Shakeup (Stone Barrington #55) - Stuart Woods Page 0,70
Myers stepped into the lobby, followed by a man who looked like Rudolph Valentino, but older and heavier and a sex addict, from what she had heard.
“Why, Maren,” Debby said, making an effort to smile. “What a surprise! What brings you to the big city?”
“I was hoping to run into you, Deborah,” Maren replied, “and my luck is good today.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m so glad you asked. I wondered if you and your bodyguard could take a ride with me downtown?”
“For what purpose?” Debby asked.
“There are some questions I’d like to ask you, and I hope you’ll have some answers.”
“The hotel has a conference room. Why don’t we go in there?”
“I’m afraid the nature of my questions requires a more official setting.”
Debby thought about it for a couple of seconds, then smiled again. “Sure, be glad to. I assume you have a car?”
“A very comfortable one,” Maren replied and headed with Debby for the street. “Stone,” Maren said over her shoulder, “would you give a lift to Deborah’s security man?”
“Of course,” Stone said, showing Rocco the Bentley, with Fred braced at the open door. “Art, will you ride shotgun?”
Art smiled. “Sure, Stone.”
No one in either car spoke on the ride downtown.
* * *
—
At the federal building, everyone placed his weapons in a tray and passed through the metal detector. It took Rocco three passes, to unload two handguns and an evil-looking knife.
Upstairs, Debby and Rocco were escorted to different interrogation rooms. Maren waved for Stone to follow her to an office, where she rang for a secretary, then dictated two documents, while Stone waited outside. When she was done, Maren motioned him inside and closed the door. She took off her jacket and began to unbutton her silk blouse.
“Really?” Stone asked, surprised. “In an FBI field office?”
“No, not really,” Maren replied. She took off the blouse, reached behind her and unhooked her bra, revealing what Stone had always felt was one of the finest views on the planet.
“You’re pressing your luck,” Stone said.
“Be a good boy, and you can watch me with Rocco.” Stone’s jaw dropped.
She put on the blouse again, but left the two top buttons undone, then she picked up a file folder from the secretary and started out of the office. Maren pointed at a door in the hallway. “You can watch from in there,” she said.
An FBI special agent came out of the interrogation room, bearing all three of Rocco Turko’s weapons, and Maren stepped in.
* * *
—
Stone took a seat and looked at Rocco, sitting calmly at the table in the interrogation room. He could hear him clear his throat.
Maren entered the room, and to Stone’s surprise, Rocco stood up to greet her.
“Good morning, Mr. Turko,” Maren said, offering her hand.
“Good morning,” he replied, shaking it.
“May I call you Rocco?”
“Of course.”
“And you may call me Maren,” she said. She took off her jacket and in so doing, her breasts nearly, but not quite, escaped her blouse. “I’m so glad we could get together.”
“So am I,” Rocco replied, smiling to reveal some very fine dental work.
“Listen, I know you’re going to want a lawyer, but if you can hold off that request for a few minutes, I don’t think you’ll need one.”
“Fine with me,” Rocco replied.
“First of all, are you acquainted with two people called Eddie Craft and Shelley Moss?”
“I don’t believe I am,” Rocco replied.
“Never met them?”
“No, not that I can recall.”
“Would you recognize them if you saw them?”
Rocco shook his head. “No.”
“They live in an apartment building at East Sixty-third Street and Park Avenue . . .”
Rocco began shaking his head.
“. . . in apartment 15D,” she said.
Rocco froze. “Say again?”
“Park and Sixty-third, apartment 15D.”
Rocco seemed unable to speak.
“Perhaps you know the people who live one floor below them, in 14D—a Mr. and Mrs. Moskowitz.”
Rocco’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“Mr. and Mrs. Moskowitz”—she consulted a sheet of paper in her hand—“Leo and Mandy—were involved in a very unfortunate incident yesterday—an apparent murder-suicide. Leo shot Mandy, then exited his apartment through an open window, falling to the alley below. No one we’ve questioned can understand it. They seemed such a happy couple.”
“I didn’t know them,” Rocco finally managed to say.
“Obviously not,” Maren said. “You will recall that yesterday was a very rainy day.”
“I recall that.”
“Did you notice that some water had collected on the floor of the service elevator?”
Rocco began to shake his head, then stopped. “What service elevator? At the hotel, you mean?”
Maren smiled. “No, Rocco.” She leaned forward just