They flashed their badges for the doorman, then rode partway up in the elevator with a plump middle-aged woman and her yipping schnauzer. Alex glanced up and spotted the security camera in the corner. It might come in handy, he thought. The DA would have to subpoena the tapes for the nights of the murders. If they were dated and timed, so much the better. But, if not, they would still show Tremayne going and coming.
The schnauzer got off at four. They continued on to eight. Side by side, they approached 8B.
Though the door was thick, Alex could hear the strains of an aria fromAidacoming from the apartment. He’d never cared much for opera, but he’d liked this particular one. He wondered if it would be spoiled for him now. He rang the buzzer.
He had to ring it a second time before Tremayne answered. Alex recognized him. It was almost as though they were old friends now that Alex had pored over the newspaper shots and stories, the videotape. And, of course, he knew his voice. Knew it when it was calm, when it was amused and when it was darkly, sickly, thrilled.
Dressed in a thick velour robe that matched his china-blue eyes, Tremayne stood dripping, rubbing a thick monogrammed towel over his fair hair.
“Wilson J. Tremayne?”
“That’s right.” Tremayne glanced pleasantly from face to face. He didn’t have the street sense to smell cop. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time.”
“Yes, sir.” Never taking his eyes off Tremayne’s, Alex took out his badge. “Detectives Stanislaski and Malloy.”
“Detectives?” Tremayne’s voice was bland, only mildly curious, but Alex saw the flicker. “Don’t tell me my secretary forgot to pay my parking tickets again.”
“You’ll have to get dressed, Mr. Tremayne.” Still watching, Alex replaced his shield. “We’d like you to come with us.”
“With you?” Tremayne eased backward a step. Judd noted that his hand eased down toward the doorknob, closed over it. Knuckles whitened. “I’m afraid that would be very inconvenient. I have a dinner engagement.”
“You’ll want to cancel that,” Alex said. “This may take a while.”
“Detective—?”
“Stanislaski.”
“Ah, Stanislaski. Do you know who I am?”
Because it suited him, because he wanted it, Alex let Tremayne see the knowledge. “I know exactly who you are, Jack.” Alex allowed himself one quick flash of pleasure at the fear that leaped into Tremayne’s eyes. “We’re going downtown, Mr. Tremayne. Your presence is requested for questioning on the murders of four women. Mary Rodell.” His voice grew quieter, more dangerous, on each name. “Angie Horowitz, Crystal LaRue and Rosalie Hood. You’re free to call your attorney.”
“This is absurd.”
Alex slapped a hand on the door before Tremayne could slam it shut. “We can take you in as you are—and give your neighbors a thrill. Or you can get dressed.”
Alex saw the quick panic and was braced even as Tremayne turned to run. He knew better—sure he did—but it felt so damn good to body-slam the man up against that silk-papered wall. A small, delicate statue tipped from its niche and bounced on the carpet. When he hauled Tremayne up by the lapels, he saw the gold chain, the dangling heart with a crack running through it that was the twin of the one they had in evidence. And he saw the fresh white bandage that neatly covered the wounds Rosalie had inflicted as she fought for her life.
“Give me a reason.” Alex leaned in close. “I’d love it.”
“I’ll have your badges.” Tears began to leak out of Tremayne’s eyes as he slid to the floor. “My grandfather will have your badges.”
In disgust, Alex stood over him. “Go find him some pants,” he said to Judd. “I’ll read him his rights.”
With a nod, Judd started for the bedroom. “Don’t take it personally, Stanislaski.”
Alex glanced over with something that was almost a smile. “Kiss off, Malloy.”
They had him cold, Alex thought as he turned into Bess’s building. They could call out every fancy lawyer on the East Coast, and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing. The physical evidence was overwhelming—particularly since they’d found the murder weapon in the nightstand drawer.
Opportunity was unlikely to be a problem, and as for motive—he’d leave that up to the shrinks. Undoubtedly they’d cop an insanity plea. Maybe they’d even pull it off. One way or the other, he was off the streets.
It went a long way toward easing the bitterness he’d felt over Rosalie’s death. He hoped it helped Bess with her grief.
He’d nearly called her from the station, but he’d wanted to tell her face-to-face. As he waited for the elevator, he shifted the bunch of lilacs he held. Maybe it was a weird time to bring her flowers, but he thought she needed them.
Stepping into the car, he tucked a hand in his pocket and felt the jeweler’s box. It was even a weirder time to propose marriage. But he knew he needed it.
It scared him just how much he’d come to depend on having her with him. To talk to him, to listen to him, to make him laugh. To make love with him. He knew he was rushing things, but he justified it by assuring himself that if he got her to marry him quickly enough, she wouldn’t have time to change her mind.
