Free Lethal Legacy by Linda Fairstein Page A

meant, but you own the apartment in which Tina Barr was living?” I
asked.
    “Not that dank little apartment,” she said,
tsk-tsking at me without missing a beat. “We own the building, Ms. Cooper. The
whole row of brownstones on that street.”
    Then why didn’t Billy Schultz recognize her name
when he saw it on the buzzer, as he claimed he had before Tina Barr moved in?
    “And the tenants pay rent to—?” I asked.
    “Not to me, Ms. Cooper. I don’t go around
collecting with a tin cup on the first of the month. There’s a management
company, of course.”
    “Of course,” Mike said, taking Minerva’s part, as
though the questions I was asking made no sense. “What’s that called?”
    “Mad Hatter Realty.”
    “Alice in Wonderland?” Mike asked, laughing.
    “Don’t laugh. My grandfather, Jasper the Second,
was mad. Eccentric is what the rich like to call it, but mad is what he was. My
father named one of the companies for him.”
    “So you did have a special relationship with Tina
Barr, then?” I asked. “It’s not just a coincidence that she lived in your
apartment.”
    “Tina worked for my father for a period of time.”
    “Doing what?”
    “He’s a collector, Ms. Cooper. Rare books. It’s an
inherited trait in the male line of Hunts,” Minerva said, talking directly to
me for the first time. I thought she was finally giving up her flippant
attitude. But she went on. “For generations they’ve all seemed to love the same
things—rare books, expensive wine, and cheap women.”
    “And Barr?”
    “She was cataloging the collection. My father’s an
old man, Mike. He’s close to ninety, and quite incapacitated now. Changed his
will more often than I change my shoes. I just made sure she had a place to
live while she was working for him.”
    “Did he fire her?”
    “He’s not in a condition to fire anyone. Tina
quit—that’s what Papa’s secretary told me.”
    Minerva Hunt removed her BlackBerry from her
pocketbook and dialed a number, pressing the digits with her long nails.
Someone picked up on the first ring. “Carmine? Are you in front of the police
station? I’ll be down in a minute.”
    “Where did Barr go?”
    “Why don’t you check with our management office?
Perhaps she left forwarding information.”
    Hunt was pulling on her short leather gloves—a
fashion statement or a sign that she was through with us for the night, not
protection against the mild weather.
    “You have all my numbers,” she said. “I expect
we’ll talk tomorrow.”
    “Were you looking for anything in particular in
that basement apartment?” Mercer asked as she readied herself to leave.
“Anything you sent Karla Vastasi to retrieve?”
    Minerva Hunt backed up a step or two. “I thought I
told you why she was there.”
    “Just cleaning up, I think you said. Nothing of
value you might be interested in?” Mercer said, talking as he walked into
Peterson’s office, mimicking Hunt’s motion with a pair of latex gloves that he
put on as she talked.
    “I assume Ms. Barr took whatever belonged to her.
The apartment was sublet to her furnished. We keep a few of our properties
available for help who need temporary lodging. I wanted to make certain that
none of the belongings was disturbed. You’ll allow me to do that later in the
week, I’m sure.”
    Mercer emerged with an object in the palm of his
large hand. It was a small book that appeared to be covered with precious
jewels.
    Minerva Hunt’s eyes widened. Her calfskin-covered
fingers reached out toward it.
    “You know what this is?” he asked.
    “It once belonged to my family,” she said, glaring
at him while she kept her arm outstretched, in expectation that he’d turn it
over. “Where did you get it?”
    “The ME found it after you and Alex left the
kitchen. It was on the floor, under Karla’s body, tucked inside the jacket of
her suit.”
    I could see dark stains on the surface of the gems
that must have been Karla Vastasi’s