Gone by Morning

by Michele Weinstat Miller

  Once upstairs, Emily settled Kathleen in the living room with pillows to prop her up. Lauren sat at the opposite end of the couch near Kathleen’s feet.

  “I agree with Emily,” Lauren said. “You need to call a security company until we have a better handle on what’s going on. You can’t trust cops, fine. Understandable, under the circumstances. But you have to trust someone.”

  Emily observed her mother, the way she made it seem as if she were mostly worried about Emily’s safety, since Emily had insisted on staying with Kathleen for now. But Emily was starting to think her mother’s feelings were shifting, taking in the new reality of Kathleen, maybe wanting that reality. Emily thought Lauren’s loss of her mother had been like an itch she couldn’t scratch her whole adult life, an itch so deep she hadn’t even known it was there until she got some relief from it.

  Emily wondered if there wasn’t a little bit of truth in that for herself. Kathleen had been a phantom limb for Emily too. She’d grown up without any extended family, no grandparents, no cousins. Since high school, Hector’s family—cousins, grandparents, aunts—had become her extended family. But how long would that last if Hector became serious about another woman? It was surprising that he hadn’t already.

  Emily pushed away her own unruly train of thought, feeling an infusion of sadness at the idea of losing her connection to Hector’s family … and to Hector too.

  “I have a couple of guys that used to bounce for me in the old days,” Kathleen said, her face sagging from exhaustion after the short trip from the hospital. “We took pride in being an all-female operation. It was empowering. Women in charge of their own sexuality. There was esteem in it for the women, especially the ones who’d shed pimps to work with me. But a large man in the picture was a good deterrent in case of a crazy john, and they kept pimps from making a move on my business.”

  Lauren began to leave the living room. “I’ll get some tea.” Emily thought her mother just wasn’t up to waxing nostalgic about Kathleen’s criminal heyday.

  Kathleen spoke to Lauren’s back. “I can call and see if they’re still available for work. That’s all I was saying.”

  Emily digested Kathleen’s change. She wasn’t used to seeing the self-assured woman so needy for acceptance. It was Lauren who did that to her. Emily wished she could talk some sense into her mother, but she was only now starting to internalize how deeply painful Lauren’s loss of her mother had been when she was a kid. And heartbreaking for Kathleen too. Lauren and Kathleen both blamed Kathleen. It was a mess. Emily wished all the tension could dissolve already.

  Emily spoke to Kathleen. “I’ll bring your phone. You can call your guys. It’s in your bag?”

  The intercom buzzed, startling Emily as she retrieved Kathleen’s pocketbook from a small wooden table in the foyer next to the front door. Emily pressed a button on the intercom on the wall over the table. “Who is it?”

  “Hector.”

  Emily buzzed him in. Fear gripping her, she turned back to her mother. “Why is he here? Why didn’t he call? Skye!”

  “Skye’s fine. She’s with Hector’s sister.” Lauren calmed her quickly.

  Emily frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “Hector and I were talking earlier,” Lauren said mildly.

  Emily looked disapprovingly at her mother, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Talking earlier? You invited my ex-boyfriend to my house? You can’t possibly be matchmaking at a time like this.”

  “Me?” Lauren put her palm to her chest as if she’d never do a thing like that, even though Hector seemed to spend more time at Lauren’s house than Emily did. Those two were definitely in cahoots.

  “Is that Skye’s father?” Kathleen asked from the living room. “It will be good to meet him.”

  Emily didn’t know what to think about Hector coming here. She felt an unwelcome anticipation about seeing him, plus a bit of resentment. By the time Hector’s knock sounded at the door, Emily was pissed at her mother for inviting him—but she was also happy.

  Lauren came out of the kitchen to the foyer, both Lauren and Kathleen far more interested in the arrival of Emily’s ex-boyfriend than she thought appropriate. “What’s up with you guys?” she asked them.

  “Nada,” Kathleen said. “I’m just interested in the famous Hector.”

  Kathleen and Lauren cracked up.

  “Jesus, there are two of you now.”

  Emily looked out the peephole to see Hector. She opened the door and took in his smile. Then she lurched backward, an unexpected pressure on her leg. Wet. She looked down.

  “Rusty! Rusty, oh my god!” She bent down to take the dog’s face in her hands and hugged him. She spoke through laughter as he licked her. “What is he doing here?”

  “Can I come in?” Hector kissed Emily on the cheek when she rose and edged past her to come inside without waiting for an answer. He handed Rusty’s leash to Emily. “Thank your grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother bought him for you,” Lauren said.

  Emily closed the door and found herself dancing across the room to carefully hug Kathleen. “I can’t believe it. Skye is going to go through the roof. Thank you!”

  CHAPTER

  65

  THE MAN SAT in City Hall Park. A shady path lined with benches cut across the park between the backs of the nineteenth-century City Hall and the Tweed Courthouse. His burner phone rang. The fry cook, Cesar. The name of a guy who was born to rule, or at least born to think he should rule. He’d ruled in prison—the most ridiculous concept, if the asshole would just think about it.

  “Yo,” Cesar said.

  “Is it over?”

  “Nah, man.”

  An Asian tourist family—a woman, two ponytailed preschoolers, and a grandmother—spotted a black squirrel and ran up to the bench where the man was. They excitedly offered nuts to the animal, and it posed for their photos.

  “I’ve got your money,” Cesar said. “You can have it back.”

  It took a moment to process what he was hearing. The man’s spine thrummed with tense electricity. He didn’t do well if a restaurant steak came to his table undercooked, or if a woman moved the wrong way when he was about to climax. This offside kick by Cesar could not be happening.

  “You can come get your money,” Cesar said. “The job is canceled.”

  The man snarled his answer. “There was no fucking cancelation clause in our contract.”

  “There is always a cancelation clause, my man. And if you give me the feeling you got a problem with that, I might cancel your ass. I ain’t afraid of you.”

  “What?” The man’s face turned red-hot. One of the little tourist girls turned from the squirrel and stared at him. He whisper-growled into the phone, “You trying to stick me up for more money?”

  “You are one hardheaded motherfucker. No. It’s the girl. We’ve seen her. She’s off-limits. Her and her family. And look, I’m not trying to blow future business opportunities. It’s not personal. But one more thing—stay the fuck out of my hood. Don’t be sending nobody else in here to do it.”

  CHAPTER

  66

  EMILY AND LAUREN drove past brownstones and storefronts, the trees feeble and sparse in this part of East Harlem. Lauren had agreed to go with her to Angela’s. Emily was glad to have a second person. Two was better than one, for safety and to avoid missing important pieces of information. That’s why cops and investigators always worked in pairs.

  Kathleen had reached her bouncer friends and they’d agreed to help, but they wouldn’t arrive until tonight. Hector had said he had no problem hanging out with Kathleen for a couple of hours until his sister needed to go to work and he had to get Skye. Emily had tried to object, but she’d been touched by his insistence.

  Lauren parked in front of a relatively new brown-brick building that took up half the block. Emily knew it was probably a subsidized building for low- or moderate-income people. She’d attended several groundbreakings with the mayor for bui
ldings like this one.

  On the third floor, a young girl with dark eyes and a shy smile cracked open the black-metal apartment door. She turned sideways to speak inside: “Grandma, it’s two ladies.”

  “Bring them in,” a voice called. Emily smelled broiling meat when they walked inside the open-layout apartment, the kitchen to their right separated from the dining and living area by a breakfast bar. A large pot boiled on the stove, letting off starchy steam.

  A heavyset woman with high cheekbones wiped her hands on a dishrag. “Excuse me, my hands are a bit wet. I’m Maria.”

  Lauren shook her hand, “My mother, Kathleen, was a friend of Sharon’s … since Sharon’s college days.”

  Maria’s eyes hardened as if there’d been a bait and switch. “Angela said Kathleen was coming.”

  “I’m the one Angela met at Bedford,” Emily said. “My grandmother just got out of the hospital today. She couldn’t come.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Maria’s eyes softened. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  “She’ll be okay. Thank you.”

  “Sharon talked about Kathleen,” Maria said. “She was like a mother to her.”

  Emily looked toward Lauren, seeing a flicker of pain in her eyes and the lightest inhale. There was a whole minefield inside her mother. She didn’t envy Kathleen if she wanted to navigate that.

  Maria motioned them to follow her through the dining room area. A wooden table rested on an IKEA rug of deep-blue and beige squares that left a border of polished wood. In the living room area beyond, the girl who’d answered the door had resumed watching television on a couch next to large windows. Venetian blinds were three-quarters closed to keep out prying eyes from the building across the street. Beside the girl, a younger boy sat with his legs straight out in front of him on the couch.

  “Sharon was a beautiful person,” Maria said sadly. “She liked it here. She liked my cooking. And she liked being around people. It was better than her empty apartment. Sharon didn’t talk about it much, but Angela told me Sharon’s apartment was in the best neighborhood, in the lap of luxury. But she preferred a real home. I was happy to have her.” Maria walked with them toward the apartment hallway. “Sharon didn’t stop coming around after Angela went back upstate. She brought toys for the kids, my favorite pastries from Veniero’s in the East Village, and fresh crabs from Citarela’s, because she liked how I made them. I didn’t need financial help, but she always tried to do something to cheer me up, with Angela gone.”

  Maria took in Emily, as if assessing her one more time. “Angela said you help raise dogs.”

  “Yes.”

  “That program has done so much for Angela. Unfortunately, drugs and alcohol are a powerful demon that dogs don’t cure. Though you have to wonder whether things would have been better if she’d been able to get a job working with animals when she came out last time.” Maria sighed sadly. “I told Angela I’d let you look around her room for things that might be Sharon’s. Let me show you what’s there.”

  They followed Maria down the hall, past several bedrooms, and entered a room with a queen-sized bed, blue walls, and lace curtains. There were a few karate trophies on a shelf and a trade school diploma on the wall.

  “I’ll leave you be.” Maria turned back to them before she left. “Just one more thing. I need to say it. I don’t believe what they’re saying about how Sharon died. I knew she danced. I know that often goes with prostitution … even though it was never discussed with me. But Sharon was no fool. I’m glad she has someone asking questions on her behalf. What the newspaper said about her being killed turning tricks makes no sense to me. So, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Emily said. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  Maria turned and left.

  “We have to look here.” Emily picked up a corner of the mattress.

  “Let me help,” Lauren said, lifting the side of the mattress with Emily.

  A plastic freezer bag lay on the box spring. They could see right away what it held, although the plastic was scratched and dull with age. Inside it, forlorn and lonely, was a tiny hospital bracelet laid flat next to a larger one. Lauren let go of her side of the mattress and pulled out the bag. Emily dropped the mattress and looked on as Lauren unzipped the bag. Lauren pulled out the baby bracelet first and laid it gently in the palm of her hand as if it were the baby itself.

  Emily pulled the larger hospital band from the bag and read. “Elyse Mattingly. The mother.” Her heart pounded. Her eyes met Lauren’s.

  “Oh my god,” Lauren said. She murmured at the bracelet in her hand. “Baby Boy Mattingly.”

  Emily gave Lauren the bracelet and pulled her phone out. She Googled Elyse Mattingly, even though she already knew the answer. Her hands shook. The whole world would want to know that Sharon was Jackson Mattingly’s real mother and that a rich person, probably a powerful person, was his father, a man who might be willing to do anything to keep it a secret, no matter whom he hurt … or killed.

  Emily struggled for breath as the page loaded onto her phone. She read aloud, “‘Elyse Mattingly. Deceased mother of Jackson Mattingly.’”

  “That’s the motive,” Lauren said, fear etched on her face. “Sharon, the mother. Wayne Carrier, the lawyer who drafted the nondisclosure agreements and maybe set up the whole adoption.”

  “And Kathleen,” Emily said. “The most likely person that Sharon would have told, the person Sharon called after the bombing. Wayne Carrier must have told the father that Sharon called Kathleen that night. If Kathleen had died, everyone who could connect the dots would have been gone.”

  Lauren thought aloud, “And if anyone investigated, there would be a plausible explanation for their deaths—Kathleen was a criminal in debt, and Wayne Carrier was a pedophile who killed himself when he was caught. Who would look further?”

  “Sharon, too,” Emily said. “They dumped her body on North Beach to make it look like she was one of the prostitutes killed by a serial killer. The police have clearly grabbed that as an easy explanation. The killer was smart enough not to leave any evidence that would steer the police in any other direction.

  “And Mom, what if me seeing the person Sharon went with makes me a threat too? A couple of times, I thought somebody might have been following me. I’m not sure, but …” Emily took the bag with the bracelets and put it in her backpack. “We have to call Carl. Sorry, Mom. Mattingly is his case, anyway.”

  “You’re right. This changes everything.”

  CHAPTER

  67

  THE MAN JUMPED up from his park bench, so absorbed in his rage that he paced mindlessly for a minute. Looking askance at him, the Asian mom ushered her daughters away, leaving the black squirrel on its hind legs, pissed, probably thinking, Fucking tourists.

  Always a guy who tied up loose ends, the man called and said he wouldn’t be back at work after lunch.

  He made a second call. According to Kathleen Harris’s GPS signal, she had left the hospital and was now back in her home-arrest cuff at the Airbnb. Emily had called out of work and picked up Kathleen from the hospital this morning. She was with Kathleen.

  He’d never expected to get his own hands dirty. But it had become increasingly obvious that this matter called for micromanagement, family rules notwithstanding. His entire family was at stake, even if some of them failed to comprehend the need for extraordinary measures. But beyond the logical reasons for his actions, his rage drove him. Rage and hatred. He could accept nothing less than complete control of the situation and obliteration of those who could threaten him. Joy swirled in with his rage at the prospect of personally doing something about it. He imagined Jackson had felt the same when he planted his bombs.

  Fuck Cesar and his warning to stay out of his neighborhood. Cesar’s delusions of grandeur were incredible. Money could buy anything. At the snap of a finger, he could exterminate Cesar’s whole street crew without leaving a trace. He could even set it up to incriminate Cesar’
s rival gang. Hilarious. The city would be grateful. He added Cesar to his mental list of upcoming tasks in need of resolution.

  First, the current situation though. Far from resolved. For now.

  The man walked the path through City Hall Park toward Broadway, coming back into his calmly rational self with each breath. He’d be ready for action quickly, and he was only mildly concerned about being caught. He’d been bailed out plenty of times, and if everything went to shit, he was confident he’d be bailed out again. The downside risk of doing nothing was far greater than his concern about being caught. Charged up by the potential risks and rewards of his do-it-yourself project, he called his driver to come get him.

  CHAPTER

  68

  EMILY SAT BESIDE Kathleen on the love seat catty-corner to the couch where Kathleen lay propped up with pillows. Hector sat down next to Emily. With Lauren looking on, Emily handed Kathleen the bracelets. “The baby’s hospital bracelets.”

  Kathleen read the bracelets. “No.”

  “Elyse Mattingly was the adoptive mother’s name,” Emily said. “The baby was Baby Boy Mattingly. Same birth date as Jackson Mattingly.”

  “That’s a motive for killing anyone who knows about Mattingly’s connection to the father,” Lauren said.

  Emily said to Kathleen, “That’s why Sharon wanted to talk to you so badly the night of the subway bombing. She knew Jackson Mattingly was her child.”

  “It wouldn’t have been vigilantes who killed her—nobody knew she was Mattingly’s mother,” Kathleen mused.

  “Only the father knew. It had to be the father,” Lauren said.

  “No one would want to be outed as the father of a terrorist,” Kathleen agreed.

  “The father would know his NDA was meaningless if his son was a notorious mass murderer,” Emily said. “It would be a huge temptation for anyone who knew about the illegal adoption to make money from that secret. A tabloid or book deal would probably pay as much as the two-million-dollar penalty for breaking the NDA.”