Couples
Chapter 53
"To tell you the truth, Detective," Loretta Halsey confides, "I thought the N.Y.P.D. gave up on trying to find Cliff's killer. After I identified my son's body, I barely heard anything about his case." She perches on the edge of her chair in the lounge. "Cliff moved out four years ago, so I don't know how helpful I can be. What do you want to know?"
"Is there anyone who had a grudge against Cliff?" Kate questions. "An ex-girlfriend perhaps."
"Cliff didn't have any girlfriends. He knew from the time he was five that he was gay."
"Boyfriends, then," Kate queries.
"No one in particular that I knew about. He liked to play the field – or at least that's what he told me. He spent a lot of time at the Stonecraft Bar," Loretta adds. "Someone there might know."
Kate nods. "I'll check that out. What about his job? Did he get along with his co-workers?"
"I don't know that he had the chance. Cliff was a model. He'd go wherever his agent told him to go and work with whoever was there. I guess there were photographers or something that he would have worked with on a regular basis, but I don't know who they were. You'd have to ask his agent."
"And who is that?" Kate prompts.
"Stacy Monahan. Have you heard of her?"
Kate's eyebrows rise. "Yes, I have. Ms. Halsey, is there anyone, anyone at all, who you think would have a reason to harm Cliff?"
Loretta hesitates, then shakes her head. "No, no one at all."
"So, you believe there's more to the story?" Rick asks when Kate calls home on break.
"I'm sure of it," Kate declares. "Loretta was going to mention someone, but she couldn't let the words come out. Still, I may discover what she was holding back on my own. I'm going to see Stacy Monahan."
"The diva of the television commercial world?" Rick wonders.
"She wasn't always such a diva. I knew her a long time ago. I signed with her when I was 17. I thought modeling would be an easier summer job than waiting tables."
"And was it?"
"No way! Holding a position for hours, smiling to promote crap, is hard work. I ended up getting a job selling motorcycles. At least that way, when I smiled at the merchandise, I meant it."
"You think Stacy will remember you?" Rick inquires.
"She'll remember me, but I don't know how fondly. I'll find out when I go see her. What are you doing this morning?"
"Besides riding herd on our daughter? Doing the requested revisions on a Derrick Storm novella. Once I send them off, I should be free of the thrall of Black Pawn for a few days, and I can put together Lanie and Lorne's engagement party."
"Don't go overboard," Kate warns.
"Don't worry. I just have to pin down some top-notch lightsaber wielders. Everything else will be a piece of cake – literally. By the way, have you heard anything about extra protection for Eli and the D.A.'s office?"
"Not much, but it's really not in my jurisdiction."
Rick slowly blows air through pursed lips. "I hope they'll be all right."
"Yeah, me too."
From what Michael sees on the internet, making a bomb won't be hard. Making two or three won't be hard either, he considers. He can readily get the fertilizer at a garden center. Fuel oil is even easier. He has access to that through his job at the gas station. The hard part will be getting the bombs to The Ledger, the D.A.'s office, and Eli Douglas' campaign headquarters. But he doesn't have to get them all the way inside. A big enough boom from a nearby alley will send his message, especially if he also posts it on social media. Leave Victor Barron alone! Archangel Michael is supposed to lead the army of God against the forces of evil. It's about time he followed the example of his namesake.
Sometimes the words just flow from Rick's fingers. He sends off his revisions sooner than he expected. He can start on planning the party, but in the pit of his stomach, he believes there's something more important. So far, other than the Ledger's claim that it stands by its reporting, he hasn't seen anything trending that would counteract the blitz Bucker Carlin put out. He can't allow that to stand.
"Usually, the P.R. department at Black Pawn takes care of publicizing his books. But he knows someone who's better. He hasn't needed him for a long time. The new books from a bestselling author tend to sell themselves. But the kind of garbage Bucker Carlin is putting out needs to come up against a comprehensive campaign, the kind that Sam Fitzsimmons puts out. Sam doesn't work cheap, but Rick had already decided to contribute to Eli's campaign, big time. What could be a better contribution than putting Sam Fitzsimmons on the job? Sam's not big on answering unsolicited phone calls. But Rick can send an email – a long email.
A flashback grips Kate when she walks into Stacy Monahan's office. The furniture is the same. Stacy collects antiques, and once she has them, she doesn't let them go. When Kate knew her, she wasn't big on letting anything go, not even an inexperienced model like Kate. But the teenage Beckett didn't give the super-agent a choice. She walked out, never to return – until now.
Kate flashes her badge at the receptionist and takes a seat. She can see that Stacy has time. No one else is in the waiting room. Still, she expects to cool her heels as punishment for defying the one who must not be defied. From where she's sitting, Kate can keep an eye on the hallway. If Stacy tries to slip out the back door of her office, Kate will go after her.
After 20 minutes, Kate catches sight of a familiar form – almost familiar. Stacy's put on some weight since Kate was last in the office, but the platinum blond hair and high strappy sandals are unmistakable. Kate rushes out into the hall to block the woman's way. "Ms. Monahan, I need to talk to you regarding an active murder case."
"I haven't got time for that," Stacy insists. "I have a meeting with Tim Gunn."
"Then you'll either be a little late or very late if I charge you with obstruction of an investigation. Your choice."
"Fine," Stacy grates out. "I can't imagine what I have to do with a murder, but I'll answer your questions. Just make them quick."
"Did you represent a Cliff Halsey?" Kate asks.
"Still do," Stacy returns, "but I haven't had any work for him lately."
"It wouldn't help if you did," Kate responds. "He's dead."
Stacy pales. "I had no idea. Honestly, Kate. I had no idea."
"Would you have any idea of who might want to kill him?" Kate presses.
"Modeling is a cut-throat business. You know that. But to kill him, I can't imagine. Unless…"
Unless who?" Kate prompts.
"Marster Binghampton. He and Cliff were competing for a lot of the same bookings. It's the cheekbones, Kate. You know that. Cliff had better ones."
"I'll need contact information for Marster Binghampton," Kate demands.
"My assistant can give it to you. I really have to go now, but Kate, if you ever want to come back as a more mature model, you still have the cheekbones."
A smile teases the corners of Kate's mouth. "I think police work is dangerous enough."