Did they tell you why they came by?”

  “Yes, that you had contacted them.”

  “Can you come by the house later? We’d like to talk to you.”

  “I can come by after work. Say around eight?”

  “Eight will be fine. We’ll see you then.”

  He put his phone away and thought about this all the way into the city.

  * * *

  Devine was sitting at his cubicle when a message dropped into his business email box.

  5:00 top floor. I’ll have someone escort you. BC

  He fingered his phone, very glad that all of his “evidence” from that night was safely on his personal cloud. But even with that, Cowl could have something up his sleeve.

  He looked around the room and noticed several people staring at him before quickly looking away. This had happened so frequently throughout the day that Devine finally stood and walked over to one woman who had done this multiple times.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Her name was Lydia White. She had dark hair and was heavyset and was probably going to make it to the finish line at Cowl because she was smart, worked like a dray horse, and knew what she wanted. He hadn’t spoken fifty words to her, and she had never given him the evil eye like this before.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “And that’s supposed to mean what, exactly?”

  All tapping had ceased, and the rest of the Burners stopped working to listen.

  “The detectives talked to you,” said White.

  “They talked to a lot of people,” replied Devine.

  “No, I asked around. It seems they really just talked to you, at least more than once. And you knew Sara.”

  “We all knew Sara, everybody in this room.”

  “Maybe you knew her better than the rest of us,” said White in an accusatory tone.

  “And you’re basing this on what?” he said.

  “I don’t have to base it on anything.” She looked him over. “You were in the Army. You know how to kill people.”

  “Yeah, I was killing the enemies of this country. And don’t bother thanking me for my service. I think we’re past that.”

  White flushed at his words and looked away.

  He glanced around at the others. “Anybody else have a problem they’d like to bring to my attention?”

  The keys started tapping again, soon turning into an avalanche of sound. That was why most people here wore headphones or AirPods.

  Devine sat back down. And put in his AirPods. They did nothing to quell all the noise in his head.

  He worked until 4:58. Then the door opened and there appeared Willard Paulson, Cowl’s lapdog. He caught Devine’s eye and motioned him to come.

  Devine left with the Burners’ gazes on him the whole way.

  Paulson said nothing, and Devine had nothing he wanted to say to the dweeb. Paulson used his card to access the elevator bank. It looked just like Devine’s, a 125, as Valentine had described it. Easily cloneable bullshit.

  “I didn’t think this elevator went to the penthouse,” said Devine. “Only Mr. Cowl has access.”

  Paulson shot him a glance. “We’ll get off at the floor below and someone will meet you and take you to Mr. Cowl.”

  As they approached the fifty-first floor, Devine eyed Paulson, who was looking at his phone. Devine leaned against the wall and used his elbow to nudge the button for that floor. It didn’t light up, and they whizzed right past it.

  That’s interesting. Not even the inner circle can get in there.

  The doors opened and Devine got off, where he was met by her smiling face.

  “Hello, Mr. Devine,” said Michelle Montgomery.

  CHAPTER

  38

  THE DOORS CLOSED BEHIND PAULSON, leaving Devine and Montgomery all alone. She was dressed for the office, not the pool. Dark pinstriped jacket and slacks, white blouse, no hint of cleavage, two-inch pumps, hair parted and a little slicked back on the sides. Her tan wasn’t as vivid under artificial light.

  He followed her down a long hall.

  “So, why did you get picked for this assignment?” he asked.

  “Because I don’t think Brad trusts anyone who works here.”

  “By the way, I loved your act this morning. Both finger barrels to the whole train.”

  She smiled. “Did you also like the view?”

  He involuntarily glanced at her bottom.

  “I thought so,” she said impishly.

  When they arrived at another elevator, she held a phone up in front of a reader there.

  Cowl’s phone?

  The doors opened, they entered, and she hit the button.

  “So, can I be allowed to hold a billionaire’s phone for a second?” She looked over at him, smiled, and passed it across.

  The phone was one of those new, big Apples. The cover was gold and shiny. And the screen saver was a Bugatti Chiron.

  Of course it is.

  He took out his phone and snapped a photo of Cowl’s screen.

  “Why’d you do that?” she asked.

  He laughed. “For posterity.”

  She laughed, too.

  He handed back the phone.

  She said, “So, how did a billionaire’s phone feel?”

  “Heavy as a ball and chain. I’m actually surprised Cowl trusts anyone with it.”

  She shrugged. “What am I going to do with it, make a long-distance call?”

  She obviously doesn’t know the possibilities, thought Devine. But I do. “I ran into your family friend last night.”

  “Christian told me.”

  “And what else did Christian tell you?”

  “That you kicked his ass and the asses of his two large friends.”

  “And did he tell you why?”

  “It was over a girl. He didn’t say he was in the right, just in case you were wondering. He’s actually a nice guy—a little full of himself, but I’ve seen far worse from guys with money.”

  The doors opened directly into the foyer of the large penthouse.

  “Nice place,” said Devine.

  “Yeah, if you like stuffy, overfurnished, and mundane. I like the other house a lot better. Minimalism is my thing.” She called out, “Brad? He’s here.”

  “Do you know why I am here?”

  “I don’t get involved in his business. I told you that already. You coming by my place like I asked you to?”

  “How late are you up?”

  “As late as it takes. I’ll text you my address. It’s not far from here.”

  Maybe farther than you think, at least from my perspective, he thought.

  “Devine,” called out Cowl as he rounded a corner. He held out his hand, and Montgomery placed the phone directly in it. “This way. Thanks, Michelle.”

  Montgomery smiled inscrutably at Devine and disappeared somewhere.

  Cowl said, “Follow me.”

  They entered what looked like a study. Cowl closed the double doors and said, “What do you want to drink?”

  “Beer?”

  “No. We’ll drink brandy.”

  “Okay.” So much for having a choice with this guy.

  Cowl poured out two snifters from a bar set against a wall and handed one to Devine. Then he took out an electronic wand from inside a cabinet and ran it over Devine.

  “Just checking for wires and stuff. Can never be too careful these days. Take out your phone and turn it off.”

  As Devine turned his phone off Cowl said, “Everybody—and I mean everybody—is spying on everybody else with this electronic shit. I don’t like using email or texts. I don’t even like calling people, because you never know who’s listening. The important stuff? I do it the old-fashioned way. Analog. Face-to-face.”

  They sat across from each in leather club chairs.

  “So, I’ve been thinking about our little discussion.”

  “And?”

  “And I need to see your hand before you see mine.”

  Devine showed him the pictures and video on his phone.

  “What were you doing up there anyway?” asked Cowl, shaking his head.

  “Seeing where Sara Ewes died. Then I heard you two going at it.”

  “So you didn’t go up there to catch us in the act?”

  “Not my intent, no,” said Devine.

  “But you did take the pics and the little film.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Cowl said, “So, let me show you my hand. You killed Ewes.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Let me rephrase that. The evidence that I’ve seen is enough to convict your ass of murdering Sara.”

  “And that evidence is?”

  “Video of you entering the building, and your security card showing you accessing the building and going up to the fifty-second floor in time to kill her.”

  “Both can be fudged, as you already conceded. And why haven’t you turned that over to the police? Before, you said I had you to thank for that. What does that mean?”

  “I haven’t turned it over to the cops because we actually had a technical glitch.”

  Devine sat back. “I’m confused, Mr. Cowl. See, at that point I would have made a perfect patsy for the murder. Leaves Cowl and Comely unaffected. I knew Sara. I was a disgruntled employee, former military with maybe some PTSD baggage, look at the shiny object here and not over there. Police are off the premises. So what gives?”