“A couple of weeks ago, he asked one of my friends out. One he met through me. I only knew about it because she called to check that I wouldn’t mind.
“At any rate, she’s seen him a few times. I didn’t say anything about her last night because she’s the sort of person who’d get upset about being questioned by the police. So since I knew she couldn’t possibly have been involved, I didn’t see the sense in putting her through it.
“But after I’d had time to think, I realized Steve might have said something to her that would give you a lead.”
“I’m glad you reconsidered,” Travis said, grabbing a pad and pencil from the bedside table. “And her name is...?”
“Ah...do you think you could avoid saying that I told you about her?”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. Her name’s Beth Winston. I’ll give you both her office and home numbers.”
He jotted them down, then said, “And she works...?”
“On Wall Street. For a law firm called Mitchell and Conlin. She has her own office, so if you wanted to talk to her there I think it would be all right.”
“Great. And thanks a lot for calling. I really appreciate it. By the way, just out of curiosity, what color is her hair?”
“Oh...about the same shade as mine. Why?”
Another blonde.
Resisting the temptation to ask if Beth owned a gray trench coat and a big black purse, he said, “Oh, it really was just curiosity.”
After saying goodbye, he put down the phone and glanced at the clock. If Beth Winston started work at nine, he had enough time to be there waiting when she arrived.
That would make him late meeting Hank, but he wouldn’t care. Especially not if this woman turned out to be their mystery blonde.
He phoned and left a message for Hank at the precinct, then got the coffee started and headed for the shower.
Barely half an hour later, he was climbing into the Mustang. Not many detectives drove their own cars on duty, but he’d had enough bad experiences with ones from the pool that he always did.
Despite the morning traffic, he arrived at the offices of Mitchell and Conlin before nine. Even so, Beth Winston had beaten him there.
“Is she expecting you?” the receptionist asked.
“No.”
“And your name?”
“Travis Quinn,” he told her, thinking he’d only say he was a police detective if he had to.
Since Beth Winston was the type of person who’d get upset at being questioned by the police, she’d probably get even more upset if her coworkers knew about it.
The receptionist didn’t press him. She just buzzed Beth, then directed him to her office.
When he reached its open door, the woman behind the desk said, “Travis Quinn? Should I know the name?”
“No.”
He handed her his card, then appraised her as she eyed it.
Maybe thirty-five and definitely “stylish.” She might well be their woman. And there was a gray trench coat hanging on the coatrack in the corner. Seeing it started his hopes climbing.
When she looked at him again, he decided Jill Flores had been right. He hadn’t asked a single question yet, and Beth Winston already seemed upset.
“Would you like me to close the door?” he said.
“Please.”
Once he had, she gestured for him to sit down and said, “I assume this has to do with Steve Parker.”
“You’ve heard, then.”
“Yes. One of his friends called me last night.”
“I understand you were seeing him.”
“I’d been out with him three times. And I...” She paused and shook her head. “I could easily have been with him on Saturday. He asked me to a movie, but I already had plans.
“My sister moved away from New York last year, and she was coming home for a week. So I’d asked a few of her friends over.”
“To your place, you mean.”
“Yes. Just an after-dinner thing. Drinks and catching up. You know.”
He nodded.
She had an alibi. He’d check it out, of course, but she was probably telling the truth.
“Except for that...” she said.
“You would have been with Steve Parker.”
“Yes. I can’t quite get over it.” She nervously drummed the surface of her desk for a couple of seconds, then murmured, “What time was he killed?”
“Sometime between nine and midnight.”
“Then if I’d been with him he’d still be alive. We’d have gone someplace after the show.” She shook her head, looking close to tears.
“I liked him,” she said at last. “It’s very sad.”
“Yes. It is. And I’m sorry I have to make you talk about it, but I need to ask a few more questions. Have you ever been in his apartment?”
“Only once. And just briefly. We stopped by because he had to get something.”
But she had been in it. So those blond hairs the techs bagged might be hers rather than the killer’s.
“Is there anything you can tell me that might help with the case?” he said. “Was Dr. Parker having problems with anyone? Did he ever say something was bothering him? Anything at all?”
Watching her slowly shake her head again, Travis wondered how many dead ends he’d hit since he’d earned his shield. But there was no value in dwelling on that.
* * *
TRAVIS TURNED into the Manhattan North Precinct’s parking garage and began watching for a space. After he found one, he headed inside.
Hank looked up from his desk as he approached and said, “What’s been happening?”
“Jill Flores called me first thing—to tell me she actually did know who Parker’d been seeing lately. So I paid the woman a visit.”
“And?”
“She turned out to be a blonde with a gray trench coat. But she has a solid alibi for the time of the murder. I got the names of the people she claimed she was with and called a few of them on my way here.”
“And aside from that? She have any ideas for us?”
“Nada.”
Hank’s shrug said You can’t win ’em all. “So, what do you want to do now?” he asked.
Show time. Travis didn’t want to tell his partner about going to Celeste’s place, but he had to. “We’ve got to talk to Evan Reese again,” he began.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I had a call from Celeste Langley last night. Just after you headed home.”
Once he’d elaborated, Hank said, “You figure that was a smart move? Going to see her without me?”
“What should I have done? Called and told you to turn around and meet me there?”
“No,” Hank said slowly. “But you could have just gotten the details over the phone.”
“We know Reese is a nut bar.