Chapter 4

“This is a record of interview of statement taken from Mrs. Constance Vaughan by Detective Sergeant Morgan O’Callaghan, badge number 44015.” Morgan glanced over Chelsea’s head at Henry leaning casually against the wall and drew support from his calm demeanor.

“Mrs. Vaughan, do you understand that this is a preliminary statement we are taking today? We might, at a later time, call you in again to clarify some points once all the evidence has been compiled.”

“Let’s get this over with. I have a sick husband in the hospital.”

Morgan could feel a nasty headache beginning. “Yes, you do, ma’am. Just tell me what happened this morning concerning the murder of Rose McManus.”

“Let’s see. We were sleeping in this morning. Arthur and I had a charity luncheon to attend so we arranged with the staff to have brunch instead of breakfast. Mrs. O’Malley was out doing the grocery shopping, as she always does, so only Rose was in the house. Arthur got up around seven, I think it was. He went to the bathroom, then came back to bed with a glass of water. About an hour later there was a loud noise downstairs. I woke Arthur and he grabbed the gun out of the side table and went downstairs to check on things. A little time passed. I’m not sure, maybe a minute or two, and there was the sound of a gunshot. I was not going downstairs, but I called my attorney immediately.”

“Why didn’t you call the police, Mrs. Vaughan?”

“I did.”

“But not before you phoned your lawyer.”

“I was upset. I wanted someone I trusted here before the police arrived.”

“And you trusted your lawyer that much?”

“Of course I did—I do. Just what are you accusing me of, Sergeant?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Mrs. Vaughan, but we know that three calls were made from the house this morning, two of which were to 911. The first 911 call came from the delivery boy and the second from you, Mrs. Vaughan, nearly two minutes later.”

“And your point?” Marks interceded.

“My point, Mr. Marks, is that the very first call made was to you.”

“Am I a suspect in this case?”

“As far as I’m concerned, Counselor, everyone is a suspect.”

“Are you asking me to recuse myself?”

“I would seriously think about it, Mr. Marks.”

“But, but Clifford—”

“Don’t worry, Constance. She’s got nothing.” He stared at Morgan, as if daring her to say more.

“This is only the beginning, Mrs. Vaughan,” Morgan said smoothly. “This preliminary interview is to collect your statement. You will be reinterviewed at a later date once the forensic results are known.”

Morgan gathered the files off the table and left the room with Henry to refill their coffees while Constance Vaughan spoke privately with her lawyer. They arrived back at the interrogation room just as Chelsea Vaughan entered. Morgan was eager to hear what the daughter had to say.

“Ms. Vaughan, where were you this morning around seven?”

Morgan sat in the chair opposite Chelsea and opened the case file.

“I was at a party in the Village all night.”

“And you were still there at seven this morning?”

“I didn’t keep track of time. I suppose so.”

“Can you substantiate any of this?”

“Yes, there were at least twenty other people at the party and they all saw me.”

“We’ll need a list of those names. What made you decide to visit your parents this morning?”

“I got a call that there had been trouble.”

“From whom?”

“Connie. She told me the police had been called.”

“Not ‘Rose had been shot’ but ‘the police had been called.’

That’s a rather unusual way of putting it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe she didn’t want to upset me until I got there. I can’t answer for my stepmother.”

Morgan noted that Chelsea referred to Constance as her stepmother. “Your mother—” she said, testing her.

“Stepmother.” A flash of anger crossed Chelsea’s features.

“Excuse me. Your stepmother reported that she had made only two calls this morning, one to her lawyer and one to 911. She made no mention of a third call to you.”

“Maybe she forgot. Maybe she called me on her cell.”

Morgan made a mental note to check Mrs. Vaughan’s cell phone records once Velasquez accessed them. Her gut instinct was telling her that Chelsea was lying through her teeth.

“Where were you when you received this call?”

“At my apartment. I must have left the party before that.”

“What did you think about the call?” Morgan was interested to see what Chelsea could come up with.

“I don’t know. I figured it must have been serious, otherwise she wouldn’t have called me.”

“Your mother, sorry, stepmother, doesn’t normally call you early in the morning?”

“She’s not an early riser,” Chelsea said almost distastefully.

“You don’t talk to your stepmother much?”

“Not much, no. But that’s only because we have our own separate lives.”

“And what was your reaction to the news?”

“I thought it was concerning my father at first. It wasn’t until I arrived home that I found out it was the hired help.”

Hired help? Morgan was curious about the turn of phrase. Chelsea didn’t even show Rose respect by calling her by name. There were only two workers in the Vaughan household—Mrs. O’Malley and Rose McManus—so there was no excuse for not knowing their names.

“Had you met Rose McManus?”

“Once or twice. I don’t usually mix with the downstairs staff.”

Why was Chelsea trying to distance herself from knowing Rose? It was one of those questions that sat high on Morgan’s list of inconsistencies. “Well, Ms. Vaughan, that will be all for now. We’ll be in touch to arrange a further interview once we have more information. And we’ll need that list of friends at the party.”

Morgan closed the file in front of her and rose. She watched the young woman and her lawyer leave to join the rest of the family waiting in the corridor.

Secrets, Morgan thought as she moved to the door and observed them walking down the corridor toward the front door. This family has lots and lots of secrets.

Andrea watched the group of people emerge from the interrogation room, one of whom caught her attention. Who was that? Leslie? Laura? “Lauren,” she murmured. She repeated the name, this time raising her voice to cross the expanse of the corridor. “Lauren? Lauren!” The group continued to move away from her toward the exit without any response to her call.

“Sergeant,” she called to Morgan who walked the distance to her in a handful of strides.

“Hi,” Morgan said in a soft, deep voice. “Sorry I didn’t make it to court this morning. A major case just opened up, and I haven’t even had time to grab a cup of coffee.”

“Of course. Who was that you were talking to?”

“That was Mrs. Constance Vaughan and her stepdaughter, Chelsea. I was just getting their statements on this morning’s homicide. Why?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“You said someone’s name—Lauren? Did you know one of them?”

“I thought I did. I must have been mistaken.”

“You’re sure?” Morgan stared intently at her.

“No, not entirely. I was supposed to defend this woman on a drug possession charge a couple of years ago back home, but she skipped town. Now that I think about it, her hair was darker—a lot darker. And she sure didn’t dress like any rich kid I know. My mistake.”

As Morgan was about to walk away, she hesitated. Henry pointed from a distance, his finger jabbing the air viciously. Andrea watched the exchange, puzzled. His mouth was running at a mile a minute, but she couldn’t tell what he was saying. She looked back at Morgan, who cleared her throat then looked at the floor.

“Um, are you doing anything for lunch?”

Andrea stared at her.

“You’ve got to eat, right? Would you mind some company?”

Andrea smiled. “So, I’m your best friend now?”

“I was just trying to make up for that first night at the bar, that’s all.”

“Are we feeling a tiny bit guilty about that, Sergeant?” Andrea drawled.

“Maybe, but if you’re busy—”

“Hey.” Andrea grabbed Morgan’s arm. “I didn’t say no, did I? Can you go to lunch now?”

“Errr, sure. My next appointment isn’t until two.”

While Andrea disappeared into her office, Morgan flipped open her cell phone, scanning through her address book to find the number she was looking for. She hit the dial button and waited for the phone to be answered.

“Hodges,” he answered tersely.

“Hey. It’s O’Callaghan.”

“Even I’m not that quick.”

“No, no, it’s not that. Are you still at the crime scene?”

“Yeah, we’re just finishing up.”

“If there’s a glass of water next to Vaughan’s bed, can you take a sample then call me later with the results?” Morgan asked.

“Sure. If you think it’s important.”

“I think it could be. I’m checking to see if it’s spiked. Thanks, buddy.” Just as she hung up, Andrea emerged from her office, looking very stylish in her tailored suit, her glasses missing from the ensemble.

“Ready?” Andrea asked.

Morgan knew she should have said no, but yes jumped right past her lips. They walked side by side down the steps onto the street, the heat of the day beading Morgan’s upper lip with sweat. She steered Andrea down the street, away from the bar.

“We’re not going to McGee’s?”

“Nope, there’s another bar this way called Monkeyshines.”

Andrea’s eyebrows rose in a question.

“Yeah, the name. I know it’s kind of goofy, but the food’s great.”

“And why aren’t we going to McGee’s?”

“I just wanted you to try a new eating place around the corner.”

“A new eating place, huh?”

“Why do you have to question everything I say?” Morgan glanced at her.

“Because I’m finding with you that everything you say has a double meaning.”

How could she fight that? Andrea was right—at least about this. “I... er... McGee’s is too public.” Morgan kept her gaze on the sidewalk, her pace steady and firm.

“And why is that a problem?”

“Do you really want to run into Morelli?”

“Ah, you have a point. Fine, then Monkeyshines it is.”

Morgan barely heard Andrea’s answer over the noise of blaring horns, swearing cab drivers, and squealing tires that was the lifeblood of New York City.

“Did Henry talk you into this?” Andrea asked casually.

“No.” Morgan tried to sound indignant. “Why would he do that? Can’t I have an idea of my own?”

“You two seemed to be carrying on quite a conversation back in the office.”

“How could we? We were at opposite ends of the room.”

“Exactly, and the eye contact and miming were quite animated.”

“Oh, you caught that,” Morgan said sheepishly.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t catch it all, but it was quite illuminating.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, we’re out and about to have lunch. Let’s go on from here,” Andrea said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m hungry?”

“No. You knew this lunch was a setup. Why do you want to continue this charade?” Morgan asked.

“Sooner or later, Sergeant, we’re going to have to work together, whether you like it or not. I would prefer it that you were on my side when we do.”

“You have a point.” Morgan had a feeling that they would be working together fairly soon. “So what do we do? Call it a day?”

“No.” Andrea’s voice was loud and clear. “Let’s go to Monkeyshines.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. And you can buy me a tall, cool drink. You owe me one.”

“Since when?” Morgan looked at her.

“Oh, since the moment I walked in through the door. A whole lot of tall, cold apologies.” Andrea smiled at her and motioned her up the street.