Dead Write: A Forensic Handwriting Mystery (29 page)

The veins in his neck popped out; a dull flush crept over his cheeks. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. She
made
me take out anything that didn’t look good.”

“You told her about the danger signs?”

“Damn right, I told her.” He gulped wine, then stuck out a finger and jabbed it against her collar-bone. “You’re not the only graphologist in the world, Miss Prissy.”

Claudia shoved away his hand, wondering whether he was aware of the deaths of Grusha’s clients and the suspects’ handwritings she had been brought in to analyze.

“You let her change your reports,” she accused. Chances were he was lying about it, but she couldn’t resist digging at him anyway.

“Hey, she was paying the freight. She was a pretty good cash cow for a while.”

“Is that all you care about, the money?”

“I was looking out for number one. Nobody else is gonna do it. Let’s see how you handle it when she changes
your
reports.”

“What about the people who were affected because you didn’t tell the whole truth?”

He shot her a look of contempt. “Fuck you, Claudia Rose. Nobody fires me!” He spun on his heel and melted into the crowd.

Claudia didn’t bother to watch him go, disgusted by his rude arrogance. He was a narcissist, only seeing what affected him. Then she groaned as she sensed someone approaching.
Marcus.

“Has anyone said anything to you about me?” he asked, looking worried.

“What are you talking about?”

“People are talking trash about me, I can tell. They think they know something about me. They’re laughing behind my back.”

“How much have you had to drink? Why would anyone be laughing at you?”

“Someone’s been talking. None of the women are speaking to me. Someone’s been telling tales.”

“Tales about
what
? You sound a little paranoid, Marcus. What on earth could you have done that women don’t want to speak to you?”

“Never mind. Forget it. Hey, was that Andy Nicholson I saw talking to you just now?”

“Yes, he crashed the party.”IT

“Where is that weasel? I’ll bet he’s the one with the big mouth.”

He strode off, leaving Claudia mystified. She stayed where she was for a while, trying not to think about Marcus or Ian or Avram; just watching everyone else enjoying themselves. Most of the fifty-odd guests seemed engaged in a juggling act with a glass in one hand, a plate filled with hors d’oeuvres in the other.

One of the twins who had been talking with Ian earlier danced by, twirling in circles and chanting something unintelligible. She had no partner and she was apparently hearing her own music, as the quartet had taken a break and was preparing for their next set. Other people were just starting to partner up, getting ready to dance. This one was ahead of the curve.

It wasn’t more than five or six minutes later that the woman Grusha had sent Donna Pollard to talk to appeared in Claudia’s line of vision. What was her name? Grusha had referred to her as a wallflower. Mindy—Jarrett, that was it. Mindy was by herself, standing in a corner, lips parted in a happy smile. Wide-eyed, staring around as if there were something only she could see. Suddenly, her expression changed. She balled her hands into claws, scratching at nothing, fighting off some invisible foe.

The girl needed a doctor and there was one here, somewhere. Claudia glanced around the rooftop. She spotted Ian McAllister sitting at a table with John Shaw, the photographer. Considering the size of the man, it was surprising she’d missed his arrival.
Terrific.
The two men she had managed to piss off most in the last twenty-four hours or so, and they were together.

She hurried over to their table and both men immediately rose. Acknowledging Shaw with a nod, she said, “Excuse me for interrupting. Ian, I need to speak with you privately. It’s urgent.”

Despite his earlier annoyance with her, the physician allowed her to draw him to the side, where there was less noise.

“Did you give Mindy Jarrett absinthe?” Claudia asked.

“Why would I?”

She thought his look of confusion gave her the answer she wanted, but she pressed him anyway. “That doesn’t answer the question. Did you?”

“Absolutely not. What’s this about?”

“I think she’s hallucinating. Oh jeez, look at her.”

Most of the rooftop was carpeted in fake turf, but Mindy Jarrett was sitting on cold concrete in a corner, her knees bent, her short cocktail dress hiked up to her hips. She’d buried her head in her arms and was rocking back and forth. Either no one else had noticed, or they were deliberately choosing to avoid her.

“Good lord,” Ian said.

Claudia followed him over there. He hunkered down beside Mindy and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn’t look up. “Mindy,” Ian said gently. “What have you taken?” He took her chin in his hand and tipped her face toward the nearest light, looking into wide blue eyes that stared into space. “Mindy, what drug did you take? Did someone give you something to take?” The second time he used a more forceful tone.

Mindy Jarrett kept shaking her head from side to side. “Don’t take drugs,” she mumbled over and over. “Drugs are bad.”

Ian looked over at Claudia, who was crouched on Mindy’s other side. “Her pupils are dilated. She’s sweating.” He wrapped a hand around her wrist. “Rapid pulse. If she is hallucinating, which is what it looks like, there’s no treatment for it. We’ve got to get her somewhere calmer, quieter. Help me take her down to Grusha’s office, Claudia. Whatever it is will wear off in time. That’s the best we can do.”

With Claudia holding one arm and Ian the other, they got Mindy to her feet and led her toward the stairwell as inconspicuously as possible in a crowd of that size. Any onlookers would think the woman between them had been taken ill and they were helping her.

As they moved through couples swaying to a slow number, Claudia caught sight of the girl who had danced past her just a few minutes earlier. She was still singing and moving from side to side, arms in the air. All she needed was a long, filmy scarf to waft after her and she could have been a latter-day Isadora Duncan. A few heads swivelled her way, but no one paid much attention.

“Someone is handing out drugs,” Claudia said to Ian as they arrived at the short flight of steps that led down to the elevator.

He scowled at her. “Well, it wasn’t me, and I’ll thank you not to suggest to anyone that it was.”

“Is getting wasted SOP at these things?”

He looked even more offended. “It most certainly is
not.
Being drug-free is one of the strictest requirements for membership in the club.”

“Well, someone’s broken the rule. We’ve got to let Grusha know.”

“You can talk to Grusha later. The first order of business is to get Ms. Jarrett out of here. Help me get her down the stairs.”

Mindy wasn’t a large woman, but even though Ian took more of the burden, getting her down the steps was like hauling dead weight. At the bottom of the staircase, they leaned her against the wall while they caught their breath.

Claudia said, “Wait here with her. I’ll find Sonya and see if she’s got a key to the office. Keep your fingers crossed.”

She ran back upstairs. The music was starting to crank up and the voices were in competition. Standing there, watching the swirling colors on the handful of clients dancing under the sparkle of lights strung above and in the trees, the music pounding in her ears, Claudia felt as if she herself had been drugged. But she knew she hadn’t ingested anything since her arrival, except for one glass of wine and the sip of absinthe.

Spotting Sonya, she drew her aside and explained the situation. Luckily, Sonya said she had her office key on her. They agreed that she would help Ian get Mindy down to the Elite Introductions office, then stay with her while he came back up to the party to check on the dancing woman.

If clients were not permitted to use recreational drugs, what was happening? Claudia had no doubt that at least two of them had consumed
something
that had an effect on their behavior
.
Or someone had spiked the drinks. Then suddenly, there was a third: Aisha Negasi.

“What is this?” Claudia heard the Ethiopian model cry out. She swung around to see Aisha staring into space. “What are these colors? What is happening? Am I
trippin’
? Oooh, it tingles.” All at once, her attitude was one of wonder. “Ohhhhh, it’s beautiful. It’s so—so beautiful.” Her voluptuous body began to writhe in ecstasy. Some of the nearby guests who had heard her were staring, whispering to one another. Avram Cohen gawked, bewildered.

Grusha was watching, too, anger tightening her jaw. “Who is drugging my clients?” she demanded of Claudia as if she had the answer. “When this gets out, they vill all sue for their money back. Nobody vill come to me. I am ruined, finished. He has won, whoever he is.”

“We’ll deal with it,” said Claudia, taking charge. “Have Avram get Aisha down to the office and stay with her. Ian’s down there now with Mindy Jarrett. He’ll be back in a moment to help with the other girl.”

Grusha gave an unamused laugh. “Ve might as well put a bulletin on the evening news. I am sure it vill end up there anyway. My god, how could it get any vorse? I cannot—”

Her words were interrupted by Michele Frayer’s shrill scream: “Grab him! Quick!”

Beside her, Claudia heard Grusha’s sharp intake of breath.

Andy Nicholson, poised atop the low retaining wall, his arms outstretched. John Shaw reaching out to grab him, catching the hem of Andy’s jacket. The jacket coming off.

“Look at me,” Andy shouted, his feet rocking perilously close to the edge. “I’m Superman. I can fly.”

Then he stretched out his arms and he flew.

Chapter 28

Someone—Claudia never found out who—called 911, and then everything was chaos. She had long despised Andy Nicholson and all that he stood for, but if she had been told that she would watch him take the shortcut from the penthouse roof to the street that night, she would have done anything she could to save him.

The police arrived within ten minutes, closing the sidewalk and cordoning off the area with yellow crime-scene tape. Cordoning off the entire block. She knew that because she made herself look over the wall. Not a lot to see from fourteen stories up. People crowding the tape. Andy’s body a dark shadow on the sidewalk, a darker shadow spreading around his head.

“I heard he bounced off a couple of awnings on the way down.”

“Holy cow! Too bad it didn’t break his fall.”

“Nah, just broke his head. Big splat.”

And, “Lucky he didn’t hit anyone.”

“He was the handwriting guy, wasn’t he?”

“Used to be. They’ve got another one now. Didn’t you meet her? She was here tonight.”

The buzz went on and on until the boys in blue came up to the roof and said that nobody was to leave. First, the patrolmen tried to segregate all the guests so they couldn’t swap stories, but there were too many of them and eventually they were all asked to wait in line to be interviewed. They weeded out the actual witnesses from those who said they had merely heard something. The remaining guests were asked for their names and contact information and were then allowed to leave.

Later came the squad commander—the official-looking one in the smart uniform with lieutenant’s braids—along with a couple of detectives. Claudia overheard him saying something about this being a “forty-nine,” but she could only guess what that meant.

She knew that the big shots liked to be present for the cameras and to make sure the department looked good. If NYPD was anything like LAPD, the brass nearly always rolled out to an incident when big names were involved. Not names like Andrew Nicholson or Claudia Rose, but names with star power, like Michele Frayer—whose pale face wore a look of stunned disbelief as the squad commander gently took her arm and escorted her down to the Elite Introductions office for her interview.

Claudia saw a detective with Grusha. The matchmaker ’s eyes glittered with a strange light that Claudia, in a mood to see demons everywhere, thought just might be vengeful pleasure. If Grusha was going down in flames, at least one enemy had gone down before her and she wasn’t going to pretend she was sad about it.
She’s in shock
, Claudia thought.
We all are
.

The young patrolman getting witnesses organized wasn’t interested in listening when Claudia said that she had some information that might help their investigation. Busy being officious and in charge, he scarcely looked at her when she approached him.

“Where were you when the incident occurred?”

“I was over there, but—”

“We’re talking to direct witnesses first. Please just wait over there, ma’am. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.”

“But I think it’s important for—”

“Ma’am, I said we’ll get to you as soon as we can. Now go and wait over there.” He turned away and started speaking to someone else.

An hour later when they got around to Claudia, the first thing she was asked was whether she knew Mr. Nicholson and she admitted that she did. She learned that someone had seen
Hard Evidence
and told the cops about it, so they already knew that Andy had been slandering her and Grusha that morning. That left her uneasy.

A detective named Judy Campbell interviewed her about an hour later. She was an attractive blonde with piercing blue eyes that missed little, and the world-weary look of one who had been on the job long enough to have left any illusions behind. Claudia had seen that look on many experienced detectives.

They were sitting at the desk where Avram had provided his handwriting sample on the first day of Claudia’s assignment. Detective Campbell sat back and crossed her knees, the jacket of her navy pantsuit falling open to reveal a crisp white blouse. “So, you don’t think he intended to commit suicide when he jumped?”