“Was he involved?”
“My partner and I didn’t think so. Sipher fractured his ankle the week before Thanksgiving and was having a seriously tough time getting around on crutches. He lived on the second floor of the building, and it just didn’t seem likely that he went up the stairs to the roof. On top of that, there was a commotion in his hallway. A neighbor heard a girl crying in front of his door, begging him to open it. He wouldn’t. That neighbor said Sipher never opened the door to her.”
“By any chance, was that girl Cori Stanton?”
“Believe me, we thought of that. Sipher denied it. He was a dirtball about it. I remember him saying, ‘You don’t think I’d go near white trash like that, do you?’”
“A real prince.” Rafael’s eyebrows shot up. “There was no way you could prove a connection?”
Sheryn shook her head. “I remember Sipher telling us that he’d warned Traynor not to get involved with her. He dropped some hints that backed up Kevin Stanton’s version, that Traynor and the dead girl had been sleeping together. He wouldn’t state it outright, though. Overall, he said nothing to condemn Traynor, but nothing to help him either. I remember thinking he didn’t seem like much of a friend.”
“How does he fit into the Emily Teare picture?”
“Will Sipher inherited his mother’s house in the Bronx,” Sheryn said. “Remember where we found the car this morning? It’s walking distance from Riverdale.”
“Sure. From the Bronx Zoo as well,” Rafael pointed out.
“I know it’s a tenuous connection. It’s all I’ve got right now.”
“What’s our next move? Check up on Will Sipher or Christopher Lee? Your call.”
Sheryn froze in place. “My call?”
“Flip a coin. Sipher or Lee?”
“No, no, no,” Sheryn said, typing furiously at her computer. “You’re a freaking genius, partner. The calls. There we go.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“These are Cori Stanton’s phone records,” Sheryn said. “She had bundles of calls from burner phones. We figured that was because she was dealing drugs. Maybe it was. But Emily Teare was getting an awful lot of calls from burner phones too. They follow the same pattern.”
CHAPTER 28
EMILY
Stop calling me. I’m telling you it’s over.
If there were ever any words that haunted Emily, it was the last words she’d spoken on the phone.
In her subterranean prison, she floated in and out of consciousness. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, or even how much time there was between her short intervals of waking and sleeping.
She tried to retrace every moment of Friday evening in her mind.
She’d come home from work. She’d been on edge. Who was she kidding, she thought. She was always on edge. The past year she’d been balancing on the blade of a knife. One false move, and it was over.
But that voice in her head mocked her. Only for the past year? It knew her too well. Even as a child, Emily had tried to run faster and jump higher and do whatever necessary to push herself ahead. She was like a rat in a wheel, only that wheel was her entire life. There was no way to slow down.
Stop calling me. I’m telling you it’s over.
He wouldn’t stop calling. She knew what he wanted, but her answer was going to be the same no matter what. A flat, solid no, a refusal that she should have made months earlier, when he’d first approached her. No. How hard would that have been? Only she couldn’t do it. Now she was paying the price. She’d thought she was being careful, recording their last few conversations. It felt like an insurance policy stored on her phone, uploaded into the digital cloud. But he likely had her phone, and even if he didn’t, none of the people looking for her would be able to guess the long, random string of characters she used as a pass code.
“I’m no good to you dead,” she said, startling herself, because she hadn’t planned to speak aloud. Was she losing her mind? Whatever he was drugging her with made her feel like she was clawing through ether even when she was awake. It was in her water, or in her food, or both, because she woke up thirsty and hungry, her mouth dry like desert sand, and as soon as she quenched those desires, she went under again.
There was no way to win, she told herself. Except not to play.
She was hungry. She was thirsty. If she denied both those urges, maybe she could wake up, shake the cobwebs off her brain, figure a way out.
She lay there for what felt like a long time. She had discipline—there was no doubt about that. And that was one advantage she had over him: he had no idea how fierce she could be. He had thought he’d gotten the better of her. He had thought he was the one in charge. And now that he wasn’t, he’d lost his mind and done this. Even though her throat was burning with thirst and her stomach twisted in hunger, she was determined.
Stop calling me. I’m telling you it’s over.
As she lay there, pain only fueled her anger and cleared her head. There was nothing in that cell she could use as a weapon. Whatever she did, the element of surprise was going to be her only advantage. She was going to use it. Because she wasn’t waiting for anyone to rescue her. He was careful, and he would cover his tracks. But he was about her height and far less fit. There was no doubt in her mind that, in a fight, she could take him down. She just needed to stay alert.
CHAPTER 29
ALEX
Alex tended to be early for meetings, but Yasmeen Khan was even earlier. She was waiting for him at the foot of Central Park. She’d even changed into running gear. Inwardly, Alex groaned.
“Thanks so much for meeting me,” he said. “I know it’s a huge thing to ask. I really appreciate it.”
“Honestly, it’s fine. If I can do anything to help Emily, I want to do it,” Yasmeen said, bending down to greet Sid, who was on his red leash and obviously delighted at the prospect of walking in the park. “Hey there, you good-looking boy. Wish I’d brought some Ziggy’s Disco Fries for you.”
That made Alex think of Diana; she’d brought that very treat over for Sid. “How did you know he likes those?”
“Emily mentioned it. She’s had them delivered to the office because she thinks Sid smells them even through a box.”
Alex’s heart skipped a beat. “Who handles boxes like that? Personal deliveries for doctors, I mean.”
“The support staff.”
“Is there a woman named Diana? That’s probably not her name, actually. She’d be in her twenties, Asian, about five foot six, maybe dyes her hair different colors? She wears long sleeves to cover up track marks.”
“There’s literally no one on our staff who fits that description,” Yasmeen said. “Who is this woman?”
“She showed up at the apartment with treats for Sid. Claimed she knows Emily.”
“Not from the hospital,” Yasmeen said. “She didn’t explain the connection?”
“No. She left pretty fast,” Alex said, feeling relieved. He was snapping at everything and suspicious of everyone. Paranoia was clearly setting in. “Sid gets a lot of treats. He’s a charmer.”
“He’s so upbeat about everything. No matter what happens.” Yasmeen gave his head a couple more pats and stood up.
“Is this where you and Emily usually meet to run?”
Yasmeen nodded. “Emily hates the Columbus Circle entrance because it’s so crowded. The Seventh Avenue one’s quieter. I usually get here a little early to do some stretches. Emily, as you probably know, never bothers to stretch and is fine anyway.” She sighed. “Let’s head in.”
It was a warm day, and the Seventh Avenue entrance was packed with people, from Alex’s point of view. When he went to a park, it was usually DeWitt Clinton for the dog run. Central Park looked like a special circle of Dante’s hell designed for tourists.
“Sorry I gave you the wrong impression,” Alex said. “About going for a run, I mean. I wanted to retrace Emily’s steps.”
“That made sense to me. And no worries
about running. I should’ve known that running wasn’t your thing.”
“It used to be,” Alex said. “Before I got a bullet in my leg. It’s not great for running, but it’s pretty accurate about predicting rain.”
“That’s a sweet superpower,” Yasmeen said. “Did that happen before you met Emily?”
“Immediately before. I ended up on her operating table. That’s how we met.”
“Are you serious? Damn, Emily is cagey. She told me you met overseas, but I always thought it was glamorous—you know, a doctor on a mission to heal the world meeting a war photographer in a dark bar.”
“I think you got a war-zone hospital mixed up with Rick’s Café in Casablanca,” Alex said. “But I like your way better.”
“Do you remember her operating on you?”
“Not really. It hurt like hell. She put my leg back together. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, from what she told me. It’s only thanks to Emily that I can walk at all.”
Yasmeen shook her head. “She never said a word about that. Typical.”
They were following Park Drive as it angled east, toward the Dairy. Alex was struggling to stay calm, but he was overwhelmed. It wasn’t just the sheer mass of people; it was the realization that—with these crowds sweeping through every day like locusts—nothing stayed in place for long before being trampled or taken. What were the odds that he’d find any trace of Emily?
“I should tell you . . . ,” Yasmeen said. “Detective Sterling called me just before I headed out.”
“I was going to warn you about that.” Alex shook his head ruefully. Of course the detective had. “Did she tell you what happened?”
“Not really, except that you had a confrontation with the man you accused of writing the letters. I didn’t want to say anything, but I figured that’s where that bruise on your face came from. It’s not like it was there this morning.”
“I’ve had quite the day since then.”
“Who’s the guy?” Yasmeen asked.
Alex paused before answering. “He’s the father of a friend of mine, Cori Stanton. She died in a fall from the roof of my building last year.”
“I remember that. Emily told me. Her father blames you?”
“He’s convinced I’m a murderer.”
“I thought her death was ruled . . . an accident, I think?”
“Death by misadventure,” Alex said. “Because she was high. We both were. Her father wrote a bunch of angry letters to everyone who knows me. The ones we found were shorter, and they weren’t signed, but they sounded just like him.”
“Is there anyone else who would write them?”
“I don’t think so. Cori’s mother married some rich guy in Argentina and moved there when she was little. Cori was an only child. Unless a friend of hers . . .” Alex’s voice trailed off. He had the oddest sensation at that moment. Like someone’s walking on your grave, his mother would’ve said. It shook him to his core. Diana, or whatever her name was, had appeared just after Emily had vanished. Diana, who knew Cori. Alex didn’t put much stock in anything she’d said, but her reaction when she’d spotted Cori’s photo? That hadn’t been faked. Was there a chance he’d been wrong about Kevin Stanton?
“What is it?” Yasmeen asked.
They were heading through the Mall, and even though the crowds had barely thinned, Alex was impressed by the statues lining the walk and the rows of tall trees on either side; they bent toward each other, forming a peaked ceiling that reminded him of a cathedral.
“Nothing. It just occurred to me that a friend of Cori’s could’ve written those letters. She might even know Cori’s father.” Fat chance of getting that out of Kevin Stanton, he realized. That man wouldn’t give an inch.
“But why would anyone do that?” Yasmeen asked.
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Cori’s father could just be flat-out lying to me. But he signed the other letters. If he wrote these, why not sign them too?”
They followed the Mall to its northern end, where it opened up to Bethesda Terrace. The plaza was packed with people. When he looked over the side, he felt sick. Below was the fountain, and there were kids running around it and playing. He remembered children playing around a fountain in modern Palmyra, the city adjacent to the famous ruins. He’d been there when ISIS attacked, and he remembered children screaming in panic when the shelling started. Alex doubled over, bracing himself against the side of the terrace.
“What’s wrong?” Yasmeen put her hand on his shoulder.
Alex tried to answer, but he couldn’t. He could feel his entire body shaking. He knew he was in Central Park and not a war zone, and still his body was betraying him. It was as if there were poison secreted inside his body, and every so often it flooded his system with toxins just to remind him it was there.
It was Sid who brought him out of it, leaping to the ledge and nuzzling Alex’s ear. Alex gulped a few breaths and patted the dog’s head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea.”
“Take your time,” Yasmeen said.
He rested there for another minute, until he was certain his legs wouldn’t give out under him.
“You want to talk about it?” Yasmeen asked.
“Honestly? No.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I was just thinking about how crowded everything seems when you walk through it. When you run, everything’s a blur. All these people don’t register the same way.”
“I thought we could follow the path Emily runs, just in case . . .” He took a couple of breaths. “I don’t know. I guess I thought some part of it was secluded.”
“From here, we run up the east side, past the Great Lawn and around the reservoir,” Yasmeen said. “I wouldn’t call any part of the route secluded, except for the path through the Ramble.”
“The Ramble? Isn’t that where people go to score drugs and find anonymous hookups?”
“That used to be its reputation,” Yasmeen said. “Now it’s full of bird-watchers. Emily loves Belvedere Castle, so we jog past it, down Tupelo Meadow, across the rustic bridge, and past Azalea Pond and Balanced Boulder. Here, I’ll show you on the map.” She held up her phone and pointed out the paths. Unlike the other ones Emily ran, they were small and narrow.
“Can we go around that way?” Alex asked. “Because I’m not dragging you up to the reservoir, but I’m pretty sure I’ll never find my way out of the Ramble if I go in alone.”
“It’s just on the other side of the lake.” Yasmeen pointed at a small bridge. “It’s going to be a lot less crowded on the other side.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Across the bridge and a few yards along the path into the Ramble and Alex forgot there were other people around. His breathing got easier.
“This is beautiful,” he said. “Is there a way to get here where you don’t have to cut through crowds?”
“We’re really close to the Upper West Side. You could come in a taxi along the Seventy-Ninth Street Transverse and have it drop you off where it intersects with West Drive. It’s about two feet away from that.”
Sid gave an excited yip and startled Alex by darting ahead. The leash flew out of his hand, and it trailed along behind Sid, looking like nothing so much as a trail of blood.
“Sid! Get back here!” he called.
The dog turned and barked, then dove into the foliage. When he reappeared, he was holding a plastic turquoise cord with earbuds dangling.
“What have you got there, Sid?” Yasmeen asked.
Alex stood still, watching the dog trot toward them. “Emily has earbuds like that,” he said.
CHAPTER 30
SHERYN
“Preliminary results are in,” Sheryn told Rafael. They were outside, and the sun was shining, but the call she’d just taken had turned her mood dark. “That blood on the carpet? It’s Emily Teare’s. The blood in the trunk? That’s looking like a match.”
“You having second thoughts about turning Alex Traynor loose?” Rafael a
sked.
“I know where to find him if I need to,” she answered. “It’s the puzzle pieces I don’t know how to locate that are bugging me.”
They continued up Tenth Avenue in silence, until Rafael said, “Be honest. Do you actually have a plan?”
“Sure. We’re going to shake Will Sipher’s tree. That’s the plan.”
“And if he doesn’t fall like a leaf, then what?”
“I want to see how he reacts,” Sheryn answered. “That’s going to tell us a lot.”
Sipher’s building was a little nicer than Traynor’s, a little newer. There was no doorman, but from the foyer, Sheryn could see an elevator.
“You want to buzz his apartment?” Rafael asked.
“Nope. I like that element of surprise.”
It didn’t take long for a woman who was coming in from work to let them in. They took the elevator up to the fourth floor. When they knocked on Sipher’s door, no one answered, but Sheryn heard footfalls inside the apartment. They came toward the door, and then there was the distinctive scratch of metal sliding against metal; he was staring through the peephole.
“It’s the NYPD, Mr. Sipher,” Sheryn said. “I’m Detective Sterling. We met last year.”
Sipher’s muffled voice came through the closed door. “Hold up your badge.”
“All right.” Sheryn lifted it up to the peephole.
“Your partner’s too.”
Rafael gave Sheryn a withering look, but he complied. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, sir.”
The peephole slid shut. “I don’t feel like answering any questions,” Sipher said. “Goodbye, Detectives. Good luck.”
Sheryn and Rafael exchanged a startled look; in her experience, there weren’t many people who refused to answer their door to the police. Civil-liberties types liked to remind people that they didn’t have to, unless the police had a warrant, but even they tended to open the door out of politeness.
“Are you not feeling well, Mr. Sipher?” Rafael called out. “Do we need to perform a wellness check?”
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