“You holding to that? Because I went to Beckett’s Neck yesterday and, from what I’ve learned since, I want to give you an opportunity to think and decide if that’s still your answer for the record.”
“The fuck you talking about? Speak English.”
“Your neighbor, Alicia Delamater, said Fabian Beauvais worked for her recently. Kind of a coincidence.” Heat raised her hand. “By the way? Not so big on coincidences. Except as red flags.”
“So maybe she gave him my phone number.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Ask her. See? You’re fishing and trying to hold both ends of the tackle. Are we done?”
Once again, Nikki took the pushback in stride. “Thank you, I will be asking her. But, in the meantime, you’re saying that Mr. Beauvais was across the lane from Cosmo this summer, and you never once saw or spoke to him?”
“That’s correct.”
“Even though he was supposedly in the employ of your mistress?” Her turn to poke at the defenses. Keith Gilbert was either a cool one or he could be taken at face value. All he gave up was a demi-smile.
“Sounds like you talked to some of the village gossips while you were out there, too.” And then the amusement left him. “I do not have a mistress. I have a strong, long-standing marriage and embrace the value of family. I’m also prepared for the unfounded smears that can rise in a political contest.” He shrugged to dismiss them.
Heat stayed on her facts. “What if I told you I had physical evidence placing Fabian Beauvais on your property?”
“What evidence?”
“Would you still hold to your statement that you didn’t know him?”
“I would. What evidence?”
For Heat, the shellac stains and dog-bite marks were a definite holdback. Instead of responding, she turned a page of her spiral. “The two men I showed you the sketches of.”
“Who I also don’t know.”
“An eyewitness in Flatbush identified them after they came into his diner asking around for Fabian Beauvais.”
“Sounds like they’re your lead.”
“You could be right. He wrote down their license plate. They were driving a car registered to the Port Authority, Commissioner.”
Finally, a reaction. Not a big one, but busy eyes while he processed the news. And how to answer it. He composed himself and chuckled. “Do you have any idea how many cars we have at Port Authority? Thousands. What’s that mean? If a Metropolitan Transportation Authority car was around, do you roust the MTA commissioner?”
“Maybe if his address and phone number turned up in a bloody envelope of cash hidden in a dead man’s closet.” And then she watched him keenly, adding, “Or if a text about him from the dead man warning his girlfriend to run was found on her cell phone.”
“What are you talking about?”
Nikki had achieved what she’d hoped for, putting him off balance. She continued to press. “Tell me about Jeanne Capois.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know her, either, I suppose.”
“You said my name was on some woman’s cell phone?”
“It was a warning text. We found it looking through her effects—after she’d been murdered.”
The commissioner found his calm again and said, “I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“You were mentioned in the text.”
He appeared stunned. “Me? By name?” Gilbert had her on thin ice there. His initials in that text message were not the same as naming him. He sensed her hesitation and leaped at the opening.