“What did Bryan tell her?”

“That the only will he knew of was the original one Lowell’s lawyers had prepared for Deni when they first married. Like so many people her age, Deni thought she’d have all the time in the world to amend it. But Marina was still looking for her piece of the rock, what she thought was her ‘entitlement.’ She really believed, when their friendship was in full bloom, that she had convinced Deni to give her some of the Caxton heirlooms.”

“So Lowell gets it all?”

“I suppose. I mean-except for the handful of things that Deni bought with either Bryan or me. Her fortune all started with Lowell, didn’t it? In any event, Bryan just wanted me to know that Marina was bad-mouthing me, blaming me for her falling-out with Deni. And that she seemed frantic, out of control. Very hyper about something. That I should stay out of her way if she tried to see me.”

“Will you let me know if Marina Sette calls you?” I asked.

“Certainly, Miss Cooper. Thanks for your time.”

Chapman waited several seconds after Wrenley shook our hands and walked out the door. “Saddle up, blondie. Let’s see why Caxton’s heading for the hills.”

30

Mike parked the unmarked car illegally and threw his laminated police identification plate in the windshield. The Fuller Building was on the northeast corner of the intersection, with entrances on both Madison Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street. An eighteen-wheeler was parked in front of the side door in a large space protected by a red sign that announced no standing except trucks loading and unloading.

The lettering on the vehicle said Long Island Baking Potatoes, Bridgehampton, New York. It was definitely loading, and the cargo was not spuds.

There was a fine mist and I hurried to get inside the lobby. In addition to the two men standing at the rear of the truck, there was another person stationed inside the double doors whom I assumed to be part of Caxton’s security team.

“Recognize any of them?” I asked Chapman, hoping to get lucky and discover that some retired cops were on the payroll.

“Too ugly. Must’ve been Feds.”

The building was familiar to me because I’d been coming to the hairdresser there for almost ten years. With the exception of the Stella salon on the second floor and a handful of dental and medical offices, the structure was almost entirely leased by gallery owners. I knew that the eastern bank of elevators I used once a month went up only eighteen stories, so I led Mike to the western bank and pressed 35 to get to the top floor and the Caxton Gallery.

We stepped off onto an empty hallway. The glass doors of the space were covered by some kind of makeshift screening, and a note that said the gallery was closed. There was a telephone number to call for people making inquiries about exhibits and purchases.

Mike tried the brass handles on the entrance behind the temporary partitions, but they didn’t give. He knocked several times on the panels and the door was eventually opened by an unsmiling man in a dark suit.

“Lowell Caxton’s expecting us,” Mike said.

That brought a smile to one half of the man’s mouth. “Mr. Caxton is not here.”

“That’s strange.” Mike looked at me as though surprised and asked, “Didn’t he say today, at eleven o’clock?”

The man didn’t wait for me to answer. “He’s been called out of town unexpectedly. You can leave a message for him at this number.” He pointed to the paper that we had just seen.

“I’d like to leave a note for him. May I come in and-”

Mike had started to walk inside but was blocked by our somber gateman.

“Don’t make it difficult for me, will ya?” He took the leather case from his pants pocket and held up the gold shield, expecting to be let through the doorway.

“Let’s see your warrant, Detective.”

“Very good, very good. So, you probably finished at the academy, huh? Must have worked your way right up to the top, ironing Mr. Hoover’s dresses, to get yourself a plum job like this one when you left the Bureau. Can you at least call Caxton now and tell him that it’s urgent we talk to him today?”

“I just told you how to leave him a message.”

“Suppose I told you his life may be in danger. You realize there’ve been a series of killings since his wife was murdered, and we’re the ones working on that case. It might behoove him to let us tell him what’s been going on with-”

“Mr. Caxton is not in any danger. If he’s interested in talking to you, he’ll give you a call. He’s a bit bored with being looked at as a suspect in Mrs. Caxton’s death. He’ll get back to you when he’s ready.”

“You know where he is right now?”

The man stared back at Mike without answering.

Mike took my arm and started to lead me away before turning back to his nemesis. “I’d rather have my balls cut off by a great white shark than end up doing bullshit security work for some billionaire dirtbag. Have a nice day.”

On the way back down to the lobby, we talked about whether or not it was worthwhile to hang out there for a while to see who was coming and going from the thirty-fifth floor.

“Can’t you get someone from your squad to sit on the place this afternoon and evening?” I asked.

“Let me call and find out who’s around. Maybe the lieutenant can get the precinct to send some Anticrime guys over. We haven’t got the manpower to do this stuff.”

“Come up to my hairdresser. Elsa’ll let us use the kitchen to make calls.”

“Don’t you have your cell phone with you?”

“Yes, but let’s see what the girls know about what’s happening in the gallery. When Daughtry had his business here, there wasn’t much they hadn’t heard about him. They had better sources than the Westchester District Attorney’s Office. Sooner or later someone from the staff in just about every place in the Fuller Building uses Stella for color or cuts. Besides, wait till you see how adorable Elsa is.”

We switched elevator banks and rode up to the second floor. Pat, the manager, was surprised to see me walk in without an appointment in the middle of the week. Her eyes went directly to my hairline, looking at the state of my roots.

“You’re not due till Saturday morning, week after next, right?”

“That’s some welcome. Just came by to gossip with Elsa and use the kitchen to make a few phone calls.”

I introduced her to Mike and she led us past the reception desk into the rear of the busy salon. Elsa, my colorist, was wrapping foil around a client’s hair strands while Mike watched in bewilderment. I signaled to her that we were going into the back room, and she mouthed to me that she’d join us as soon as she was finished.

Mike called to explain the situation, and the boss told him that he would try to arrange for coverage from the local precinct as soon as possible. Mike also asked that a car be sent to sit on Caxton’s residence, check with the doormen, and monitor the movement of traffic in and out of that location, too. We helped ourselves to coffee and tried to figure out how we could find Caxton quickly and learn what had prompted this sudden move.

Elsa came into the kitchen, removed her rubber gloves, and washed her hands so that I could introduce her to Mike. I had spent so much time talking to each of them about the other over the years that it was hard to believe they had never met. Elsa had long been my friend, and in addition to restoring the blonde to my naturally light hair, as a devotee of the opera and ballet she alerted me to theater and art events that I had neglected to read about. I knew, also, that when there was a rare lull between clients, she explored the galleries throughout the building and collected catalogues of the shows.

“This is a nice surprise. Are you here to see Louis or Nana for a haircut,” she said to me, then looking over at Mike, “or do you have a new customer for some streaks?”