will concede the possibility that Hamlet might well have been the feline that passed through that basement. His propensity for wandering outside this building has been documented. But where I do not follow is how you have determined the killer’s identity, when the police apparently are still in the dark on that matter.”
Darla flipped open the novel she held and pointed to the summary that she had read that morning. “I thought at first it must be Tera who did it, because I found out from Hilda that Tera’s full name is Maria Teresa, just like Louis XIV’s wife. But then it seemed too much of a coincidence that Robert, of all people, would be outside Barry and Curt’s brownstone the night Curt was killed and just happen to pass by when Tera was standing there.”
James gave the page she had indicated a considering look and then shook his head.
“While French literature admittedly is not my specialty, I am fairly confident that the name ‘Robert’ is not mentioned in this particular novel—nor is ‘dude’ or ‘hoss,’ for that matter—which would seem to negate your theory that Hamlet is communicating anything of significance.”
But even as Darla conceded that point to herself, he added, “Besides, what motivation would our young employee have for so heinous a crime?”
“He said when I hired him that he does part-time construction work for a guy named Alex Putin, who is apparently some sort of local Russian godfather,” she explained. “And Barry said he’d heard that the scrap thieves were somehow connected to the Russian gangs around here. I’m worried that maybe Robert got himself involved in stealing metal for this Putin guy and that Curt caught him that night in the brownstone and came out on the losing end of things.”
“An interesting theory. Tell me, what does Detective Reese think about all this?”
“I haven’t seen him since last night. I thought I’d ask Jake her opinion before I talked to him.”
“Ask my opinion about what?”
While Darla and James had been debating the evidence, Jake had apparently walked in, the chimes unheard by either of them. She was still dressed in her butt-kicking outfit, though now the mirrored glasses were pushed back to the top of her head, and she was carrying a sheaf of papers.
Not waiting for a reply to her question, she plopped the stack on the counter near the register. “Here are the fliers I told you I was making. I’ve already handed them out around the neighborhood. Do me a favor and hand them out to your customers, too.”
“Certainly,” James assured her.
“Of course,” Darla echoed, picking one up for a look.
The legend in large black letters across the top said Missing. Below was the picture of Tera that Hilda had brought with her, along with a description: Female, 21 years old, dark blond hair, brown eyes, 5' 3", 105 pounds. It also noted that she’d last been seen in the vicinity of Cheshire Lane—the street where Barry’s brownstone was located—and on the prior Wednesday’s date. Jake’s contact information followed.
“Or call Detective Reese of the NYPD,” Darla read aloud as she reached the bottom of the poster, noting that both Reese’s phone number and his precinct also were prominently listed. “Uh-oh. I’m not sure Hilda is going to like that.”
“Kid, I’m doing what’s best for Tera,” Jake replied, looking equal parts weary and determined. “I’m worried about her. I don’t care that her mother has an issue with the cops. What’s important is getting her home ASAP.”
Darla nodded her agreement. “Do I need to call him to come get one of these fliers, since Hilda wouldn’t give him a photo?”
“Not necessary. I emailed Reese the picture as soon as Hilda left. Now, what’s this opinion thing you and James were discussing?”
“We’re discussing the possible suspects in Curt’s killing. Hamlet’s doing his book-snagging routine again, but it’s not quite adding up.”
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” Jake replied with a frown. To James, she added, “Help me out here, would you? It’s all well and good playing armchair detective, but explain to your boss that there’s a difference between the murder mysteries she sells and the real thing.”
“Believe me, I know the difference,” Darla shot back before James could take sides. “Or did you forget that Barry and I were the ones who found Curt?” She shuddered. “I even dreamed about dead bodies last night.”
“I didn’t forget, kid. And you handled yourself really well. But leave the investigating to Reese, would you? I get as