She smiled. “I’m fine, Zach. Well, maybe not fine. I’m sickened, but I’m not walking out on this.”
“Let’s start with his alibi,” I said, flipping through my notebook. “Aubrey parked her car in the garage in Brooklyn at 4:52 p.m. on May seventh. I don’t know how she got to Roosevelt Island, but most likely it was in Langford’s car. It was rush hour, so she couldn’t have gotten there much before five thirty. The body was called in shortly after nine thirty. When I spoke to Langford the following day, he said he had been at a medical conference in Albany. But was he there during that four-hour window when Aubrey was murdered?”
“Was there even a conference?” Kylie said.
“Hold on.” Jason began tapping away on his laptop. It took him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “There was a substance abuse conference at the Albany Marriott on May seventh and eighth,” he said.
“What’s the number of the hotel?” Kylie asked. “We can call and find out when he checked in.”
“We could do that,” Jason said, “and hope that we could convince some hotel desk clerk to cooperate without a warrant. Or…” His fingers flew across the keys.
Thirty seconds later, he found what he was looking for.
“Or,” he repeated, “we could check the good doctor’s credit card charges and find out that he bought gas at the Plattekill rest stop on the New York State Thruway at 10:34 p.m. on May seventh, and he checked into the Albany Marriott at 12:10 a.m. on May eighth.”
“It’s a three-hour drive from New York,” Kylie said. “I’d like to check his GPS and see where he started from.”
I turned to Cheryl. “What’s your take, Dr. Robinson?”
She took a deep breath and looked at the monitor. The screen was dark now, but the memory was vivid. Then she turned back to the group. “I think we were wrong to assume that all the men on these videos had a strong motive for killing Aubrey,” she said. “Judge Rafferty practically laughed it off. Most of the others would be subjected to public humiliation, but they’d bounce back. Men like that always do. People tend to be forgiving when politicians, sports heroes, and movie stars are caught up in a sex scandal. But they’d never forgive the one man Aubrey trusted to help her. Morey Langford’s private practice, his hospital affiliations, his broadcast contracts, would all disappear overnight. He’d be ruined. If you need a motive for murder that will stick with a jury, you’ve got one.”
“In that case,” I said, “I’m skipping lunch and the other sixteen videos and paying Dr. Langford a house call.”
“Let’s do it,” Kylie said, her adrenaline pumping—a fired-up female cop eager to race out the door to take down a repugnant male predator.
Cheryl, of course, shared none of Kylie’s enthusiasm. “Good luck,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes unable to hide the disillusionment she felt inside.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know how much you admired him.”
“I did. And now I don’t.” She took another deep breath. “Great police work, Detectives,” she said, her voice reenergized. “Now go get the bastard.”
CHAPTER 62
“Is he good to go?” Kylie asked as we sped across the 79th Street transverse.
It was the classic question. Translation: do we have enough evidence to arrest him?
“No,” I said. “The video doesn’t prove he killed her, and the fact that his Albany alibi is full of holes doesn’t put him on Roosevelt Island with Aubrey. All we can do is smile, be superpolite, and ask him if he’d be so kind as to come back with us to the station and help us with our investigation.”
“Superpolite doesn’t sound like me,” Kylie said.
“Good call,” I said. “Let me do the talking.”
Kylie turned onto West End Avenue and parked the car in front of the same hydrant she’d blocked the week before. This time a doorman came running out of the building, waving his arms. He was about thirty, tall, with large bony hands and a thin-lipped scowl on his face that looked like it was painted on permanently.
“You can’t park there, lady,” he yelled.
“Wanna bet?” she said, flashing her badge.
“So what’s the deal?” he said. “You two cops are going to lunch for what—two hours? I need that space for people who are getting in and out of cabs.”
“Relax, pal,” I said. “We’ll be out of here in ten minutes. We’re going to see one of your tenants.”
“Which one?”
“We’d rather not be announced,” Kylie said.
“And I’d rather your car weren’t blocking the front of my building. Life is full of disappointments, sweetheart. Which tenant?”
I’d never seen him before. He hadn’t been on the door the night we first visited Langford. But I knew the type. Somewhere along the way he’d been soured on cops, and Kylie’s in-your-face approach didn’t help change his mind.
“Dr. Langford,” I said.
He flashed a victory scowl. “Your names?”
We played the game and identified ourselves. He rang up.
“No problem, Doctor,” he said after a brief dialogue. Then he turned to us. “He’s with a patient. I’ll let you know when you can go up.”
“And what’s your name, asshole?” Kylie asked.
“Eddy. With a y in case you’re adding me to your Christmas card list. Now cool your jets outside. We have a no-loitering-in-the-lobby policy.”
By the time he waved us in ten minutes later, Kylie was seething. “I’ll be back for that punk-ass prick,” she said as we rode up in the elevator.
“Calm down,” I said. “Remember the deal. I do the talking.”
I rang the bell, and Langford cracked the door open.
“Hate to bother you again, Doctor,” I said, “but it would speed up our investigation if you came down to the station and helped us out with a few more questions.”
“Could we do this another time?” he said. “I’m with a patient.”
“We can wait downstairs,” I said. “What time would work for you?”
“I have an impossible schedule,” he said. “Plus I’m traveling this weekend. How about next Tuesday?”
“How about now?” Kylie said, shoving her way in front of me. “If that doesn’t work for your schedule, how about five minutes from now?”
“Excuse me, Detective,” he said, bristling, “but I’ve already told you everything I know about Aubrey Davenport.”
“No you haven’t. Take a ride with us, and I’ll prove it.”
The doorman had pressed all Kylie’s buttons, and she was unleashing her anger on Langford. I tried to get the situation back under control.
“Dr. Langford, I’m sorry if we sound overly aggressive,” I said. “It’s just that some new evidence has come to light, and it would help if we could share it with you. Are you sure you can’t spare twenty minutes?”
“No. If you’ve got new evidence, send me an email. I’ll get to it when I can.”
“How about if we just put it on YouTube?” Kylie said.
We had an ace in the hole, and Kylie was pissed enough to turn our cards faceup. If Langford was our murderer, he’d have known about the video. And now he knew that we knew. I was pretty sure he’d slam the door in our faces. But I was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure. I very much want to help you catch Aubrey’s killer. I’ll go with you. Come in.”
He opened the door, and we entered his waiting room. “I have a patient in my office. I can’t just leave her there. We’re in the middle of a hypnotherapy session.”
“Does that actually work?” I said.
“Oh, goodness, yes. It’s highly effective at helping people change behaviors like smoking or nail-biting. Also, a trained therapist can help people explore painful feelings and memories they may be hiding from their conscious mind. My patient is in a hypnotic state. Give me a few minutes to bring her out of it.”
He stepped into his inner office.
“I don’t get it,” Kylie said. “Why is he suddenly being so cooperative?”