Wicked Little Secret (Paranormal in Manhattan 3)

by Lotta Smith

  Even though Rowling muttered about being ripped off, he paid Brian the asking price anyway. He then threw the car key to Brian, telling the exorcist to ditch the car in the parking lot by the station. Brian was traumatized by the chopper ride and preferred to take the train back to the city.

  Rowling then took me to one of the huge mansions where the chopper was stationed. According to him, the owner of the property rented out her heliport. It was the first time for me to ride a helicopter and I was thrilled—like all of the sudden, I had developed an inner goddess within myself.

  “By the way, Mandy, I kept my promise and brought Brian to you. Now it’s your turn to keep yours,” Jackie reminded me before boarding.

  “Umm, Rick,” I said to Rowling, who was handing me some ear muffs. “I have a question.”

  “Okay. Go ahead.”

  “It’s about the upcoming ski trip to Switzerland. Is my previous invitation still open? I mean, if it’s still open, I’d really like to come with you.” I intended to talk like a rational adult, but I was babbling uncontrollably. “But, if you’ve already invited someone else, just forget about me asking and enjoy your trip.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “You had no interest in the trip. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Well, while I was on the train, I thought about it and I seriously regret having rejected your bribe card.” Then I realized that I had no potential incentive for my boss. Also, he could have already invited someone else. “But if you have already invited someone else…” I grew hesitant as I uttered these words. I’d seen photos of him smiling arm in arm with beautiful women—supermodels, Hollywood starlets, and socialites. Oh my God… I’m so out of his league. My newly found inner goddess covered her face with both hands and ran away.

  A corner of his lips quirked into a smile. “Actually, I was thinking about canceling the trip because things were getting rowdy with a dozen women fighting over who gets to accompany me to Zermatt. Still, as you have no plans for the vacation and you have no social life, I’ll let you come with me.” He had the audacity to add, “After all, it doesn’t hurt to take a pity on my assistant once in a while,” with a wink.

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Eyeing Jackie with an “Are you satisfied now?” glare, I managed to say, “Many thanks to your generosity, but I had a plan of my own.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like… sleeping till noon and binge-watching Veep episodes. How cool is that?”

  Rowling snorted. “Thanks for choosing mine over your fabulous plan.” Pulling me close to him, he escorted me into the helicopter.

  Two days later, the killers of David Holtz were arrested. They were exact matches to the victim’s testimony, and one of them had an army knife with Holtz’s DNA. Agent Mike Petite forgave my prior faux pas, and all was well.

  Until another case popped up.

  CHAPTER 4

  Following the arrest of David Holtz’s killers, Agent Petite was impressed and deliriously happy. Four days after the rather intimate—but apparently unromantic—encounter with David Holtz, Rowling and I had a new case. Thanks to Agent Petite’s passionate advocacy of my communication skill with dead people, Agent Drake Woo from the White Collar Crime Unit called us for possible collaboration.

  As the case came in on short notice, Rowling had me review the case file on the way to the crime scene.

  I didn’t complain about the rushed circumstances. Since I had agreed to tag along with him on a trip to Switzerland, I wasn’t keen on arguing with him. To tell the truth, I was more than happy to take some time off from my folks. They were very loving, but quite a handful. Not that Rowling was easy to deal with, though. While heading for the parking lot, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Thanks in advance for driving safely.” In general, riding shotgun in a Ferrari might be fun, but that wasn’t the case when my boss was the driver. He had zero respect for traffic laws, and basically his driving manner was equivalent to that of a NASCAR driver, or a meth-crazed baboon.

  “You’re welcome. Oh, did I mention I have a spotless driving record?” He chuckled, unlocking the silver Ferrari.

  “Don’t forget that your clean record is solely based on the countermeasure to the traffic cameras,” I reminded him, getting into the vehicle. He drove like a cocaine-fueled maniac, but traffic cameras always failed to catch his vehicle because of slow response on the camera’s part. “Anyway, I can’t read anything in the car speeding like we’re competing in the Daytona 500.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” A corner of his mouth quirked up as he revved the engine.

  According to the case file, the victim’s name was Ellie Hochman, a twenty-nine-year-old designer working for an interior decoration firm. Four days ago—while I was on the train being possessed by the ghost of a tech company executive—Ellie was found dead.

  Apparently, she failed to come to the office despite having an important meeting scheduled on that day. She was a model employee and never missed work without notice. Several colleagues tried to contact her, but she never picked up the phone or replied to texts or social media messages. Ellie missed work the following two consecutive days as well, again without notice. As her place was in walking distance from the office, Adam Dawson—her direct supervisor—and two of her concerned friends from work visited her apartment at lunchtime. They’d discovered her newspapers piled up on her doorstep.

  Having a bad feeling, they called the police, who asked the building manager to open the door. When they entered, they found Ellie hanging, dead.

  There was no sign of struggle, and from the look of the scene, her death seemed like a suicide. The FBI wouldn’t be involved in such a case, except the autopsy revealed her body was hung postmortem. Considering it was impossible to hang yourself when you’re dead, suicide was ruled out.

  The reason for the White Collar Crime Unit to take this case was because Ellie Hochman was a person of interest in an art heist that occurred at a gallery uptown ten months ago.

  On the day of the heist, the gallery was holding a special exhibition of the edgiest contemporary art. Except for some fine pieces rented by individual collectors, most of the art pieces were not only for show, but also for sale. Ellie was in charge of assisting customers visiting one of the exhibition rooms and the main exhibit, which was a sculpture worth five million. She claimed she was assaulted by a potential customer. She and the security guard were distracted by a man complaining about his wallet being missing. She said she remembered searching for the wallet, and then she woke up on the floor. The manager of the gallery had discovered Ellie and the security guard passed out and the five-million-dollar sculpture gone. Security cameras and alarms were all over the place, but the ones in the ambushed room had been disabled.

  It took only a few minutes for the customers to be rounded up and the police to be called. The security company manning the exhibition shut down the gallery, allowing no one in or out of the building. Other security cameras were intact; however, none of them caught the stolen object leaving the gallery.

  “This case sounds familiar,” Rowling interjected as I read the file aloud. “The heist took place in a gallery called Leonardo’s in the Upper West Side, right? If I recall correctly, the stolen sculpture was less than a foot tall, weighing only ten pounds or so.”

  “Yes, the file says so,” I confirmed. Thankfully, Rowling was driving slower than usual, and I managed to read the file without getting sick. “Due to the small size of the stolen object, stealing the sculpture wasn’t a difficult task. Suspicion was cast on the gallery staff, especially on Ellie Hochman, Connor Avery—the security guard—and the manager named Adrian Micelli. After ten months of investigating, the sculpture still hasn’t been recovered, and now one of the suspects has been murdered. It sure sounds fishy.”

  Skipping the photographs of Ellie Hochman’s corpse, I focused my gaze on the ones featuring the art gallery. Okay, so I’d gone through gross anatomy cadaver dissection during my days in medical school
, but unlike voluntarily donated cadavers, murdered corpses had truly shadowy elements that drove me to look away. Not to mention real corpses tended to bleed while the cadavers for dissection didn’t as donated cadavers went through the preparation process in which their blood had been drained and replaced with preservative liquid.

  Anyway, in the pre-robbery photo, the exhibition room had modern, edgy lighting that resembled a dance floor at a nightclub. The metal abstract sculpture shaped like a peach was the only piece exhibited in that room. The sculpture was mounted on top of a black pedestal. The room in the post-robbery photo didn’t look disturbed, except for the missing sculpture.

  One of the strange things about this robbery was that no footage of the bandit carrying the stolen sculpture, or a large bag or box that could have accommodated the stolen object, had been recorded, even though the security cameras in the corridors were properly functioning. The mode of the heist was quite obscure, which brought the staff at the gallery like Ellie under scrutiny.

  Before we finished reviewing the case file, we arrived at a low-rise apartment in Chelsea. When I called Agent Woo’s cell phone, he came out of the building to meet us.

  Agent Woo could have passed as an art dealer. The handsome, soft-spoken Asian-American was well-dressed, yet managed to stay away from looking showoff-y. “Agent Rowling, Ms. Meyer, I appreciate your coming.” He displayed a polite smile and led us to the elevator. While waiting for it, he gave us an additional briefing about the case. According to Agent Woo, his unit had a chance to conduct another thorough search of Ellie Hochman’s home following her murder. There was no sign of the sculpture.

  “So my mission is to ask Ellie about the whereabouts of the sculpture, right?” I asked in the elevator. It sounded like an easy task. Assuming I’d be able to contact the ghost of Ellie Hochman, she should be able to answer my question.

  “Actually, it’s not so simple.” Agent Woo shook his head. “The murder being related to the heist is a possibility. Then again, it’s also possible that the victim had nothing to do with the heist. On the contrary, this case might be a crime of passion.”

  “You sound as if you have some suspects,” Rowling commented as the elevator door opened.

  “Actually, the victim had an ex-boyfriend who turned pretty bitter,” Agent Woo explained as we proceeded to Ellie Hochman’s unit. “His name is Adrian Micelli.”

  “The manager at the gallery?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Agent Woo admitted. “The two of them were engaged at the time of the heist. Both of them were fired after the robbery, but their relationship survived until two months ago.”

  “Their relationship lasts after the heist, murder followed shortly after the split. Hmm… fishy,” Rowling said.

  “I know.” Agent Woo nodded. “Generally speaking, being victims of a heist is a bad experience, especially considering they became unemployed following that. Still, they might have kept their relationship to demonstrate that the case didn’t matter to them. Anyway, Ellie landed the interior designer job six months ago. Adrian was still hopping odd jobs, so Ellie called it quits. Micelli didn’t take it well.”

  The bureau had been monitoring all parties involved in the heist, including Ellie Hochman and Adrian Micelli. According to Agent Woo, Micelli had been sending harassing e-mails and phone calls to Ellie following the breakup. One of Micelli’s e-mails contained the phrase “Don’t even imagine you can get away with what you have committed.”

  “That could be a reference to the heist or just sour grapes,” Rowling observed. “Still, the murder makes a good excuse to run another search around Micelli.”

  “Yes. We did another ransack at Micelli’s place, but there was no sign of the sculpture,” Agent Woo confirmed.

  Returning to the topic of the murder scene, Agent Woo disclosed that the forensics team was able to isolate imprints of male running shoes from Ellie’s place. Considering that all shoeprints from the apartment consisted of those of the victim and her two friends from work—both women—the male shoe impressions were anomalous. Unfortunately, the running shoes were of cheap mass production, and tens of thousands of them had been sold.

  “Does Micelli own a pair of those shoes?” Rowling asked.

  “Yes.” Agent Woo nodded. “Of course, he denied any involvement with the murder, which wasn’t surprising. Also, his alibi checked out.”

  In a nutshell, whether Ellie was guilty of the heist or not, finding her killer would be a huge help for the White Collar Crime Unit. Their priority was recovering the sculpture, so even if she turned out to be innocent, being able to eliminate her as a suspect would be beneficial. Removing one person from the list might not lead them to the lost sculpture, but finding her murderer might, and considering the context of the crime, she was expected to have seen her killer.

  * * *

  Ellie Hochman’s apartment was in pristine condition. No clutter. No scattered personal belongings. Nothing was peeking out of the drawers. The floors and furniture were polished, and the white cloth over the wall was spotless. The only item on the dining table was a red and white polka-dot place mat.

  “She was hanging from the doorframe over there.” Leading us inside, Agent Woo indicated the entrance to the bedroom. He was pointing at a plastic cone labeled #5 on the floor.

  Walking into the bedroom after Agent Woo, I nodded. “I see.”

  The bedroom was also organized and the bed was neatly made.

  “No sign of a forced entry,” Rowling noted as he stepped inside the bedroom.

  “Right. In addition, nothing has been stolen. Two hundred bucks in cash was untouched in her wallet, and she was fully clothed—”

  “Excuse me, Agent Woo. Would you mind…?” Interrupting Agent Woo, I raised my finger in front of my mouth.

  “Oh.” The agent gaped. Then he whispered, “Is she here?”

  “Yes.” I indicated the bed by one wall. A ghost of a woman was sitting on the bed. It was Ellie Hochman; I recognized her face from the case file. Except in the photo, she had been smiling like she hadn’t a care in the world. Her ghost seemed to be pale and depressed.

  “All right, go ahead and interview her. Don’t get yourself taken over, okay?” Rowling warned me.

  Nodding to my boss, I approached the bed as Rowling and Agent Woo waited in the doorway. The room itself ran small—approximately a hundred square feet or so—and I was a little intimidated by having such a close audience, but following the David Holtz incidence, Rowling refused to let me talk to ghosts without his presence.

  “Hello, Ms. Hochman. Can you hear me?” I asked. Clad in a navy T-shirt and yoga pants, she was glaring at the wall.

  At first I wasn’t sure if I would be able to draw her attention, but then she looked at me.

  “Hi, my name is Amanda Meyer. I’m with the FBI and I’d like to ask you a few questions.” I tried to deliver my speech as nonchalantly as possible. I intentionally avoided using words like murder and death. Why bother telling the bad news when you’re not even asked to do so? Sometimes messengers do get shot.

  But my concern was unfounded.

  “I… I… I need your help!” Jumping up, she tried to grab my arms, but her hand slid through me. Still, she continued breathlessly, “I was murdered! My ex-boyfriend, Adrian Micelli, killed me. He’d been stalking me, and then he killed me!”

  “What?” I squeaked. “Are you sure? But—” Agent Woo had just told us Micelli had an alibi.

  “He’s my killer. You have to catch him,” Ellie demanded, looking straight in my eyes. Her formerly cheerful brown eyes were now glaring with blinding darkness. Shadows shouldn’t shine, but the blackness in Ellie’s eyes flared like a supernova. I was drawn to the darkness. It wasn’t good. I willed myself to avert my eyes, but it was no use.

  “Mandy, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  When Rowling shook my shoulders, it broke the spell I was under, and I realized I wasn’t breathing.

  “Ms. Meyer, are you all rig
ht?” Next to my boss, Agent Woo was furrowing his eyebrows in concern.

  “I’m good,” I said, taking a deep breath. I wasn’t really sure if I was or not, but I definitely felt better as I took in the wonderful scent of my boss’ fragrance and himself. “Ellie Hochman is accusing Adrian Micelli of her murder.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Following the encounter with Ellie, Agent Woo asked me to repeat her words at least five times.

  I thought he was scrutinizing me, but when he asked, “Have ghosts ever lied to you?” my jaw dropped.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?” I replied. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

  According to Agent Woo, Micelli’s alibi was solid. He had won a trip from a sweepstakes and had been staying in Maui during the time Ellie was killed. Micelli only returned to the city two days following the discovery of Ellie’s body. When he was questioned by the FBI, he denied any involvement with the murder or the heist. Micelli admitted to leaving Ellie harassing messages, but he also admitted his stupidity for doing that. In addition, he stated that winning the trip had changed him.

  “According to Micelli, he met a new girlfriend while staying on the island, and he found himself wondering what had gotten him into obsessing with Ellie,” Agent Woo informed us. “In addition, he purchased a lotto ticket at the airport and won around three million dollars. He was sporting a happy attitude when we interviewed him, and didn’t seem to be hanging on to any grudges.” He shook his head.

  With nothing more to learn from Ellie, Agent Woo thanked us and told Rowling that he’d call later, and we parted ways.

  “Do ghosts ever lie?” I asked while riding shotgun in Ferrari.