Talbot’s face flushed but he replied evenly. “You’re the detective. Why don’t you tell me.”
Clair rested her hand on the white box. “If there’s one thing we’ve learned about the Monkey Killer over the years, it’s that he doesn’t do anything without purpose or a clear endgame in mind. He targeted you because he feels you did something wrong, something worthy of punishment. Rather than hurt you directly, he kidnaps your daughter. What I find odd is that he went with a daughter nobody has ever heard about, someone completely isolated from the Talbot empire, over the Talbot family heiress. Your other daughter, Carnegie, she’s a bit of a socialite. A spoiled little rich brat who—”
“Watch it, Detective,” Fischman said.
“A spoiled little rich brat who galavants around the city, spending her daddy’s money. Kidnap her, and you’re guaranteed media sensationalism. He’d draw so much attention to this case, you couldn’t buy a paper in the Philippines without stumbling on an article or two. That’s what he usually wants, right? If you examine any of the other cases, he went for big impact, blood to feed the media machine. Here, though, he breaks MO and takes the unknown daughter. One you’ve locked away in an ivory tower and hidden from the world. Why do you think that is?”
Talbot looked to his attorney, then back to Clair. “Maybe he thinks when the press finds out about Emory, who she is, the story will blow up bigger than if he had taken Carnegie.”
Clair tilted her head, considering this. “Sure, that would be my first guess, but I think he’s smarter than that. I think he had a very specific reason for choosing Emory over Carnegie, one that may explain why he targeted you in the first place.” She reached up and tapped the lid of the box. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with the Moorings, Mr. Talbot?”
Talbot shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He exchanged a look with Fischman, then glared at the box. “The Moorings?” he said, his voice cracking.
“Don’t say a word, Arthur. Not a single word,” said Fischman. “Detective, we’re here to help you find Emory. Mr. Talbot came down willingly. If this is going to turn into some kind of witch-hunt, then I’ll put an end to this interview right now.”
A mischievous grin found the edges of Clair’s lips. “Oh, I think this has much more to do with Emory than your client initially told you, Mr. Fischman. Look at him. See how the gears are turning?” Standing, she walked around behind them and faced the mirror. She leaned down to whisper in Fischman’s ear. “He’s trying to figure out how he’s going to convince you he still has the funds to pay your firm after you see his latest bank statements.”
Nash approached the table, his eyes falling to the box. Both Fischman and Talbot swiveled their head back at him. “Your buddy Arty couldn’t finance a Snickers bar. Isn’t that right, Arty?”
“He’s been shuffling assets between his various projects like a shell game,” Clair said. “His accounts are tapped, loans are due, and the investors are starting to knock on his door. He probably has a packed bag in the car right now, ready to skip town. Then there’s the little problem with phase two down at the Moorings.” She tilted her head at Fischman. “Aren’t you an investor in that project?”
Fischman frowned. “How is that relevant?”
“As an investor, wouldn’t it bother you to learn Mr. Talbot doesn’t actually own the land he’s attempting to build on?” Clair asked.
“What?”
“I just want you to find my daughter,” Talbot murmured.
“I bet you do, Arty,” said Nash.
“What are they talking about, Arthur?”
“Carnegie doesn’t own any real estate, does she, Mr. Talbot? Not like Emory, anyway,” Clair said. “Why don’t you tell your friend here exactly why the Monkey Killer picked her over Carnegie?”
Fischman glared at him. “Arthur?”
Talbot waved a hand at him. “Emory’s mother originally owned the waterfront development land from Belshire to Montgomery. When she died, she willed it to Emory.” He turned back to Clair. “It’s only a formality, though. Emory agreed to sell it to me. She completely supports this project.”
Fischman grew red. “She’s a minor, Talbot. She can’t sell you anything for another, what, three years? The development is supposed to be finished in fifteen months.”
Talbot was shaking his head. “We can get around that. I’ve been working with her trust. The paperwork was drawn up months ago. As her legal guardian, I can sign for her at any time.”
Nash pulled the legal document Hosman had copied for him from his pocket and handed it to Talbot, pointing at the highlighted paragraph. “Your CFO is dead. That’s his signature as witness on the lien transfer. The one man in your organization who could expose this problem is out of the picture. Doesn’t that seem a little convenient? As Emory’s father, if she dies, you take complete control of her assets. The trust becomes irrelevant. You take over the land and move forward with the Moorings without missing a beat. I’m beginning to wonder if the Monkey Killer has anything to do with this. To me, it seems like everything that has happened benefits you.”
“That’s motive, Mr. Talbot,” Clair pointed out. “You clearly have the means.”
Talbot was shaking his head. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s not like that.”
“I think it’s exactly like that.”
“No, I mean the trust doesn’t work that way.” Talbot took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. “If Emory dies, the land reverts to the city.”
Clair furrowed her brow. “What?”
Talbot rolled his eyes. “It was her mother. When she drafted the trust, she was very clear on this point. If something happens to Emory, if she dies before her eighteenth birthday, all real estate reverts to the city, and remaining assets will be distributed to various charities. The only way I can obtain the land is with Emory’s consent.” He smiled. “You see, Detective, if anyone has a vested interest in seeing my daughter returned safely, it’s me.”
Clair turned to his attorney. “Is that true, Mr. Fischman?”
Fischman raised both his hands and shrugged. “My office doesn’t handle the trust. I wouldn’t know.”
“We’ll need to see a copy,” Clair told Talbot.
He nodded. “I’ll ask my secretary to e-mail it to you.” Glancing at both detectives, he added, “If there is nothing else, I need to return to my office. Unless, of course, you plan to charge me with something? Then I imagine I’ll need to post bail.”
“You’re broke, Talbot,” Nash said. “How do you plan to do that?”
Talbot only glowered, tightlipped.
Clair grunted, turned, and went into to the small room next door, leaving Nash with Talbot and Fischman. The recording engineer glanced up at her. “That went smoothly.”
“Fuck off,” she said. Scanning the counter, she picked up a photograph and stomped back to the interrogation room. She dropped the photograph on the table in front of Talbot. “Do you recognize those?”
“Should I?” He frowned. “They look like John Lobbs, black leather.”