She glanced at Vincent when he said nothing. “You do know who that is, right?”
Vin rolled his eyes. “Yes, Henley. Even I, an uncultured boor, knows who Lenora Birch is.”
“I heard she was once best friends with Audrey Hepburn. That she used to hang out with Audrey after takes of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Did you know that?”
“I said I knew who she was; I didn’t say I studied trivia,” he muttered as they came to stand at the top of the stairs. He looked down. Pointed. “It would have been here.”
Jill nodded and reoriented her thought process. Right.
Now was not the time to stroll down memory lane to those carefree days before her dad died, when her little family would curl up on the couch and her parents would introduce her to the classics. Lenora Birch films had made a frequent appearance.
But this wasn’t a movie.
It was real life.
They were here to solve Lenora Birch’s death, not ruminate over her life. That would be for her friends and family to do, and well, most of America. But Vincent and Jill… right now they were homicide detectives first, fans second.
And though neither would say it, they were very much aware that this was a case that could make their career.
Or break it.
Not that they needed much help improving their track record. Jill and Vincent had a lower percentage of unsolved cases than almost anyone in the department.
But still, this was the murder of Lenora Birch.
Solving this would put them on the map in a big way. Set them up for promotion well ahead of their time.
But first… to prove it was a murder.
Jill rested her hands on the railing and looked down. “Okay, so she went over here…”
Jill held out her hand, palm to the floor as she measured how high the railing was on her. It hit between belly button and boobs. “How tall do you think Lenora Birch is—was? She’s so thin I always picture her being taller…”
“About your height,” Vincent said.
Jill nodded. “Okay, so if she’s my height and the railing hits me here…” She continued to hold her hand off before taking a couple steps back. “Let’s say I stumble…”
She mimed a stumbling motion, and Vincent shook his head. “Nope. Even if she stumbled against the railing, there wouldn’t be enough force.”
“You’re right,” Jill said. “So in order for this to have been a fall…”
She went on her tippy toes and dipped forward.
Vincent swore sharply, and a hand pulled her back from the railing by the waist of her pants.
“What the—” She turned to give him an incredulous look, but his face was stark white, and realization dawned.
“Ohhh,” she said knowingly. “I forgot about that little height thing you have.”
“Shut up,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.
Jill wisely hid her smile. Vincent may have the reputation as one of the toughest, hardest-to-rattle cops in the NYPD, but he had one teeny-tiny weakness…
He was scared to death of heights.
She wouldn’t have thought a second-story railing even qualified, but judging from the slightly nauseous look on his face, it definitely did.
“Sorry,” she said, patting his arm. He was wearing his usual work “uniform.”
All black.
She didn’t judge, as she wore more of the same. Black pants. Black turtleneck. Black shoes.
Jill used to dress up more when she’d first gotten promoted to detective, but now she only busted out the skirts when they were talking to the families of victims or questioning people.
And then, only to soften the fact that Vincent didn’t dress up. Ever.
“Okay, so it’s reasonably certain that this couldn’t have been an accident,” Jill said, deliberately steering his attention back to the case.
He shook his head, color returning.
“I know we’ll need to look into her mental state,” Jill said, because they had to explore all options. “But even if Lenora Birch was depressed and the public didn’t know it… I don’t think she would have done it like this.”
“Why do you say that?”
Jill lifted a shoulder. “A person who was once said to be the most beautiful woman in the world wouldn’t want to be found like that.”
She gestured toward the floor below.
Vin blew out a breath as he snapped off his gloves and handed them to a passing tech. Jill did the same, although she did it with a smile and said thank you.
“Start with the housekeeper?” he asked.
Jill nodded. “Hopefully she’s still waiting in the kitchen like we asked.”
The housekeeper had been the one to find the body and call 911. She’d been too distraught to get out more than sobs when they’d first arrived, but Jill was hoping the worst of the shock had worn off and they could at least get some sense of where to start.
Jill felt a little shiver of anticipation roll through her. Not at the death—never the death. But at the thrill of the chase. Of the puzzle. She loved the entire process of putting the pieces together and coming up with the best prize of all:
Justice.
“I’ve missed this,” she said, more to herself than to Vincent, who wasn’t exactly known for being Mr. Chatty on the job. Or ever.