A Perfect Obsession

  “And how the hell did he get in?” Mike murmured.

  “There’s always a way,” Craig said.

  “But the security footage—”

  “Yes, that remains a mystery,” Craig said, cutting off his partner. “What else can you tell us, Dr. Fuller?”

  “The killer used a mausoleum before—a family mausoleum. He was dissatisfied. I believe he was in love with Ms. Gilbert—as he had been with Ms. Howell. Not sexually. His love is above all that. His love is for perfection, I believe. Both women were more than attractive. They were beautiful. He laid them out almost tenderly. They were...art.” Fuller kept his eye on the pictures as he spoke. “I’ll write up my complete report. You’ll have it first thing in the morning.”

  Craig glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight o’clock, but he knew his day would go on; he was expecting Oswald Martin at the office soon.

  If the man was innocent, he’d certainly agree to be questioned. And if he was guilty? Well, he’d agree, too. He’d want to appear to be cooperating.

  “Dr. Fuller, thank you for coming in.”

  “Well, then, I’m off. Heading to the office. I now feel the need for continued research on the minds of such men,” Dr. Fuller said.

  Kieran stood.

  “No need to join me. You were a godsend today, Kieran. Thank you,” he said. He smiled at her and then at Craig. “I’m quite certain that Special Agent Frasier will see to it that you get home safely.”

  Kieran looked like a deer caught in headlights.

  What the hell?

  “Um, sure, thank you,” she said to Fuller. “Actually, I can just walk to Finnegan’s. I was supposed to be helping today. It’s a Friday night.”

  It wasn’t unusual that she said she was going back to the pub. What struck Craig was the way she seemed to be so confused, unsure of what she really wanted to do.

  “Someone will drive you,” Craig said. “I’ll meet you as soon as we’re done here.”

  She nodded. Her smile for him was weak. She was almost out the door to the conference room when she seemed to remember Mike and McBride. She turned and bid them both goodbye, and then hurried out.

  Craig didn’t get a chance to wonder about her behavior. The intercom buzzed again.

  Oswald Martin was there. Were they ready for him?

  Hell, yes.

  * * *

  Kieran had been sending Kevin texts half the day.

  He hadn’t gotten back.

  He might have gone home, but she doubted it. His audition might have run long. He might have had an instant callback.

  But he should have texted her by then.

  She looked at her phone as she was leaving the conference room and saw a missed text.

  He was heading to the pub.

  Walking out to reception, head still down over her phone, she crashed into a man coming toward the conference room.

  She jumped, apologizing, as he steadied her, his hands on her shoulders.

  She knew him from the tabloids.

  Oswald Martin.

  “Oh! I’m sorry, so sorry,” she murmured. He had an escort—a blue-suited FBI agent.

  “It’s all right,” Martin said to her.

  “This way, Mr. Martin,” his escort said.

  “Yes,” Martin said, but he was still staring down at Kieran.

  “I’m Oswald Martin,” he said.

  “How do you do?” she murmured, not offering her name.

  He kept looking at her, and then he took a card from his pocket. “If you’re ever looking for work, please...just see my card.” He thrust it at her and instinctively, Kieran took the card.

  “Mr. Martin, if you will?” his FBI escort said firmly.

  “Of course, of course,” he said. “My card—”

  “Mr. Martin,” his escort repeated.

  “Perfect!” Martin said, walking away.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  OSWALD MARTIN SEEMED appropriately grim, but comfortable and at ease as he spoke in the conference room with Craig, Mike and Detective Larry McBride.

  He was horrified, a term that seemed to refer to everyone’s feeling about the discovery of Jeannette Gilbert, but he’d been begging the police to listen to him from the time she’d failed to respond to his call.

  “The papers!” he said with disgust, waving a hand in the air. “Internet, media—whatever! These days, everything in the world is out there in a split-second tweet. That’s how I found out she was dead. Jeannette! A young woman—a beautiful girl I’ve worked with for nearly a decade—is killed, and I see it first on social media. I told the police over and over again that she wasn’t flighty, that she didn’t just take off and that she wouldn’t run away from me. But because I ‘discovered’ Jeannette, and because I’m older by several years, they just have to turn it into something dirty, something wrong. Yes, I loved her—like a big brother. And she loved me, in just the same way. The stuff I’ve read is disgusting. I was ‘angry’ about her so-called mystery lover. What a crock. She was twenty-seven years old. She’d seen other men through the years. I could advise her, no more. Did the police really investigate? No, they were just as bad as the tabloids!”

  Martin was an interesting man. Late thirties, his head clean-shaven, one gold earring and all-black attire, he looked like a modern-day Aleister Crowley. Sure, he seemed appropriately “horrified.” But Craig wasn’t sure that the man was appropriately sad.

  “We’re truly sorry,” Mike said gently. “The people there were asked not to tweet or say anything to anyone. Apparently, asking wasn’t enough.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a social media age, isn’t it?” Martin asked. He wasn’t waiting for an answer. He’d really made a statement. “I told Jeannette that all the time—that anything she did, anyone she saw, any word she uttered was up for grabs. She was a sweet kid. A truly sweet kid. The best. Her life sucked before I found her. I mean, I don’t know whether or not to hate her aunt. She took Jeannette in, but she treated her as if she were an unwanted pet! Almost like Cinderella with her stepsisters, you know? She was like an indentured servant. She was worked her little tail off. But the kid was beautiful. Beautiful. Perfect, you know?”

  Perfect.

  To Craig the word seemed to be disturbing.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Craig asked.

  Martin sighed deeply, and not without aggravation.

  “I told the police!” he said. “It was two weeks ago—or now it was two weeks ago plus a day or two! I saw her at dinner. We talked about what she was doing, what she aspired to do and the contract in the offing with a major cosmetics giant. She was going to be the new face of L’Amour, and you can only imagine... Anyway, I told her what the contract would mean. I told her that she’d really hit the big time, bigger and brighter than she’d ever been before. And I told her to quit handing out interviews, especially when it came to talking about this guy—this mystery lover—that everyone else seemed to know about. Everyone but me!”

  “You talked where?” Craig asked.

  “At Wine Bar Bacanalia!” Oswald Martin said. “A very public place. When we parted ways, we were in full view of every waitress, waiter, bartender and hostess in the place. You all should know this. I told everyone when I reported her missing. And I reported her missing because—due to the new contract—we had a meeting the next morning with the cosmetic company.”

  “So,” Craig said lightly, “you reported her missing because she didn’t show up for her meeting with these people?”

  “What are you, an idiot?” Martin demanded, looking at Craig. He quickly appeared to regret his words. “Sorry, sorry. You can’t possibly understand the importance of such a meeting!”

  Yeah, what an idiot, Craig thought. He ju
st didn’t understand fame and fortune.

  “Sorry, sorry, truly sorry,” Martin muttered quickly. “Jeannette was a true pro. She grew up with nothing, but she was smart as a whip. She knew that the appointment we had could make the difference between her being a star who’d perhaps be forgotten as soon as a younger face came along or a supernova, shimmering in the public memory for decades. It was no publicity stunt when she didn’t show up. I tried so hard to make the police believe that. And then, of course, to the tabloids, I became like a monster, a slave driver, all for my own enrichment. Was Jeannette a major cash-flow outlet for me? You bet. But I represent other acting and modeling personalities, as well. Other than what you read in the tabloids, you won’t find anyone I’ve ever worked with who won’t tell you I’m a straight shooter!”

  The man stared straight at Craig as he said the last; there was passion and sincerity in his voice. It seemed to be real, but, in Craig’s mind, it was far too early in the game to be certain.

  “Naturally, we’ll be verifying what you’ve told us,” Craig said.

  “Yep. And we’ll check out the cops who worked the missing person detail,” McBride said, the undertone in his voice so low Craig doubted Oswald Martin had the least idea of how deeply he had offended the officer who was there representing the City of New York.

  “You travel much, Mr. Martin?” Craig asked.

  “Around the USA, Europe, anywhere?” Mike added pleasantly.

  “Of course. I travel all the time,” Martin said. He appeared to be perplexed. “Why do you ask?”

  “You do any work in Virginia?” McBride asked.

  “Not much, no. Most work in the US comes out of New York, Los Angeles and sometimes Miami,” Martin said, looking at them all. “Virginia? I mean, an ad campaign can take you almost anywhere, but even if Jeannette was headed to a certain location, it wouldn’t mean that I’d be there with her. I tried to accompany her—every star needs a shield!—but I couldn’t always, because, as I mentioned earlier, I do represent other people. Still...she was part of a shoot that was a public service announcement, encouraging people to enjoy the country. That was about six months ago. Yeah, we were in Virginia then. She filmed in Richmond and Williamsburg. And then Charleston, South Carolina, Savannah, Georgia, and Saint Augustine, Florida. I can send the footage of the announcement, if you like.”

  “We would greatly appreciate it,” Craig assured him. “Along with the names of your other clients.”

  Martin suddenly leaned forward. “You think that I’m going to balk at that? Well, you’re wrong. I didn’t kill Jeannette. And when that’s been proved, and you all look like a pack of in-your-face asses, I’ll be sitting pretty. Whatever you want, you go for it—and if I can provide it, so help me, I will. Now, are you through with me for the day?” he asked.

  Craig smiled pleasantly. “Almost. Tell me. Have you ever frequented Le Club Vampyre?”

  “Yeah. Hell, yeah. That place was a pile of publicity opportunities. We were at the opening, both Jeannette and me. Both openings, actually—the soft, which they had for critics and reviewers, and the hard, when they opened for the public. There are stunning pictures of Jeannette on the steps below the main arch. Her face was everywhere.” He sat back, deflated, and lowered his head. “Who knew?” he added softly.

  It was the first time he seemed to show real emotion, in Craig’s mind.

  “Are you through with me?” he asked tonelessly.

  “For now,” Craig told him. “We may need to call you back in the future. Because I know you’re going to want to help in any way we may need. Also, we’d like a copy of your calendar for the last six months.”

  “Jeannette only disappeared two weeks ago.”

  “Yes, but knowing what she was doing prior to her disappearance may be of major importance,” Craig told him.

  Martin nodded dully and stood. “Gentlemen...”

  “I’ll see that you’re escorted out,” Mike said.

  Craig and Larry remained in the room. When Martin was gone, the detective exploded. “He made it sound as if the NYPD is nothing but an organization of incompetents!”

  “He’s bitter,” Craig said.

  “He’s damned suspicious.”

  That was a statement Craig didn’t argue.

  * * *

  “It started about six months ago,” Kevin told Kieran. They were seated in the office at Finnegan’s again; she was behind Declan’s desk while Kevin sat on the sofa by the wall. He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, but rather away, as if he were seeing the past play before him like a movie reel. “We were working on the Lilith music video.” He looked over at Kieran then, his expression apologetic. “I was a shirtless hunk. She was one of the recognized beauties. The song hit the charts at number one. The video claimed awards, too.”

  Kieran nodded. She was proud of Kevin’s achievements, even when he was playing eye candy.

  “I’ve seen it. It’s a good video. Though, honestly, I’m sorry, Kevin, I watched it for you. I didn’t even notice Jeannette Gilbert.”

  He winced, and Kieran remembered that the dead woman had been someone he loved.

  “There was a lot of filming for flashes of each beauty in the three minutes and twenty-eight seconds of the song,” Kevin said. “If you saw it again...”

  “Of course.”

  “So, we started talking on set. We just had so much in common and so much not in common. She was fascinated by our family and couldn’t wait to come to Finnegan’s. She has cousins and, contrary to what they write, she loves them...loved them, but...”

  “But her parents died and she grew up with an aunt?”

  Kevin nodded. “Her aunt had four children. Their father had passed away, too, and Jeannette’s aunt was remarried to a worthless piece of trash. He couldn’t see feeding another mouth. Jeannette spent her formative years hearing about being a burden and being told that she was going to have to get out on her own early, because they weren’t going to feed her forever. Anyway, she wasn’t a mean or bitter person. She bought her aunt a house in Brooklyn when she had the money to do so. But she loved that Declan ran this place now and that the rest of us had other work, but that we all helped out here. I guess she always wanted a real family—one where she was unconditionally welcome.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Kieran said. Images of Jeannette Gilbert in death kept flashing before her eyes. “Kevin, how serious was your relationship? How often were you seeing one another?”

  He hesitated and then shrugged. “At first? I thought it was going to be a one-night stand. Not on my part—I was like a starry-eyed kid. I couldn’t believe she’d even looked at me. I tried to maintain some dignity, but I figured I might have been a novelty to her, entertainment for that one night. And she had to leave the city for a work project. Anyway, when she was back, she called me and we started seeing one another. I lived for every chance to be with her. And she wasn’t keeping quiet because she was ashamed or anything like that. She wasn’t even trying to pretend that she was attainable to the zillions of men and boys drooling over her. She wanted something good and private, something...normal. Then one day I couldn’t reach her. But I wasn’t crazy. I knew she’d come to me when she could. We both knew that we wouldn’t always be able to contact one another. There were events that had to do with our professional lives. But then...then I heard...” He stopped speaking for a minute, and she watched his eyes fill with tears.

  Before they could spill over, he continued. “I didn’t think that Oswald Martin had done her in, either. She didn’t hate him. He didn’t follow her every move. That was some writer’s imaginative speculation. But I did wonder if it was some kind of a publicity thing because she was about to become the face of one of the biggest new cosmetic firms to launch in the past twenty years. This is so, so...wrong!” he finished on a breath.

  Kieran wa
nted to hold her twin and comfort him. She was afraid that the door was going to open any minute. While she knew that Kevin loved his brothers and would happily share this with them, keeping this on a need-to-know basis was best right now.

  Declan or Danny couldn’t inadvertently spill information they didn’t have.

  “Kevin, where did you two see each other?” she asked.

  “My place,” he said huskily. “No one pays attention to my place. I saw her at her apartment only once. It was with a group of people. She invited me to a reading, a show that may or may not make it to Broadway.”

  “But you stayed after.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t something anyone would have noticed. There were a number of actors there. She was friendly and nice to everyone. Her work reputation was amazing. She was never cross with a single makeup person, lighting person, cameraman...anyone.”

  “You’re telling me that absolutely no one knows that you were seeing her, that this actually started six months ago, but no one knew?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” he said.

  Kieran pondered that. “Kevin, trust me, someone knew,” she said. “Someone saw you together somewhere.”

  He shrugged. “She was with actors all the time. Posing at parties, openings, fashion shows. I don’t think anyone would have noticed me over anyone else.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Kevin, I’m sorry, but I have to ask. How serious did you two get?”

  “We both knew we loved our careers. Sometimes it’s bad when two people are actors, or models, or in that kind of world. Egos clash. But maybe we were different enough. I really love acting. I take the underwear commercials or whatever because I see them as a stepping-stones. Jeannette didn’t love it so much. She loved art and images and what a good photographer could do with her. But we also wanted to make sure that our relationship worked. We weren’t making any real commitments until we’d been together at least a year. She was famous—I’m not. She wanted to make sure that I could handle that. Maybe she wanted to make sure that I didn’t want to use her, either. You know, fake a real love just to use her for more exposure and better parts. If we made it a year—trusting one another, still wanting one another, ready to deal with the whirlwind as a couple—then we’d put our relationship out there.” He paused. “She used to tease me. Said it would be the coolest thing in the world if we were secretly married here. At Finnegan’s.”