“I don’t suppose you found a smoking gun yet, Martin?” she asked.
“Not so far, but you never know what kind of gems are waiting for me.” He reached for a legal pad and glanced at his scrawled handwriting. “Medical examiner sent over the semen sample from the Gilbert autopsy. It’s been sent off for testing. And as you know, DNA testing is a beautiful thing, when it gets processed quickly. But with the backlog at the state lab, I doubt I’ll see results until next month.”
“There’s a private security guy who is throwing his weight around, and something tells me you’re going to get your results much sooner.”
“Shield?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Sharp said to cooperate fully with Mr. Shield and his man, Bowman. You know anything about these guys?”
“Mr. Shield? The man has influence. His right-hand man, Bowman, is just as capable.” She shifted, rolling her head from side to side. “Anything that caught your eye that I can run down?”
“Gilbert’s clothes were older and well worn. But in the yellow dress I found a clear plastic thread used to attach a price tag to a garment. Someone must have missed it.”
“But no tag?” Riley asked.
“No, but I searched the clothing label online. It’s high-end. There can’t be many shops in the area that carry it. It wouldn’t hurt to check their sales records and see if any of them have security cameras or credit card receipts.”
“I could start checking security footage. Maybe something will pop up.”
“Hell of a coup if we caught this guy,” Martin said.
“So they tell me. Thanks again.”
Riley left Martin in the lab and returned to her car, where she did a search on her computer. She discovered only one shop in a fifty-mile radius that carried this designer. The store was in a high-end hotel in Richmond. She checked her watch. If she discovered information that linked to the investigation, she’d call Sharp.
Thirty minutes later, she parked in front of the tony hotel. It was an older grand hotel with a marble facade and a stone circular drive where valets parked expensive cars. She realized immediately that she was underdressed. She could tell she’d stick out as someone who didn’t belong as she glanced in her mirror. The plain clothes made her look like a cop.
She reached for the pins in the back of her bun and pulled them out, combing her fingers through her long hair until it draped her shoulders. She unfastened the top button of her shirt and moistened her lips. She still didn’t fit, but the look was a bit less formidable.
She walked into the hotel, shoulders back as if she had purpose. A glimpse around the lobby and she spotted the dress shop. Her booted heels clicked on the marble foyer. In the shop she was greeted by floral scents and gentle classical music. The clothes weren’t packed in together as they were in the thrift stores but displayed like fine works of art.
The last time she’d been shopping with her mother, it had been in a shop like this. The clerks had rushed to help them and they’d been served tea. Her mother never once looked at a price tag or wondered if an item was on sale. She simply chose what she liked and pulled out her husband’s credit card. Looking back, Riley saw that spending money was a way for her mother to get back at her stepfather. Judging by the light in the salesclerk’s eyes as she rang up the final tab, her mother must have been furious that day.
Today, the clerk was a man and dressed in a sleek dark suit. When he raised his gaze to her, his smile froze for a split second but he recovered. Smart clerks understood that patrons with money came in all shapes and sizes; he’d play along until he figured out there was no commission in it for him.
“I’m Mr. Delany,” he said. “May I help you?”
She smiled as her mother had once taught her. Polite, but not too friendly. “A friend of mine bought a beautiful dress here and I loved it. I was hoping you might have something similar.”
“Most of our items are one of a kind. And very expensive.”
She held her ground and reached for her phone. “Maybe if I showed you a picture.”
“Of course.”
“The dress is yellow. The skirt is covered in lace. Very delicate.” She glanced at her fingers. Her nails were short, shorn to a practical length, but not the manicured look ideal for this environment.
“I know the dress. I sold the only three we had in stock.”
“You did?”
“To one customer.”
“Does this customer have a name?”
He studied her, catching a hardening edge in her tone. “Why does that matter?”
“You’re out of stock. He has three. Maybe he’ll sell me one.”
Carefully, he shook his head. “Maybe you should speak to our head of security.”
“Why? Does he manage your dress inventory?”
“No, he deals with the police.”
“What makes you think I’m police?”
A brow arched as he pressed a button by the register. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“While we wait, can you tell me about the dress?”
“When security arrives.”
Seconds later a tall, broad-shouldered man came into the shop. He looked as out of place as Riley did around the fine, frilly pieces.
The security guard took one look at her and asked, “Officer, what can I do for you?”
Riley smiled and pulled the picture of Kevin Lewis. She showed it to the guard. “Has this gentleman been in to buy a yellow dress?”
The guard shifted his gaze to the image. “We guard the privacy of our customers closely.”
“This gentleman is on a slab at the morgue now. He’s a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“I haven’t seen him.” The guard nodded to Mr. Delany, who then leaned forward and peeked at the picture. “I remember him.”
“He must have bought the dress here,” Riley said. “This is the only store in a hundred miles that sells this label.”
The guard nodded again to Mr. Delany.
Mr. Delany knitted his fingers. Buffed nails glistened in the soft light. “The gentleman was very specific about the color. He also said the dress had to be the best.”
“How did he pay for it?”
“Cash. That’s part of the reason he stuck in my mind. We see cash when someone wants to hide a purchase.”
“Did he say who the dress was for?”
“Said it was for his daughter. She had a big party. He wasn’t sure about her size, so he purchased all three. We didn’t talk much. He saw the three dresses, asked me to box them up, and paid for his purchase. He was here ten minutes.” He glanced at the guard. “I’d bet a month’s commission the dress was not for his daughter.”
“What day was this?”
“Last Friday. Right before closing.”
“Was anyone with him?”
“He was alone.”
“Has anyone else ordered a similar dress?”
“No.”
CHAPTER TWELVE