for that...” she said.
“You would have been with Steve Parker.”
“Yes. I can’t quite get over it.” She nervously drummed the surface of her desk for a couple of seconds, then murmured, “What time was he killed?”
“Sometime between nine and midnight.”
“Then if I’d been with him he’d still be alive. We’d have gone someplace after the show.” She shook her head, looking close to tears.
“I liked him,” she said at last. “It’s very sad.”
“Yes. It is. And I’m sorry I have to make you talk about it, but I need to ask a few more questions. Have you ever been in his apartment?”
“Only once. And just briefly. We stopped by because he had to get something.”
But she had been in it. So those blond hairs the techs bagged might be hers rather than the killer’s.
“Is there anything you can tell me that might help with the case?” he said. “Was Dr. Parker having problems with anyone? Did he ever say something was bothering him? Anything at all?”
Watching her slowly shake her head again, Travis wondered how many dead ends he’d hit since he’d earned his shield. But there was no value in dwelling on that.
* * *
TRAVIS TURNED into the Manhattan North Precinct’s parking garage and began watching for a space. After he found one, he headed inside.
Hank looked up from his desk as he approached and said, “What’s been happening?”
“Jill Flores called me first thing—to tell me she actually did know who Parker’d been seeing lately. So I paid the woman a visit.”
“And?”
“She turned out to be a blonde with a gray trench coat. But she has a solid alibi for the time of the murder. I got the names of the people she claimed she was with and called a few of them on my way here.”
“And aside from that? She have any ideas for us?”
“Nada.”
Hank’s shrug said You can’t win ’em all. “So, what do you want to do now?” he asked.
Show time. Travis didn’t want to tell his partner about going to Celeste’s place, but he had to. “We’ve got to talk to Evan Reese again,” he began.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I had a call from Celeste Langley last night. Just after you headed home.”
Once he’d elaborated, Hank said, “You figure that was a smart move? Going to see her without me?”
“What should I have done? Called and told you to turn around and meet me there?”
“No,” Hank said slowly. “But you could have just gotten the details over the phone.”
“We know Reese is a nut bar. And he scared the devil out of her.”
Hank shrugged again.
“So I stopped by. Her apartment was practically on my way home, anyhow. You’ve got a problem with that?” he added when Hank said nothing.
“How long did we work yesterday? Twelve hours? Thirteen?”
“More or less.”
“Well, if anyone else had called at that point, I doubt you’d have headed right on over just because she was scared.”
“I might have.”
“Travis...man, I could say a lot of things you already know. But only one of them really matters. That woman is our prime suspect.”
“She’s your prime suspect.”
“And who’s yours?”
“I’m not there yet.”
After a moment’s silence, Hank said, “Hey, buddy, you realize you’re not acting like yourself, don’t you? It’s as if you met Celeste Langley and something short-circuited in your brain.”
Ignoring that, he said, “Let’s go.”
Hank shook his head. “There’s no point in both of us wasting our time with Reese.”
He bit his tongue to keep from saying he didn’t consider it a waste of time.
“So why don’t I take care of some other stuff while you go talk to him. We can start in on the rest of the people on our Parker list later.”
“Yeah. Why not. Good idea.”
Travis turned and started away, unable to stop himself from thinking about what Hank had just said—and worrying that he was right.
Scientifically improbable as it might be, maybe meeting Celeste Langley really had short-circuited something in his brain.
What else would explain why he couldn’t stop thinking about her for more than two seconds straight?
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