Who Killed Tiffany Jones? (2 page)

Moreover, there were no signs of a struggle, no apparent wounds.

Nothing appeared suspicious. The diva was simply dead.

The police and medics arrived within fifteen minutes. As a precaution, Kim had convinced the theater manager to try to make sure that no one left the theater before the authorities arrived. As far as Kim knew, nobody had. Once Tiffany was officially pronounced dead, homicide detectives were called. They questioned Stormy, Maria, and everyone else who had access to the backstage area. When convinced that Tiffany’s dressing room door had been locked from the inside, the detectives finally allowed members of the audience to leave. The stagehands and performers were detained for further questioning even though the doctor’s initial finding was that Tiffany had died of cardiac arrest.

Lieutenant Maurice Jackson, a detective who had worked with Kim when she was on the force and they both worked out of the sixth precinct in lower Manhattan, was in charge of the investigation. A gruff, paunchy, and somewhat comical looking dark-skinned man in his midforties, Lt. Jackson was known for his no-nonsense approach 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 6

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and meticulous observance of police procedures—traits that had earned him a promotion and his present position at the Twenty-Eighth precinct. And though their relationship had been, at best, strained during her tenure, he seemed genuinely moved by Kim’s grief. Lt. Jackson saw no indication of foul play; nevertheless, he promised to go over the scene with a fine-tooth comb. He also told her that, if she wished, she could hang around and observe. Kim took him up on the offer.

Klaus Svrenson arrived at the theater a little before 1 A.M. The flam-boyant international financier and businessman had interests in everything from topless bars and collection agencies to Atlantic City casinos and brokerage houses. He had married Tiffany two years ago. After he was contacted at their Easthampton estate, it had taken him two hours by helicopter and limo to get to Manhattan.

When he spoke to Lt. Jackson, Klaus was shaken and ashen. Kim stood nearby listening. No, Tiffany didn’t have a drug problem or a history of heart trouble. There were no recent discoveries of serious ill-ness. Tiffany, however, had been a diabetic for years, something she concealed from many of her closest friends. And during their two-year marriage she had gone into shock on at least one occasion.

After Klaus pointed out that Tiffany always carried insulin and a hypodermic needle in her handbag, the detective carefully unzipped the satin purse and looked inside. He then slipped the purse with its contents into a plastic evidence bag and handed it to an assistant. That discovery seemed to clarify the situation for Lt. Jackson. He consoled Klaus and told him that he had no further questions. If something else arose, he would contact him the next day.

It was Kim who asked if there was anyone who might have reason to harm Tiffany. Klaus bristled at the question and, despite having known Kim for more than a year, reacted with surprising anger. No one would harm his wife, he insisted, before standing and storming from the room. Although his response puzzled Kim, she attributed it to Klaus’s 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 7

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shock and stress. Kim also pulled Maria aside and asked about Tiffany’s behavior when they arrived at the theater. The shaken attendant said that Tiffany had been sweaty and irritable, although she had taken her insulin in the bathroom at Kim’s apartment. It was the first time, she said, that Tiffany had ever asked to be left alone in her dressing room before a performance.

After speaking briefly with Lt. Jackson, Kim met Rick in the lobby and returned to the limo.

When the car arrived at West 99th Street and Riverside Drive, they remained inside for a few minutes, engaged in a heated discussion.

Finally, Kim stepped outside and leaned in to speak to Rick.

“Have you lost your mind? I can’t believe you’d even think about hooking up after what just happened,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry, baby—”

“Look, you can come up if you want, but I’m sleeping alone. Nothing’s happening. You understand?”

“Hey, no problem,” Rick said, climbing out of the car. “I didn’t mean to upset you any more than you already are.”

“You got that right,” she snapped.

“I just thought you might want to have some company, that’s all,”

he mumbled. He followed her into the brownstone, which was tucked between two high-rise apartment buildings, and up the stairs to her duplex condo.

At 2:45 A.M. Klaus Svrenson checked into the Plaza Hotel. After leaving the theater, he had walked around the block then returned to talk to the police and attempt retrieving some of his wife’s belongings. He was even more upset when he left empty handed the second time. In his room, he immediately ordered a quart of Glenlivet from room service. After pouring himself a tumbler of the Scotch, he sat down at the desk and began scribbling a list of names on the hotel stationery. He paused once or 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 8

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twice, lost in thought, and nervously paced the floor before returning to his task. A half hour later, he completed the list of twelve names.

PLAZA HOTEL

Renee Rothchild - Paris

Cheeno (Shaywan Anderson) - Los Angeles

Brian Woods - Las Vegas

Kees Van derVall - Amsterdam

K.J. Hunter - Dallas

Ezekiel Kwabena - Freetown, Sierra Leone Dave “Tater” Hamlin - Washington

Josephine St. Claire - New Orleans

“Ruff Daddy” (Edward Shelton) - Atlanta

Frank Napolini - Warren, Ohio

Clarence Johnson (“Mojo”) - New York

“Sally” - cell phone

After another tumbler of Scotch and fifteen more minutes of pacing, Klaus began the more tedious task of calling each of the individuals on the list. It took more time and effort than he had anticipated since the time zones varied radically. Each conversation took less than ten minutes and, though intense, seemed to go smoothly. When he had finished, however, Klaus appeared more shaken than he was when identifying his wife’s body. He carefully folded the list and placed it in a rear pocket of his pants, then sprawled on the bed hoping to get a few hours sleep before sunrise. Besides funeral preparations and the inevitable meetings with the press, there were more calls and even more important arrangements that had to be made as quickly as possible When Kim awoke the next morning, she slipped into a silk nightgown and went to the balcony overlooking the apartment’s first-floor living 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 9

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room area. Rick was no longer on the couch where she had insisted he stay when she went to bed. Apparently he had decided that if they weren’t sleeping together there was no reason to stick around and had let himself out during the night. Relieved, she showered, went downstairs, and, after starting a pot of coffee, retrieved the morning newspapers that had been shoved through the slot in the outside door of the brownstone.

The New York Times had a brief obituary that chronicled Tiffany’s sudden rise to fame as the queen of disco, her fall from grace in the late ’80s, her divorce from Thomas Brenner, the volatile music mogul to whom she had been married for ten years, her unexpected marriage to financier and import/export tycoon Klaus Svrenson, and her mete-oric resurgence as a chanteuse in 1999. The story did not give a cause of death but, along with Klaus, cited Faith and Emerald, Tiffany’s two young children from her first marriage, as survivors.

The Daily News hadn’t covered the story, but the Post, under a typically dramatic headline, DEATH AT THE APOLLO, ran both a photo of Tiffany and a story suggesting that the circumstances of her death were

“unusual.” Kim read the report carefully, noting that the Post empha-sized how Tiffany’s dressing room door had been locked from the inside, and also how it made much of the unavailability of the star’s personal attendant Maria Casells, presumably the last person to see her alive. Apparently, after being questioned by the police, Maria had either refused to talk to reporters or, as the story hinted, “disappeared.”

Kim had never been one to put much faith in the tabloid’s often lurid insinuations, but the story did get her attention. Reclining on the sofa with coffee and toast as she gazed out of her huge picture window at the Hudson River and New Jersey skyline, Kim decided that if only out of curiosity she would call Maria and talk with her again within the next few days. As she relaxed and riffled through the rest of the paper, another photo and headline caught her attention: SOAPSTAR NABBED

AT MELEE, the headline read, and underneath it was a photo of Rick in 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 10

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handcuffs, head bent in an attempt to conceal his identity, being hustled out of the Paradox, a well-known gay after-hours club. Kim nearly gagged on her coffee before getting over the initial shock and compos-ing herself. A few moments later, she laughed aloud as she reared back onto the embroidered African-print fabric that covered her Maurice Villency sectional.

“Damn,” she muttered, staring at the picture. Shaking her head, she rose and started up the stairs. She wasn’t sure why Rick had been at the Paradox, but the thought that he might be hitting from both sides of the plate wasn’t a complete shock. Still, the possibility that she had been deceived angered her. That’s it for his sorry, lying ass, she thought, as she stepped into the shower. Her next thought was, Thank God for condoms.

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TWO

Amsterdam—Saturday, July 14

Ke es Va n d e rVa l l
strode into De Prins Grand Café and sat at one of the choice tables in an alcove near the middle of the room without waiting for the maître d’ to seat him. He leaned back into the plush golden chair and looked impatiently at his watch.

After fifteen minutes, he began to wonder what could possibly be taking Winthrop James so long. Had something else happened? Kees ran a shaking hand through the unruly dark blond curls that were suddenly pasted to his forehead with sweat. He needed to get home quickly. He hadn’t been feeling well all morning.

He blew his nose into a silk handkerchief and stared out of the bay window beside him at the greenish-gray waters of the Prinsengracht.

Sea gulls and herons darted back and forth along the tree-lined banks of the canal. On the far side of the water, tourists gazed up at the 400-year-old, bell-gabled canal houses lining the tiny cobblestone street. As 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 12

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far as Kees was concerned, this was one of the most spectacular views in Amsterdam.

But the view couldn’t hold his attention for long. Kees was rising to make his way out of the restaurant and down to the offices of Textel International Corporation when Winthrop finally strode through the door. The tall, immaculately dressed Englishman stood in the entranceway and surveyed the room. He sauntered over to Kees’s table and extended his hand with a wide smile.

“Kees, my friend, how are you?”

Kees smiled stonily up at Winthrop’s pale, lightly freckled face before taking his seat again. “Well, what exactly can I help you with, Winthrop?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “What’s the problem now?”

Without answering, Winthrop unfolded the local newspaper and dropped it on top of the empty plate in front of Kees. Then he sat down and awaited Kees’s reaction.

Kees paled visibly as he read the headline: TWO POLICE OFFICERS

FOUND DEAD. When Winthrop didn’t speak after a few moments, Kees whispered, “What does this have to do with me?”

“Well, my friend, the incident appears to have your signature written all over it. Let’s just say that there are those who feel you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“All right, for the sake of argument, let’s assume you don’t. The problem is the same as it has been in the past. It’s nothing we haven’t discussed before. For whatever reason, and I’ll avoid going into that, things are not moving rapidly enough on your end. You seem to be distracted by other interests. I just wanted you to know that these diversions haven’t gone unnoticed. If I were you, I’d be more careful.”

Kees blanched. “What are you trying to say, Winthrop?” he shouted. “Get to the point! If you’re accusing me of something, say 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 13

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so. But be careful. Unless something has changed, you’re just a func-tionary. You should be worried about your end, which from what I know only involves paper pushing and ass kissing. Why don’t you try coming down from your ivory tower and take a look at the real world.

As I said,” he gestured at the newspaper, “this has nothing to do with me.”

“Is that so? Well, then the word on the street is entirely wrong and you’re being maligned. And perhaps you’re right, maybe I’ve over-stepped my bounds.” He smiled. “By the way, did you get a call from New York this morning?”

Kees paused. He wasn’t aware that Winthrop knew anything about Klaus. Did his connections stretch that far, or was he just fishing?

Kees had the distinct feeling that he was being set up. “No,” he said,

“did you?”

Winthrop leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I seem to have put you on the defensive. And that, I assure you, is the last thing that I wanted to do, honestly. My intention was to look out for you and myself as well.