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My name is Thomas Tull. As you may know, I am a bestselling true-crime writer. I have a contract to pen a book about the Family Man killings ongoing in the DC area and would very much like to talk to you about them. Also, I think some of the things you’re being told about me and the way I work are completely off base. At the very least, I’d like the opportunity to set the record straight. Please call me at your earliest convenience.

All my best,

Thomas

CHAPTER 52

Manhattan

AT TEN THIRTY THE following morning, a Thursday, Bree followed a criminal defense attorney named Natalie Reed into an interrogation room in a midtown precinct.

Rosella Salazar and her partner, Simon Thompson, were waiting inside with their backs to the one-way mirror, behind which, no doubt, several of their superiors were watching. The killings had made national news and Bree knew from personal experience how much of a pressure cooker cases like these became.

“Chief Stone, Ms. Reed,” Salazar said, gesturing to the chairs. “Please.”

Reed took a seat, saying, “Is this a formal interrogation?”

Salazar rubbed her belly. “If it were, I wouldn’t be here. We’re just talking, catching up, and we need a bit more information.”

“Such as?” Reed said.

“We need to know who Chief Stone’s clients are and how much they knew about the sex-trafficking allegations before Bluestone Group got involved.”

Bree said, “I still have no idea who they are beyond some attorney in Cleveland. But the attorney, or whoever his clients were, knew about the lawsuit in North Carolina and the various sealed complaints here in New York.”

Detective Simon Thompson, Salazar’s partner, spoke for the first time. “We need the name of the attorney in Cleveland.”

“I don’t know it.”

“I do,” Bree’s attorney said. She removed a business card from her briefcase and pushed it across the table. “Gerald Rainy with Grady and Rainy. His phone number is there. He is expecting a call, and in light of what’s happened, he has already given me his client’s name. In return, he would appreciate it remaining out of the press.”

Salazar shifted uncomfortably.

“We’ll see,” Thompson said. “Name?”

“Theresa May Alcott,” Reed said. “As in the billionaire Theresa May Alcott. Since her husband’s death, she is the majority shareholder in Alcott and Sayers, the big soap and household products company.”

That came out of left field, Bree thought, annoyed that Reed had not informed her before the meeting. What’s the connection between Duchaine and Alcott?

Thompson seemed impressed by Bree’s client. “My girlfriend uses Alcott and Sayers organic soap. You have an address and phone number for Mrs. Alcott?”

“She splits her time between Cleveland and Jackson Hole, Wyoming,” the attorney said. “She’s in Ohio at the moment. I will track down a phone number for her.”

Bree looked at the attorney. “Why exactly did she hire Bluestone?”

Salazar shifted in her chair. “I was wondering the same thing.”

Reed cleared her throat and glanced at Bree. “I don’t know all the sordid details, but evidently Mrs. Alcott’s favorite granddaughter got caught up in a sex-trafficking ring after being lured to New York to work as a model for Frances Duchaine. When the family found out, the young lady killed herself. Mrs. Alcott wanted the scheme exposed so it would never happen again.”

That’s odd, Bree thought. I don’t remember anything about a young girl from Ohio in the material I was given at the beginning. But maybe that was intentional?

Thompson had a sour look on his face. “How was Mrs. Alcott going to expose the scheme?”

“She’d planned on going to the media, where she has considerable influence,” Reed said.

“Not afraid she’d be sued by Duchaine?”

“From what I’ve been told, Mrs. Alcott has far deeper pockets than Frances Duchaine these days.”

Bree looked at Salazar and Thompson. “Did you find evidence that there was going to be a sex-slave auction at Watkins’s last night?”

Salazar said, “Nothing concrete yet, but the computers just got to our experts.”

“What about the other people attending the party?”

Thompson said, “We can’t talk about them at this point.”

Salazar stared at her partner. “I would not have been there if it hadn’t been for Chief Stone.”

“Former chief Stone,” Thompson said.

“Read up on her sometime—maybe you’ll learn something,” Salazar said. She looked at Bree. “Several of the younger members of the crowd copped to being there for a special party involving sex that was going to happen later in the evening, after most of the guests left. None of the older males in the crowd mentioned being there to buy sex slaves.”