She couldn’t believe they were going there. “No, he wasn’t,” she said. “But I can’t imagine why it would matter if he had been.”
“We were just curious if he might have had access to your belongings and stolen something,” Ungaro said.
She shook her head. “Nothing was missing.”
“Was he already at the hotel when you arrived?” Wainwright asked.
“You mean at the hotel restaurant—the night we had dinner?” she said, wondering what difference that made either.
“No. We’re curious if he was staying at the hotel when you first checked in or did he arrive afterward.”
Her stomach tightened. His question harkened back to what Ungaro had suggested in the previous conversation: that X might have tailed her to the shop in town, his sights set on her. Were they wondering if he’d even followed her to the hotel?
“I don’t have a clue,” she said. “I spoke to him for the first time on the last day I stayed there, as I was leaving breakfast. And then we had dinner that night. I’m sure the hotel could tell you exactly when he checked in and out.”
A loaded few moments of silence followed, as both men studied her.
“But you told us previously that you had only seen him at the hotel and that you spoke to him for the first time at the store in town,” Wainwright said.
There it was again, that challenging tone of his, as if she was a witness for the other side. And they seemed obsessed with minutiae.
“The store was the first place we had an actual conversation,” she said. “We only exchanged a few words when we bumped into each other after breakfast. It—it just seemed too insignificant to mention before.”
She sounded slightly flustered, she realized, defensive. But they were making her nervous, the way they were eyeing her like two hyenas preparing to circle.
“When you say bumped into each other,” Ungaro said, “are you using the phrase as a manner of speaking? Or are you saying this man physically bumped into you?”
“Yes, we bumped into each other physically, but how is that relevant?” Why were they so fascinated by it? she wondered. “I was reading my iPad and wasn’t paying attention.”
“All right, thank you, Ms. Finn,” Wainwright said abruptly. “We’re grateful for your cooperation, and we shouldn’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“I’d appreciate one piece of information from you in return,” Kit said, rising. “Can you tell me if Mr. Healy had business in Florida?”
Neither man looked at the other, but she sensed a message being telegraphed from one to the other.
“Yes, he did,” said Wainwright after a moment. “We have a client in Miami and he was planning to see him.”
“Then maybe this was all a terrible coincidence,” Kit blurted out, feeling a rush of relief.
“Perhaps,” Wainwright said. “But we want to cover all our bases. We need to be sure Mr. Healy’s killer is brought to justice.”
Minutes later, as the elevator whisked her solo to the ground floor, she couldn’t help but feel discombobulated. If Matt Healy had a legitimate reason to be in Miami, then his death might have no connection to X, and she could relax. But Wainwright had paused before answering and his reply might have been a lie, a cover-up. And then there were those questions suggesting that she may have been targeted. Was it actually X who had bumped into her, trying to force an exchange? Perhaps he had followed her to the shop. But what could he have wanted from her beyond sex?
It was still light out when she emerged from the building and she took a west side subway downtown and then walked the rest of the way home. The day had been lovely, truly spring-like, but she’d barely noticed it. Moments from her apartment, her phone rang. The number was blocked.
“Hello,” she answered, not willing to identify herself.
“Is this Kit Finn?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping into a building doorway so she could hear better. Maybe it was a potential client with a private number.
“This is Detective Steve Patchel from the 84th precinct in Brooklyn. I’m following up on information you provided the Miami police.”
Okay, she could at least get this out of the way on the same day.
“I’ve been expecting your call.”
“Miami-Dade will be investigating the fatality, but we’re trying to offer whatever background we can,” Patchel said. “According to Detective Molinari, Mr. Healy told you that his wallet had been stolen at an apartment in Dumbo. Did he say when exactly?”