“Andre Watkins?” Mace said.

“Can I help you?”

“I sure hope so. Diane Tolliver?”

“What about her?”

“She’s dead.”

“I know that. Who are you? The police?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then I have no reason to talk to you.”

He started to close the door, but Mace jabbed her foot in the way. “She had a P.O. box that had a piece of paper with your name and address on it.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“Okay, we’ll just turn it over to homicide and they can run with it. They’ll be by to either talk to you today or arrest you. Or probably both.”

“Wait a damn minute. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, you’re sure acting like you did.”

“You knocked on my door, two people I don’t even know, and you start asking questions about a dead woman? What the hell did you expect me to do?”

“Okay, let’s start over. This is Roy Kingman. He worked with Diane at Shilling & Murdoch. She sent him a clue. That clue turned out to be you. You could be in danger.”

“And how do I know you’re not the ones who killed Diane?”

“I have to tell you, if we’d wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. One shot through the peephole.” Watkins looked at her inquiringly. “I saw the door shift just a millimeter when you leaned against it to see who was there.”

“I think I’m going to end this conversation right now.”

“We can go to the Starbucks in the lobby and talk if you’ll feel safer. All we want is some information.”

Watkins looked over his shoulder into his apartment for a moment and then turned back. “No, that’s all right, we can do it in here.”

The interior of the residence didn’t match the elegance of the man; it was sparsely furnished with what looked like rental pieces, and there was even a purple futon. They sat in the small living room that fronted a sliver of kitchen.

“So how did you know Diane?” Roy asked.

“When she wanted to go out, she’d call me.”

“So you two were dating?”

“No, I’m an escort.”

Mace and Roy exchanged a glance. “An escort?” said Roy.

“Yes. Diane liked to go out. But she didn’t like to go alone. It’s fun. And it pays well.”

Mace ran her gaze over the cheap furniture. “Work dried up for you?”

“My two ex-wives seem in no hurry to get married again. That’s actually why I got into the business. Escorting gives me all the fun of marriage without all the hassle.”

“But you two got along?”

“I liked Diane very much. I was devastated when I heard she’d been killed.”

“Who told you?”

“The anchorwoman on Channel Seven.”

“So no one else knew you two were seeing each other?”

“I don’t suppose Diane broadcast it around. She was attractive and smart. I knew she was divorced too. Maybe she’d had it with relationships. I know I have.”

“So we’re here because Diane left a clue that pointed to you.”

“But she never told me anything important.”

“Never about work or anything?” asked Roy.

“Well, I knew she was a lawyer at Shilling & Murdoch.”

“She didn’t talk about anyone she was afraid of? Phone calls or threatening messages she’d gotten? A man who was stalking her, nothing like that?” asked Mace.

“No. Our conversations usually were limited to the events we were attending.”

“The police have a man in custody,” Roy blurted out.

“What man?”

Mace scowled at Roy and spoke up. “I’m sorry, we can’t fill in those details.”

“So you have no theories for what happened to Diane?”

“No,” Roy admitted. He handed Watkins a card. “If you think of anything, please give me a call.”

Watkins fingered the card. “This man in custody? He killed Diane?”

“We’ll know soon enough. But whatever Diane was trying to get at, it’s a dead end,” said Mace. “She must’ve been mistaken, and anyway the case is closed, at least it is for me. Thanks for your time.”

Roy started to speak when they were outside, but Mace whispered, “Wait.”

When they were back in the garage Roy turned on her and snapped, “You’re just going to drop it? What the hell are you thinking?”

She looked up at him. “I’m thinking that the real Andre Watkins is probably already dead.”

CHAPTER 51

HEY, CAPTAIN.”

The big fellow looked up. “Hey, Roy. I messed up.”

“Why don’t we talk about it?”

“Okay, I ain’t going nowhere.”

Roy looked at the guard next to him. “I need to talk to my client. Alone, please.”

The door clanged shut behind Roy as the officer left.

He sat next to the Captain, opened his briefcase, and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“Like I said, I messed up. Took some food. I like the Twinkies. And some tools. Sold ’em. Dumb, huh, but they had lots of tools. Didn’t think they’d mind.”

Roy looked at him blankly. “Do you know why you were arrested?”

The Captain was staring off now. “Still cold at night. Warm in that building. Guess I shouldn’t ate the Twinkies. They were pissed about that, right? And the tools. But it was just a couple of wrenches. Only got three bucks for ’em.”

Roy leaned back in his chair. “Did they take anything from you?”

“Who?’

“The police.”

“Like what?”

“Prints, bodily fluids?”

“They took my fingerprints.” He chuckled. “Had to clean off my fingers so they could make ’em black again. And they gave me some coffee but then they came and took it before I was done. Ticked me off.”

“Cheap trick to get your DNA.”

“What?”

“But you told them you wanted a lawyer, right?”

“That’s right. Ain’t no dummy. Twinkie shit. Need a lawyer.”

“Okay, maybe we have something to work with in case the DNA comes back bad. But then they’ll either just get a search warrant or grand jury subpoena.”

“Okay,” the Captain said, though it was clear he had no idea what Roy was talking about.

“I checked with the police, they haven’t formally charged you with trespass or anything else. But you were in the building unlawfully.”

“I’m hungry. Got any food?”

“I’ll ask the guard in a little bit.”

“It’s nice and warm in here.”

“How long have you been staying in my building?”

“Ain’t good with dates.” He laughed. “I ain’t got no social calendar, Roy.”

“Okay, how did you get into the building? Not through the front doors?”

“Garage elevator. Snuck across the lobby. Picked the right time. Recon. I was a scout in ’Nam. I was damn good at recon.”

“And the guard?”

“He ain’t a good guard. He’s almost as fat as me.”

“Yeah, I know. Then up the fire exit stairs and onto the fourth floor?”

“Warm in there. And food. Got a fridge. And a toilet. Been a long time since I used a toilet, almost forgot how. I just took the Twinkies, Roy, and the tools. Swear to God.”

“How did you know they were doing construction there?”

“Heard some guys talking about it on their lunch break.”

“And the tools?”

“Just got three bucks for ’em. Some A-rab on the street. Bet the sonofabitch cheated me. I can give ’em the three bucks and call it square,” he added hopefully.

“I don’t think they’ll go for that.”

“’Cause of the damn Twinkies, right?”

“Tell me what happened on Monday, Captain, around six in the morning.”

“Monday?” The Captain shook his head. “Monday?” he said again, his brow furrowed, his eyes vacant.

“The day before I gave you the shoes and bought you the food.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“You were in the building?”

“Oh yeah, always in the building.”

“When did you leave?”

“I got me a watch.” He held up his arm and slid back his coat sleeve to show it.

“The guard comes in at six.”

“He ain’t a good guard. He ain’t hear nothing. He’d never made it in ’Nam.” He added in a knowing tone, “He’d be dead.”

“There’s a security camera in the lobby.” The Captain stared blankly at him. “You didn’t know about that?”