A Perfect Obsession

“Yes.”

“I don’t see Jeannette Gilbert dating anyone who wasn’t young, her age, say. Probably someone appealing. I don’t see that as John Shaw or Henry Willoughby or...”

She paused, her voice trailing.

“Or Roger Gleason?” he asked.

“Gleason is...interesting,” she admitted.

“I think most young women would find him appealing,” Mike said.

“Slimy,” McBride said, shaking his head.

Kieran glanced at McBride and nodded. “Some women are drawn to men like him, though. He keeps himself fit, he has a quick smile and—here’s something important—he had something to offer them. He must have seen plenty of young women coming in for a job at the club.”

“Rich as Croesus, he is. He owns the building,” Mike pointed out. “The whole old church. Man, that’s some mean property in Manhattan.”

Craig looked at Dr. Fuller. “What about Miss Gilbert’s manager, Oswald Martin? The man is in his late thirties. He made her rich. But she grew up, and maybe she wanted to go her own way.”

“Possible, but unlikely in my mind. She was making a fortune for him. He tried to rule her life, yes, but she was getting what she wanted. She could slip away when she wanted,” Fuller said. “She gave impromptu press interviews—without him around.”

“He might have been furious over the mystery lover,” Mike said.

“And she might have just made up the mystery lover for good press,” Fuller said.

Kieran looked at him quickly. “A mystery lover is always good press,” she said.

“We’re all speculating now,” Craig said, putting an end to the talk. “I have agents out to find Oswald. I plan to speak with him tonight. Can you, at the moment, give us anything helpful?” he asked Fuller.

“Yes, Kieran and I have talked, but we needed to know more about his first victim, which is why we came down now, without a complete report with explanations. This is what we’ve got so far. This man has money. He can come and go as he pleases. He’s got a respectable appearance. Normally, I would have said he was between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, but Kieran suggested a little older and I think she’s right. He’s gained the respect he receives and he’s intelligent. I imagine he pulled up the original church plans. They’re available online, by the way, though not even online—or in any archive—will you find a reference to the hidden crypt. Your killer listens to the news. He knew about the findings.”

“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.