“Do whatever you need to do. I have nothing to hide.” He tossed his pencil onto the yellow legal pad in front of him.
“You say that now,” Megan offered. “But my hunch is you’re not telling us everything. So, tell you what, if you decide to put your cock on the block and come clean with whatever it is you’re not sharing, call us.”
Ms. Crawford entered Professor Bauer’s office just when Megan said the word cock. Her disgusted gasp prompted them to turn.
“Honey, it’s something you could use a lot more of.” Megan enjoyed shocking her.
“I’ve never.”
“I actually believe that,” Megan replied as they walked out.
_____
“Professor Bauer … what an asshole. Penis envy my lily-white Irish ass. What a prick.”
“No kidding. But you don’t like the guy? I couldn’t tell. Question: Why didn’t you ask about his meltdown with Shannon? The one Katelyn told us about?”
“I wanted to see if he’d lie about anything. He admitted to the affair way too easily.”
“You think he’s lying about anything else?”
“Time will tell. Listen, why don’t we split up? I’ll go back to McAllister’s apartment and take a look around,” Megan said.
“What are you looking for?” Nappa asked.
“I don’t know. I just want another run-through.”
“Okay. I’ll meet up with Rasmussen and Palumbo to see what they have. It might save some time.”
“You never know, maybe someone missed something at the apartment. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve lost my cell when it was on vibrate, only to find it deep down the side of a chair cushion?”
“Yeah, I do. You’re always emailing me to call you to see if you can find it,” Nappa said sarcastically. “You really ought to get a land line so you can call yourself without getting me involved.”
“Thanks for reminding me, Nappa. Maybe I’ll do just that.”
twelve
The trees peeking over the wall on Fifth Avenue were virtually bare of their autumn leaves. The day looked more like an evening in London from the dark skies and the continuous deluge of bad weather as Megan walked toward Shannon’s apartment. A gust of frigid wind blowing down the avenue reminded her the days were numbered until the Manhattan drizzle turned to snow.
She turned onto Shannon’s block but stopped short a few entrances of her building. An exquisite orchid arrangement caught her eye in the window of a floral shop. Inside stood an older woman behind a table, cutting the base off long, sleek flowers. The woman glanced up and Megan smiled in compliment to her work, an affirmation that beauty still remained in the world. Unsure as to why, she entered. Maybe she just wanted to smell life again.
Megan held out her badge. “I’m Detective McGinn. Do you have a moment?”
The woman nodded. “It’s about the girl down the street, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Two detectives already came by. I didn’t have anything to tell them. The girl—”
Megan felt the need to interrupt and give “the girl” an identity. “Her name was Shannon McAllister.”
“Oh. Well, she would come in once in a while, always buying white roses.” The woman continued snipping the ends off the arrangement she was working on. “Sweet girl, that Shannon.”
“If you think of anything, here’s my card.” Megan handed it to her, adding, “You do beautiful work.” She turned to leave.
“Detective?” The florist handed her a single white rose. “You look like you could use a little beauty in your life.”
Megan accepted the rose, nodding in thanks but knowing it would be a long haul before she found beauty in her life again. Outside, the Yorkville neighborhood seemed surprisingly normal; only one day earlier cop cars, news vans, and curious pedestrians lined the street outside Shannon’s apartment. Now bits of yellow police tape dangled from the front door. It was back to business as usual.
The front door of the apartment building was wedged open by a stepladder. A large man in a gray jumpsuit with red print reading colin’s security company stood on the top step. He held a small screwdriver between his teeth as he adjusted the camera to the corner of the entranceway.
Megan maneuvered between the ladder and the door when the guy removed the tool from his mouth. “Hey, you should be careful. A girl got murdered here, ya know.”
“Yeah, I heard.” She thought about what her lieutenant had said: I bet they’ll fix the camera system now. It’s a little too late for Miss McAllister.
Walker was right, again.
Megan saw the porter in the lobby of the building. He seemed more interested in the song he was listening to on his iPod than her request to open Shannon’s apartment. She showed the young man her badge and asked the whereabouts of the super, Mr. Mendoza. Apparently, Mr. Mendoza was off the premises. So the young man followed her up the four flights, unlocked the door, and without removing his headphones said, “It sticks a little.”
“Great. Thank you,” Megan said, not knowing if he heard her or not.
When she tried to open the door, it didn’t just stick a little; it stuck a lot. She leaned into the doorknob and gave the door a quick smack using her shoulder. Shutting it took the same measure. The slamming sound echoed throughout the silent apartment.
The stillness of the room disarmed her. The living room was covered with dusty charcoal brushstrokes, residue from the search for fingerprints. The apartment had been bustling with people one day earlier. Now it was only Megan and her instincts with no distractions. The only noise came from shoes clicking on the wooden floor as she walked over to the couch. Megan stared at the now vacant space on the floor. Magazines and papers were strewn across the floor as before, only now they were next to tape outlining where the dead body had been. She slipped a pair of latex gloves on and sorted through the pile of class work and research papers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She started to feel around the couch, behind all the cushions, but came up with only a candy wrapper and lint.
She went into the kitchen and searched through cabinets and a junk drawer but found nothing.
A loud noise from the street distracted Megan. Car accident? Manhole explosion? She knew it wasn’t a gunshot, but she looked out the window anyway. There was a delivery truck across the street idling in front of an electronics store. Whatever it was, the disturbance didn’t eliminate the void she felt in Shannon’s apartment; the emptiness only intensified. She talked herself through the scene to break the silence.
“You let him in. You knew this guy. I’m sure of it.” She rubbed the tips of her fingers together. “He cleaned under your fingernails.” The thought immediately made her think of nail polish remover. She went into Shannon’s bathroom.
There was more charcoal residue covering the white tiled bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet. The top shelf had hand and body lotions. The second held a contact lens case, a nail file, a small jar of lip balm, toothpaste, and dental floss. She pushed the white shower curtain to the side. There was nothing in the tub, not even soap. She opened the door to Shannon’s bedroom and leaned against the entrance. It was the one room that made her feel as though she were trespassing, especially when the victim was female. She was searching a room where women kept their most personal of items: journals, lingerie, the occasional battery-operated pleasure devices. Megan knew she was only doing her job, but what woman would want to suffer an untimely death and have a total stranger find her vibrator in the lingerie drawer next to the K-Y warming lubricant?
Shannon’s bedroom had a sample-showroom Crate and Barrel feel to it. It was decorated in earth tones. The walls were light khaki in color and the trim was painted white. The bedding was a similar color, only lighter and with white piping around the edges. Oversized burgundy pillows were placed at the front of the headboard. Megan sat o
n the edge of Shannon’s bed and gazed around the room. Every young woman had a secret hiding place. Megan thought about where she’d hidden things growing up: a box of Kool 100s in an old pair of tube socks in her top drawer. In her rebellious teenage years, Megan would sneak a cigarette regardless of whether her family was home. Every once in a while she’d hang out her windowsill and smoke. Then, one day her mother decided to do some spring cleaning while Megan was at school. Rose seized the Kool 100s, and Megan found herself grounded for two weeks. Megan’s father, an occasional cigar smoker, gave her parole after one week.
Megan went through the dresser drawers, underneath the bed, and through Shannon’s desk. She’d hoped something would jump out at her, but nothing did.
“Christ. Give me something to work with here.”
She stood in the bedroom looking around at nothing but dead ends. She opened Shannon’s closet and started to comb through every inch of it. She opened every pocket of every coat, and every pair of pants. Spare change, and the occasional packet of Listerine strips were the only items she found—not exactly overwhelming clues to Shannon’s murder. She sat on the closet floor and opened every shoe box, feeling each pair down to the toe. Exhausted from rifling through a dead girl’s things, she put everything back the way she’d found it.
Megan wasn’t sure what emotion hijacked her the moment she slammed the closet door shut. Whether it was anger, frustration, or guilt, it didn’t matter, but it was strong enough to bring her to her knees and break one of her own rules. She leaned back against the closet door as her eyes welled with tears.
“This one time, McGinn, I’ll give you this one time,” she said to herself, staring up at Shannon’s bedroom ceiling. In between shallow breaths she yelled, “Throw me a bone, will ya, just a little clue to put me in the right direction. Whisper it if you have to, but for fuck sake give me something.” Megan started laughing while she wiped the tears away, using her sleeve. “Wow, this is a new low. You’re begging a dead girl to help you on the case. That’s healthy. Next week you’ll be wondering why the Easter Bunny hasn’t stopped by for a beer lately.”
She closed her eyes and took in a long, deep breath, exhaling it as if she were practicing for a labor contraction. “Get off your ass. Stop acting like such a girlie-girl. Buck up, kiddo, this is only the beginning.”
Megan pulled herself up, went into the bathroom, and splashed water on her face. “Okay—get back to work,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. She did one last walk-through and then put everything back the way she found it and returned to the living room.
The nagging feeling that she was missing something still ate at her. She was about to call Nappa to see if he’d made any progress when the screen on her cell phone lit up with an unidentified number. She hoped it was someone from the medical examiner’s office. She answered abruptly to cover any sound of the meltdown that could be heard in her voice. “McGinn.”
Nothing.
“Hello? Hello?”
There was silence, then the line went dead.
Megan closed her cell. A wrong number, no doubt. These touch screen phones were always dialing numbers on their own from the inside of a purse or from someone’s back pocket.
She went back to her thoughts of the crime scene. There was nothing in the apartment that gave any indication of Shannon’s murderer. It was time to move on. Megan placed the single white rose on the floor where she’d inspected Shannon’s dead body. “For you.”
She opened the door to Shannon’s apartment to leave, and again the door stuck. “Jesus! You had to have let the killer in. He couldn’t have opened this fucking door on his own!” She grabbed the knob with both hands and was violently yanking the door open when something fell from above the frame.
The object made little noise when it came down. If it hadn’t hit Megan in the cheek, she wouldn’t have noticed it. She picked it up, and held it in the light of the hallway. She recognized the shape, but it was slightly different from the crosses she was accustomed to seeing during her days in Catholic school. This one was made of reeds and a cream-colored silk tie fastened in the center. The four arms of the cross were even and the tips turned outward in opposite directions. It was small, delicate. She turned to go back in the apartment to place it on the armoire, but something made her put it in her jacket pocket. She wasn’t sure why she was taking it, but that nagging feeling, the one where she couldn’t help but sense she was missing something, was now gone.
thirteen
Megan had just returned to the precinct when she passed Lieutenant Walker’s office and saw Nappa inside. She lightly knocked and they motioned for her to enter. Based on the look on Walker’s face, the telephone conversation she was on was an intense one. She stared sharply at the calendar on her desk and started to turn the pages. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft in answering. Her responses every few seconds consisted of, “Yes sir,” and “I understand. Of course sir.”
The older woman hung up, spewing a long breath at Megan. “Jesus fucking Christ. Do you know who that was?”
Megan looked at Nappa. “Um … no. Should I?”
Walker pointed at the phone with her index finger. “That was the mayor. You know. The mayor I always have lunch with.”
“Ah, that mayor.”
“Yes. That mayor,” Walker said. She had to get one more dig into Megan before she was willing to move on. “Anyway. That mayor is on this department’s ass. Your victim’s father was apparently a strong financial supporter of this administration’s campaign. Oh, and that’s not all. Do you want to know who else I heard from?” Walker didn’t wait for an answer. “A lawyer representing a Professor Martin Bauer. Did you bring up Professor Bauer’s … genitalia?”
“Alleged genitalia. I’m not so sure he’s packing,” Megan answered.
Walker read off one of the pink slips on her desk: “You threatened to put his cock on a block?”
“I never threatened that!” Megan looked at Nappa for support.
“It was a colorful phrase, but no one never threatened his genitalia,” Nappa confirmed.
“Alleged genitalia,” Megan added.
“I’m curious to know how the word cock comes up in an interview, so to speak.” Walker crossed her arms, not really expecting nor wanting an explanation. “Just get me up to speed with the McAllister case.”
Megan began, “We met with Katelyn Moore this morning. The victim’s best friend.”
“Was she able to give you anything?”
“You’re not going to like it,” Nappa said.
The lieutenant looked back and forth between the two detectives. The stressed look returned to her face. “Oh Christ. What?”
Nappa began, “She was having an affair with Professor Bauer.”
Walker threw her pen up into the air with enough force that it hit the ceiling. When it landed, it rolled off her desk onto the floor. “Lovely. And by affair, I assume he’s married.”
“Yeah, and he’s a pompous jerk,” Megan said.
“The guy is definitely full of himself,” Nappa explained. “He did admit to the affair, which surprised us, but he also had a good alibi for the night before the murder, which he’d assumed was the time of death. We still have to do some checking on the morning, but I don’t think he’s our guy.”
Walker looked at Megan, wanting her opinion too.
Megan reluctantly answered, “I don’t think we should totally rule him out. Nappa’s right. His alibi seems good. He was busy the night before and has an E-ZPass that’ll track his movements that morning, so I can’t see how he would have been able to do it. But I’m not ready to cross his name off the list.”
“I take it you took a real liking to this gentleman, McGinn?”
Nappa smiled. “They really hit it off.”
“I don’t know what the girl saw in that man.” Megan shook her head in bemusement. �
��He’s the classic midlife-crisis scenario, and I don’t think he’s even hit midlife yet.”
“Okay. What else?” The lieutenant was clearly hungry for answers, something to give her bosses. The victim having an affair with her married professor probably wasn’t the information she’d hoped for.
“After meeting with Professor Bauer, I met up with Palumbo and Rasmussen. We spoke with some more people at the university, other students, teachers, but got nothing,” Nappa answered.
“What about the mentor Katelyn Moore spoke of ?” Megan asked Nappa.
“The school is getting back to me. Her internship isn’t at the college. It’s up in Harlem. This is interesting, though: the victim worked part-time as a counselor, overseeing mentally challenged prisoners who are a part of a work program where they leave prison, move into a halfway house, go to work in the morning, and return at night.”
“Jesus, the girl really was a saint. Maybe one of her clients had a thing for her? I’d get in touch with that mentor,” Walker suggested. “McGinn, where were you when Nappa was there?”
“I went back to the victim’s apartment. I wanted to do another walk-through.”
“Find anything?”
“No, not really.”
“What about the lab?”
“We haven’t heard anything yet, but we expect something soon.”
“Good.”
There was a knock at the door, and Detective Rasmussen stuck his head in the room. “McGinn, Dr. Sutherland is on line one and Mrs. McAllister is on line two.”
Megan looked over at Nappa and said, “When it rains it pours. I’ll take Mrs. McAllister. Why don’t you take Sutherland?”
“No problem,” Nappa answered.
Lieutenant Walker went back to her paperwork and offered, “Good luck. Keep me updated.”
The detectives returned to their respective desks and took their calls. Megan answered, “Detective McGinn.”
“Detective McGinn, this is MaryEllen McAllister.”
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