A Clean Kill

Forty-nine

You got me out of the bath to come here. What is this about? I already talked to the police." Jo Ellen Anderson stood in the Anderson Agency parlor in wet rubber boots, looking indignantly from one detective to the other.

April figured that she weighed 180, 190, maybe more. She was a large woman with the kind of straight back and ample figure that earlier generations used to admire. She carried her head way back like some older women did to keep their double chins up and others did out of pride. She was wearing a brown tweed suit and a tan fedora. The raincoat that had covered her outside was gone now. Remembering what Chad had said about a piece of plastic caught in the mop in the Wilson garage, April was eager to take a look at it. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. She had the feeling she was in the presence of a killer.

"I'm Lieutenant Sanchez," she said, keeping the name simple.

"Oh, a lieutenant now. We're moving up the ranks," Jo Ellen remarked with a spark of humor. "What can I do for you?"

"And this is Detective Baum."

She didn't bother looking at Woody. "Don't tell me someone else is gone," she said as if she knew that wasn't the case.

"It must be difficult for you to lose two clients in two days," April replied.

"Of course it is." Jo Ellen flung her hands in the air impatiently. "Two lovely young women, and they were both my friends. It wasn't just business. I talked to them frequently, as I'm sure you know. Better be careful—people spy," she added, indicating with her index finger the small camera that Woody had detected earlier in one corner of the ceiling.

"Who spies?" April asked.

"The Hunter people, and I don't like it at all," she scolded as if they were listening at the moment. "They're probably behind all this. I wouldn't be surprised to learn they'd killed my clients just to get me out."

Just a little paranoia, April thought. "Is Hunter the owner of the agency?"

"Yes, and it was a hostile takeover, like the Nazis. My aunt was tricked out of it, and I don't care who knows it."

"How did it happen?" April had learned a long time ago that people had to tell their stories their own way. Tangents were par for the course.

"They wanted it. Anderson is a name that has ensured quality to four generations of New York's finest," Jo Ellen said.

April couldn't help noting the irony. "New York's Finest" was the slogan of the NYPD.

"It was a tragedy. And now this. This is the new corporate thing." She pointed at the camera again, then regally lowered herself onto the throne chair that showed her back to the camera, while she offered April the seat that faced it. April took out her notebook.

"They can see what people are doing, and hear everything. They say it's for efficiency and training. But I'm wondering, is it legal?" She tilted her head to one side, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, the owners of a company can install surveillance in their own facilities. If there's a camera in the ladies' room, that's a different story."

"Oh, heaven forbid." Jo Ellen covered her eyes with a big hand.

April had a feeling that the hair under her hat was dyed red and she vibrated with excitement.

"Do you think I have any recourse?" Jo Ellen was saying.

"I'm here to talk to you about something far more serious than surveillance in your workplace."

"But I love my work. I've increased the business over a hundred and fifty percent since my aunt passed on. The acquisition was a robbery, a terrible thing. And no one cares."

"Maybe I can help you with it," April suggested.

"Oh, would you? That would be such a blessing. It's so hard to work with people spying down your neck. I can't even set my own salary anymore. They cut my commissions in half—just the opposite of everything they promised. My aunt thought we'd be able to keep the house, but her death taxes took it all. I don't know what I'm going to do." She drummed her fists on the arms of her chairs.

"What is your agreement with Hunter?" April asked. The way the woman looked and acted, it was surprising they'd kept her on for a single day.

"They said I could stay as long as I wanted, but now they're asking me to leave by Labor Day. Do you think I'd have an age discrimination case?"

April shook her head. She didn't know if Jo Ellen Anderson had any case. "I'm here to find the person who killed Maddy Wilson and Alison Perkins."

"Well, I know a lot about them," she acknowledged, "but how would I know who killed them?"

"I think you may know something about it."

She looked wary. "Why would you think that?"

"You live in the neighborhood. You talk to people every day. You may have seen, or possibly even know, the killer."

"Impossible."

"What time did you come into the office?"

"Oh, my, which day? I have a memory deficit about these things. I'm not sure, Monday— sometime between eight thirty and nine. That's my usual time. Does that help?"

"Alison Perkins lived across the street from you—"

"Yes, she came to tea at my house. She was going to help me with my book."

"Your book?"

"Yes, I'm an author. My book is about all the people I've helped in my time. You may not know that Princess Diana was an au pair over here. I placed her with her family, so of course she invited me to her wedding. My book is going to be a big best seller."

"I'm sure it is. But right now we're looking for a

killer. Alison Perkins called you yesterday morning. What did she want?"

Jo Ellen clicked her tongue. "Oh, they were leaving for the Vineyard soon. She needed to change girls."

"Why did she need to change girls?" April watched the brim of the hat tip up to the ceiling.

"Why is the sky blue? Because Alison was never satisfied. She wanted the perfect girl. No girl is the perfect girl. You can try to train them to suit the households, but you can't train the households to keep them. People like Alison change their staff because they can. I've been very successful in this business because I come from quality myself; I know how wealthy people think. I try to pass this knowledge on to my girls, but it doesn't always help them."

"Your notes on Remy and Lynn seem unusually detailed. Were they a problem?"

"I told you, I work with them on their improvement."

"And it sounds like you enjoy moving them around. Don't you get double fees if they have to be replaced?"

"Oh, that doesn't mean anything to my clients. They can afford it. I know what their needs are. I can always fix whatever goes wrong in their houses," she said airily.

"It sounds like you may have had a hand in making things go wrong," April said.

"No, no. Don't try that. I've never had a complaint about my services. I know how to handle things," she retorted angrily. "Are you here to make trouble for me?"

"Your employees were telling you what was going on in the houses, and you exploited that information to encourage turnover," April said straight out.

"They told me a little, here and there, but I never exploited anybody. I have a great sensitivity to my insider position. Knowledge is power, you know, and you have to be careful with power." Jo Ellen adjusted her hat.

"Somebody killed your clients," April said angrily.

"Yes, I could put it in my book." Jo Ellen looked pleased. She didn't seem to get the gravity of the situation.

"Let's start with the hiring history of Mrs. Wilson," April told her, settling in for a long interview.

"You mean everyone who worked for them? That's a lot of people." She made a face.

"Did anyone work for both Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Perkins—a cleaning lady, somebody who had keys to both houses?" April watched her face.

"Oh, I don't know. They have to return the keys when they leave. That's a rule," Jo Ellen said flatly.

"To you?" April asked.

She put her finger to her lips. "I do have some keys," she admitted.

April glanced at Woody. "Does anybody else have access to them?"

"No, of course not," she said indignantly. "I'm very careful."

April let that pass. "Is it unusual that Remy and Lynn were both fired at the same time?"

"In this business anything can happen. Sometimes there's a stealing issue." Jo Ellen screwed up her puffy face some more. "My high-net-worth clients have so many possessions, they can't keep track of them all. They buy a dozen sweaters and leave six in the bag. They shop at Tiffany and don't remember what they bought. They misplace cash and think it's stolen. 1 get calls all the time. 1 have to calm them down, but sometimes the staff gets blamed anyway. It's a vicious cycle. People get hired; people get fired. It's all part of the game."

"But Remy was fired because of her relationship with Mr. Wilson," April reminded her.

"Well, yes. That's another reason. Girls these days." She shook her head and looked sad.

For someone who had been so keenly interested in every intimate detail of Maddy's and Alison's lives, Jo Ellen was remarkably uninterested in their deaths. She was not connecting. April changed the subject.

"What was the incident that caused Hunter to put in surveillance cameras?" she asked finally.

Jo Ellen stared at nothing for a moment. "I have no idea." Then she changed her mind. Her face deflated a little. "I believe someone was assaulted," she said slowly. "But 1 can explain everything."

April turned the page in her notebook. Now she was getting somewhere. "Who was assaulted?" April asked Jo Ellen.

"One of the women. She was in late. 1 don't remember the details."

"I'd like to talk to her."

"Well, you can't talk to her. She isn't with us anymore," said airily.

"Do you have a telephone number for her?"

"I really couldn't answer that."

April gestured to Woody. He nodded and left the room to start grilling the employees. Twenty minutes into the interview and already armed with a number of Jo Ellen's conflicting statements about several key questions, April began to zero in on the difference between accepting gifts from clients and stealing from them. And meddling in their lives so she could restaff their houses again and again for the fees. Jo Ellen didn't seem to understand what was wrong about it.

"The Duchess of Windsor was one of my best friends, rest her soul," she said. "She gave me one of her own bracelets as a token of her appreciation for everything 1 did for her."

"I'd like to see it," April said, and she planned to do that very soon. Her cell phone rang, and she picked it out of her pocket. "Lieutenant Woo Sanchez.''

"It's Barry Queue. 1 have the warrant," he told her.

She glanced at her watch. "I'm on my way. What do you say, twenty minutes?"

"The traffic's bad. Call it thirty. 1 called Sergeant Gelo. She isn't picking up."

"Well, it doesn't matter. She can stay at the shop for now," April assured him.

"She's not at the shop," he said.

"What? Where is she?" April was surprised and annoyed. She didn't like it when people didn't follow orders.

"She went to the Anderson house."

"What? Why did she do that?"

"I don't know," Barry said.

"Okay, well, keep calling. We'll be there soon."

April hung up and returned to Jo Ellen. She was a big woman, arrogant and seemingly without much feeling for anyone. She didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. Furthermore, she seemed to think that because her family had been tops in the domestic-employment game for so long, she was entitled to use the trust people had in her name to exploit them.

April connected the dots and suspected that the house keys Jo Ellen admitted to having were given to her by the girls she'd placed in those homes. Further, she guessed that Remy and Lynn revealed intimate details about their bosses' lives and knew when they were not at home. That made the girls accomplices to, or even guilty of, thefts that occurred and would explain why they were fearful to talk openly about what they knew. The three of them were guilty of something. But murder? Why would Jo Ellen, or any of her staff, kill her clients? Even if she was disturbed, it made no sense. Why kill the source of the income she desperately needed, and so close to her own home? More importantly, it didn't fit her profile. She was a manipulator and possibly a thief, but that didn't make her a killer. Then April had a new thought. There might be someone else in Jo Ellen's close circle they didn't know about. She started sweating.

Jo Ellen had a tight little smile on her face as if all of this were merely good material for her book.

"Miss Anderson, would you remove your hat?" April asked her quietly.

"Oh, no, I can't," she cried.

"Why not?"

Jo Ellen pointed behind her at the camera.

"Do your roots show?" April leaned forward.

"My roots?" She looked startled.

"You have red hair, right, colored from gray?"

Jo Ellen winced and her eyes squeezed shut in a' private agony. "You caught me," she said.

"Why did you kill them?" April was elated. She'd cleared the case.

Jo Ellen opened her eyes. "Kill them? I didn't kill them."

"I think you did. A piece of your raincoat was found at Maddy Wilson's house, and your hair at Alison Perkins's house. It puts you on the scene."

"No," she said wildly. "It's not possible."

"I can help you with this," April offered.

"No, I can explain it."

"Good, explain." April's pen started moving on the page.

Then Jo Ellen shook her head. "I don't believe you. You're making that up."

"Miss Anderson. Take your hat off."

"What if I say no?"

"You can't say no."

Jo Ellen let out a little sob, then reached up and took off the fedora. April sucked in her breath. Underneath the hat, her head was bald as an egg. "I have cancer," she whispered. She pointed to the office and the camera. "I didn't want them to know."

Oh, jeez: April was shocked for a second. But it didn't stop her. "You had short red hair before it fell out?"

"Yes." Jo Ellen looked down at her hands. "It's a terrible thing to lose your hair." "And you wore hats when it was coming out? Just like now."

She nodded.

April swallowed. "Who else wears your hats?"

Jo Ellen's face was gray. "It happened a long time ago. More than a decade ago. An accident, explainable. It couldn't happen again. That's it." She closed her mouth with a snap.

"Who are you talking about?"

"My daughter, Leah, my adopted daughter. She wears my hats, but would not hurt anyone again. She promised me. A promise is a promise. It couldn't be her."

April felt sick. "Is she at your house?"

"Of course. She lives there."

Cops don't panic when events start spinning out of control. They just move forward. Ten thousand questions shot into April's head, but she didn't take the time to ask them. She collected Woody from the bull pen and briefed him in a sentence. They dm for the stairs, both reaching for their phones.