by PT Reade
“All done?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. “Before I go, though, could you get me the case files? I’d like to see the details of the sedative and the jewelry she was wearing when the body was discovered.”
“For a suicide?” he asked. “Really?”
“I don’t recall that being proven yet,” I said.
“Well, Nembutal is a basic barbiturate, a sedative available from a few hundred places in this state alone. As for the jewelry, I’d have to hunt down the custody records before I can just go get the bag of her things,” he said.
“She’s been here for less than a day, right?” I asked. “How hard can it be to track something down from a body that just got here?”
“Look, Mr. Blume…”
He paused here, unsure of where to go with the conversation. I was pretty sure he simply couldn’t be bothered, perfectly content to rule Darcey’s death down to a suicide. Being put in the situation was also making me very aware of the Consultant ID around my neck. Sure, it had NYPD emblazoned on it, but it wasn’t the same as an actual badge.
Realizing that I wasn’t going to let the matter rest, Brooks stood up and sighed. “I can get you the jewelry, but I’m afraid I can’t just hand you over the case files right now—not without written consent from whomever is in charge of your department.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Wait here, please,” he said as he slid by me and out of the office.
I watched him walk down the hall in the opposite direction of the exam room. When he was out of sight, I relaxed against the doorframe. Something about this suddenly didn’t seem right, and based on what I’d seen of the body and the medical examiner’s reaction, I was growing more and more certain by the moment that this was not a suicide.
I looked to the examiner’s files and simply couldn’t help my instincts. I quickly went behind his desk and skimmed through the few folders on top. Not to my surprise, I saw a file with the name “Holland, D” near the top. I took out my phone and got to work, moving as quickly as I could. If I got caught, it would be more than my ass on the line.
Less than thirty seconds later, I was done and stepped back to the doorframe, looking as nonchalant as possible. Yet again, I’d committed a crime in an attempt to solve a greater one. Yet again, I was blurring the thin blue line.
Brooks returned soon after and handed me a cardboard box, effects collected from the body. I spent a few minutes examining the contents. All of which had been carefully tagged and sorted into clear plastic evidence bags. Sure enough, the jewelry was there, but none of it seemed like the kind of thing Darcey would wear. It was gaudy and thick; shiny rings and an ostentatious silver chain necklace. It screamed cheap and tacky, and wrong.
Her grandmother’s heirloom was also nowhere to be found. Something strange was going on here.
I started to realize that the slight comfort the booze from the airplane had provided was wearing off. I was going to have to grab a drink sometime soon, or this was going to be a very long day.
As if it wasn’t already.
NINE
Back in my car, I pulled up Remay’s number back in London and sent her the couple of pictures I had just surreptitiously taken of Darcey’s case file. I was pretty sure it would be hours before she’d reply, but I figured it was smart to have as many options available as possible. With the pictures sent, I also sent an additional text message: What do you make of this?
I knew that sending the pictures was a huge violation, but I was beyond caring. I wasn’t a cop any more, as Kinsey had been so keen to point out, and I wasn’t too concerned about following the rules even when I was on the force. One look at the pictures and Remay would also know that I’d broken the law, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t care, either.
Another reason we got along so well.
After sending the images, I wondered just what was going in between us. I enjoyed being around Remay, and although it was hard to admit, she was the one reason I had hesitated at all about coming to New York. Was it a professional respect, or something more? Yeah, probably. But there was no way in hell she felt the same. Not for a washed-up, old drunk like me.
Not that it mattered. I had bigger fish to fry for now.
Thinking things through and still unable to get the image of Darcey’s mauled face out of my mind, I punched in Rey’s number and gave him a call. He answered on the third ring.
“How is it over there in the Land of the Dead?” he asked.
“See. Right there…that’s what I missed most about you.”
“Not my handsome good looks?”
“No, but your imagination is impressive.”
Rey laughed, and I continued. “Darcey wasn’t in a good way,” I said. “The examiner is thinking suicide. The guy’s a goddam pain in the ass, refused to let me see the case files or the jewelry. I did get a picture of the jewelry though.”
“Kinsey can call over there if you need more clearance,” Rey said.
“No, I think I’m set for now. I was wondering, though…can you clear it so that I can go by Darcey’s apartment?”
“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thanks, Rey.”
“You bet. Hey…are you still there, at the morgue?”
“Yep. Why?”
“I’m about ten minutes away. I’m about to head out to check up on a few other cases, but I have some time for lunch. Want to join me? I’ve got a gift for you.”
The airport pizza seemed like a memory from weeks ago, and despite the condition of the body I’d just seen, my stomach was growling with hunger. I wanted to crack some heads and get on with the case, but the combination of a hangover and hunger pains weren’t going to do me any good.
“Ok. Just tell me where.”
“You remember Vito’s?”
I laughed. “How could I forget?”
“I’ll see you there in fifteen minutes.”
We ended the call, and as I pulled out of the morgue parking lot, I got a creeping sensation in my gut. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but one that I had not expected.
I felt like I was home again…and the city hadn’t changed a bit.
But maybe I had.
***
Vito’s had been around since 1952 and served the best Chicken Parmesan in the city. It had been a staple for most cops on the force ever since I had started working there. When I stepped inside twenty minutes later, that sense of being back home grew tenfold; the chrome counter tops, the cheesy Italian music in the background, and the lively chefs jostling and shouting in the kitchen. It was all so familiar.
I saw Rey already sitting at a booth in the back and joined him. “Were you able to hook me up?” I asked.
“Merry Christmas,” Rey said as he slid over a small lock-box. “Glock 19. Oh, and these.” He slapped down a handful of forms with space for signatures.
“Really? The paperwork too?”
“Yep. ‘fraid so. Kinsey doesn’t let much slide. She’s very by-the-books. And this whole terrorism thing has her tighter than ever.”
“Yeah, what’s going on with that?” I asked.
“We got a call last week from high up the food chain about activity by ‘persons of interest’ scheduled to take place any day now. The FBI has been riding our asses all week about it, but they won’t tell us what’s going on, just that it’s serious.”
“Do what we say, but we won’t tell you why,” I said.
“Exactly, man. The feds love to play their games.”
“Still, makes you wonder what’s really going on.”
“Damned right. We’ve been asked not to speak a word of this to anyone either. So…yeah, this conversation never happened.”
“Of course.”
A waitress came by to take our orders. Just thinking about the food had my mouth watering. Maybe I’d missed New York a little more than I’d thought. When she left, we started talking again.
“You haven’t even
told Connie?”
Rey shook his head, a bit sadly. “No. My wife is the last person I’d want to tell. She’s stressed enough as it is, especially now that we have a second kid on the way.”
“Hey, that’s great,” I said. “How far long?”
“Six months.”
“Well, congratulations!”
“Thanks.”
“You’ve been busy. What else have I missed?” I asked.
“Um, oh hey, do you remember Manny?”
“Of course.” Manuel was Rey’s brother. He, too, was a cop over in the third precinct and a damned good one. He was about fifty pounds overweight and had a weakness for chocolate chip cookies, but he was well-liked and highly respected.
“Well, last year, Manny accepted a job with the DEA. He’s living down in Florida now, not too far from Parks, in fact. I speak to him about twice a month on Skype. He seems to be doing really well. He asks about you from time to time.”
“Manny was a good friend,” I said. I looked out of the window to the busy streets of a New York City afternoon as people bustled past the steamed glass window. There really was a frantic magic to the place. “You were, too,” I said.
“Um, I still am.”
“You know what I mean. Your family meant a lot to me. Especially after Sarah and Tommy died.”
“Yeah, I still can’t believe what happened,” Rey said quietly. “If you’re sure Roland Teach is connected to their deaths, I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you get some time with him.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that. But first, let me see if I can find a way to the bottom of this Darcey thing. If I can do it Kinsey’s way, I’d like to. You never know when needing a favor from her might come in handy again.”
“Good graces and all of that?” Rey asked. “Kinsey is a ball-breaker, but she’s good at her job.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, enough about me,” Rey said. “Tell me what you’ve been up to in merry old London.” Rey’s attempt at a British accent was terrible, but it made me laugh, at least.
I was eager to tell him about the few adventures I’d gotten myself into overseas. I had made a name for myself over there in a short amount of time, something unplanned and not always welcome, but it did make for a good conversation.
So we ate our lunch as I told him about the cases I’d tackled in London, and before long, I was surprised to find that I was talking about the place like I actually liked it.
I might have almost said that London was beating out New York…but then the steaming chicken parmesan came, and after that, it was just no contest.
TEN
Parking along the curb outside of Darcey’s townhouse, I couldn’t help but be surprised. The three-story limestone building was classy without being overbearing, and it was sandwiched in a leafy street close enough to Central Park that it would command a premium price.
She’d done well for herself, and this new address showed it. There were several expensive cars parked along the street, and I instantly felt out of place. I couldn’t help but wonder what Darcey had been doing before she’d died. Looking around at the luscious digs made me even less certain that she’d taken her own life.
I entered through the arched doorway, pushing the heavy oak door aside, and took the stairs up to the third floor, trying to make sense of how my day had gone. Five hours off the plane and I was already knee-deep in a murder case involving someone I’d once dated. More than that, I also badly wanted another drink. Back on my old turf, it was a need that seemed almost logical. And without Amir around to make me feel guilty about it, the craving came much easier.
I made it to the third floor and took in the plush hallway. The ivory paint job was cast in gentle amber lighting by wall sconces and generic but expensive-looking artwork dotted the walls.
Even if Rey hadn’t already told me the number, I would have known my target from the streamers of tattered crime scene tape blocking the last apartment on the left.
Walking towards the doorway, I stopped.
Something was off.
A noise was coming from inside. I strained to listen. There were dull thumps and what sounded like music. This was a crime scene. It should have been empty. With my hand at my hip, I crept toward the entrance.
A deep burgundy carpet covered the floor, making each step silent. At least they wouldn’t hear me coming.
The noises grew louder, and as I reached the door, I noticed it was ajar.
Someone was inside.
Another thump and a scraping noise.
Was it trespassers? A neighbor? Someone who returned to destroy evidence?
My mind raced with possibilities, but there was no time for doubt. I quietly drew my Glock from its holster and teased the door open, praying it wouldn’t creak.
Plucking the remnants of crime scene tape out of the way, I noticed it had been cut with something sharp.
I let the tape drift to the floor and quietly pivoted inside, clearing the corners. A small foyer surrounded me, decorated with a painting of a beach and a large tacky vase. Not something Darcey would have liked back when I had known her.
Things change, I heard Rey say in the back of my head.
Silently moving through the foyer, I came into a slight intersection; the kitchen to the right, a short hallway to the left. The music was louder now and seemed to be coming from the opposite end of the place, where strange lights danced against the wall.
Another sound; this one from further in front of me. Oddly familiar but somehow menacing—a tearing sound followed by a sharp snip.
A knife?
I crept around the small sink and bar area and into the kitchen. It was immaculate with antique wooden floors and dark granite surfaces highlighted by spotless steel appliances. All seemed out of place for the simple girl I had known. It emptied out into a small living room.
I gasped as I suddenly saw movement out of the corner of my eye, a dark shape.
Someone was there, just to my right, barely out of sight. A shadow shifting in the flickering lights.
My heart was pounding as my body ached for the booze to numb my nerves.
I took a deep breath, raised my gun, and rounded the corner.
And came face to face with a dead woman.
ELEVEN
For a moment, the world froze, and my brain wouldn’t work. I found myself looking at a woman who had no business there…a woman whom I’d already seen once today, missing a face.
I wondered if the ghosts of my past had caught up with me.
Darcey was on the floor in front of me, alive and well. She was crouching down, leaning over a cardboard box.
She turned with a start as she spotted me. “Thomas!” she spoke. “You startled me.”
My voice was broken for a moment, and my nerves froze my legs in place. This made no sense.
How…?
“You…Darcey?” I stammered.
She only regarded me with wide, blue eyes. A sad smile touched the corner of her lips, and for a moment, I wanted to be anywhere else.
But some demons couldn’t be outrun.
“Thomas…,” she said again. “Can you please put the gun down?”
She raised an eyebrow, and this time, I saw something different about her. My brain caught up, my heart slowed, and my body unlocked. I holstered the gun, feeling like a fool.
“Zoe,” I said, as it all fell into place.
“It’s been a long time,” she spoke softly.
Even when I had been dating Darcey, I’d had a hard time telling the twin sisters apart at a glance. Same facial features, same build, hell, they even had the same voice. Only a difference in hair color and personality separated the women.
Darcey’s sister climbed to her feet and embraced me in a hug. Her hair brushed my face and I smelled a gentle fragrance of lilac and something like rose water. As she stepped back, I fully took in her appearance.
Zoe Holland was painfully attractive. I was forced to
admit it. Like an exaggerated reflection of Darcey, every feature was perfectly sculpted. Her jet black hair gently cascaded over her slim shoulders framing crystal blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, while her athletic frame would be the envy of a woman half her age. Even in this casual setting, Zoe carried herself as if she was born with a natural rhythm, the kind of beat no man could ignore.
Darcey had once mentioned the modeling contracts her sister had been offered as a teen. Even twenty years later, I could see why. Her looks were only slightly tainted by the bloodshot eyes that were a clear indication that she had been crying.
“Why…why are you here, Zoe?”
She waved a hand all around her, and I took notice of the boxes and the packaging tape. A handful of candles flickered on the table. The sound I’d heard seconds ago suddenly made sense. It had been parcel tape being stretched out and cut.
“Packing up some of her things for storage,” Zoe said. She then reached behind the box she was currently working on and revealed a tall glass of red wine. “And undergoing some liquid therapy.”
As the initial shock receded, my brain started to work again. Aside from the slight physical discrepancies, the sisters were a world apart in personality. Zoe was famously confident, flirtatious, and always got what she wanted…often at the expense of others. Darcey had been much more muted, a soft-spoken and considerate woman with a genuine desire in her heart to help people. For me there had been no contest.
“I was sorry to hear about your sister,” I admitted.
“That’s why you’re here in New York, isn’t it?” Zoe stated, folding her arms. “You’re investigating her death.”
“Not really. Well, sort of. It’s complicated. Just as complicated, I’m sure, as why you’d be here in her home.”
“It’s in her will,” Zoe said matter-of-factly. “My lawyer cleared it with the police. You’re free to call any of them if you like.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her, but something seemed off here. “No, that’s not necessary,” I said.
“So are you working?” she asked. “On the clock?”
