Maggie heard a moan, eddied by wind and mingled with street noise. It sounded as if it came from whoever was taking the video. The woman in the video started, as if she heard it, too. Her head snapped around, trying to determine the direction of the sound. She peered into the darkness, taking in the abandoned street.
The voice of the camera/phone operator called louder. “Help. Please help.”
The woman began to approach, her form growing larger in the camera phone’s lens. “Hello?” she called. A soft keening, more animal than human, came from the person taking the video.
The woman grew larger on Maggie’s screen. The groaning from the cameraperson intensified.
“No,” Maggie whispered, knowledge dawning.
The woman ran forward, heels splashing through dirty puddles from afternoon rain. “Oh my God,” the woman said. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Abruptly, a hand snaked out and clamped on the woman’s wrist. She fell to the ground, scraping against the alley’s jagged asphalt.
A giant hand suddenly covered the lens then disappeared as the phone was placed on the ground.
From the lens’ new vantage point, Maggie could see two people in the frame: the young woman she’d seen looking in the restaurant window and an old woman in a black coat.
The old woman touched the top of her head and pulled. A wig slid to the ground like a snake shedding its skin, revealing the man who’d been hiding beneath.
Maggie’s heart slammed against her chest. “Run.” Maggie whispered at the phone. “Run.”
But the young woman didn’t run. She lay motionless on the gravel.
The man straddled the woman, arms cantilevered to make the most of the laws of physics. Maggie watched helplessly as the man tightened his hands around the woman’s windpipe, whipping her head against abraded asphalt. Maggie could feel the terror boiling up. “Oh, no. Oh, God.” She imagined the woman’s flesh yielding beneath the pressure of his fingers. Maggie felt her own throat close up. She gulped for air.
The man kept squeezing. The woman kept living.
The man released his grip and pulled a knife from the folds of his housedress. The blade flashed, then plunged into the woman again and again. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Until the brightness of the blade was coated in red-black blood.
Maggie screamed. Or at least she thought she did.
She couldn’t hear anything over the hammering of her own heart and the wounded, terrified cries of the woman as her blood streamed from her body and mingled with the muddy rainwater of the puddle beneath her.
Chapter 14
Sleep was elusive, dreams fractured by images of a shadowed alleyway, a crouching woman and a knife that glinted and plunged and let loose a torrent of red.
She had called the police, fingers shaking and sloppy as they fumbled over the keypad. Maggie’s near hysteria was complemented by the placid response of a dispatcher who sounded as if he was taking her order at the drive-through.
Let’s see, we have witnessing a homicide and a freaky phone. Would you like fries with that?
Morning came. Maggie dressed slowly, feeling as if the color had seeped out of everything during the night.
The detective was already waiting for her when she arrived at work.
Maggie felt a stabbing pain in her chest when Connie, the receptionist, told her a policeman was waiting for her in Conference Room A.
Talking to the police during work hours wasn’t exactly the professionalism she was hoping to project. Why hadn’t the police waited to take her statement at the station, as they’d discussed on the phone? Why interrupt her here, now?
Maggie pushed open the door of the conference room with her arm already extended. “I’m Maggie O’Malley,” she said as calmly as she could.
The man stood and shook her hand briskly. “Detective Nyberg.”
He was early fifties with a deeply tanned face and dishwater blond hair threaded with gray. Salt substitute and pepper. He had made himself comfortable, folders and pads of paper scattered across the conference room table.
He gestured to the chair across the table with his notebook. Maggie sat and folded her hands in front of her as if she were ready to say grace.
Nyberg took his chair. He sat back, relaxed, almost reclining, with knees apart. Two people having a friendly chat.
“I understand you have some information about the murder that took place near Le Petit Chou last night,” he began.
“That’s a restaurant, right?”
“Yep.” The detective tossed his notebook on the table and opened the folder that sat before him. He leafed through the loose papers, then plucked out a photograph and slid it across the table to Maggie. “This might help.”
Maggie scrutinized the building’s honey-hued limestone exterior, rough-hewn rock accents and beveled diagonal panes on large glass windows. “That’s it,” she said softly. “That’s the same place I saw on my phone. At least, I think it was. It was dark. Everything happened so fast.”
Nyberg returned the photograph to the folder and pulled out a paper. He scratched his neck. “Right, so…” He scanned the page. “You said you saw the murder in a video you played on your phone. And someone sent you this video?”
“Yes, it was a ZipLip.”
“A ZipLip,” he repeated. He wrote in his notebook then underlined with gusto. “And what exactly does that mean?”
“It’s a kind of messaging system. You can send a note, a picture or a video. But after you see it, it disappears forever. Really forever.”
“Uh-huh.” Nyberg frowned, lines becoming subduction zones that carved deep ravines into leathery skin. “So it’s a message that only you saw and that can never be retrieved or seen by anyone else?”
Maggie shifted in her chair.
“Right.”
“Who sent you this ZipLip?”
“I don’t know. There was no name in the ‘from’ box, no email address. Nothing.”
“Uh-huh,” he said again. Nyberg tapped his pen on the sheet of paper, making tiny dots and dashes on what had already been written. A nervous tic morphed into Morse code. “Tell me what happened.”
Maggie’s mouth seemed very dry. She ran her tongue across her chapped lips, but it felt shriveled and clumsy. “I got a ZipLip message last night,” she began. “I’m not sure what time it was. Maybe ten? Ten thirty? I’d never gotten one before, and it didn’t say who it was from. And I’d been having, um, problems with my phone, so even though it was strange…it wasn’t.”
Nyberg stopped tapping and scanned the sheet of paper again. “Says here you reported getting reminders for meetings you’ve never scheduled with people you don’t know.”
“People who end up dead,” Maggie said more loudly than she’d intended. “They show up on my phone and then they end up dead.”
“And you find out about the deaths how?”
“The news. The first time on TV, the second time online. I bought a used phone and its data wasn’t cleared completely, so whoever had it before is transmitting to his old phone, which is my new phone. Well, my new-to-me phone. I called the police about it. I was worried something was going to happen to the last woman on my meeting reminder. She was also in the office. The police didn’t seem interested at the time and transferred me to the cybercrime division where I left a voicemail. But I’m pretty sure it’s the same woman I saw in that video. Actually, I’m almost positive.”
Nyberg’s brows furrowed more deeply, but he said nothing. The tapping resumed.
Maggie rushed to fill the dead air. “I’m trying to find out who owned the phone before me. Get some answers. Maybe talk to people who knew the people on my reminder app.”
“Right.” He was writing quickly in his notebook now, tall, looping letters that looked like the longest doctor’s signature she’d ever seen. She said a silent prayer
that he’d be able to read his own handwriting. “Okay. And what did you see on this…” He referred to his notes. “…this ZipLip?”
Maggie tried to swallow. It felt like someone had stuffed sand into her mouth. “There was a woman. She was standing outside of a restaurant. Then there was a sound. It sounded like it was coming from whoever was videoing her. Like a moan.” Maggie paused. “I saw her turn her head toward the alley, toward the sound, I guess. The moans kept getting louder. Then I could definitely tell it was from the person taking the video. The woman walked toward the screen, the lens. She was getting bigger, but I couldn’t see her that well because it was dark. Then whoever was holding the phone put it on the ground but kept recording. The woman ran over to help this person, this old woman she thought was in trouble. Then the old woman took off a wig and I could see it was really a man. And he started to…he had a knife and he…”
Maggie’s throat closed. She tried the useless swallowing again and choked, starting an avalanche of coughs.
“That must have been very upsetting,” he said without emotion. He lifted a sleek stainless steel carafe from the table and poured a glass of water. He passed the glass to Maggie wordlessly, then flipped through his folder again. He held up a large color photograph. “This is the woman you saw in the video?”
A woman, her face solemn and pale and still in death, looked back with unseeing eyes. Maggie’s stomach dipped. “I—think so. It all happened so fast, and like I said, it was pretty dark.”
Nyberg looked at her sharply. “And you said she was also in the office, is that right?”
“Yes. She went into a meeting with Mr. Montgomery.”
“Mr. Montgomery.” His voice was calm, almost flat.
“Yes, the president of Rxcellance.”
Nyberg made a note. “How did you know her?”
“I didn’t. I’d never seen her before she showed up on my phone.”
“And you’d never seen her at Rxcellance before?”
His questions were coming fast now. Each one felt dangerous.
“No,” Maggie said carefully. “But I just started working here.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I followed her to the ladies’ room to tell her that she had shown up on my meeting reminder. She thought I was a fruitcake.”
Nyberg made no comment. “Do you still have that meeting reminder?”
Maggie brought her phone out of her pocket and pulled up the app. She passed the phone to Nyberg.
Nyberg compared the images, his eyes flitting back and forth between them. He scrolled to Carson’s photo from the previous meeting reminder. “Is this someone else who showed up on your phone, then died?” he asked.
Maggie nodded.
Nyberg returned her phone. He closed his folder, continued drumming on the folder’s cover. He looked at Maggie. “I met Mr. Montgomery in the front lobby when I was waiting to be shown to the conference room. I told him why I was here, showed him the picture of the dead girl. He didn’t recognize her. Can you explain that?”
“What? No, I—”
“As far as we can determine, nobody had seen her after she’d left her office on the morning of her death. Except you.”
“But what about the video of her murder? Someone had to take it.”
He closed the notepad, capped his pen and began corralling the items that had escaped onto the other half of the table. “Are you talking about the video no one else has seen or can see again?” he asked evenly.
Maggie gritted her teeth and focused on sounding reasonable. “Can’t the guys in cybercrime hack it? Can’t they somehow retrieve the video so you can see who killed her?”
Nyberg leaned back. “Maybe. They’re smart guys. We’d just need your phone.”
“My phone?” Her phone held all of her friends’ phone numbers, showed all of her upcoming meetings, was her sole source of communication, other than her ancient laptop, outside of work. She picked it up and grasped it protectively in her hand. “How long would you need it?”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say we haven’t installed an express lane yet.”
He stood, pulling a business card from his breast pocket. “You can keep your phone for now. I’ll see when the boys in cybercrime can take a look, then you can bring it in. Meanwhile, call anytime if you remember something. Just don’t leave town. We may have some follow-up questions.”
Maggie’s heart thudded sickly. “Follow-up questions?”
Nyberg stood and gathered the rest of his things. Some went into a briefcase, others under his arm. “Sure. You were the last person to see Ms. Rennick. You know details about the crime that we haven’t made public yet.” He ticked off items like a to-do list. “That the murder took place in an alleyway near a French restaurant. That the victim died of multiple stab wounds. That a woman’s wig was found at the scene.”
He glanced at her red hair. “You don’t wear a wig, do you?” He laughed. The congenial, low-key, let’s-hang-out-and-shoot-the-shit guy had returned. “No? Well…I’m sure some questions may arise. I have a feeling you’ll be just the one to answer them.”
He turned on his heel and reached the door in two long strides. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Have a nice day, Ms. O’Malley.”
Chapter 15
Maggie walked to the lab in a daze. Her lab partners were in a meeting, so she’d have the room to herself. Perfect, since she didn’t know how to feel or act.
There were no pamphlets on appropriate behavior after witnessing a murder. No how-to books at Costco or life hacks on YouTube. Should she tell anyone? Not tell anyone? What did her superiors know? Did Montgomery simply fail to recognize the police’s photo of the woman who was killed? Or was he lying? And if he was lying, to what end?
Maggie stood with her hand on the lab door, dizzied by the questions buzzing in her head. She had to call Constantine. It was suddenly, vitally important that she talk to him, tell him what happened. This time, he’d be there for her. She could just feel it.
She spun around to find someplace private to talk, the employee lounge or some lonely corridor.
She nearly collided with Ethan.
He pinwheeled his arms, regaining balance. “Hey, this is like our first meeting,” he said. “Except this time I’m falling for you.”
Maggie felt her cheeks get hot. Partly in embarrassment for another near collision. Partly at the suggestion that Ethan might actually fall for her.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” he continued. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. After, you know, the gala and Miles and…” His voice trailed off. He searched her face, his eyes filled with concern.
Maggie lifted her chin, reflexive defiance at his worry, his protectiveness. “I’m fine.”
She thought about telling him that she’d gone to Roy with her complaint, that he’d promised—threatened?—to confront Miles about it. But somehow her complaint to Roy felt like criticism of Ethan’s ability to handle Miles. She said nothing.
“You’re sure?” he asked, eyes still searching, probing.
“Positive.” Maggie smiled, hoped it looked natural.
Ethan returned a tentative smile. “Okay, good. Let me know if…if you have any more problems, okay?”
Maggie nodded. She thought of the woman’s body lying in the alley. Wondered if he knew a detective had been in the office to question her about it. She shifted to one foot, then the other.
“Welp.” Ethan clapped his hands together. “I should get back to work.” He made no move to do so. He cleared his throat. “Actually, there’s another reason I’m glad I ran into you. I was wondering if you’d want to go out sometime.”
Maggie almost asked him to repeat himself. Surely Ethan with the smiling blue eyes, Ethan with the witty repartee, Ethan with the promising career, wasn’t asking her out on a date. “To talk over a new
research project?”
Ethan flashed his trademark dazzling smile. “Yeah, I’m researching everything I can about Maggie O’Malley. What she likes. Who she is. What makes her tick.”
Maggie could feel her face purpling. “Oh, I, uh…”
“How about dinner Friday night? Pick you up at seven?”
Maggie opened her mouth. Closed it. Her old codfish routine. She managed a breathy “Sounds great.” She was nearly hypoxic from forgetting to breathe.
“Perfect,” he said. “See you then.”
Maggie watched him walk down the hall to another laboratory and disappear inside. She hugged herself and did a little dance. Ethan liked her. Liked liked her.
For once, she wasn’t just the brainy classmate or hardworking coworker or funny friend of a friend. For once, she was pretty enough, interesting enough, whatever enough to be more.
Maggie began a mental walkthrough of her closet for date-appropriate attire when her phone chirped.
“Constantine, thank God.”
“Wow, that’s quite the greeting. Have you finally realized the depth of my awesomeness?”
Maggie walked to the end of the hall and installed herself in an alcove near a window. “No,” she whispered, “but I know what it’s like to watch someone being murdered.”
Maggie told him about the ZipLip message and her meeting with the detective.
“My God,” Constantine said when she’d finished. “Do you think it’s the same woman you saw at your office, the one who was on your phone?”
“Absolutely.”
“Hang on. I’m emailing you something. Okay, should be there.”
“Okay.” Maggie tapped the Home icon, then opened the email app on her phone. She clicked the link in Constantine’s email, then watched as pixels transformed into a digital photo.
The star attraction: the woman whose murder she’d witnessed.
The headline: Woman Killed in Mugging.
Maggie scrolled. Maggie learned Mia Rennick was killed in a mugging in downtown Collinsburg. That she had worked as a financial advisor at Capital Ideas Investments. That she had been found at six fifteen Tuesday morning by an elderly woman walking her dog.
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