Chapter 4

Jessica had been caught off guard, and was clearly worried. She hadn't been expecting this.

"Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to add, Mrs Peterson?"

Jessica was lost for words and did not know how to react.

"I've already told you everything, and anyway, the cops are on the case. There's nothing for a prying private eye like you to do here. Get out!"

"You're right, the cops are on the case," said Kris matter-of-factly. "And I think they'd be interested in hearing what I've found out."

"You've got nothing of interest to them. I really was at a nightclub, and they've checked it out."

"I don't doubt it, but what interests me is where you went afterwards, and why you're lying about it."

"What makes you think I went somewhere else?" Jessica retorted, provoked.

"Mrs Peterson, the dress you were wearing that night had traces of..."

"What?" shrieked Jessica, without letting him finish. "My dress? How dare you go through my things!"

"Mrs Peterson, how did traces of acrylic paint get on your dress?" Kris asked, ignoring Jessica's reaction. "As far as I know, it's usually something that serious painters use."

Anger and confusion, these were the two emotions which Jessica now battled. She was ill at ease with the private detective's directness, but at the same time she desperately wanted to refute everything Kris was saying. Finally, Jessica pulled herself together and said,

"Morris loved art, and even did some painting himself. The day I bought the dress, I took it into his studio so he could admire it. That's probably when I accidentally stained it."

"But your dress is clean in the photos."

"What can you see in them anyway?"

"You'd be surprised," replied Kris calmly. "If you zoom in to these photos that you showed me, you can clearly see that there are no traces of paint on your left sleeve. In other words, the acrylic stain appeared after you'd been to the nightclub. But most intriguing is why the soles of your shoes are also covered with paint."

Jessica kept up her protestations.

"That can easily be explained. And anyway, I was at the club with my friends until it closed. And you can check that out too. Monica and Betsy will back me up," said Jessica, stubbornly refusing to back down.

"I've no doubt that your friends will back you up, but my next discovery makes me wonder if you're telling me the whole truth."

"What discovery?"

"This was lying on the floor by your bed," and with these words, the detective showed the sales slip that he'd picked up while Jessica had been out of the room.

"You must have dropped it in your haste, but it contains some very interesting information," continued the private detective, with enviable calm. "On August 6th, at 1.30 a.m., someone purchased two bottles of champagne and a box of truffles in a shop just two blocks from Desire. I put it to you, that that someone was you."

"I don't know what slip you're talking about and I have nothing more to say." Jessica defiantly turned her back on the detective.

"Mrs Peterson, you do realize that the video surveillance camera in the shop proves that it was you?"

At that point, Jessica looked like a cornered animal. Her torment showed itself in her face – her raised eyebrows, her fixed, anxious stare, and the fact that she was biting her bottom lip – all this betrayed the young woman's doubts and fears.

Kris continued his unrelenting volley of arguments.

"And I also found this brochure detailing the works of a certain Marco Paliatti under the coffee table. Where did you get it?"

"I don't know. My husband must have brought it with him."

"Really? Then I think you'll be surprised to learn that this brochure was published on August 5th in New York, as a limited edition especially for the exhibition in two weeks' time. I wonder how your husband managed to seek one out after only a few hours in the Big Apple? Judging from his self-portrait, this Paliatti guy is a pretty talented, red-haired artist, and there were a couple of hairs exactly that color in the paint on your leopard-print shoes. Are you still sure you don't want to tell me anything?"

"Oh God! What a horrid state of affairs!" Jessica exclaimed, and she melodramatically collapsed into an armchair.

"Okay then," she continued, calming down, "That evening, I was at Paliatti's studio, but only to buy a painting for Morris."

"So why didn't you tell the cops this?"

"Work it out for yourself. Wouldn't it be crazy, on the night Morris died, to admit that I'd gone somewhere else after the nightclub?"

"If it had made the cops suspicious, they could've checked with the artist and found you were telling the truth."

"Oh yeah? They might have allayed their suspicions, but Edmund would've got more suspicious. That little shit would probably have deprived me of my inheritance! I bet he's told you that if I've had an affair, then under the terms of the marriage contract I wouldn't get a cent from Morris's estate. And that's after ten years of keeping that old bore happy!"

"So, you've never had an affair?" Kris focused on the woman.

"No," Jessica mumbled.

"I'd love to be able to believe you, but in addition to your dress, I also found your bra in the wash basket, with torn clips. That's pretty strange, don't you think?"

Just as Jessica was about to respond to this, the private detective added,

"But before you try to explain, let me tell you one more thing I observed. That mark on your neck. It looks like the sign of a passionate kiss, but it's not there in the photos from the nightclub. So could it be that you were doing more than just choosing a painting in Marco Paliatti's studio?"

Jessica was crushed. She had thought her explanations were foolproof, but that illusion was now shattered, like broken glass. Jessica would have done anything to deny it all, but she no longer had the strength. She had no choice but to tell the truth.

With a deep breath, she began. "It was such a long time ago. When I graduated I couldn't find work, and wouldn't have made a fortune just working as a waitress in a student cafe. That's when I saw this ad in the paper, for nude models at an art school, and that's where I met Marco Paliatti. We had feelings for each other from the first moment we met, and we soon started dating. Our hearts were full of wild passion, and I still remember every minute we spent together. This lasted for about three months, until the patron of the art school, who happened to be Morris, saw me and fell in love. I couldn't pass up such a chance, and without a second thought I swapped my poor artist for a sugar daddy. Things soon settled down. I became accustomed to Morris and he wasn't so bad, you know. It's just that we were different. He loved my youth, my innocence and candor, but stuck in the company of those old misers and their stuck-up wives, I found it harder and harder with each passing year to keep being me. Not long ago, Marco came across me on a social network site, and we kept in touch. When he found out that I'd soon be in New York, he pleaded with me to meet him and, to be honest, I wanted to as well. But Morris would never have allowed it. That's why I decided to slip away unnoticed, when my friends had had plenty to drink. Marco was waiting for me near the club, and on the way back we went to a store for champagne, to celebrate. I spent the rest of the night with him, and when I got back to the hotel in the morning, the cops were waiting for me. I never thought I'd end up in this mess. If Edmund finds out, his lawyers'll turn me out onto the streets. I beg you, please don't tell anyone!"

Kris looked into the eyes of this beautiful woman. They were brimming with tears. Nothing remained of the haughty and willful lady that he had been talking to at the start of the conversation. Now, there was only this beautiful woman with pleading, desperate eyes.

"All right, then," said the private detective shortly.

Jessica relaxed and poured herself some more wine. Something about Kris's calmness and imperturbability made her sure that he would keep his word. Moreover, the private detective's amazing intellectual abilities had had a great impression on Jessica.

Concealing her interest and admiration for Kris, she adjusted her robe and took a small sip from her glass.

"What do you think Mr Peterson was doing in the ghetto in Brooklyn?" asked the private eye.

"I've no idea," admitted Jessica. "Morris was so absorbed in something that day..."

"Did he tell you he was going out that night?"

Jessica shook her head.

"Perhaps he was meeting someone?"

Mrs Peterson thought for a while.

"I think I might remember something. A couple of weeks ago, Morris told me that he was planning to meet a Turkish illegal called Emirhan Shahin in New York. He deals in stolen antiques and valuables, and Morris had done business with him once or twice before. Maybe my husband had gone to meet him that fateful night."

"I wonder," said Kris, mulling this over. "Do you know where I can find him?"

Jessica shook her head.

After a few more questions, and without extracting any more useful information, the private detective got up.

"Well then, thank you for your honesty, Mrs Peterson."

"I hope to see you again," Jessica proclaimed enigmatically.

"See you later, then." Kris left the room, leaving Mrs Peterson alone.

As he was leaving, the private detective gave a sly nod to the manager. After all, it was he who had mistaken Jessica Peterson for Jessica Jenkinson.

When he got back to his office, the private detective found Penny engrossed in a newspaper article on the death of Mr Peterson.

"Jessica didn't murder her husband," said Kris. "On the night of August 5th to 6th, she was with an ex-lover."

"An interesting turn of affairs." Penny put down the paper.

"Jessica said that Morris was planning to meet an Emirhan Shahin, a Turkish illegal, in New York. A trader in stolen antiques and valuables."

"Do you know where to find him?" asked Penny"

"Not yet," replied Kris, taking out his well-worn notebook. "But in the meantime, I've a job for you, Penny. There's an auction tonight where Edmund should be bidding for my katana. Jessica will also be there, selling some kind of medallion. I want you to go there and watch them."

Penny nodded enthusiastically. She loved the jobs that the private eye gave her, particularly if they involved her playing a part in solving a case.

Kris gave her brief instructions, and let her go home. The private detective made some coffee and began to make inquiries on where he might find this Emirhan Shahin.

The investigation was underway.