“They used to feed in our yard.”
Her companion shielded his eyes, trying to get a better view. “Too far away for me to see,” he complained.
“Come on, Harris. Let’s not disturb him.”
“Enjoy your walk,” Blick said without watching them depart. He redirected his gaze back to the young woman and then to Farrell. “Another pretty one,” he muttered. “I don’t know how he does it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Blick leaned against the railing at Rockefeller Center watching two boys whip around the ice rink, hot-dogging it as they weaved around more leisurely skaters. Man, that looks like fun. One of them came too close to another skater and spooked him. The skater’s feet went out from under him. He winced as he slammed butt-first onto the ice. He swore, “Son of a bitch!” and shook his fist at the snickering boys.
Ooh! That’s got to sting. Blick checked his watch—it was exactly noon. The sun warmed his face as he withdrew his cell phone, dialed, and waited for his call to be answered. Five rings … six. He finally heard the call connect. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Hold on.”
He heard an electrical whine in the background, which he recognized as the hum of a pool lift motor. He took a few deep breaths while he waited for the noise to stop and visualized the frail man being lowered into the heated swimming pool in the basement level of his Manhattan brownstone. Must be nice, he thought, allowing envy to surface.
“Right on time.”
“How’s the water?” Blick said, masking resentment of his employer’s ostentatious wealth. He pictured the large indoor pool and the wisps of steam rising from the water toward the ornate crystal chandelier.
“A steamy eighty-five, Max, but I’m not paying you for small talk. What’s going on?”
“I followed him this morning. He took a walk through Central Park with a pretty brunette.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know yet.” A long moment passed which Blick interpreted as passive-aggressive disappointment. He quickly added, “This is the first time I’ve seen them together. I was out in front of his building early this morning. I followed him into Central Park where he met up with said pretty young thing.”
“I need to know who she is immediately.”
“Hey, I can only watch one person at a time.”
“You don’t seem to have an issue cashing all the checks I send you.”
“I’m doing the best I can. If—”
“Hold!”
Sure, I’ll hold. Blick heard the sound of footsteps over the phone line and the slapping of slippers on marble. That’s got to be Chang, the physical therapist. He had only met Chang once—the conversation amounted to little more than an exchange of the word hello . The man had made no effort to be social or for that matter to act human. Blick remembered the small man marching his rigid, soldier-like walk alongside the pool and then slipping off his white robe to reveal his taut, overdeveloped physique. He had slipped into the pool so smoothly as to barely cause a ripple. He had then worked his patient’s body, massaging and stretching the diseased legs without making eye contact, kneading the muscles as if they were lifeless lumps of clay.
“I have to go. Chang is here. When will the coroner release Hartley’s body?
“Later in the week, I suppose—as soon as they’re satisfied they didn’t miss anything.”
“Be sure to let me know when they lower that bastard into the ground.”
Blick couldn’t help himself—he laughed and disconnected the call. What a piece of work.
Chapter Fourteen
I always attend a homicide victim’s funeral—people-watching. Who was there to show their respect? Who was there out of a sense of obligation? Who was there to see their victim take a long dirt nap? There are no sure bets in a criminal investigation, but sometimes … Well, just sometimes.
The issue with a high profile figure like Hartley was that the number of attendees at his funeral was staggering. Hartley had been
Her companion shielded his eyes, trying to get a better view. “Too far away for me to see,” he complained.
“Come on, Harris. Let’s not disturb him.”
“Enjoy your walk,” Blick said without watching them depart. He redirected his gaze back to the young woman and then to Farrell. “Another pretty one,” he muttered. “I don’t know how he does it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Blick leaned against the railing at Rockefeller Center watching two boys whip around the ice rink, hot-dogging it as they weaved around more leisurely skaters. Man, that looks like fun. One of them came too close to another skater and spooked him. The skater’s feet went out from under him. He winced as he slammed butt-first onto the ice. He swore, “Son of a bitch!” and shook his fist at the snickering boys.
Ooh! That’s got to sting. Blick checked his watch—it was exactly noon. The sun warmed his face as he withdrew his cell phone, dialed, and waited for his call to be answered. Five rings … six. He finally heard the call connect. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Hold on.”
He heard an electrical whine in the background, which he recognized as the hum of a pool lift motor. He took a few deep breaths while he waited for the noise to stop and visualized the frail man being lowered into the heated swimming pool in the basement level of his Manhattan brownstone. Must be nice, he thought, allowing envy to surface.
“Right on time.”
“How’s the water?” Blick said, masking resentment of his employer’s ostentatious wealth. He pictured the large indoor pool and the wisps of steam rising from the water toward the ornate crystal chandelier.
“A steamy eighty-five, Max, but I’m not paying you for small talk. What’s going on?”
“I followed him this morning. He took a walk through Central Park with a pretty brunette.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know yet.” A long moment passed which Blick interpreted as passive-aggressive disappointment. He quickly added, “This is the first time I’ve seen them together. I was out in front of his building early this morning. I followed him into Central Park where he met up with said pretty young thing.”
“I need to know who she is immediately.”
“Hey, I can only watch one person at a time.”
“You don’t seem to have an issue cashing all the checks I send you.”
“I’m doing the best I can. If—”
“Hold!”
Sure, I’ll hold. Blick heard the sound of footsteps over the phone line and the slapping of slippers on marble. That’s got to be Chang, the physical therapist. He had only met Chang once—the conversation amounted to little more than an exchange of the word hello . The man had made no effort to be social or for that matter to act human. Blick remembered the small man marching his rigid, soldier-like walk alongside the pool and then slipping off his white robe to reveal his taut, overdeveloped physique. He had slipped into the pool so smoothly as to barely cause a ripple. He had then worked his patient’s body, massaging and stretching the diseased legs without making eye contact, kneading the muscles as if they were lifeless lumps of clay.
“I have to go. Chang is here. When will the coroner release Hartley’s body?
“Later in the week, I suppose—as soon as they’re satisfied they didn’t miss anything.”
“Be sure to let me know when they lower that bastard into the ground.”
Blick couldn’t help himself—he laughed and disconnected the call. What a piece of work.
Chapter Fourteen
I always attend a homicide victim’s funeral—people-watching. Who was there to show their respect? Who was there out of a sense of obligation? Who was there to see their victim take a long dirt nap? There are no sure bets in a criminal investigation, but sometimes … Well, just sometimes.
The issue with a high profile figure like Hartley was that the number of attendees at his funeral was staggering. Hartley had been
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