“Yes?” came a tinny voice.
“We’re looking for Cheryl Siebert. We’re with the FBI.”
“Come on up.” She buzzed them in.
They entered the marble lobby. Lara led the way to the stairs, then noticed Mei had stopped near the mailboxes to look at the bulletin board. “What is it?”
“There’s an apartment for rent.”
“I didn’t know you were moving.”
She took out a notepad and jotted something down. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Why?” Mei lived in Williamsburg, a fairly desirable location, given its proximity to downtown. “I thought you liked your place.”
“It’s okay,” she said as she joined her by the stairs. “But I’d like to be closer to my grandmother. She’s getting older and needs my help.”
“She lives near here?”
“On Doyers Street.”
“Right.” Mei had mentioned once that she’d grown up with her grandmother in Chinatown.
“I left home after college,” Mei added as they started up the stairs. “I needed some space. Not a lot. I didn’t want to be too far away since I don’t have much family left. It’s just... My grandmother means well, but she smothers me sometimes, so I needed to get away. But now I’m ready to move back, or at least live a little closer so I can help her more.”
Lara nodded, a wistful feeling unfolding inside her. It would be nice to have relatives, traditions and a sense of belonging to a community. She’d lost all that after her mother died. The only relative she had left was her half sister, Meghan, who wanted nothing to do with her.
They reached the second-floor landing, and Mei knocked on the apartment door. A woman about their age promptly answered. She was an attractive brunette, tall and slim, wearing a turtleneck sweater and designer jeans.
Mei held out her badge. “Cheryl Siebert?”
“That’s me.”
“We got your call, that you might have seen something across the street last night?”
“I did.” Beaming, she let them in.
Lara glanced around as she stepped inside. The apartment was small but decidedly upscale with sleek, minimalist furniture and original artwork on the exposed brick wall.
“I was just about to make some tea,” the woman said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks. If you could just tell us what you saw.”
“Of course.” She led them across the gleaming hardwood floor into the living room where several windows looked out over the street. “It was late in the afternoon. Almost dinnertime, so maybe around five-thirty? The weather was nice, so I’d opened the window. My cat was out on the fire escape.”
Lara walked over to the window and peered out. Since they were only one story up, she had a great view of Cass’s building across the street.
“I noticed a guy on the sidewalk. He was walking back and forth in front of the building, like he was waiting for someone. Actually, he looked a little pissed off.”
“Can you describe him?” Mei asked, taking out her notepad.
“He was tall, blond. Lean, but with really broad shoulders. He was pretty hot, actually, with a great physique.” She smiled, creating dimples in her cheeks. “I couldn’t really see his face because he had on sunglasses and a cowboy hat, but he just had that look about him, like he’d be cute.”
Lara met Mei’s eyes, and knew she had the same thought. A tall, blond man had murdered that jogger in Central Park. “What makes you think he was involved in a crime?”
“I don’t know. It just seemed strange that he was pacing around like that.”
Mei tapped her pen on her notepad. “Is there anything else you noticed? Did he talk to anyone, make a phone call, go inside?”
“No, that’s it. That’s all I saw. My cat came back in, so I closed the window and went into the kitchen to cook my dinner. By the time I came back out, he was gone.”
“When was that?” Lara asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe an hour later? When I saw the business card on my door this afternoon, I thought I’d better let you know about him.”
“Thanks. We appreciate that.” Catching Mei’s eye, she turned to go.
“Wait! Isn’t there a reward?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mei told her. “You’re just doing your civic duty, reporting suspicious behavior.”
“But what if this leads to his arrest?”
“We’ve got your number. You’ll be the first to know.”
Looking far less happy, the woman showed them out the door.
“So, what do you think?” Lara asked as they headed back down the stairs.
“A guy pacing in front of a building?” Mei made a face. “He could have been waiting for a friend, a taxi, anything.”
“I agree.” They pushed open the lobby door, then went outside onto the sidewalk. The late afternoon sun had dipped behind the buildings, casting shadows along the street.
“But I don’t think we can rule it out,” Mei continued. “He was in front of Cass’s building. And the time frame fits. Cass got home from grocery shopping around then. And the guy who attacked the jogger in Central Park was blond.”
Lara nodded, thinking back to the graduate student who’d had the black MM tattoo stamped on her cheek. “I was thinking the same thing, even though he was wearing a baseball cap. I think we should canvass the area again.” The sooner they caught Cass’s assailant, the closer they’d get to Moretti—and the safer their tech guru would feel.
But nearly an hour later, it was apparent that no one had seen a blond cowboy. Not the sales clerk in the boutique next door. Not the cashier in the shoe store, or the employees in the bakery up the street. Lara and Mei worked their way up one side of Mercer to Broome Street, then back down the opposite side. It wasn’t until they talked to the uniformed doorman in an apartment building near Canal Street that they finally hit pay dirt.
“Yeah, I remember him,” he said.
Her hopes ticking up, Lara gave silent thanks for the city’s doormen. They noticed everything, and yet no one paid attention to them. They were like invisible sentries—and a cop’s best friend. “Do you remember what time it was?”
“About five-thirty, quarter to six. I noticed him because of the hat.”
“What about it?”
“He looked out of place.”
Lara quirked a brow. “In New York?”
“I know, we see everything—turbans, yarmulkes, any kind of head gear you can think of. But a cowboy hat? Not so much.”
“What was he doing?” Mei asked.
“Nothing really. He came from Canal Street. He walked past, then stood in front of that building for a while, pacing back and forth. I figured he was waiting for someone. Then I helped a woman carry some bags inside. When I came back out, he was gone.”
“What else did he have on?” Lara asked.
He scratched his head. “Blue jeans. Some kind of jacket. I think it was black.”
“Cowboy boots?”
“No, jogging shoes. I remember thinking they didn’t match his hat.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about him?” Lara asked.
“Not really. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. You’ve been a big help. If you remember anything else...” She handed him her card.
Buoyed by that success, they checked several more stores, including a few on neighboring Canal Street. But no one else had noticed the cowboy. No one saw anything out of place. They’d all heard about the stabbing but didn’t have any clues.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Lara finally asked Mei. The rush hour traffic was picking up, and pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, heading home or for an evening out at the restaurants and bars.
“Honestly? It sounds like he was just a guy waiting for somebody. I mean, seriously. If you were about to attack someone, would you pace in front of their building in a conspicuous hat like that?”
“No.” It did seem pretty far-fetched. “But odder
things have happened.”
“True. And maybe someone will remember something useful and call it in. If not, at least I got a lead on an apartment.”
“Right.” Lara smiled back, catching some of Mei’s optimism. A vague description of an impatient man didn’t sound like much, but at least they had a lead.
“I’m going to take off from here,” Mei told her. “I want to stop and see my grandmother for a little while, then do some work from home. There’s something about that painting I want to check out.”
“No problem. I think I’ll go home, too.” After the long day she’d had, her head was starting to pound.
“Say, Lara?” Mei called as she turned to go.
“Yes?”
“Is Moretti dyslexic by any chance?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
Nodding, Mei answered, “Never mind. It was just a thought I had.” With a wave, she walked away.
But when Lara entered her apartment a short time later she instantly felt depressed. She’d never realized how ugly it was, she thought as she hung up her jacket and glanced around. Maybe she’d suddenly noticed because she’d spent the day visiting other homes, but her apartment really sucked. Her furniture was functional at best. She didn’t have any artwork on the walls, no family portraits scattered around like at the Ramirez place, nothing to indicate her personality or who she was. The apartment was merely a place she’d rented because it was affordable and close to work.
With a frown, she went into her kitchen, filled a glass with water and downed a couple of aspirin, hoping to quell the dull ache ravaging her head. To be honest, she’d never cared much about where she lived. She’d always viewed her apartments as temporary, not a place to stay long-term. They weren’t a sanctuary or refuge she retreated to, just a place she laid her head.
She finished her water, wondering what Dr. Oliviero would say about that. He’d probably find it symbolic, maybe connecting her reluctance to establish a home to her mother’s death. And maybe he’d be right. Losing her mom, the heart of her family, had made her leery of forming an attachment like that again. Her disastrous relationship with Moretti had certainly reinforced that. It was safer to stay on the move and pour all her energy into her work.
Sometimes not having a family made her feel wistful. But there was no way that could happen now. After the Moretti debacle it would be a long time, if ever, before she allowed herself to trust a man again.
And so what if she had a transient lifestyle, she decided as she headed into her bedroom? So what if she didn’t have any friends outside of work? Maybe she lived for her job, not dedicating enough energy to her social needs, but she was happy with what she did.
And if she felt pensive right now, that was simply due to fatigue. She’d been putting in long hours on this case and desperately needed to rest. She undressed and slid into her bed, knowing a solid eight hours of shut-eye would improve her mood and clear her head.
But a few hours later, she was abruptly awakened by a call from Nick.
“Lara.” The fear in his voice had her jolting upright, instantly on guard. “You need to come fast. Mei’s dead.”
* * *
Lara parked down the street from Mei’s apartment, which was in a three-story brownstone in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. All during the drive she’d prayed that Nick had been mistaken, or that she’d somehow misunderstood. But the sight of the police cars crowding the street, their lights flashing blood-red in the inky night, told her otherwise.
She pushed through a crowd of spectators on the sidewalk, thrust her badge at the uniformed cop standing guard at the building’s entrance, and rushed inside. Then she ran up the steps two at a time to the second floor, still beseeching the universe for a miracle, despite the odds. She spotted Victoria standing in the hallway with Nick, their bleak expressions causing the last of her hopes to die.
“What happened?” she asked. When neither of them immediately answered, she started to push past them to the door.
But Nick grabbed her arm and held her back. “Lara, wait.”
“Why? What is it?”
His tortured eyes pleaded with hers. “You might not want to go in there. It’s not good.”
Her heart skipped. “Not good how?”
He exchanged a glance with their boss. His eyes turned grimmer yet. “She was strangled.”
Shocked, she pressed her hand to her mouth. “But... How did it happen? I just saw her.”
Victoria shook her head. “We don’t know yet. We’re still trying to piece it together.”
Lara glanced through the open door, catching a glimpse of the crime scene technicians collecting evidence inside. “I still have to see her.”
“I’ll go with you,” Nick said, accompanying her to the door.
She inhaled to prepare herself, calling on years of training to detach emotionally and retreat to the place where the gruesome scenes didn’t seem real. Then she put on a pair of booties and waited at the door as the officer on duty entered them into the crime scene log. She took in the lab tech photographing the front room, another collecting samples and putting them into evidence bags. A moment later, she followed Nick to the bedroom and stepped inside.
She quickly took stock of the room—the pictures hanging crookedly on the walls, the drapes half ripped off the curtain rod. The bedside table was overturned, the lamp and clock radio lying broken on the floor. The medical examiner, Dr. Boze, stood between the bed and the window, wearing scrubs and latex gloves.
Then her gaze landed a foot jutting out from behind the bed, and a wild feeling spiraled through her nerves. But she shoved it down, determined to stay in control. She had to face this. No matter how desperately she’d like to pretend this hadn’t happened, she couldn’t run from reality.
“I need to see her,” she told the medical examiner.
“All right.” He made a note on his clipboard, then motioned for her to proceed. “Just be careful not to touch anything.”
Hardly breathing, she crept around the bed. She stopped beside Dr. Boze, her gaze arrowing to Mei’s body sprawled lifeless on the hardwood floor. Mei lay on her back, her face and arms stark white, her eyes starburst and filled with blood. Bruises dotted her slender throat.
And on one bloodless cheek, was the MM stamp.
Lara’s head began to spin. A sick feeling mushroomed inside her, threatening to demolish what was left of her self-control. But she ruthlessly tamped it down, relying on her training to see her through. “What...how...”
“It looks like she was strangled,” the ME said, his voice both gentle and matter of fact. He lowered himself to his haunches and pointed to her neck. “We’ll know more by tomorrow when the bruises rise, but you can see the abrasions and contusions right here. I’m guessing she fought her attacker off—which seems pretty obvious, given the condition of the room. But her fingernails probably made those crescent-shaped marks as she tried to pry his hands off her neck. If we’re lucky we’ll find some DNA evidence beneath her nails.”
Lara swallowed hard, the bile churning in her belly making her want to retch. She struggled to stay detached, to view this as just another crime scene, but it was impossible. Oh, Mei...
“You can see the engorgement of the tissues right here, above the level of compression,” Dr. Boze continued, pointing it out. “These bruises were probably made by his thumbs, meaning manual—not ligature—strangulation. We’ll try to lift some latent fingerprints and check for any skin cells on her neck. I can’t make a final determination until the autopsy, of course, but these little hemorrhages, the petechiae, also confirm the cause of death.”
Lara nodded without answering, her throat too tight to speak. Instead, she locked her gaze on the MM stamp, a surge of anger rising inside her at the obscenity.
We’re going to get him, she silently vowed. No one did this to one of their teammates and got away with it. They’d bring down Moretti and this murderer, no matter what it took.
Just
then two men lugging a gurney appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Excuse us, ma’am. We need to remove the body.”
With a nod, she exited the room, the image of Mei’s face scorched into her memory, the horror of it impossible to take in. Still grappling with her emotions, she followed Nick through the living room, then waited by the door as the cop on duty logged them out.
“We need everyone to get out of the apartment,” one of the crime techs announced. “As soon as they remove the body, we’re going to do a laser search for prints.” The woman had donned a protective suit and strapped goggles around her head. In one hand she held a mobile laser device.
“Are you all right?” Nick asked when they’d returned to the hallway.
“Yes.” But she really wasn’t. She was unable to process it all. “Who found her?”
“I did.”
She took a closer look at Nick. His arms were crossed, his mouth set in a rigid slash. Only the anguish in his eyes betrayed his despair. He’d known Mei longer than she had, and Lara realized that he wasn’t nearly as composed as he appeared.
“I left my phone in my car this afternoon,” he explained. “When I checked it later on, I saw that she’d called me several times. I tried to call her back, but she didn’t answer, so I decided to stop by before I headed home. The door wasn’t locked when I got here. She was already dead.”
Lara frowned at that. Mei wasn’t helpless. She’d been trained in combat at the FBI Academy and could defend herself. And she obviously hadn’t gone down easily, given the condition of that room. But someone connected to Moretti had still managed to murder her and stamp her cheek.
Victoria joined them a minute later. Her face was haggard and drawn, aging her a dozen years. “The locals are taking the lead on this for now,” she said, her tone oddly matter-of-fact. And Lara realized that her boss was doing the same thing she was, taking refuge in her professional role to keep from losing control. “We’ll touch bases with them tomorrow and see how we can help.”
Just then the EMTs came through the door. Lara’s throat turned thick, the pressure in her chest increasing at the sight of the corpse strapped on the gurney and zipped inside a body bag. They went down the hall to the stairs, their footsteps thudding in time with her heart. Then they disappeared from sight.
Tough Justice Series Box Set, Parts 1-8 Page 41