One Small Sacrifice

by Hilary Davidson

  “We’re not here to talk about Syria or take any other trip down memory lane,” the lawyer snapped. “If you have questions about today, I suggest you ask those before we leave.”

  Sheryn cleared her throat. “Do you have any idea how the blood got on the carpet?”

  “No,” Traynor said. “I swear it wasn’t there this morning.”

  “You mentioned a woman named Diana coming to your apartment last night. Is there any chance she came back to your apartment?”

  “I took the key from her last night, so I don’t think so.”

  “Alex,” the lawyer interrupted. “Let me tell you about the key-copying machine at my local Rite Aid. Not only does it copy keys, but it can keep them on file. You can go back any time and get a fresh key.”

  “Seriously?” Traynor frowned. “Then I don’t know. When I came home, the police were already there. Furniture was moved around. I can’t tell you if anyone else was in there.”

  “When Detective Mendoza and I went in with your superintendent, the apartment looked undisturbed. There were no signs of, say, a struggle. No broken furniture. Do you have any idea how Emily could have been injured?”

  “There’s no evidence Emily has been injured,” the lawyer interjected. “Let’s keep this factual.”

  “Let’s,” Sheryn agreed. “Starting with Mr. Traynor’s whereabouts from Friday evening on.”

  “You want an alibi?” Traynor asked. “Fine. Friday, I was teaching a photography workshop until ten at night. When I came home, I found Emily’s note and her ring.”

  “Did you go out again that night?”

  “I . . . I walked Sid.” Traynor’s voice halted, as if he were turning an idea over in his head.

  “What time was that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, besides walking your dog, did you go out on Saturday?”

  “I went out with Sid a few times.”

  “Sure, but did you go out without your dog?”

  There was a long pause before he answered, as if he were conjuring up an excuse. But all he said was, “No.”

  That was a lie, Sheryn knew; he’d been at Times Square station at four in the morning. Her talk with the transit cop, Koch, hadn’t netted her much; he’d described Alex as not as far gone as most people I see in the subway at that time of night. But it was the only ace she had in her pocket at that moment, and she wasn’t about to flash it. Better to get his statement on the record and then prove he was a liar. “Sunday?” Sheryn persisted.

  “In the late afternoon, I went out to our dojo,” Traynor said. “Emily and I both work out there. But I didn’t make it, and I headed home.”

  “What happened?”

  “That’s not relevant here,” the lawyer said.

  “I had a PTSD episode,” Traynor blurted out.

  Both Sheryn and the lawyer stared at him. “What?”

  “There was a kid on the street popping these little gunpowder bombs,” Traynor said. “I thought it was a shot, and I threw myself on the ground. I got glass in my arm, and I ended up going home.”

  Sheryn nodded. “Hence, the drops of blood. Can I take a look?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous . . . ,” the lawyer said.

  “It’s okay.” Traynor pulled at the bandage on his arm, unwrapping it. Sheryn gazed at the trifecta of puckered, red-rimmed wounds on his arm. Two of them were oozing pus. She saw no scratches or nail marks, nothing that looked like a defensive wound.

  “Honestly, I would have a doctor look at that,” Sheryn said. “I think a couple of those cuts need stitches.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Traynor said, wrapping the bandage again.

  “Did you try to contact Emily Teare over the weekend?”

  “I phoned her, texted her,” Traynor said. “Never heard back.”

  “Tell me about the last time you saw her.”

  Traynor took a deep breath. “Friday, around noon. I went to her office.”

  “You had a lunch date?”

  “No. I just stopped by.” His voice was quiet.

  “What happened?”

  “We talked, and I left,” Traynor said. “That’s it.”

  “What about the fight you had?” Sheryn asked.

  Traynor stared at her.

  “You thought we didn’t know about that?” Sheryn asked. “People at Dr. Teare’s office, her coworkers, heard her. What were you fighting about?”

  The lawyer got to his feet. “We’re done here,” he announced. “Alex has answered all of your relevant questions. He doesn’t know where Emily is, and he doesn’t know about the blood on that rug. If you’ve got any other questions, you can contact my office.”

  “Your superintendent told us about your fights with Emily,” Sheryn added. “The ones that happened in the middle of the night. Those sounded pretty bad.”

  Leeward whispered in Traynor’s ear and nudged him out of his chair. Then he put his hand on the man’s back and guided him toward the door, as if he were a child in need of protection.

  “One more thing, Mr. Traynor,” Sheryn called out. “Are you worried about your fiancée?”

  “Yes,” Traynor said. Before she could ask anything else, the lawyer opened the door and whisked him through it.

  CHAPTER 12

  ALEX

  “I’m going to be honest with you,” CJ said, once they were on the sidewalk outside the precinct. “That didn’t go so well.”

  “I wanted to be as honest as I could,” Alex argued. “What else could I do?”

  “That wasn’t Sherlock Holmes back there. Sterling’s not going to examine every clue and logically deduce the answer. She’d going to shoehorn every shred of evidence to fit her theory and incriminate you.”

  “I am worried about Emily,” Alex said softly.

  CJ stared straight ahead, as if he hadn’t heard him.

  “Aren’t you concerned about her?” Alex asked.

  “Emily’s the toughest person I’ve ever met,” CJ answered. “I learned a long time ago to let her do her own thing.”

  They walked on in silence. Without discussing it, they were heading in the direction of Alex’s building.

  “Did you see Emily’s letter?” Alex asked.

  “Her goodbye note? Yes.” CJ’s tone gave nothing of his thoughts away. To Alex, he sounded oddly clinical, as if they were discussing a book or a case study.

  “What did you think of it?”

  “Emily doesn’t give much away,” CJ answered. “Whatever it said or didn’t say, I wouldn’t read much into it.”

  Alex wanted to tell him that he’d figured Emily’s goodbye letter was a way of telling him to steer clear, a warning to keep his distance until she’d done whatever she needed to do. She had her secrets, even if he’d picked up on a few, like the fact she provided medical care to undocumented immigrants.

  “I should probably tell you why we had that fight,” Alex said. “It was because I found—”

  “Don’t you dare,” CJ warned. “I told you it wouldn’t be privileged. You can tell me anything you did, but you can’t tell me about a possible crime someone else committed. I’d be legally bound to report it. Don’t open up a can of worms.”

  “But what if it’s important?”

  CJ shook his head. “The less you say, the better.” His voice softened. “Believe me, I’m concerned about Emily too. But telling me something I’d only be obliged to reveal to the authorities . . . that’s not the way to help her. We need to keep our heads.”

  But Alex was starting to panic. When he’d found a stack of prescriptions on Emily’s dresser on Friday morning, he’d been surprised, because New York State had done away with all paper scripts, mandating that they had to be transferred electronically from doctor’s office to pharmacy; it was a measure to reduce opiate abuse. Then he’d looked a little closer at the paper slips, and alarm bells had sounded in his head. He’d thumbed through them, one by one, and then he’d gone straight to Emily’s office, surprising h
er.

  How could you do this? he’d shouted at her.

  Alex, have you lost your mind? What’s going on?

  This. He’d held up the prescriptions. How the hell could you do this?

  Emily had stared at him calmly. Give those to me.

  No. His voice was quiet then. Tell me what’s going on.

  I can’t, she’d answered. Not right now.

  Since when do you have an office on Hemlock Avenue? Is that supposed to be a joke?

  It’s no joke.

  Are you in some kind of trouble?

  Of course not, Emily had answered. She hadn’t seemed perturbed. Then again, she was a hell of a poker player.

  I think you are.

  You’ll just have to trust me.

  Those were the last words Emily had said to him. You’ll just have to trust me. But what did that mean, that he had to sit tight while Emily did . . . whatever she was doing? The more time that passed, the less possible that felt. More than anything, Alex wanted to help her. It wasn’t just that he loved her, nor was it because she’d saved his life at least twice. This wasn’t about a debt, but about Emily herself. She’d been through so much trauma and pain in her life, and still she devoted herself to helping other people. She wasn’t perfect, but she was the most heroic spirit he’d ever encountered.

  “Emily told me I’d have to trust her,” Alex said. “And I do, more than anyone I’ve ever known. I believe she’ll do the right thing. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t gotten herself into trouble.”

  “You don’t know that. I don’t know that. You need to sit tight.”

  It bothered Alex that CJ didn’t understand what was going on with Emily any more than he did. Those two were thick as proverbial thieves, and Alex believed him when he said he was in the dark. What did that leave? Emily didn’t confide in many people. He would’ve checked in with Yasmeen Khan, but she’d been the one to report Emily missing. If neither CJ nor Yasmeen knew what was going on with Emily, that was a bad omen.

  “I lied in there,” Alex said quietly.

  CJ stopped walking and turned to face him directly. “About what?”

  “When she asked me if I’d been out without Sid . . . I remembered I had,” Alex said. “I’ve had these images in my mind, but I was so out of it that I couldn’t put them together. But I know I went up to the Bronx to see if Emily’s car was still there.”

  “Was it?” CJ asked through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah.”

  CJ turned away and started walking again. “Look, I’m going to continue to represent you, but I strongly suggest you hire a criminal lawyer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the NYPD is going to come at you with both barrels over this. I remember Detective Sterling from your last go-round with her. She wants to lock you up. I don’t think the why matters. She doesn’t give a damn about Emily. She’s fixated on you.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” CJ insisted. “Sterling was determined to put you in jail when your friend Cori died, and she failed. But that doesn’t mean she’s given up. I wouldn’t put it past her to plant evidence. One way or another, she’s going to nail this on you.”

  CHAPTER 13

  SHERYN

  “We need to talk,” Rafael said when Sheryn returned to her desk.

  She glanced around the room. It was mostly empty at this hour. None of the other detectives were at their desks. “Okay. Talk.”

  “I am not working a case with a partner who’s holding back information from me.”

  “What makes you think I’m doing that?”

  “I just listened to your whole interview,” Rafael said. “Including the part where the lawyer cut you off.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. “The dead girl in Syria,” Sheryn said quietly.

  “You left that out of your summary of the case. Seems like a big omission to me.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were up for any fruit from the poisoned tree.”

  “Shit,” Rafael breathed. “What did you do?”

  Sheryn glanced around again. No one was paying them any mind, but what she had wasn’t for other ears. “You got a pair of earphones?”

  He did. She held up her phone. “Take a listen.”

  She watched his face as she played the audio for him. It was short, and she knew every word by heart. She knew she wasn’t allowed to talk to Alex Traynor without his lawyer present, but she’d done it anyway.

  I wanted to see how you were doing, she’d said. You were really sick last night.

  I know, and I’m sorry, Alex had answered.

  What happened to your friend Cori Stanton was a tragedy. You know that, don’t you, Mr. Traynor? She deserves justice.

  It’s awful, he’d answered. She deserved a much better life.

  That’s why you killed her?

  I didn’t.

  You confessed as soon as you came in last night. You said, “I killed her.” You flat-out admitted it, Mr. Traynor.

  That wasn’t about Cori. That was a woman in Syria.

  What? What are you talking about?

  Ever since she died, things haven’t been right. It was my fault. Nothing I can do will ever make up for it.

  Let me get this straight: You killed a woman in Syria?

  Yes.

  But before Traynor had said another word, there was his lawyer, suddenly in the room and demanding to know what she was doing there. Sheryn shut the recording off at that point; there wasn’t anything else her partner needed to hear.

  Rafael removed the earphones. “Traynor admitted to you that he killed another girl?”

  “He did. I’ve never been able to figure out who or exactly where. He was kidnapped while he was in Syria; it could be connected to that. There’s no way to know. But he has more than one woman’s blood on his hands.”

  “And you let him stroll out the front door with his swanky lawyer.”

  “I did. You have a problem with that?” Sheryn asked.

  “Let me count the ways. His girlfriend is missing. There’s blood in his apartment. He’s had another woman over there since his girlfriend vanished. You ask him a question, and he rambles on about his bullshit PTSD. He’s squirrelly and weird, and you know he looks good for it. I listened while you questioned him. There’s something wrong with that guy.”

  “We agree on that last part,” Sheryn said. “There’s definitely something off about Alex Traynor. We just don’t agree on what that is.”

  “I don’t get what you mean.”

  “You have any relatives who served in the military?” Sheryn asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I have a few,” she said. “It’s something of a tradition in my family. My grandfather, my dad, a couple of my cousins. Some of them come back harder and stronger than ever, and some of them come back broken. Traynor’s definitely someone who broke.”

  “I didn’t realize he’d served in the military.”

  “He didn’t, but he’s been in more war zones than a lot of soldiers. I don’t doubt that he has posttraumatic stress. It would be a miracle if he didn’t. A lot of people who carry that burden self-medicate.”

  “What’s this, sympathy for the devil?” Rafael asked. “When you talked about him this morning, I thought you had a hate-on for him.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Sheryn said. “I hate that Alex Traynor is walking around free, because I believe he’s a ticking time bomb. All that wiring that went wrong overseas is still faulty. He’s a danger to himself and to others.” Her fingers drummed on her desk. “When he killed Cori Stanton, it wasn’t premeditated. Hell, I don’t believe he’s even capable of that. But in the heat of the moment . . . yes, he could commit murder. That’s what I think may have happened here. Whatever he did, it wasn’t planned in advance. It happened in the moment.”

  “You think he went into some crazy fugue state?” Rafael wasn’t even trying to disguise his skepti
cism.

  “What, you don’t think that’s possible?” Sheryn’s gaze was steely. “I’m glad for you, if you’ve never encountered that. But it’s real. And it’s why he should be under lock and key.”

  “You ever think about being a shrink?”

  “No, that’s my mother’s territory,” Sheryn said. “It would be like stepping on her toes.”

  A shadow of a smile crossed Rafael’s face. “On the other side of this equation, I’ve seen perps claim they didn’t know they killed the victim. Didn’t remember it happening. It was like someone else was controlling them, they’d say. It’s an ugly way to beat a murder rap. Not guilty by reason of insanity, and then after a little stint in the psych ward, they’re cleared to be out in public.”

  “I know that happens,” Sheryn said. “I believe this is the real deal. Alex Traynor’s not pretending to be crazy.”

  “I noticed he blurts things out like a kid,” Rafael said. “I got the feeling his lawyer wanted to strangle him. Traynor’s got poor impulse control, at the least.”

  There was a ping from Sheryn’s computer, and she looked at the screen. She’d been waiting for Emily Teare’s cell phone records, and suddenly they were in front of her.

  Rafael didn’t notice how engrossed she was. “What bothers me most is the time frame,” he said. “His girlfriend disappeared on Friday evening, right? And he doesn’t care, because—he says—she left him. But he doesn’t know where she went, and that fact doesn’t alarm him.”

  Sheryn didn’t answer. Her eyes were on the page in front of her. She clicked to the next.

  “I’m just saying, if my significant other left me, and I didn’t hear a peep all weekend, I’d be freaking out,” Rafael said. “No contact whatsoever? Does that make any sense? That sounds guilty. Hey, am I just talking to myself here?”

  “Want to see Dr. Teare’s cell phone records?”

  Rafael waited for a beat. “Anything useful?”

  “Depends on how you feel about calls from an unregistered cell phone,” Sheryn said. “Say, about a dozen of them last Friday night.”

  “You’re kidding.” Rafael got up and looked over her shoulder. “Could it be Traynor?”