The 6:20 Man(42)

He slipped past the other cubicles. Several heads lifted to glimpse him for a moment before falling back to their screens and the pursuit of vast wealth thereon.

He followed her down the hall toward the elevators. There were two men there, both in suits that looked more like his than most of the other suits here, meaning rumpled and cheap.

One was a little taller than him, about six two, beefy, around fifty with grayish hair parted on the side. His partner was in his forties, balding, five ten and lean, with an expression that gave away nothing. The woman didn’t make introductions. She just scurried off while the men showed Devine their badges and identified themselves.

The tall one was Ralph Shoemaker, the shorter one Paul Ekman. They were assigned to the NYPD’s Homicide Squad and were investigating Sara Ewes’s death, Shoemaker said. His voice was low but sharp. Ekman’s was even sharper, with a helping of falsetto on certain words. Whether that was for effect or had something to do with his vocal cords, Devine didn’t know or care.

“We’d like to talk to you, Mr. Devine,” said Ekman.

“Okay. Seems like lots of people want to talk to me lately.”

“We have a room. This way.”

He followed them down the hall and into a space not much larger than the storage closet Ewes had been found hanging in. There were three chairs. Ekman told Devine to sit and he did. Both men sat across from him. There was no table separating them. They were nearly knee to knee. Devine knew this was intentional. Take away personal space and you got your target on edge from the get-go. He had done this very same thing interrogating Taliban and Al-Qaeda fighters they had captured. Even with a translator present, you could still put the screws to people. And they were doing it to Devine right now, or at least trying to.

Ekman took out a notebook, while Shoemaker leveled his gaze at Devine.

Shoemaker said, “Ranger, huh? My son’s in the Army. Infantry. He’s in South Korea.”

“Yeah, I did a stint there, too.”

“You earned lots of medals. Wounded. Twice. Served your country well. Helluva soldier.”

“I did my job.”

“You were friends with Sara Ewes?”

“I knew her.”

“That’s not what I asked.” The man’s expression didn’t change, though the tone of his words had. It was neatly done, thought Devine. He had sat through these sorts of interrogations before, when he was having his security clearances updated, and was being grilled on whether he’d ever had sex with animals. He could appreciate skill when he saw it.

“We went out to mixers. I saw her at group events. I liked her. I think she liked me. If that’s being her friend, then I was her friend. But so were other people.”

“You went to her place. Visited with her parents. Out of all the people here, you’re the only one who did that.” Shoemaker sat back and unbuttoned his jacket. Clipped on his belt was a holster with a Glock riding in it and his shiny badge on the other side of the belt clasp. He looked like he was ready to stay here all day, if need be, and just let Devine stare at that gun and that badge, two powerful symbols for sure.

“I was walking past her place and saw them—”

“How’d you know where she lived?” interjected Ekman, the falsetto notes boomeranging around Devine’s head.

“As I told her parents, I walked her home one night from a nearby bar to make sure she got there safe.”

“Go on,” said Shoemaker.

“I saw them, figured they were her parents. She took after them in appearance, and on the spur of the moment I knocked on the door and things went from there. I just wanted them to know I was sorry about what had happened and if they needed anything to call me. I left them my card.”

Shoemaker reached in his pocket and pulled a card out. “Mrs. Ewes gave this to us this morning when we saw her. She called and told us about your visit. That’s why we’re here to talk to you.”

“Why did she do that?” asked Devine, who was relieved they weren’t here because of the electronic log showing him entering the building in time to kill Ewes.

Ekman leaned forward. “Let’s just say that she felt you weren’t being entirely forthcoming about your relationship with her daughter.”

“In what way?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” replied Ekman.

“How? I can’t read minds.”

“Just read your own, then.”

“I knew Sara and liked her, just like other people here did. Have you talked to any of them?”

“Quite a few,” replied Shoemaker. “But now we’re talking to you.”

“Okay, and I’m answering your questions.”

“Ewes kept a diary, did you know that?”

“Her mother told me she kept one ever since she was young, but that the police apparently didn’t find one at her house. Were her phone and laptop at the office or her home?”

Shoemaker said, “We’ve gone through her emails and other communications and calendar entries on her electronics. And do you know what we found?”

“I have no idea.”

“Ms. Ewes had had an abortion.”

Devine sat up straighter and leaned forward. “What? Sara was pregnant?”

“Abortions are not performed on women who aren’t pregnant,” pointed out Ekman sarcastically.