“I think it was Wednesday of last week, before I went to the Hamptons. Things were very slow here-there’s really nothing that goes on in August in our business. I invited Deni to come out to the house with me, but she said she had errands to get done in town. I left her here late in the afternoon, and we never talked again.”

Daughtry was more emotional about Deni’s death than her husband had been, but this reaction could just as easily have been a function of his nervousness and discomfort.

“Alex, you got a couple of subpoenas for Bryan? Why don’t you give ’em to him now?” Mike turned back to Daughtry. “We’ll give you a few days to get this stuff together. Two other things. I assume you were printed when you went in the can, right? We’ll be pulling those out for comparisons with some of the evidence we’ve found. And you’ll also notice that there’ll be two cops parked in front of the gallery in a patrol car for the next few days. Nothing-and I mean nothing-goes in or out of here until we’ve been through the place with a finetooth comb. Ms. Cooper here will draft one hell of a warrant that’ll cover my ass in court, and I’ll expect your complete cooperation while we execute it.”

Daughtry stood up. “But, Detective, there’ll be art shipments coming in and out all the-”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Daughtry. From what I read in the newspapers, I take it you liked to be the top in your little S amp;M games. Well, I’d like nothing better than to make you the bottom-for me and for some eight-foot-tall, three-hundredpound convicted rapist waiting for you in a very crowded cell upstate, if I can get you there. So don’t misbehave too badly, ’cause you may go back into prison a tight end, but I know you’ll come out a wide receiver.”

I turned to face Mercer, biting my lip to suppress a laugh. “Get me out of here, will you?”

“Mr. Daughtry,” Mercer said, standing up and towering over the rest of us, “when’s the last time you saw Omar Sheffield?”

He looked up at the ceiling. “I’d guess sometime that same afternoon, last Wednesday, almost a week ago.”

“Who hired him to work here, and what’d he do for you?”

“Deni did all the hiring-and firing. Omar’s a sort of handyman-moves exhibits, hangs the artwork. Painted the gallery with a couple of his friends. Ask him yourself. He’ll be here within the hour.”

“Don’t count on it, Bryan. Omar’s feeling a little sluggish this morning.”

Mercer said, “Did you know that Omar had a record? That he was on parole?”

Daughtry hesitated, and I sensed that he was starting to filter-his responses to us.

“I’m not sure. I may have heard something about that, but didn’t pay any attention.”

“Didn’t pay attention?” asked Chapman incredulously. “What was this place, one-stop shopping for the parole board? You know that there are restrictions about who you do business with, don’t you? What if I tell you that you gotta hire a new whipping boy-oops, damn it, there I go again with that dominatrix crap. Omar Sheffield is the latest casualty in the Caxton-Daughtry partnership. He’s as dead as Deni. What do you think of that?”

Daughtry drew in a deep breath, and his hands started trembling again, uncontrollably. “I think, actually, that it’s not such a bad thing, Mr. Chapman. Would you like to know why Deni hired Omar to work for her?”

“Let me guess. A direct pipeline to a cocaine source, right?”

“Well, that was just a lucky coincidence. Denise actually had a special job for Omar,” Daughtry went on, clearly banking on his betrayal of his dear friend and partner to get Mike Chapman off his own back. “She put him on the payroll for a single purpose. And now that she’s gone, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you.

“The sole reason she employed Omar Sheffield was to kill Lowell Caxton.”

11

The three of us settled into a booth at the Empire Diner, the sleek-looking chrome-fitted slice of a Deco eatery on the northeast corner of Tenth Avenue and Twenty-second Street, to regroup over a late-morning cup of coffee.

“I’ll take a mushroom-and-cheese omelette, too,” Chapman told the waitress.

“How many breakfasts have you had today?” I asked.

“I try to fortify myself in advance whenever I know I’ll be hanging out with you. And throw in an order of crisp bacon and some sausage, okay?”

Mercer was doodling on his napkin, connecting stick figures with arrows and seemingly going around in circles. “Someone killed Denise Caxton. I assumed it was Omar Sheffield. Someone probably kills Sheffield-I don’t think he just walked under a boxcar after forty-six years of careful living, but we’ll know for certain in a day or two. Denise had hired Sheffield to kill her husband-so maybe Omar’s the guy who screwed up the job and caused Lowell’s scalp wound. Deni seems to have all the money in the world, but keeps scamming for more. Plus, she’s got a class A dirtball pervert for a business partner. Where are we going here?”

“Nowhere, fast. I’ll feel better after some more caffeine,” I said.

I called Laura on my cellular phone. “I hope you picked up the voice mail I left at seven this morning, telling you I wouldn’t be in till we finished uptown. Any messages for me?”

“Jim Winright found nothing on the Internet about the woman you asked about in your E-mail. He doubts it’s her real name,” Laura said. “And someone called Marilyn Seven phoned to say she could meet with you at noon in the restaurant at the Four Seasons Hotel, on Fifty-seventh Street. Then the M.E.’s Office wanted you to know that there was indeed seminal fluid on the canvas piece taken from the Chevy, and they’d probably have DNA results by the end of the day tomorrow. Last one is from Jacob Tyler. He expects to be back from China by the weekend, and hopes you can get away to the Vineyard.”

I repeated the first three messages to my companions, omitting Jake’s call and my hope that we might find Deni’s killer so I could be with him by Friday.

“Good,” Chapman said. “I already told the M.E. we’d need a comparison DNA print for Omar, so he should have that one under way, too. One of us oughta take that meeting with Marilyn Seven and you.”

“It doesn’t sound like she wants to have this conversation with police around. I think the Four Seasons is still a pretty safe place to be.”

“Let Mike get on with what he’s got to do, Alex. I’ll take my car up there and sit in front of the hotel, in case you need me for anything.”

Mike took us back to where we had parked earlier in the morning, and I drove uptown, throwing my parking permit in the windshield and leaving the Jeep near the entrance to the building.

The only woman in the lounge was a slight, serious-looking brunette whose long hair was wound into a French braid. Her tortoiseshell eyeglass frames held tinted lenses, and as I stood in the entrance to the room she dipped an ivory cigarette holder in my direction.

A bit dramatic for my taste, but I approached her and introduced myself. She stood and shook my hand, smiling openly and inviting me to join her. “Sorry for the dark glasses. I’ve had some vision problems lately, and even the softest light bothers my eyes. And I also apologize for being so mysterious. With all of Deni’s problems, I just don’t know where to turn and whom to trust. I called the lawyer who handles all my business affairs here in New York yesterday-Justin Feldman-and he assured me that I could rely on your judgment and your discretion.”

“If he’s your lawyer, then you’re in very secure hands. Justin’s the best in the business.” Although I had been put off by her phone call, I liked this woman immediately. “Are you also an art dealer?”

“No, but my late husband was a collector. I live in Santa Fe now, but we bought a lot of our paintings from Lowell in the old days.”