Point Of Departure. Laurie Breton
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a soft, rich shade that was completely at odds with his cool demeanor. “It means,” he said, “that we have no reason to believe Philip Armentrout was involved.”
“That’s just ducky,” she said. “In the meantime, what are you doing to try to find Kaye?”
It was Abrams who answered. “We’re following standard protocol—”
“Standard protocol? What the hell does that mean? My brother’s wife is missing. A man is dead. She could be in terrible danger! While you’re sitting here talking to me, the trail could be going cold. She might be—”
“Mia,” Sam warned, “please. Just listen to what she has to say.”
“Let me finish,” Abrams said, not unkindly. “We’re pouring all our available resources into locating Mrs. Winslow. But these things take time. In the absence of a crystal ball, we need to talk to a lot of people, ask a lot of questions. Which is why I’m sitting here talking to you right now.”
Mia reminded herself to keep her cool, reminded herself that these two people were supposed to know what they were doing. They were professionals who did this kind of thing every day, and they weren’t frazzled and frightened like she was. As Johnny Winslow’s daughter, she’d learned early that it didn’t pay to antagonize the cops. Taking a deep breath to quell her rising temper, she said, “I’m sorry. But I’ve never been faced with a situation like this before. Go ahead. Ask me anything. I’ll answer as best I can.”
From across the room, Policzki inquired, “Ms. DeLucca, can you think of any reason why Kaye Winslow might want to disappear?”
“You’re kidding,” she said. “Right? You’re not suggesting she disappeared of her own free will?”
“We have to look at all the possibilities.”
He was too damn cool, and her temper began to flare again. “There is no reason. I’m sure Sam has already told you that.”
Policzki barely gave Sam a glance. “We’ve heard what Dr. Winslow had to say. Now we want to hear your point of view.”
“You just heard it. This is preposterous. Tell me, Detective, exactly what do you know so far?”
“Three things,” Policzki said, with such unflappable cool that he reminded her of the infamous Mr. Spock of Star Trek fame. All that was missing was the pointed ears. “Number one,” he said, “a man is dead. Number two, Mrs. Winslow’s briefcase was found at the scene. Her BlackBerry, her wallet, her credit cards and identification were all there. Number three, Mrs. Winslow herself was absent.” He paused, those brown eyes of his burning a hole in Mia. “You do the math.”
“It’s all circumstantial. It means nothing.”
“Which is why,” Lorna Abrams said, “we have to ask so many questions. That’s how we find the truth.”
“Fine,” she said. “Here’s the truth. I have no idea why Kaye might want to disappear. She leads a charmed life. Look around you, Detectives. She has a successful business, a lovely home, a picture-perfect family. What possible reason could she have for wanting to leave that behind?”
“Homicide,” Policzki stated, “is a pretty compelling reason.”
“But there’s no reason why she would be involved in a homicide! Not unless she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time!”
“That’s a possibility we’re looking into,” Abrams said. “What about enemies? Anybody you can think of who doesn’t like her?”
Mia clasped her hands in her lap and tried to find a diplomatic way of answering the question. “We all have people who dislike us,” she said. “Nobody’s universally loved. Kaye is a strong, vibrant, forceful businesswoman. A salesperson, with all the attendant clichés that go along with the title. She’s good at marketing, good at persuasion, good at manipulating people into doing what she wants. She’s a bit ruthless, and I mean that only in the most positive of ways. Because of that, she moves a lot of real estate. In our business, that’s the ultimate goal. Kaye can be very charming. She can also be—” she shot a glance at Sam “—shall we say difficult? A little abrasive at times. She goes after what she wants, and sometimes her methods aren’t quite conducive to winning friends and influencing people.” Mia gave an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “But as far as anybody wanting to do her harm, no. That I can’t imagine.”
“Do you think you might come up with any names? People she may have had problems with in the recent past? Anybody who thought they got cheated in a real estate deal? Somebody she had words with? Somebody she cut off in traffic?”
“No. You’re going on a wild-goose chase. Whoever this dead man is, he was obviously the target. Not Kaye. Otherwise—” She shot another glance at Sam, took a deep breath and continued “—otherwise, you’d have found two victims. Or a different one. Am I not correct?”
“Possibly,” Abrams said. “Possibly not. It’s too soon to start theorizing about what happened. We have to look at all the information first, and we just don’t have that yet.”
“And while you’re gathering information, my sister-in-law could be dying. Or already dead.” Mia glanced at her brother, who sat beside her on the couch, his hands in his lap, his expression slack, as though he was in shock. “Has it even occurred to you people that she might be injured?” Mia turned her attention back to the cops. “That she might have driven herself to the hospital? Have you checked the local emergency rooms?”
“We have somebody looking into that.”
“I’d like to backtrack a minute,” Policzki said. “You said that people sometimes found Kaye to be difficult. In your personal dealings with her, have you found that to be true?”
Mia didn’t like the direction this was headed. Coolly, she said, “Only occasionally. I’m more of a soft sell than Kaye. For the most part, our personalities mesh in a way that works for us. We have good chemistry. Surprisingly few disagreements. We work well together.”
“Okay,” Abrams said. “She’s married to your brother. You worked together. You saw each other every day. Women in relationships like that often share the intimate details of their lives. Did she have any deep, dark secrets? Maybe something—” Abrams eyed Sam “—she didn’t want her husband to know about?”
Mia didn’t like the way the woman spoke of Kaye in the past tense, as if it were a foregone conclusion that she wasn’t coming back. “Kaye and I aren’t that close,” she said, deliberately using present tense. “We have a good working relationship, but we don’t share the intimate details of our lives with each other. She isn’t the type to share confidences. And neither am I.”
Don’t trust, don’t tell. That was what she’d learned at Johnny Winslow’s knee. The less said to outsiders, the better. The fewer people you trusted, the safer you were. She’d learned it as a little girl and still, at thirty-six, she hadn’t been able to erase it. If you don’t tell anybody your secrets, they stay secret. They still resonated in her head, the philosophies of the petty thief and small-time crook whose DNA she shared. Johnny Winslow’s legacy to his kids.
Thanks, Dad.
The policewoman’s cool blue eyes elicited in her an inexplicable desire to squirm like a little kid sitting on the miscreants’ bench outside the principal’s office. Mia hadn’t done a thing wrong, yet the woman’s intense scrutiny made her feel guilty. “Would you call her a friend?” Abrams asked.
Again, she pondered how to answer, finally decided on the truth. “We’re friendly,” she said.
“Which isn’t quite the same thing as being friends.”
“There are different levels of friendship, Detective.”
“Interesting answer. How long have you and Kaye been partners?”
“Three years. I started the