MURDER ON A DESIGNER DIET by Shawn Reilly Simmons Page A

she said, pressing a cloth napkin onto the wet spot on her jeans.
    â€œNews? No, there’s no news,” Officer Gomez said.
    Penelope blew out a sigh. “Nothing at all?”
    Penelope heard Officer Gomez pull the phone from her ear and swear under her breath in Spanish. When she came back on the line she said, “Penelope, I’m not the NYPD media department. I told you I’d help you if I could.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m calling,” Penelope said, exhaustion slipping into her voice. She stared at a couple passing by on the sidewalk, holding hands and talking happily with each other, and attempted to keep from becoming emotional.
    â€œOkay, let’s do it this way,” Officer Gomez said a little more kindly. It sounded like she was outside. Penelope could hear children playing in the background. “Do you have a specific question? If I can answer it for you, I will.”
    â€œOkay,” Penelope said, pausing for a second to think. “Was Christian into drugs?”
    â€œYes. As far as we know, he was. I can tell you that because he has an arrest record, which your boyfriend could look up for you,” Officer Gomez said. She added quietly, “Nothing recent.”
    â€œAnd he was a club promoter? And a fashion model?” Penelope asked, encouraged.
    â€œYes, all of those things. Also public knowledge,” Officer Gomez said. She pulled the phone away from her ear again to yell something in Spanish, Penelope picking up the word cuidadoso .
    â€œAnd he was definitely shot, and that was the cause of death?” Penelope said when she returned to the phone.
    â€œAh, good question. Yes, he was shot twice, but the coroner still has to make a ruling on the cause of death for it to be official. Toxicology won’t be back for at least two weeks, maybe longer than that.”
    Penelope remembered the model on the phone from the club who mentioned Christian offered his guests party favors at his get-togethers. “I guess he could have died of something drug related,” Penelope said. “But there’s no getting around the fact that someone shot him. Twice. Did they find the gun in the apartment?”
    â€œNo weapons were found, although there was a gun registered in Christian’s name, same caliber as the bullets that killed him. It’s possible the shooter used Christian’s gun and took it with him when he fled the scene. Of course we have to confirm he was shot with his own weapon, but it looks likely.”
    Penelope rested her forehead heavily in her palm, trying to think. “I’m sorry to bother you on your day off,” she said finally. “I’m just frustrated and I don’t know what else to do.”
    Officer Gomez said something in Spanish again, Penelope recognizing the word almuerzo , which she remembered meant “lunch.” She heard cheers from several small voices on the other end of the line.
    â€œAre you with your kids?” Penelope asked.
    â€œWhat makes you think that?”
    Penelope shook her head. “I’ll let you go. Thanks again for taking my call.”
    â€œListen,” Officer Gomez said, “I know you’re trying to help your friend and I’d want to do the same thing if I were you.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve been looking at this modeling agency for a while now, and every time I go there I get a bad feeling. I haven’t been able to get them on anything, but something about it is off. No one believes me, though.”
    â€œI know how that feels. Have you ever been inside or talked to anyone there?” Penelope asked.
    â€œI’ve been there a couple of times, responding to complaints from neighbors. Some uptight older lady runs the place. Joyce Alves. It’s supposed to be a modeling agency, but I don’t get high fashion from her. I never caught her or Christian doing anything illegal, just had to break up some loud parties. I