A little later, when Nikki glanced at her cell phone display, she found the message. "Bauer sent me Diana Martiny's phone number. I'll try to reach her."
She was lucky. After only two rings, she had the woman on the phone.
"Hello. Ms. Martiny, my name is Veronica O'Laighin, Boston Police Department. Would you be so kind as to answer a few questions for me?"
"Um... what? Who is this?"
"Boston Homicide, Detective Veronica O'Laighin. If I'm correctly informed, you're currently in L.A.?"
"Yes, I'm here under contract with the Thalia Theater until August. But I don't understand --" There was uncertainty and surprise in Martiny's voice.
"When was the last time you were in your apartment in Boston?"
"That was … before I left for L.A. five weeks ago. But why do you want to know? Did something get broken into?"
"That's what we're trying to find out. Does anyone else have a key besides Ms. Rózsa? Or has anyone asked you if they could use your apartment?"
"No, no one else has a key, and no one has asked to use it. Now, please tell me what's going on. Has something happened?"
Nikki was surprised Martiny's chatty neighbor hadn't filled her in already. She carefully described what had happened. Martiny let out an occasional 'oh my God', but remained silent when the detective had finished her description. "Ms. Martiny, do you know Harry Upton?"
"Harry Upton? Isn't he that journalist? Why are you asking me about him? My God, I'm completely confused."
"How well do you know him? Do you have a personal relationship with him?"
"No. I've seen him here and there at events but hardly exchanged a word with him."
"He's the man who claims to have been beaten up in your apartment."
"For heaven's sake, that's terrible. But how did he get into my apartment? Like I said, I barely know him personally."
"He claims someone lured him there. Unfortunately, I can't tell you more than that."
"That's crazy. Why would someone lure Harry Upton to my apartment?"
"So you don't know anything about any of this?"
"No, of course not. I am completely confused. What should I do now? Do I have to come back? My engagement here --"
"No. There is nothing you can do at the moment. Your apartment is sealed. We will contact you again."
"Yes... I... thank you."
After Nikki had hung up, she described the woman's reaction to Mike.
"And? Does she sound credible?"
"I think so. She seemed genuinely surprised."
Mike glanced at the clock on the dashboard. '2:30. So, Nikki, what do you suggest?'
"How about we talk to the people from the bank that Upton mentioned?"
"That's exactly what I thought."
xxx
After registering with the woman at the desk, they had to wait about fifteen minutes before Martin Ackerman received them. He was the head of wealth management and one of the three names mentioned by Upton.
The large office on the fourth floor, to which they were led by a pretty young woman in an anthracite-colored business suit, was furnished in a way that Nikki found very sterile. The two large pictures on the bare, whitewashed wall – dark blue geometric figures on an equally white background – reinforced this impression.
Ackerman rose smiling from behind his massive glass desk with a shiny chrome base and came to meet the detectives. "Good afternoon, officers. To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the Boston Police Department?"
It wasn't often that Nikki pigeonholed someone on first meeting them, but she didn't like this man in the dark blue pinstriped suit from the outset. She wasn't sure whether it was his eel-like smile, which only involved the lower half of his face.
Mike took the outstretched hand. "Fisher, Boston Homicide. This is Detective Veronica O'Laighin. We want to talk to you about Mr. Upton."
Ackerman ignored Mike's words and, still smiling, pointed to a group of black leather chairs on thin chrome legs that stood around a yellow cube made of some unidentifiable material. "Please, have a seat." He waited until they were both seated before he sat down as well. "Excuse me... what was the gentleman's name you wanted to talk about?"
"Harry Upton," Mike repeated, with Nikki recognizing the first signs of impatience in her husband.
Ackerman furrowed his brow and lowered his eyes, apparently to emphasize his deep thought. "Upton... Upton... Is he a customer? Then I'm afraid I can't give you any information. I'm sure you understand." Mike started to say something, but before he could utter a sound, Ackerman raised his hand. "No, wait, I know now. He's a journalist, isn't he?"
And you're a lousy actor, Nikki thought with a frown. Lousy and sleazy.
Mike nodded slowly. 'That's exactly what he is. Have you dealt with him before?'
"Yes, I remember. He was here once. Told me a crazy story about tax evasion and black money."
"How long ago was that?"
"Hm... about four weeks. Maybe only three."
"So you know that he was researching a story along those lines. Also, against your bank."
Ackerman's smile hadn't gone away, but it had changed. If it had seemed forced before on Nikki, now there was a hint of arrogance.
"I know that Mr. Upton must have been pretty desperate for a story when he came up with such a crazy tall tale. But it's well known that the future of writing is endowed with a fertile imagination. I almost felt sorry for him. What brings you into the picture, however, is beyond me."
"Tell us about your conversation with him," Nikki told the banker, trying not to make her voice aggressive.
"Oh, there's not much to tell. Basically, there was no conversation at all. As I said, he was rambling on about our clients' black money. He basically accused us of aiding and abetting tax evasion. I asked him to leave."
"So it's not true that you or employees of this bank have helped customers move money out of the country and hide it in some offshore shell company?"
Ackerman looked at Mike like an insect, adding another layer of arrogance to his smile. "Dear officer, the question alone is actually an insult to my sense of honor. But I'll forgive you because I know someone like you can't possibly know about our business and practices. So, a clear no. That's complete nonsense.
Nikki saw Mike's chewing muscles moving, and she also had to try not to tell this for what she thought of his condescending manner.
"Was that your only conversation with Harry Upton?" she asked in a reasonably normal tone.
"Yes. He tried once or twice after that, but I didn't want any more conversations of that kind."
"Where were you last night?" Mike asked abruptly.
"What? Where I... Why do you want to know?"
"Harry Upton has been knocked out, and we're trying to find out who might be interested in hurting him."
"And you're asking me?" Ackerman stood up and shook his head dramatically. "Tell me, what is this? Slow news time? No stories, no crime? Otherwise, I can't explain why you're wasting my precious time with such questions." The smile on Ackerman's face disappeared for the first time since they had entered the room. "This is my private business and none of your concern. If you have any further questions, please get in touch with the bank's lawyer. You can find his phone number and address in the imprint on our website. Now please leave. God knows I have more important things to do. Have a nice day, and good luck fighting crime."
With that, he turned away, walked a few steps to the large window that took up more than half of the opposite wall, and paused there as if something fascinating was waiting to be watched outside.
When the two detectives left the building through the wide glass door minutes later, Nikki stopped and took a deep breath. "What an idiot."
Mike let out a humorless laugh that contained all of his anger. "Idiot? He's not an idiot, he's an arrogant asshole, and one thing's for sure: he's lying through his teeth."
xxx
The two of them drove back to the BPD, where they were informed that Upton had left the hospital and was home.
While Mike disappeared to report to the office of their boss, Captain Nick Simms, Nikki got on the phone and called the editor-in-chief of the newspaper where Upton was employed. Peter Carducci confirmed that Upton was working on a story about systematic tax evasion and, to her amazement, was not particularly surprised when he heard what had allegedly happened to his employee.
"You know," he explained when she brought it up, 'Harry made enemies. Powerful people, he got into trouble with his articles. They have a long arm ... and all the resources money can buy. Investigative journalism is not a harmless business.'
"What kind of person must you be to do this dangerous job?"
Carducci let out a laugh. "You want to know what kind of person Harry is? He's one of the best journalists I've ever met."
"And in his private life?"
"Private is private, detective. I like Harry and appreciate his work. I'm not interested in anything else."
"I see," Nikki replied with a frown. 'I'm not interested in anything else' could mean many things. She thanked Carducci and ended the call.
Just before 5 p.m., she heard a crash and Mike's angry voice immediately afterward. "Damn it!"
She glanced at the hallway, where her husband stood in front of an overturned trash can, spewing its contents onto the floor.
Nikki wasn't the only one drawn out of the bullpen by the scene. More and more officers and detectives gathered in the hallway, most openly grinning.
"Which brainiac put his full trash can in the hallway?"
"Sorry, it was me," confessed Martin Thune, who stuck his head out of the bullpen at that moment. Nikki could see that he was also struggling to contain his laughter. "I was about to take it away."
Mike glared at him angrily. "And then you just leave the damn thing in the hallway so that the next detective who comes by is bound to trip over it. Really a great idea."
"Mike, you really need to work on your communication skills," Mason Temple, one of the senior detectives in the homicide division, stepped up to Mike. 'These insults only make everyone feel bad.' He touched Mike's shoulder before continuing in a calm, therapist-like voice. "You would feel the same way. But if I were to say to you: Hey, I just bumped into the trash can you must have accidentally brought here. Would you be so kind as to help me pick it up? Honestly, how would you feel then?"
Mike looked at Temple as if he had lost his mind. After a tense silence, he said, "Screwed," whereupon everyone burst out laughing. Even Mike couldn't help grinning as he walked past Nikki into the bullpen.
Thirty minutes later, they decided to call it a day.
On the way to her house, Nikki reviewed the day's events.
Upton's strange appearance at the BPD, his descriptions, the blood in the bedroom of Diana Martiny's apartment... How did it all fit together? Had a murder really been committed in this room? And if so, where was the body, and how had the murderer managed to get it out of the apartment unnoticed? Even at night, the streets in this area were rarely deserted.
What role did Upton really play in all this?
She drove into her house's driveway, threw the house key on the dresser in the hallway, and went into the kitchen. She hadn't had a drink in hours and was looking forward to a cold beer.
After she had emptied the bottle, she went into the bathroom and undressed. She wanted to wash the day off of her before she went to Kirsten's.
She stood at the sink, hands on the edge, and looked at her face in the mirror. Her blue eyes looked tired, and she realized that her brown hair could use a trim.
In the shower, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the water droplets on her skin.
Kirsten. Over the years, she had learned to distinguish the subtle nuances of her voice and draw conclusions about her state of mind from them. When she'd called that afternoon, her sister-in-law had sounded cheerful on the surface, but Nikki had sensed that something was bothering Kirsten. Probably another attack of longing for her ex-boyfriend.
Although her sister-in-law was one of the most critical people in Nikki's life, she couldn't be angry with Aaron, who had confessed to her in tears after the breakup that he still loved Kirsten but couldn't find the strength to live with her.
Nikki knew that this breakup was the worst thing that had happened to Kirsten since the accident in which a drunk driver had knocked her off her bike, and she had been catapulted into a wheelchair. She was eight years old at the time and had a fractured fourth thoracic vertebra and an injured spinal cord.
Nikki turned off the shower and dried herself. She was looking forward to seeing her sister-in-law again, even though she had last visited her just five days ago.