A Perfect Obsession

“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 (#u1331d861-6ae7-562e-8a2a-ce4c074c1eb4)

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 just 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.

* * *