Whiplash

Sherlock's face. She should have looked severe and masculine in her getup, but, oddly, she didn't. She looked forbidding and angry. But just for an instant, Sherlock saw fear leap into her dark eyes.
    Sherlock looked back and forth between the two of them. "I believe you're Carla Alvarez, production manager, and you are Turley Drexel, accounting manager. Have I got that right?"
    "Yes," Carla said, voice clipped. But Sherlock saw another flash of fear in her narrowed eyes before she wiped her expression clean. Her chin went up and the power player was back, full force. She asked, her voice steady as a rock, "You are a police officer? Here to question us about the murdered man in Van Wie Park?"
    "I'm FBI-Agent Sherlock." She handed Carla her creds, then she handed them over to Mr. Drexel, who was looking at Carla Alvarez, eyes flat and hard. He didn't even bother to glance at Sherlock's ID. Finally, he nodded to her, and remained seated, looking hard again at Alvarez, mouth tight.
    Alvarez asked, "Why is the FBI here and not the local police?"
    "The body was discovered in Van Wie Park, and that's federal land, which makes it our case."
    It was obvious neither Alvarez nor Turley had known that. Hadn't they watched the news? The murderer hadn't known it would draw in the feds either, Sherlock would wager. Sherlock decided she was going to rock and roll with this woman who was struggling to look so formidable.
    Sherlock gave them both impartial smiles. "What were you fighting about?"
    Turley Drexel was fifty-two years old, and cursed with a round baby face he'd hated for as long as he could remember. He answered her in the tone of a prim, tightly wound bureaucrat used to juggling numbers. "See here, Agent, we were simply having a business discussion, of no concern to you, I assure you, nothing at all to do with that dead man found out back. We don't even know who he is. No one's bothered to tell us. Was he a transient?"
    Sherlock said easily, "No, not a transient, Mr. Drexel. Actually, I'm very sure both of you knew him. He was an employee of Schiffer Hartwin, from their headquarters, a German national. His name was Helmut Blauvelt."
    Mr. Drexel paled, then quickly lowered his eyes to his black loafers and muttered something under his breath.
    As for Carla Alvarez, her hand went to her throat. She said slowly, "Helmut Blauvelt? No, surely that's not possible, surely-you're certain?"
    "Very certain."
    "We didn't know, I mean, sure, we've met Mr. Blauvelt, but we didn't realize-we just thought it was some stranger who was mugged and killed in the park. This is unbelievable, Agent. Mr. Blauvelt-it just doesn't seem possible."
    "He was identified very quickly." She gave them no details. She turned. "Mr. Drexel, if you would please return to your office, I would like to speak with Ms. Alvarez alone. I'll be in to speak with you soon."
    After Turley Drexel nearly ran from the office, Sherlock turned back to Carla Alvarez, studied her a moment, and said, "Men are dogs, aren't they, Ms. Alvarez?"
    "Dogs? What is that supposed to mean?"
    "I mean, Caskie Royal is married, he's got kids, and here he is sleeping with you. I wonder how many women, how many employees, he's talked onto his sofa? Surely you realize you're not the first."
    "That's insulting. If I were a man, you'd never say anything like that."
    "Depending on where I happened to be, and what I happened to find, sure I would. Ms. Alvarez, I understand you and Mr. Caskie Royal interrupted a break-in last night, in his office, and I was thinking it really strange that neither of you called the police, that the security guard did it some minutes later, with no prompting from you. Why is that?"
    "What does it matter who called the police? They were called, weren't they?"
    "Why don't you tell me why that wasn't the first thing you and Caskie did."
    Alvarez shrugged. "We were anxious to see if the thief got away with anything valuable, like confidential files or e-mails. So the guard called. I repeat, who cares?"
    "I'm thinking you guys didn't call because you were afraid the first question put to you would be why the two of you were there alone on a Sunday night."
    "We were working on the budget-we had adjustments to make, production dates to change-"
    "That doesn't sound all that urgent. So how long have you been sleeping with Mr. Royal?"
    "I am not sleeping with him!"
    "What did the thief take, Ms. Alvarez?"
    "Nothing, as far as I know. That's what Mr. Royal told me last