him to see that what he was doing wasn’t fair to Joy (not to mention his wife), maybe he’d act like a grown-up and end the affair.
Of course, I knew my grown daughter’s love life was none of my business. But as Joy’s mother, I believed my daughter’s happiness and well-being were very much my business. If I could privately persuade Keitel to cut Joy loose, at least one ugly aspect to this catastrophic mess would be over. As far as the other aspect, that was going to be much trickier.
“Let’s get back to Vinny,” I said. “Did he know that you and Tommy were using his place for sex?”
“Not the first time, but I told him about it right after. He said it was okay with him if we used his apartment, as long as I left the place clean and stuff.”
“And when was the last time you and Tommy used it?”
Joy frowned so deeply I thought she might cry. “The last time was the afternoon of Uncle Ric’s decaf coffee–tasting party at the Beekman Hotel—you remember, Mom, that’s when I introduced you to Tommy for the first time? Ever since then, Tommy said he was just too busy. He keeps saying, ‘We’ll do it again soon’…but we haven’t done it since…”
Good. “Okay, so it’s been about a month since you and Tommy were there together.” I nodded, thinking through the forensics. “From what I saw, Vincent Buccelli kept his apartment spotlessly clean. A lot of the fingerprints and DNA were probably already washed away. But you did unlock the door last night, Joy, which means your fingerprints are on the knob, right?”
She nodded silently.
“And the key?” I asked.
“Lieutenant Salinas confiscated it.”
“More evidence,” I said, sighing. I went back to massaging my temples. Joy turned around and started cleaning the dishes. Matt drank his coffee in silence. Finally, another question occurred to my ex-husband—a good one.
“Joy, did you tell Lieutenant Salinas about you and Tommy using Vinny’s place for sex?”
“No, Dad.” Joy stopped cleaning and turned around. “All I told Salinas was that I had a key to water Vinny’s plants and feed his fish. I didn’t mention Tommy at all. I didn’t see any point in bringing his name into it.”
“But Tommy may mention it when the police interview him,” I pointed out. “That’s not good, Joy. It’ll make it look like you held back information, which you did.”
“It was my private business!”
“That’s not how Salinas will see it.”
“But—”
“How about the murder weapon?” I asked, hoping she might be able to recall whether she’d seen it before. “Did you get a good look at it?”
“No. I just couldn’t…” Joy closed her eyes, hugged her stomach. “I couldn’t look at Vinny long enough. Not after seeing him in all that blood.”
“Well, I took a long look at Vinny’s corpse and the weapon that killed him.” I glanced at Matt. “It was a ten-inch chef’s knife.”
Matt blew out air.
Joy nodded, opened her eyes. “I overheard you talking about that to the lieutenant.”
“You weren’t by any chance carrying your Shun Elite last night, were you?”
“No way, Mom.” Joy shook her head. “I keep the Shun in my locker at Solange, along with the rest of my knives.”
“Good.” I’d saved up for months to buy that knife. It was probably the finest in the world: hand-forged and machine-edged by a Japanese manufacturer in Seki City, Japan, the samurai sword–making center for over 700 years. Maybe it was a venal concern, but I would have hated to find out my special Christmas present to my daughter had been confiscated by Salinas, too.
“Believe me, Mom, if the police found a knife on me last night, I would have been booked for murder already. Anyway, what about the knife? Was it one of Vinny’s, do you think?”
“The police say no. They checked his kit and said all his knives were in it. I can tell you that the knife that killed Vinny had a silver handle—”
“Then it’s not Vinny’s, for sure,” Joy said. “Vinny liked the feel of German-made knives because they have a curved edge for economy of motion. He used Henckels, and they all have wooden handles. My Shun’s like that, too.”
I searched my own memory. Though most of the blade was embedded inside that poor kid’s corpse, I saw enough of it to know the sharpened edge was flat, not curved. I asked Joy about it.
“If it’s flat, then it’s a French-made knife,” she said, “like the ones at Solange. Tommy had