“It might have been used in the commission of a crime,” Maddocks said.
Norton-Wells stared at them for a beat, and then his glance flickered toward the window in the west wing. The young man was no longer standing there, and for a moment Angie thought Norton-Wells was going to lie.
“You caught him on a sick day. Which isn’t unusual.” The man jerked his head toward a door on the west side. “He lives in the suite. Entrance is over there. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late.” He turned and beeped the lock on his Jag. “If you need anything else from me, call my assistant.” He folded himself into his Jag and fired the engine.
“Seems no love lost between father and son,” Angie said as she and Maddocks walked toward the suite door.
“No kidding,” Maddocks said as he knocked.
The door opened slowly. A younger mirror of the man they’d just been speaking to stood before them. But his eyes were feverish and his skin sheened with perspiration. His hair was damp and as blue-black as Maddocks’s, she noted. Perspiration also stained the armpits of his fitted white tee. A gold chain disappeared into the neck of the shirt, gold watch on his wrist.
“Jayden Norton-Wells?” Maddocks said.
“Yeah.”
Maddocks explained who they were and why they’d come. “Can we come inside for a moment?”
Jayden seemed lethargic. Angie wondered if he was on medication, drugs. He opened the door, padded inside on bare feet, and slumped onto a sofa. He put his face into his hands and rubbed, then looked up. “Sorry, I’ve got a flu bug or something. Been out of sorts for a few days.”
Angie and Maddocks remained standing. The room smelled of sweat, stale alcohol. Heat had been set on high. Windows were closed. While Maddocks handled the questions, Angie walked up to a wall of framed images. One was of a graduation certificate for Jayden Royce Norton-Wells.
J.R.Norton-Wells? Her pulse accelerated slightly as she moved to another framed photo, this one showing a young Jayden—about eleven years old—sporting a white suit. He stood smiling with his mom, now the ADAG, his dad, and a bishop in robes. Under the photo:Jayden Royce Norton-Wells, First Holy Communion.
“Your father says you reported the Lexus stolen?” Maddocks said.
“I forgot to.”
“A Lexus. And youforgot?”
“Been really busy with law school. I ... I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
Angie exchanged a glance with Maddocks.
“When, exactly, was it stolen?” he said.
Norton-Wells scratched his skull through damp hair. “I ... ten days, fourteen days ago, maybe. Not sure.”
“What day of the week was it? What were you doing? From where was it taken?”
“I ... it was a Tuesday. Yeah, I remember now—November twenty-eighth, that’s it, right at the beginning of the cold snap. We ... were at a restaurant downtown, and I’d parked up the street in a pay lot. Stayed late. Had a lot to drink, so took a cab home. When I returned the next day to pick up the SUV, it was gone.”
“Which restaurant?”
His eyes flickered, then he said. “The Auberge.”
“Which lot?”
“The one a block up from the restaurant.”
“Did you have a reservation?”
“No.”
“How did you pay for the meal, credit card?”
“Yes, no ... wait, I think I paid cash that night.”
“Why?”
