Free Where Are You Now? by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

the owner of one of those raunchy bars where underage kids get drunk, he thought.
    The secretary knocked on the door of a private office to the left of the squad room and, without waiting for an answer, opened it.
    Captain Larry Ahearn was alone in the room. He got up from behind the desk and offered his hand to DeMarco. “Thank you for coming in so promptly,” he said briskly. “Please sit down.” He turned to the secretary. “Ask Detective Gaylor to join us.”
    DeMarco took the chair nearest Ahearn’s desk. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t available last night. Early yesterday morning I flew to South Carolina to meet some friends.”
    â€œI understand from your secretary that you flew your own private plane from Teterboro Airport,” Ahearn said.
    â€œThat’s right. And I flew back this morning. I couldn’t get an early start because of the weather down there. They had heavy storms in Charleston.”
    â€œWhen did your staff notify you that Leesey Andrews,a young woman who left your club at closing time early Tuesday morning, had disappeared?”
    â€œThe call came to my cell phone about nine o’clock last night. I was out to dinner with friends and hadn’t carried it with me. Quite frankly, as a restaurant owner, I consider people who make or take calls in restaurants pretty insufferable. When I got back to the hotel at about eleven, I checked my messages. Is there any word about Ms. Andrews? Has she called her family?”
    â€œNo,” Ahearn said briefly, then looked past DeMarco. “Come in, Bob.”
    Nicholas DeMarco had not heard the door open. He stood up and turned as a trim man with graying hair who looked to be in his late fifties crossed the room with a quick stride. He smiled briefly as he reached out his hand.
    â€œDetective Gaylor,” he said, then pulled up a chair and turned it, facing Nick at a right angle to the captain’s desk.
    â€œMr. DeMarco,” Ahearn began, “we are very concerned that Leesey Andrews may be the victim of foul play. Your employees tell us that you were in the Woodshed at approximately ten o’clock on Monday evening and were speaking with her.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Nick answered promptly. “Because I was leaving for South Carolina, I worked late at my office at 400 Park Avenue. Then I stopped at my apartment, changed to casual clothes, and went down to the Woodshed.”
    â€œDo you visit your club frequently?”
    â€œI would say I drop in frequently. I no longer do, nor want to do, hands-on management. Tom Ferrazzano runs the Woodshed for me as both host and manager. And I might add he does an excellent job of it. In the ten months we’ve been operating, we’ve never had one single incident caused by an underage drinker being served or an adult being served too much for his or her own good. Our employees are thoroughly checked out before they’re hired, as are the bands we book to perform.”
    â€œThe reputation of the Woodshed is good,” Detective Gaylor agreed. “But your own employees tell us that you spent quite a bit of time talking to Leesey Andrews.”
    â€œI saw her dancing,” Nick said promptly. “She’s a beautiful girl and a really excellent dancer. To look at her you would think she was a professional. But she also looks very young. I know her ID had been checked, but if I had to bet on it, I’d have sworn she was underage. That’s why I had one of the waiters bring her over to my table and asked to see it myself. She had just turned twenty-one.”
    â€œShe joined you at your table,” Gaylor said flatly. “You bought her a drink.”
    â€œShe had a glass of pinot grigio with me, then returned to her friends.”
    â€œWhat did the two of you talk about while she was sipping that glass, Mr. DeMarco?” Captain Ahearn asked.
    â€œThe usual social-type conversation. She told