“What? Oh, Jesus.” I took Jenna’s hand. “Is she okay?”
“Josh … Tracy said she recognized him, the man in the tux.” Jenna finally looked at me right in the eyes. “It was Walter Gordon. Walter’s dead.”
I paused, looked down, then with widening eyes turned around to Hillary. At the same moment, Hillary dropped her cellphone and collapsed.
We rushed to her side and held her. Barely coherent, Hillary began to mutter “my husband, my husband” over and over.
I took her hand.
Hillary looked at me and said, “I think I just heard him die.”
C h a p t e r 1 2
“WAIT, HOW DO you know Billy Donovan?” Again, Shawn interrupts Josh’s recall of the night. “I’ve never heard that name from anywhere, not even from the Times.”
“We’ll get to that,” Josh says. “We are far from done.”
“But you just said this Billy guy is the one who killed Walter, right?” Shawn asks. “If you have proof, we gotta find this guy.”
Shawn now wishes the detectives were hearing the conversation. He knows Detective Penance has been closely coordinating with the other precinct investigating the second of what the press had deemed the Pub Murders, two killings that involved two different associates of the same publishing house on the same night: the first being Lennox on the Lower East Side, the second being Walter Gordon in Union Square.
“We don’t have hard proof, at least we don’t think we do.” Josh answers. “But I’ll get to that too.”
“The part about Billy Donovan is based on information we’ve pieced together these last few months while you were at Micah’s trial,” Jenna says, her French accent a little more subdued than normal. “Tracy is my ex-roommate. She lives in the building Billy ducked into before he shot Walter Gordon in the middle of Union Square. Tracy saw him on the steps of her building that night, thought he was cute. Until she saw what looked like a gun sticking out of his jacket.”
“But how does she know his name?” Shawn asks. He’s a little more frustrated with each new detail.
“A few weeks later, she saw him at the office,” Jenna says. “Picked up his name off a sign-in sheet. Told me and Josh his name shortly after. Helped us piece together yet another part of the company involvement.”
“Company involvement,” Shawn says. “That’s just what Haylee said.”
“Smart woman.”
“When did you learn about Tracy seeing Billy Donovan at Walter Gordon’s crime scene?” Shawn asks. “The same night that Lenny was killed?”
“Yes. Tracy and I talked that night, then some more on Saturday. I spent the night with her, since we both were in shock. Saturday night, I had to leave for my nanny gig, but Tracy stayed in her apartment. She was devastated, missed a lot of work the following week.”
“Was this conversation before or after you called me about Micah being hauled away by the cops?” Shawn asks.
“After.”
“Jenna, please tell me everything.” Shawn breathes a sigh of relief that he doesn’t have to sit through Josh’s ramblings this time around.
“Okay, well—”
“Wait.” Shawn remembers that sometimes Jenna can be worse than Josh. “CliffsNotes, please, Jenna. CliffsNotes.”
“I’ll try,” she says. “Bear with me.”
“God,” Shawn says. “You people and your flashbacks.”
Jenna begins …
C h a p t e r 1 3
I TOOK A deep breath. What was happening?
Less than two hours after hearing Tracy’s ordeal over the phone, I was frozen again. I’d just seen my friend Micah, husband to my ex-boss, covered in blood, being carted away by police escorts. Micah had yelled at me to call Shawn.
I pulled out my iPhone and stared into it. My drunken, droopy face caused a delay in the facial recognition.
“Call Shawn Connelly.”
((Calling Shawn Connelly))
“Jenna?”
“Shawn! Thank God!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think Micah’s just been arrested.” It came out more like Micah shudgebin arrested.
“What?”
“I was coming home from the event and saw a lot of police cars around Lennox and Micah’s building. I walked a little closer and saw Micah coming out the front of the building. They shoved him in a car. He was covered in blood, Shawn.”
“Dear God. What happened?”
“I think something happened to Lennox. Something horrible.” My words were still a bit slurry. “Micah asked me to call you.”
“Do you know where they were headed?”
“What?”
“The police car, Jenna: which direction were they headed? Never mind, I’ll figure it out.”
“Hurry, please!”
“Don’t worry, Jenna. I got this. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath, hung up the phone, shoved it back in my Chanel clutch. I looked around at the mayhem that had taken over her block. A cold chill enveloped me, sobering me up in an instant. I put down my purse and took the overcoat that had been draped over my shoulders and put it on.
I clomped my way to my condo building, just steps away from where I’d seen Micah being hauled away. I thought of Lennox and what could have happened to him. I started weeping, mascara running in black rivulets down my cheeks. I took out my phone and called Tracy.
SITTING ON TRACY’S couch, Tracy and I stared at the breaking news on Channel One. We consoled each other as the news kept releasing updates.
Breaking news, Lennox Holcomb, vice president of finance at Élan International, has been brutally killed in his lower Manhattan residence.
Lennox Holcomb’s husband, Micah Breuer, has been retained for questioning.
This just in. Sources say that Lennox Holcomb was stabbed over thirty times. Breuer is the main suspect. We will keep you updated.
“Dear God.” I was waffling between anger and devastation. “Who would do such a thing?”
Tracy was comforting me as best she could while dealing with her own trauma. “I’m not sure what’s happening.”
We turned our attention back to the news:
A second murder has just been reported in Union Square, an unknown man in his sixties shot and killed. We’ll update you as more details become available.
The victim in tonight’s shooting in Union Square was Walter Gordon, a consultant for Élan International, making this tragedy the second murder of Élan associates reported this evening.
Walter Gordon’s bodyguard was a witness to the murder. Our correspondent speaks to him now.
“I saw the guy,” the bodyguard says. “Dark trench coat; we’d been tracking him for a couple blocks. Until he ducked out of sight. Never got a look at his face. Before I knew it, Mr. Gordon was bleeding out on the street. No gunshot, no other witnesses, no nothing. Professional. All the hallmarks of a hit.”
Tracy and I turned to each other.
“I think I saw him,” Tracy said.
“Who?”
“The shooter.”
“When?”
“Before Walter was shot,” she said. “As I was leaving for the party. I was barreling down the stairs, nearly tripped over him at the bottom. I apologized, he smiled.”
“You saw his face?”
“White guy, kinda cute,” Tracy said. “Gave me the creeps, though; didn’t know why he was just sitting there. Then I saw something peeking out of his jacket. Looked like some sort of gun part, like the tip of a silencer maybe.”
C h a p t e r 1 4
SHAWN KNOCKS ON the two-way mirror. Less than ten seconds later, the detective walks into the holding room.
“You banged?” Detective Penance asks.
Shawn walks toward him. “Did you know there was another witness in the Union Square murder?”
“You talking about Tracy Heissman?”
Shawn turns to Jenna.
Jenna nods. “Yes, that’s her fu
ll name.”
“Pretty girl, model?” the detective asks.
“Jesus, you Americans,” Jenna replies. “Yes, she’s a gorgeous black woman.”
“My buddy at the 13th Precinct talked with her about a week after the murder, I think,” says Detective Penance. “That was, what, five months ago? I’d have to check the records to know for sure.”
“But you remember her?” Shawn asks the detective.
“Tracy Heissman called the station, instigated an interview. But once she got there, she clammed up and barely gave us a description. They chalked it up to shock.”
“More like fear,” Jenna says.
“Detective Penance, could you please turn the surveillance on again? I want you to hear the rest of this.”
C h a p t e r 1 5
TO AVOID THE constant surveillance, Micah gets up from his seat in the hospital waiting area and walks to another seat across the room. The only other people in the room are a couple who’d been stealing glances at him every chance they could.
Before he has completely settled in his chair, he sees Haylee walk back into the lobby. “Everything okay?”
Haylee smiles. “It’s fine. Baby’s fine. Everything is good. Did you know you can actually see the outline of a human at eight weeks? Little arms are growing, it’s the weirdest thing.”
“Completely weird,” Micah says, extends his elbow. “Did you get a picture? One of those sonogram things?”
Haylee takes his arm as they walk to her car. “Nah, it’s too soon. I really just wanted to check myself out.”
“I get it. I was a little concerned for the baby after your car wash trauma.”
“You and me both. I think I’m still reeling from the whole thing. I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
“Nightmares?”
“No, just discomfort, you know? Man, it’s serious what’s happening to my body.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
Micah notices a woman just outside the building do a double take, then change her path to avoid him.
“Did you see that?” Haylee notices too.
“It’s been happening a lot.”
“The nerve. Oh, that kinda thing just makes my blood boil. Like, do these people even keep up with the news?” Haylee turns around, screams, “He’s innocent, people!”
“Stop.” Micah directs her to her car. “People believe what they want to believe.”
“People are dumb.”
“Do you think Shawn will take Jenna’s case?” Micah lets go of her hand. “Would you like me to drive?”
“I got it this time, but thanks. The morning sickness is gone.” She unlocks the doors, gets in the driver’s side of her 2016 Honda Accord. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve driven this thing. Usually Shawn just takes an Uber or the subway, but he was late. I told him to take the SUV since it was my fault he was running behind.”
“I’m sure he woulda taken the car,” Micah says. “Where’d he have to go in such a rush?”
She starts the ignition, begins to make their way back. “I didn’t mean to avoid your question earlier about Jenna. Actually, Shawn is with Jenna right now. At the police station.”
“Really?” Micah asks.
“I know. I’ve gone round and round about it. Is she guilty? Is she not? Sure looks like she is, but I don’t think Jenna coulda done all that, at least not by herself.”
“The company?”
Haylee stops at a red light, turns to Micah. “Yep.”
C h a p t e r 1 6
THE RED LIGHT on the corner camera begins to flash. Shawn resumes his exploration so the detective can listen in.
“What do you mean Tracy was in fear?” Shawn asks.
“Of someone at Élan,” Jenna replies.
“We think the company is behind both of these murders,” Josh says.
Shawn eyes Josh’s folder. “You have proof?”
Josh pats it. “Patience.”
Shawn shakes his head. “There’s not much left.”
Jenna notices the tension between them. “See, Tracy works in editorial for Press magazine, an Élan publication. Sometimes she writes, most of the time she manages freelancers, decides what stories are good for publication, what needs work, etcetera. For years she was used to having editorial license to print what she pleases, but about a year ago, she started being bullied about certain stories. Some getting the green light no problem, some getting the kibosh by upper management.”
“Upper management at Élan? Like what kind of stories?” Shawn asks.
“Well, here’s a current example. Tracy’s an activist in her normal life, so naturally she’s especially drawn to stories about people of color. Stories of marginalization, the black power and white privilege differential. This case? The one I’ve been arrested for? Tracy had two ideas for stories, one was an exclusive first interview with Lilith McGuire, the white detective who was crucified on the back of that door by Ghost. The other story was an exposé on Ghost himself. Tracy wanted to deep dive into who Ghost really was, where he came from, what happened to him prior to his drug dealing.”
“Which do you think they went with?” Josh interjects.
“The white woman,” Shawn answers. “Typical.”
“Yes, but it was a trick question,” Josh says. “We think that’s what Élan’s vanilla upper management wanted Tracy to think. We think it’s a bit more devious than that. The interview with Lilith would further the narrative of a deranged man concocting a plan with Jenna, therefore shifting the suspicion away from the organization. And the other would inevitably bring up all the evidence they have, including Ghost’s face on the videos found on Jenna’s old work laptop, which would reintroduce the whole camera idea, a proven surveillance technique that the company uses to spy on its employees. Élan’s stock would tumble even more than it already has.”
Shawn leans back, looks back and forth at Jenna and Josh. “Pfft.”
“What?” Jenna asks.
“You people are crazy conspiracy theorists, aren’t you?” he says. He looks up at the camera. “Are you getting all this? Sorry, detective!”
Josh plops his folder open on the table, begins pulling out photos and laying each one on the table between them. A close-up of Josh and Jenna talking with Angelina and West at the party, Josh and Micah bumping into each other on the stairs, Mrs. Gordon fainting on the floor, Tracy and Jenna at Tracy’s apartment, Tracy in her office taken from her computer’s camera, Josh in his office taken from his computer’s camera.
“Jesus,” Shawn says.
“Event photographers capturing more than what they were hired to, illegal cameras in people’s homes, tapping into our computers at work.” Josh shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Who the hell are these Élan people? Where’d you get these?” Shawn asks.
“Oh, there’s more.” Josh pulls something out of his pocket, lays it on the table.
To Shawn, the device looks like one of those new inhalers—oval shaped, about two inches in diameter, white, flat—only with tiny red and yellow bulbs embedded on its edges. “What the hell is that?”
“Some sort of SSD.” Josh turns it around so Shawn can see the USB port. “This tiny thing holds twelve terabytes of information.”
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s what I said. It’s almost at capacity too. I can’t access a lot of it because most files are encrypted, but what I was able to access? Holy shit.”
“Where’d you get that?”
C h a p t e r 1 7
“WHERE’D YOU GET him?” Haylee bends down and grabs the goldendoodle by the face. “How’s the big boy?”
The dog licks her face.
“I bought him.” The teenage girl they’ve just encountered licks her fingers, uses the spit to wipe some a spec of dirt off her pristine Nikes. “Actually, my parents did. Please don’t tell anyone, it’s totally embarrassing. I know I shoulda got a rescue dog.”
&nb
sp; “Well, he’s beautiful.” She turns back to the dog. “Hey there, oh my goodness, you’re a kissy fella, aren’t you? Yes, yes.”
The dog turns and walks to Micah. He bends down, pets his head. The dog starts licking his face.
“Hey there, fella, oh my goodness.” Micah’s pitch and enthusiasm match Haylee’s, as do his words. “You are a kissy fella, aren’t you? Yes, yes.”
The dog walks back to his owner.
“Y’all have a good day.” The young girl and the goldendoodle walk away.
“That’s what you need. A delicious dog.” Haylee says to Micah as they walk along the cobblestone to the Bergen Street subway station. “Someone to keep you company in that big ol’ condo. It might be good for you, once you get back. Where are you going again?”
“Corsica. Three weeks. Lennox planned it a while back. Wanted it to be our second honeymoon. We were supposed to leave in April, but I think I’m gonna move it up a bit, maybe hop around a bit before. I’ve always wanted to travel Europe.”
“I’m really glad you’re doing that.” Haylee opens her arms. “Come here.”
Micah hugs her. “Thank you for the quick lunch. And the conversation.”
“My pleasure. I’m glad we could squeeze that in before my one o’clock.” She releases him. “If you do decide to sell the condo, I can hook you up with a great agent in Brooklyn. We’d love to have you near us. All of us.” She pats her belly.
Micah smiles. “I’ll think about it.”
“Please do. And I’m looking forward to our Lamaze date.” She dramatically breathes in and out as she starts to walk away. “Don’t forget!”
“I still think you’re jumping the gun on Lamaze.” He watches her walk down the street. “You’re eight weeks, Haylee!”
“That’s what my absent husband said!” She flips him off with a smile. “So screw you both!”
He laughs.
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