[February 14, 12:00]
Stella craned her neck up at the glass and steel condominium. "Her husband lives here?"
Flack checked his memo book. "Yup, married to one Grayson Bailey in Manhattan. She works for him too, as a legal translator." They showed their badges to the impeccably dressed concierge who inspected them closely before letting them in. Their footsteps echoed off the black floor tiles as they passed plush modern armchairs and light fixtures that involved silver wires and dainty glass globes. A fountain somewhere in the lobby splashed soothingly. "What kind of guy lives here while his wife lives in the worst part of the city?" The difference in living conditions was maddening.
"Guess we're going to find out," she said as the shiny elevator doors slid shut. Thirteen floors later, Stella strode down the hall purposefully, found suite 1302, and rapped sharply on the door.
It opened halfway, the smell of pancakes and bacon drifting into the hall. A woman studied them, puzzled. Solicitors weren't allowed in the building, the concierge kept them out. "Can I help you?" She was in her thirties, just woken up, still dressed in red pyjamas. The sleep started to clear from her dark eyes as she took in their professional clothes and serious demeanour.
"NYPD," Stella said, flashing her badge brusquely. Sunday brunch or not, she had a criminal to catch. "We need to speak with Grayson Bailey."
Not solicitors after all. "Why?" she frowned, not moving from the doorway, watching them suspiciously. Grayson was a good man. The kind of man who gave every employee an extra day off when business was slow. There was no way he'd broken the law.
"Honey, who is it?" a male voice called from the kitchen.
Flack glanced at Stella, one eyebrow raised. Seemed like Grayson was the cheating kind of guy. "Grayson Bailey? NYPD," he called into the apartment. "We need to speak with you." Flack held his breath for a moment, listening for the clatter of kitchen utensils and a run for the fire escape. He didn't like foot chases, but his years with the department had taught him to always be ready for them.
But the ruckus never came. A Black man emerged calmly from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. "Watch breakfast for me, will you?" he asked the woman with a gentle touch on her waist. She looked worried, but he smiled back reassuringly. "I'll be just a second, hon." Grayson took her place, his pyjamas purple instead of red. "Something I can do for you?"
"Mr. Bailey, I'm Detective Bonasera and this is Detective Flack." She backed up a step and gestured in front of her. "Please, step into the hall. This is a... private matter." They were here to discuss his wife, and if his mistress didn't know about her, Stella wasn't going to be a part of that discovery. She had seen enough relationships torn apart by crime to last her the rest of her life.
After a moment's pause, he did so, closing the door behind him. He hadn't done anything to merit the police's scrutiny, as far as he knew, but it probably wasn't a good idea to test their patience. "What's this about, Detectives?"
Flack took a deep breath. God, he hated this part. "Mr. Bailey, your wife has been attacked."
There was silence as Grayson looked between them in confusion for a moment. Then, his eyebrows shot up in comprehension. "That's terrible," he said gravely, watching at his feet. "What happened?"
Best get all the traumatic news out in the open. "She was stabbed on her way home last night. Surgery went well and she is recovering at Lincoln Medical Centre." What a relief that phone call had been. He would take calls at 3AM every day if it meant hearing good news. Flack continued, "But, she hasn't regained consciousness yet."
"We realize this is difficult to hear, but we need to ask you some questions about Juliana and the people in her life," Stella said gently.
"Yuliana," Grayson corrected her.
"What?" Flack retorted sharply. He already didn't like the man for living in luxury while his wife trudged the alleys of the Bronx. Now, he was noticing that Grayson was downcast, but not truly upset. Like they had told him an acquaintance was attacked, not his wife. Or rather, soon to be ex-wife, judging by what they had seen so far today.
"Yuliana. Her name is spelled with a J, but it's pronounced as a Y. Same with her last name. Dutch thing," he explained, waving a hand. "Make sure you pronounce her name as 'Yuliana van der Biyl' or she'll correct you." He smiled ruefully, the corners of his mouth pulling up. She understood that Americans didn't have the same pronunciation rules as the Dutch, but she took pride in her mother tongue and insisted her name be spoken properly.
"Right. Did Juliana have any enemies?" Stella asked, taking care to pronounce the name properly. "Anyone who would have wanted to hurt her?"
Grayson shook his head. "No, definitely not. Juliana came here nine months ago. But she's really quiet. Keeps to herself." It was hard enough to get her to meet his friends, forget meeting complete strangers. "I don't think she's made any friends, let alone enemies."
"Did she have any recent arguments with anyone?" she prompted, as Flack jotted down notes.
"If she did, she didn't tell me." He shrugged helplessly. "Like I said, she keeps to herself."
If she had been keeping arguments from her husband, the rift between them likely ran much deeper than just separate homes. Stella tried a different angle. "What about her schedule? Did she mention special plans last night? Meeting anyone?"
"Juliana never had plans," the man chuckled, running a hand over his cropped black hair. "She's like a clock. Morning tea, work, the pool, home." Grayson could count on one hand the number of times she had deviated from her routine. He thought it must be boring to do the same thing every day, but Juliana seemed to find solace in it.
"Speaking of home, why is hers across town?" Flack cut in, turning his darkest glare on the man. He wanted an answer to the married-with-different-addresses business.
Grayson cleared his throat, the back of his neck prickling. He rubbed it nervously. He knew this would happen. "We're... uh... separated," he explained.
"You were only married nine months ago," he said incredulously. What was with people nowadays? His mom and pop had been happily married for years, right up until the day the car wreck took her away from this world.
"It didn't work out," Grayson said quickly, flustered by Flack's intense gaze. He thought this line of questioning was about Juliana, not about him.
Flack inclined his head in the direction of the closed door. "Anything to do with the missus inside?"
Grayson crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full height. He was still six inches shorter than the other man, but he radiated fury. "You leave Ruby out of this," he growled. "And my personal life is none of your business."
Flack stared him down coolly. "It is our business, if you had anything to do with Juliana's attack." Now there was one way for this to make a lot more sense. "Ah. It didn't work with Juliana, so you're trying to make your own way out."
"Are you insinuating that I had anything to do with this?" he demanded. Just because the marriage fell apart, it didn't mean he wanted to kill her. That was absurd.
"That depends, Mr. Bailey," Stella interjected. She hadn't anticipated asking for alibis today, but Flack might be on to something. "Where were you between eight and ten last night?"
"Here. Watching the news," he replied defensively.
"Who watches the news on a Saturday night?" Flack asked mockingly, watching the anger on Grayson's face double. "Can anyone confirm that?" His pen paused, hovering over his notepad.
"No. Ruby went out with friends." He replied with a clenched jaw. He knew just how bad it looked. But heavens above, he had nothing to do with this.
No alibi. Flack wrote down, with a smirk of satisfaction.
"We're going to need a list of the places where Juliana spent her time," Stella added quickly. Grayson had been edging back towards his apartment door since Flack started grilling him, and they needed everything they could get before he scurried back inside.
"Xin Ya in the morning. Tea. Work with me at Translatie, then Messmore Centre for a swim, then home." He watched Flack write everything down. "Anything else?" Grayson grunted, hand on the doorknob.
"Yeah. You want to volunteer your DNA and fingerprints as elimination samples?" Flack suggested innocently.
"No." Grayson turned and shut the door firmly in their faces, returning to his brunch preparations.
"Thank you, Mr. Bailey. We'll be in touch," Stella called through the door, trying to hold back her grin at Flack's antics.
Together, they passed through the gleaming lobby again and climbed back into his car. The moment his door shut, Flack muttered, "Scumbag," and smacked the steering wheel.
"You think Grayson tried to murder Juliana so he could be with Ruby."
"Definitely. He doesn't care about her at all. Didn't even ask if she was okay."
Stella nodded. "Maybe she refused to sign the divorce papers and he really wanted out of the marriage. And after he stabbed her, he added the hate message to throw suspicion off him. He's black, visible minority..." she trailed off.
"Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last time." Love made people do crazy things. Flack pulled out his phone and began to dial.
"Who are you calling?"
"Lincoln Medical," he replied, putting the phone to his ear. "I'm not letting Grayson Bailey anywhere near her."