Absolute Pleasure. Jamie Denton
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from her, just as she wanted a look at his files. And whatever else he might be willing to show her.
Looking back to Margo, Sunny asked, “Did anyone else accompany you to the symphony? Did Mr. Abbott have a driver?”
“He drove himself.” A slight blush colored the other woman’s unnaturally smooth cheeks. “We were…alone.”
Why did normally reasonable women lose all common sense when it came to the opposite sex? Sunny never would be so stupid as to invite a guy she didn’t know into her home. Didn’t Margo read the newspapers? The world was filled with lunatics and psychos.
She was a fine one to talk. Hadn’t she been on the verge of inviting Duncan to her place? And what did she really know about him? Not much, other than the possibility that for the first time in months she could be changing the sheets on her bed for something other than laundry day.
“And after the symphony?” Sunny asked.
“He brought me home.” A deeper blush this time. “We had a glass of sherry and then he left after we made plans for the following evening to attend the art gallery.”
Sunny frowned and consulted her notes again. Not a single reference existed in the case file about Margo accompanying the UNSUB to an art gallery. “Did you provide the investigating officer with the name of the gallery?” she asked.
“He never asked. But it was the Fifth Street Art Center.”
“Were you aware it hasn’t been open in six months?” Duncan asked suddenly.
“Yes, I was,” Margo answered. “Justin had arranged for a private showing.”
“He may have arranged a private showing, Ms. Wilder,” Duncan said, his gaze intent as he studied the witness closely, “but not with the property owner’s permission. The Fifth Street Art Center went out of business.”
Margo frowned, a barely perceptible action courtesy of regular Botox injections. “That’s impossible. I was there. I even purchased one of the paintings on display.”
This was all news to Sunny and it irritated her that the local authorities hadn’t been more diligent in their investigation. “Do you have the painting?” she asked, but she already suspected the answer.
The older woman’s frown deepened by the slightest degree. “No, not as yet.”
And she never would, Sunny thought, struggling to remain calm. Never one to suffer fools lightly, herself included, she had little patience for stupidity. At this rate, by the time she solved SEDSCAM, her usual lack of empathy would be finely tuned.
She couldn’t help wondering if any of the women victimized had an inkling how fortunate they were to have lost only their material possessions and not their lives? So far the UNSUB’s twisted fantasy thankfully didn’t include physically harming his victims. Hopefully that wouldn’t change.
“Are you sure there were no other individuals present at the gallery that night?” she asked.
Margo shook her head. “No. No one.”
“Then how were you able to make a purchase?” For a painting, Sunny had a feeling, that was a fake.
“I made the check out to Justin. He is a substantial patron so I just assumed…”
Exactly what he’d wanted her to assume. He’d conned her into believing he was such a wealthy supporter he’d practically been given his own key to the place.
Regardless, Sunny finally had a fresh piece of information. In order to pull off such an elaborate scheme as detailed as an operational art gallery, the UNSUB couldn’t possibly be flying solo. Although she’d never personally been involved, she’d heard the stories of the networks of traveling grifters. They moved around the country duping the elderly, ripping off department stores by returning stolen merchandise for cash refunds and running the classic carnie cons. With the exception of big real estate rip-offs and boiler room scams, cons generally ran penny-ante operations nowhere near as sophisticated as the UNSUB’s game.
She jotted down a reminder to have the art gallery searched by the Bureau’s crime lab technicians, then added another note to have the theater checked out, as well. Private boxes hardly came cheap. No doubt the UNSUB had “borrowed” the box for the night—without the box holder’s blessing.
Sunny continued to question Margo, gathering specific details of the woman’s “dates” with the UNSUB not included in the initial investigation reports. The only date that had been public was the night of the symphony, and for the ten days that followed, the Seducer kept his liaisons private, just as he’d done with his previous victims. In addition to the art gallery scam, there’d been a midnight picnic in the park, a couple of moonlit drives and a few romantic dinners for two at the Wilder estate, with the staff dismissed, at Abbott’s request, of course.
Having taken part in several of the ISU’s specialized training courses in criminal investigation, Sunny understood the best profilers possessed a talent for climbing inside the heads of victim and perpetrator. But what about her victims? How was she supposed to walk in their ridiculously expensive designer shoes when she lacked a basic understanding of how any reasonably intelligent woman could be duped by a con with romance as an M.O.?
Setting her notepad beside her, Sunny looked at Margo, determined to imagine herself as this victim. “You do realize that Abbott intentionally seduced you to gain access to the items he’s stolen from you.”
“Yes,” the older woman agreed, her expression sheepish. “I, too, have come to the same conclusion.”
Sunny let out a pent-up breath. “Ms. Wilder. Margo.” She struggled for compassion when all she could muster was an overwhelming sense of self-directed frustration. “I need you to help me understand how this is possible.”
Duncan cleared his throat, but Sunny chose to ignore him for the moment. Despite what she’d told Caruso upon arriving at the estate, she realized she secretly agreed with his hard-up assessment. But if she wanted to solve the case, then she also understood she had to set her judgments aside. Otherwise she’d never learn what made Tansey Middleton, Maddie Bryson, Joy Tweed, Bettina Manchester, Celine Garfield, Katrina Pescadero, and now Margo Wilder the Seducer’s perfect victims.
Margo’s puffed-up lips twisted into a smile. “Have you ever been swept off your feet?” she asked Sunny. “Or been so completely caught up in a storm of passion all that matters is physical pleasure?”
In a word, no. Rhetorical or not, Sunny wasn’t about to divulge the truth about her own lacking sex life with a material witness. Not after she’d spent the better part of the morning openly flirting with the man seated less than three feet away from her, giving signals to the contrary. In truth, today went on record as a first for her. She’d never considered surrendering to rampant hormones, but the idea held more than a few interesting possibilities.
A few weeks shy of her thirtieth birthday, she’d had exactly three relationships of any great significance in her lifetime. The sex had always been good and she never considered it an issue, but she’d never experienced the kind of passion Margo described.
“Ms. Wilder,” Duncan interrupted, saving Sunny from having to formulate an intelligent response. “We’re going to need every detail of your association with Abbott.”
Sunny turned to stare at him, certain she’d just entered her own personal Twilight Zone—in Sex and the City-esque style. We? What’s this we business?
He must have sensed her apprehension because he turned that lethal gaze in her direction. “If we’re going to catch the UNSUB,” he said, “then we need to know his habits. His quirks. From the way he combs his hair down to the shape of his scars and what he eats for breakfast. The smallest detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem, could be the break we need.”
We. There was that word again. Sunny tried to push aside the warm fuzzy feeling the concept of “we” gave her, and failed. Instead, she concentrated on Margo.