Breeze quickly read the short, freshly printed list straight from Rome of those in the Nevada area who'd purchased Aquila boots in a men's size ten.
"Grissom's not on it," she announced. "Neither is anyone else on our suspect list, which shows no one bought him a pair," she added, handing it to Marlena, who sped-read it. "He had no real relatives to speak of. I don't think a distant cousin would buy him four hundred dollar shoes."
"I think we may have to add someone," Marlena said, looking up from the list.
"Who?" asked Sasha.
"Sean Gentileschi," Marlena tapped the name on the list. "He appears on this list twice. Sound familiar to anybody?"
Breeze pursed her lips and Sasha crinkled his eyebrows.
.
"I really do know the name," Breeze admitted. "But I can't remember from where."
"Sara's ex!" Sasha blurted suddenly. Breeze gave a little gasp of shock and enlightenment.
"Yes!" she nodded. "I knew I knew that name."
"Sara's ex," Marlena nodded.
"Yes! Sara did walk around for a couple years as Sara Gentileschi, didn't she? Before she divorced and took back her maiden name? You don't forget a name like Gentileschi."
"I met him once," Sasha jeered. "A real sonuvabitch, that guy. He strutted around the place like he owned it. All I said was hi, and he gave me his whole life story in under a minute, the arrogant bastard. He's a trust baby, y'know, which is probably the only reason Sara married him in the first place."
"Oh come on," Breeze rolled her eyes. "Sara's really not the type who would marry for money."
"Ahem," Marlena interjected. "I'd rather we not talk about Sara's love life, especially since she's only down the hall and the way you two bicker, she might hear you. Not to mention it's unbecoming to gossip, children," she added. "Now, this makes it all the more interesting. This places Sean at the scene of the crime. Question: what is Sara's ex doing at Grissom's place? Sara hates him. Sean, that is."
Breeze chewed on her lip, "Why don't you ask Sara? You found her fingerprints there, right? They could have been there at the same time."
"Sara hasn't seen her ex in a year," Marlena explained. "He picks up their daughter at daycare but she doesn't see him. The way she talks about him too, is so full of venom and disdain."
"Her ex didn't really talk much about her," Sasha revealed. "Not when I met him anyway. I know he lives in Indian Springs now. He owns a health spa in California."
Marlena blew some stray hair from her face and re-proposed her question, "Well, why would Sara's ex have a reason to be in Grissom's apartment?"
"We can just ask him," Breeze piped up.
"Or better yet," said Sasha, "we can ask Sara."
Marlena hurried down the hall to Sara's office, hoping to catch her before she left for her night off. She nearly slammed into a handful of people on the way but managed to make it in one piece.
Sara was indeed in her office, a very small office she once shared with Catherine and now with Warrick. A pretty little girl with curly brown hair was sitting on top of Sara's desk, dressed in overalls and a pink T-shirt, her white sneakered feet swinging back and forth—this was obviously Evie, Sara's four-year-old. Sara was standing in front of Evie, fussing with the child's hair.
"You look beautiful," Sara said to Evie while using, strangely, sign language.
"Thank you," Evie replied, also signing back.
"Who's my baby?" Sara continued to sign and speak.
"Me," Evie signed back.
Marlena knocked on the doorframe to get Sara's attention. Evie saw Marlena first.
"Mamma!" Evie pointed at Marlena.
Sara looked up and smiled her gap-toothed smile. She gently pressed Evie's arm down, "Don't point, sweetie. Come on in, Marlena."
"I couldn't help noticing you were using sign language," Marlena said, entering. "Evie's not deaf, is she?"
"Oh, no, no," Sara shook her head. "I was just teaching her. Gil was…teaching me. He had otosclerosis, you know, so he used it often."
"I know. She's very good at it. So are you."
"Thank you," Sara said and signed and then went back to Evie's hair, braiding it. "What's up?
"Nothing. Just taking a stroll. What are you doing for your night off?"
"Oh I'm not sure yet. I think Evie and I'll go out for pizza, rent a great girlie movie, curl up on the couch."
"I love pizza!" exclaimed Evie.
Marlena smiled. "Sounds like fun, like something my mother used to do. She'd take me and my sister Marilyn out to dinner and a movie once a month. Just us. My dad and brother would stay home."
"C'mon, Marlena. You're mind's a one-way mirror—I can practically see the gears turning in your head. What's really up?" Sara asked.
"I, um," Marlena took a few steps closer to Sara. "I was just wondering…when was the last time you saw your ex-husband?"
"Sean?" Sara cocked her head. "Oh, I…I don't know. I guess maybe a year. He comes and gets Evie once and awhile but I don't see him. I've seen his girlfriend a couple of times though when she drops Evie off in the morning or when I go pick her up. She's some number, Marlena. She's stacked like a house of cards, like a life-size Barbie. Sometimes I think that's how Evie sees her, right Evie?"
"Barbie," chirped Evie.
Marlena chuckled a bit.
"So why are you asking me about Sean?" Sara clipped a purple plastic barrette to the end of Evie's braid and leaned against the desk.
"We found footprints at Grissom's that we believe belong to Sean. We traced them back to him, his boots, called Aquilas?"
"Oh. Oh, those ugly Italian ones?" Sara crinkled her nose. "I recently threw out an old pair of those boots. He forgot them in the back of the closet when he moved out, the slob. They sat there for a long time. I wondered what was stinking up the bedroom and then I cleaned out my closet—something I never do, believe me—and I found the damn things in the way, way back. They were practically decomposing."
"I thought you said you sold all of his things?"
Sara paused to open one of her desk drawers and withdrew a small toy for Evie. "Oh, I did," she said finally. "Most of his clothes I couldn't get rid of, either, including at least three pairs of shoes, including those Italian ones. But seriously, no matter how gullible people are—you try selling two-year-old hiking boots."
"So you kept them?"
"Mm-hm," Sara nodded. "Well, the shoes of course I threw out. Sometimes I'll use the clothes as cleaning rags but they just sit in the drawers ninety-eight percent of the time."
"That's funny. Most disgruntled wives I know prefer to burn the remainder of their husbands' belongings."
Sara raised an eyebrow, "What are you getting at?"
"I just need to know where I can contact Sean."
"I think I may have his number somewhere." Keeping a hand on Evie's leg, Sara opened her Rolodex and flipped through it, whispering to herself. "I think this is it, unless he moved." She handed Marlena the card. "If his girlfriend answers the phone, her name's Keil. Keil Anson."
Marlena read the card: Gentileschi, Sean. "Thanks."
From the list of buyers of Aquila boots that Breeze had printed up, Sasha had managed to pull up a credit card history of Sean Gentileschi from the past eight years, since the number of Sean's Visa was right there on the paper not once but twice.
"Visa. It's everywhere you want to be," Breeze said, quoting the television commercial and who was sitting behind him as he traced the number. "And everywhere we need it to be."
"How lucky," smiled Sasha.
"No kidding. Now we don't need to pry when we drag him in for questioning."
"God, I love the Internet."
Marlena stopped by the room, "I got Sean Gentileschi's address and phone number from Sara. You were right, Sash—he lives in Indian Springs."
"And still does," Sasha turned in his chair. "His credit card number was on the sheet that Breeze got from Italy. According to the credit card history, he used this card to buy not only the boots but to pay for his tickets to Italy—"
"Tickets? More than one?"
"The date he bought the tickets—February ninth, 2003—and the date he bought the boots are consistent with Sara and Sean's honeymoon, between June sixteenth and June twenty-sixth of 2003," Breeze explained. "Don't ask me how I remember that, it's one of those weird things you pull out of nowhere."
"Well, the night of June sixteenth, he also bought vast amounts of fine Italian wine, hired a limo to cart them around Italy and there were several room service bills through the twenty-sixth," Sasha listed. "I'd say you're right on the nose, Breeze."
Breeze beamed, "I knew it."
"Well, seems like Sara and her Casanova had a fun time in Italy," Marlena sighed, taking the paper from Sasha and looking at the expense reports. "Wonder what went wrong?"
"Ring the bastard and find out," Sasha suggested.
It was one of the best things Marlena had heard all day.