Last on her to-do list, she called Emily as she walked back to the hotel and left a message when the call went to voice mail. Kathleen wasn’t surprised about that. Emily must be out trying to reconstruct her life, as Kathleen was, and probably didn’t have a phone yet.
A couple of hours later, Emily called back. Kathleen sat on her hotel bed while Emily filled her in on how Skye had slept for eighteen hours. “My mother went out and got me a new phone, some new clothes for Skye and me, and a stroller. We’re waiting until tomorrow to get my new documents. But most importantly, she found firefighter pajamas.”
They both got a chuckle out of that.
“Thank god,” Kathleen said.
“Skye just woke up. The doctor said not to worry about her sleeping so long. But since she woke up, she’s been fixated on Rusty.” Kathleen could hear the distress in Emily’s voice. “She’s crying and asking for him. I keep telling her Rusty is fine, that he’s at his regular home. But she’s inconsolable. I’m pretty sure she thinks Rusty was in the fire. She won’t be all right until she sees that dog. But when I called Puppies-in-Prison, they said I can’t have Rusty here because of my mother’s cat. We won’t get our last weekend with him, and I’m afraid of how Skye will process that.”
Kathleen didn’t have to think twice about what she said next. “I’ve rented an Airbnb on One Hundred Eighty-Sixth Street. Come take a look. It’s two bedrooms. You and Skye can stay with me if you want, and Rusty too.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I love Skye. And besides anything else, I owe you my life.”
“You won’t have a moment of quiet.”
“That sounds just fine.”
CHAPTER
35
CARL REPORTED TO the FBI doctor at Federal Plaza. He could tell that the doctor had already reviewed the medical records Carl’s MS physician had emailed over. The examination was perfunctory. The “back-to-work, desk duty” letter was signed and ready for emailing to human resources before Carl walked out of the office a half hour after he’d arrived.
Carl had never imagined being happy to sit at a desk. But he was ecstatic, and the rush hour commute had been no problem for him today. Six weeks ago, he’d been afraid of falling on the subway, imagining himself unable to get up without help. Now he was pretty sure he’d be fit for full duty soon. He’d read blog posts by cops who had MS and stayed on active duty. He was determined to be one of them.
Carl went to the eighteenth floor of the Federal Building, which took up the equivalent of several square blocks in Tribeca. He checked in with the assistant special agent in charge, Patrick Gendell, who sat in his sunny corner office overlooking Worth Street and Broadway.
“Carl, it’s good to have you back. It’s good timing,” ASAC Gendell said. He was tall and slim with chalk-white skin and wisps of gray hair that used to be red. “We’ve got a lot of forensic work to be done. We’ve been working with City Hall, looking for emails Jackson Mattingly might have sent to Sullivan or his staff.”
“Is it possible he bombed the subway just to get back at Sullivan? You have to wonder for what.”
“It would be bizarre. But a guy who kills a bunch of people without any gripe, much less an ideological justification, isn’t exactly rational—even using the broadest definition of the term. Like Stephen Paddock, the Las Vegas shooter. That one flummoxed us.” The ASAC sighed. “Look at Mattingly’s social media activity and see what you think. You’ll give us a fresh set of eyes. Mattingly followed the mayor on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, using several fake avatars. We’re still finding new email addresses and social media accounts associated with him. This work will be good for you … while you’re getting back to full strength.”
As he noted the ASAC’s cautious tone, a shadow of anxiety edged into Carl’s optimism. “Okay, boss.”
Carl left the office, trying not to ruminate on what Gendell might have left unsaid about Carl’s status. They wouldn’t let him resume full duty until he’d been symptom-free for six months. But, if he had a relapse during that waiting period, they might make him take disability retirement instead of keeping him on light duty. He tried to maintain a positive attitude, but living with uncertainty was not his strong suit. Still, he was thrilled to be working on the Mattingly case, and work would mean a full paycheck coming in. In his mind, failing to contribute to the household he shared with Lauren was not an option. And Alex had a couple of years left of college, so Carl needed his savings.
Toward the end of the afternoon, Rick arrived at the four-person office he shared with Carl and two other agents, including Rick’s new temporary partner. Sunlight streamed in through a window overlooking Broadway, but the room was cool. It was always sweater weather inside the FBI building.
Rick gave Carl a hug and a huge grin. “Good to see you, buddy.”
“Living the dream,” Carl replied glibly.
Rick chucked his chin toward Carl’s computer screen. “What are you doing?”
“I just got off the phone with City Hall. They’re still searching for emails sent to the mayor or his staff from Mattingly’s home IP address. And guess who’s on the City Hall team handling it, our liaison?”
Rick paused. “Not a clue.”
“Emily.”
“Get out. Baby girl has arrived.” Rick sat at his desk, smiling proudly. He’d known Emily since she was sixteen. “Does she have any thoughts on issues Mattingly would have contacted the mayor about?”
“She’s off today. She had a house fire last night.”
“What? Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah, she and Skye are fine. But her building was gutted. They’re at my house.”
“Crazy how life happens.”
“City Hall IT hasn’t finished their search for the emails yet anyway. They’re hoping they can find new email addresses from Jackson’s home IP address. That will give us new leads to track down communications with a handler. The more email addresses, the better.”
Rick smirked. “No subpoena needed to get a hold of emails from this mayor. It’s a lot easier to get cooperation when a mayor’s not the target of the investigation. And with Emily the one we talk to, very promising.”
“Sullivan has been on the scandal-free program, trying to get promoted.” Carl leaned back in his chair, enjoying being in the office, talking about cases and their politics. “If I have to be on desk duty, there’s no better time for it. But Gendell totally dismissed my idea that Mattingly wasn’t the biological child of his parents. You two are on a mind meld there.”
“It’s a red herring, not a priority.” Rick swiveled in his chair to boot up his computer. “If his mother conceived him through an extramarital affair and his father raised him as his own, the tabloids would care, but it wouldn’t mean much for us.”
“Yeah, but it irks, and I’m not so sure it’s irrelevant. What if the father abused him his whole life because of it? That would be formative.”
“Dude was not abused,” Rick said impatiently. “We already know that. My partner, the dog with a bone.”
Carl’s stubbornness when it came to his hunches and Rick’s impatience with him was an old dance. “Some welcome,” he complained.
Rick shook his head and smiled as if he were putting up with a pesky toddler. “You got that right.”
Carl chuckled to himself, feeling ironically soothed by the familiar quibbling.
CHAPTER
36
AT DUSK, EMILY descended a long staircase from a building-lined cliff that connected the eastern and western halves of Washington Heights. At the bottom of the stairs was a modest residential area that lacked the gourmet stores and cute restaurants of the western half of the neighborhood, which real estate agents liked to call Hudson Heights. Emily approached Kathleen’s temporary building on a shady street of mostly six-story apartment buildings, between Overlook Terrace and Bennett Avenue.
An Orthodox Jewish woman of about Emily’s age used her back to push open the glass door to
the building from inside. She held it open as she swung a stroller around to exit. Two preschool-aged children followed and picked up their pace to walk on either side of the stroller. Wearing a wig, long sleeves, and a long skirt, the woman must have been boiling. Emily was wearing a sundress and flip-flops, but sweat dampened her armpits and chest. A child, his white prayer fringe hanging below his shirt and black vest, held the door for Emily. She thanked him.
Emily reveled in the small lobby’s air conditioning. A sign outside the elevator said it stopped automatically on each floor on the Sabbath. Bennett Avenue had a sizable Orthodox population. She wasn’t surprised at the Sabbath accommodations, so residents wouldn’t have to personally use electricity from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. It was a little cheat, like the Amish using van drivers.
Kathleen greeted her at the door to the Airbnb. Kathleen’s clothes had a freshly bought scent when Emily hugged her, and Emily recognized the color scheme of Kathleen’s striped T-shirt. “The Gap?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too.” Emily looked down at her own sundress—which her mother had bought for her that day—in the same royal blue. “It’s my mother’s go-to store for some reason.”
“Really?” There was a faint smile on Kathleen’s face.
Emily looked around as she stepped inside. “Nice,” she said. There were freshly buffed parquet floors and simple furnishings. Trees diffused the sunlight outside the living room window, which faced another building across a courtyard.
“Let me show you the rest.” Kathleen led Emily down a hallway. “Two bedrooms, one with a bath. There’s another bath here in the hallway.” Kathleen opened the bathroom door. “You and Skye could have this bathroom, and I could use the one in the bedroom … if you want to stay, that is.”
“I’d love to,” Emily said without hesitation.
Kathleen smiled broadly. Emily guessed Kathleen was still shaken from the fire and needed the company. Her staying with Kathleen was a win-win.
Emily left to retrieve Skye and their few belongings from her mother’s house. She walked back to Kathleen’s an hour later. While Kathleen cooked dinner, Emily put Skye to sleep in the king-size bed they would share.
“It’s hard to believe it’s only been twenty-four hours,” Kathleen said, putting out plates of pasta with seafood sauce on the dining room table. “I can still smell the fire if I breathe in through my nose.”
Emily served herself salad. “Me too. Do they know whether we’ll be able to go back to the building?”
“There will be inspections to make sure the building can be repaired, then major renovations, but only after the fire investigation is over.”
“Fire investigation?”
Kathleen’s phone vibrated on the table, a call from someone named Greg–Building with a man’s photo. Kathleen put up her finger, signaling a pause in conversation before she answered the phone. “Greg. Hello. Yes, I’m fine, in an Airbnb.”
Emily scrolled through the New York Times on her phone while Kathleen talked with Greg.
“Insurance inspectors?” Kathleen said, drawing Emily’s attention. “Sure, I want to be there. What time?” When Kathleen hung up, she told Emily, “The insurance inspectors come tomorrow. The police have opened an arson investigation, and the insurance company will be investigating too.”
“Arson? That’s insane. Who would want to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Kathleen said.
Emily glanced down at her phone before setting it aside. “Isn’t Ward and Hughes the law firm Sharon called the night she died?”
Kathleen looked over.
“One of their attorneys died,” Emily said. “I just read about it in the Times.”
“What?”
“They’re saying the cause is unknown.”
“What’s his name?”
“Wayne Carrier.” Emily saw Kathleen’s face freeze. “I thought you didn’t know anyone there.”
* * *
Kathleen turned away from Emily. Wayne had been healthy, not a bit worried about his health when she spoke to him. Now he was dead, and Sharon was dead. Was Kathleen the only one alive who knew about Client 13’s relationship with Sharon?
It had to be a coincidence, Wayne and Sharon dying—didn’t it? And the fire?
But what if it wasn’t?
That led her to her next set of questions. Should she tell the police? Would a judge enforce a nondisclosure agreement if she reported a crime? She doubted it. But would a judge enforce an NDA if her concerns were just wild speculation?
Wayne was probably sixty. People that age died from natural causes all the time. Heart attacks. Diabetes. There was no crime to report. Plus, she still had a hard time believing Client 13 was a killer, not to mention a serial killer. She didn’t want to involve him in a police investigation when there was no reason to suspect him of a crime. As Wayne had said, Client 13 had no motive.
She had to try to find out how Wayne had died before she could even consider breaking her NDA. And if his death wasn’t natural, she’d call Client 13. It might be taboo for her to call and ask him about a murdered prostitute he’d once dated, but calling to commiserate about the death of an old mutual friend, his lawyer, was a good excuse. Then she could feel him out, get a better sense of what he knew. Maybe he was as freaked out as her.
“Kathleen.”
She heard Emily as if from a distance.
“There’s someone at the door.”
“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. I was totally in my head. I’ll explain …” Kathleen rose, not sure how she’d explain. She called through the door, “Who is it?”
A male voice. “Police.”
Police? She looked back at Emily, shrugging, mystified. She peered through the peephole, speaking to Emily. “The detectives from Sharon’s case. And others.”
When she opened the door, the cops scowled at her. The two detectives were accompanied by a large-bellied man, so front-loaded Kathleen hoped for his sake he never had to run to save anyone. He was followed inside by a second, willowy cop, as concaved as his partner was front-loaded. None wore uniforms.
Detective Luna spoke. “Ms. Harris, this is Sergeant Johnson and Detective Gatti from the Arson Squad. Can we come in?”
Kathleen stood to the side as they crowded in. “As long as you don’t ransack the place. This is an Airbnb. I don’t want to lose my security deposit.”
The cops looked around, taking in their surroundings from where they stood in the foyer.
Luna continued talking for her team. “You seem to have fallen on your feet.”
“What can I do for you?”
Emily stood back, almost against the wall, and watched the cops interacting with Kathleen. Kathleen caught the flash of anger on Emily’s face. Emily was seeing firsthand how disdainfully the cops treated an ex-con.
Sergeant Johnson stepped forward, pulling his belt up, a fool’s mission—it immediately resettled below his belly. “You’re having some money problems,” he said.
Kathleen frowned. “No. I mean, I don’t know what the fire will cost me, but I have insurance.”
“It looks like this month’s mortgage would have been a wing and a prayer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Motive for arson. The oldest motive in the book. Burn it down for insurance money.”
Kathleen’s chest tightened. He was accusing her of burning down an occupied building? An image of prison bloomed in her mind’s eye, despite the ridiculousness of the accusation. “I always pay my mortgage and have funds to cover it. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Detective Gatti, the wispy one, said, “Why don’t we log into your bank account, if you don’t mind?”
Kathleen didn’t like the idea. She didn’t want to consent. But she walked to a glass desk in the living room where she’d put her laptop, catching sight of Emily, who was visibly taken aback. This whole fiasco was so far outside the younger woman’s reality.
K
athleen logged in, facing the laptop away from the curious cops. “It’s going to take a couple of minutes. I’ve never logged onto my bank account from this computer. They’ll probably send me an email with a security code.”
“We’ve got plenty of time,” Detective Luna said.
* * *
By the time Kathleen reached her accounts, she was prepared for what she’d see. The cops were too confident not to have seen it already. They must have gotten a warrant to look at her accounts—which meant they had to have evidence to support their theory that she’d committed arson. She coached herself not to show any emotion. She wasn’t the woman she’d been when she was in the Life, engulfed in a risky lifestyle. She was less armored now to deal with this level of fear. But she couldn’t show her weakness. Not to them. It wouldn’t get her any sympathy, and she’d lose any power she had.
Her jowls fell when she took in the reality of her overdrawn checking account. Her money, over fifty thousand dollars in her business account, was gone. She clicked into her savings account. Zero. The investment account she kept with the bank contained only a few hundred dollars, not even enough for a month’s mortgage payment. She looked up into the steely faces of the cops, their eyes betraying how self-satisfied they were in this moment.
“It had to be identity theft,” she said.
“Sure you’re right,” Sergeant Johnson said. “You’ll have to come with us.”
Emily lurched forward. “Wait a second! What are you doing?”
Detective Luna strong-armed Emily back. “You should pick your friends more carefully. Or you could end up in jail with her. We don’t care where you work.”
CHAPTER
37
LAST IN THE chained line of women exiting the paddy wagon, Kathleen braced herself. The corrections officer’s keys jangled, a familiar sound even more than twenty-five years after the last time she’d heard it. She was back, 100 Center Street, downtown. Kathleen was trapped and afraid. This possible future had long ago presented an unacceptable risk in her mind. It was the chief reason she’d retired. It had only been desperation that motivated her to ever take the risk.
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