The Perfect Marriage(57)

“Which means?” Asra asked.

“It wasn’t much of a fight,” Erica said. “The doer inflicted all the damage. And you were right about the sheets. Semen and female fluids galore. The semen is the vic’s. No big surprise there. Unfortunately, no matches in the database for his lady friend.”

“His wife says it was her,” Asra said.

“Easy enough to verify with a DNA sample.”

“You’re really not helping us, Erica,” Gabriel said jokingly. “Isn’t there anything that we can actually use to arrest somebody?”

“How about this? There was blood at the scene that did not belong to Mr. Sommers.”

“Whose?” Gabriel and Asra asked in unison.

“Don’t you think I would have led with that if I knew who left their blood at the scene?” Erica said with a raised eyebrow. “Once again, no database matches.”

The NYPD had access to the national criminal database of DNA, which was composed of the DNA of every unfortunate soul who became ensnared in the criminal justice system. It was hardly surprising that none of those folks hobnobbed with the Manhattan art crowd.

“My Spidey sense tells me that if you find the person who left that blood, you’ve got your killer,” Erica went on. “That’s because I think it’s a strong likelihood that the blood was the result of the killer punching the vic. Even if you’re the one that lands the punch, knuckles coming in contact with a chin have a tendency to bleed.”

Gabriel turned to Asra. “Do you remember anyone with a cut or scratch on his or her hand?”

“No,” she said. “But I do remember that Jessica didn’t take off her gloves, even when she was in the interrogation room.”



The doorman hadn’t buzzed up to announce his visitor. That was enough to tell Reid that the police were coming. Building security didn’t allow visitors to come upstairs unannounced. No exceptions. Law enforcement were different, however. Especially if the cops said that calling ahead would be construed as obstruction of justice.

The hard rap on his door only confirmed that conclusion.

“Reid Warwick? NYPD.”

Reid hadn’t yet gotten dressed, though it was nearly eleven. Last night had gone later than usual. Into this morning, truth be told. Luckily for him, he had told his companion that her company was no longer desired somewhere around 4:00 a.m., so at least he was alone now. He felt like hell, though, and looked even worse.

Meeting the police in this state was not ideal. Still, he didn’t have too many options. So, against his better judgment, Reid opened the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Warwick. You may recall, my name is Lieutenant Velasquez. This is my partner, Detective Jamali. We’re here to ask you to provide us with a sample of your DNA so we might be able to clear you as a suspect.”

“I thought I told you before. Anything you have to say, you should say through my lawyer.”

“What you said, Mr. Warwick, was that you feared that your cooperation with us might violate certain confidentiality agreements you had with your clients, and you wanted to consult with your attorney about that. We’re here just to rule you out as a suspect. Doesn’t implicate your clients at all to give us a cheek scrape’s worth of DNA. It’ll only take a second. Then we’ll be on our way.” The lieutenant shrugged. “Doesn’t even hurt. I promise.”

“Let me discuss that with my lawyer,” Reid said. “He’ll be back to you shortly if there’s anything he wants to share. I appreciate you both coming today.”

Reid extended his hand to indicate that the meeting was over.

The lieutenant grasped it. But rather than shake hands, he twisted Reid’s wrist, turning his palm down.

Reid didn’t have the foggiest notion why.



Haley’s first thought when she saw the two police officers standing at her front door was that Jessica had decided that the best defense was a good offense and had gone all in on pointing the accusatory finger at her. A beat later, she considered that maybe it was Malik who had turned, perhaps reaching the conclusion that even no-limits sex with her wasn’t worth prison time. Either way, she was in serious jeopardy.

“My name again is Lieutenant Velasquez. This is Detective Jamali. May we come in?”

She remembered the lieutenant. He was hard to forget. Straight from central casting.

She also recalled his partner from the last time. The one who hadn’t spoken very much.

“I’m sorry, but I’d rather you didn’t.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Haley realized that she should have sent the police away entirely, rather than merely deny them entry. She needed to shut this down before she said anything that could incriminate her—lie or otherwise.

“We’ll talk here, then,” Lieutenant Velasquez said. “We’re here to ask you to provide a DNA sample. It will allow us to clear you as someone who was at the crime scene at the time of the murder. It’s a simple swab of your cheek.”

He smiled at her. His C’mon, look how good-looking I am. Don’t you trust me? smile.

Haley knew that trick well; she had often used it herself. More times than she could remember. And nearly every time, she shouldn’t have been trusted.

“No, thank you. I would also appreciate it if you didn’t visit me again.”