“I hate it when you do that,” Faith called from the kitchen as though on cue. Shawn smiled, pleased with herself as she answered the door.
“Can you do card tricks, too?” Carey shoved two pizza boxes at her. “You just made my ex-husband very happy. He’s the head of the cold case squad and wants to know everything. Although he thinks I should have my head examined for listening to you.”
“I’ll tell you what I saw if you tell me what you know,” Shawn said, guiding Carey into her living room. Shawn smiled as she felt Faith enter the room. Her smile vanished when she was encompassed by a nervous energy.
“Ah, fuck,” Carey growled. Shawn turned to find Faith staring at the younger woman.
“Jessica?” Faith gasped.
Shawn studied both women and suddenly felt the pieces locking into place. “You’re sisters,” she blurted. “Now it makes perfect sense. No wonder the two of you are so much alike.”
“I’m nothing like her,” Carey said.
Shawn placed the pizzas on the coffee table. “Yes, you are,” she said quietly.
“Shawn, let it go. This one I deserve,” Faith said with a hard swallow. “I’ll go for a walk so the two of you can talk.”
“Faith.” Shawn tried to stop her as Faith headed towards the door.
“Jessica, I know this probably means nothing to you, but I am sorry,” Faith said softly before making her exit.
“It doesn’t,” Carey mumbled as the door clicked shut.
“Jessica? Carey Jessup?” Shawn looked at her quizzically.
“Carey’s my middle name.”
Shawn sat on the sofa, hoping Carey would follow her lead. “Could have kept your maiden name.”
“I wasn’t overly attached to the name Charles.” Carey began to pace. “Why should I be? It wasn’t good enough for my mother.”
“Faith was your swimming instructor,” Shawn said slowly, the images playing out in her mind. “You were about five, and you idolized her. Until one day she told you to stay away from her. You never knew why until you were older, and your mother told you the truth. That explains that humongous chip you’re still carrying on your shoulder.”
“I was just a little girl!”
“And she was a hurt and confused teenager. Let it go,” Shawn said, knowing that Carey wasn’t going to let the past go easily.
Carey paced for a few more minutes before she retrieved a small notebook from her back pocket.
“Any more surprises for me?” she asked in a half-serious tone of voice. “Cute T-shirt, by the way.”
Shawn looked down at the simple black tee that sported the words, “I see dead people.”
“Well, I do,” she said with a cocky grin.
“I’m beginning to believe you.” Carey flipped open the notepad. “Hester Moscovich, murdered on September 13, 1955, on her front stoop. The police suspected she was raped, no witnesses, no suspects. She was murdered just shy of her eighteenth birthday.”
“He didn’t rape her,” Shawn said. “He groped her, tried to kiss her, and he couldn’t understand why she was refusing him. She wouldn’t kiss him, so he forced her down on the steps. When he pushed her down, he had his hand wrapped around her throat, he was strangling her, and he didn’t bang her head against the steps just once, it was several times. Her head split open. He loosened his grip just once, and she screamed. Her last thought was, ‘Why?’”
“You saw her die?” Carey blinked. “Any ideas on who killed her?”
“He panicked when he saw the blood. He ran into the alley, climbed the fire escape, and ducked into an open window on the third floor,” Shawn related as the scene played out in her mind. “It was a bedroom window. I’m assuming that he lived there. That was the last time anyone in the neighborhood left their windows or doors unlocked at night.”
“The third-floor apartment off the alley was occupied by the Marshal family,” Carey read from her notes. “They had two teenaged sons, Gilbert and Maynard. The police didn’t question them right away, since their parents claimed the boys were both sound asleep when the murder happened. Maynard still lives there.”
“Still?”
“Rent control,” Carey said.
“So,” Shawn said, “the only question is, which one of the Marshal boys did it?”
“They’re both still alive,” Carey continued. “Both are well into their late sixties. Gilbert moved to California. Think he wanted to get as far away as possible?”
“If he has a guilty conscience, maybe.” Shawn tried to grasp the new images that were calling out to her. “And Maynard might have stayed because of the guilt and really cheap rent. I can’t quite get a fix on it.”
“Do you think it might help if you went back to the crime scene?” Carey asked. “I can’t believe I just suggested that. Brian is going to love this.”
“Call him and have him meet us there,” Shawn said. She grabbed her keys and pulled a sweatshirt over her T-shirt. “If he gives you any flack about listening to a psychic, just use the fact that I’m dating your sister as a distraction.”
“I don’t think of her that way,” Carey said.
“Yes, you do. That’s why it hurts so much,” Shawn said. “Let’s go, and just so you know, that pepperoni pizza you brought is going to be history by the time we get back.”
“Oh, is that a prediction?” Carey dialed her ex-husband’s number.
“No, I just know Faith. She’ll take one look at the vegetarian delight and think it’s way too healthy to put in her body.” They headed out of the apartment. “In fact, her exact words will be, ‘Yuck! Green stuff.’”
Shawn was filled with a sense of apprehension as they approached the brick building on Bleecker Street. It came from many directions. The middle-aged man lurking in the shadows was one source, and another was an unseen person, pacing nervously in the building behind them. She had seen and felt everything Hester had experienced during her last few moments of life, and she wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.
“Brian Jessup, this is Dr. Shawn Williams,” Carey introduced the two.
“Hi,” Shawn said and Brian nodded.
“You know, Jay,” he said, “when I passed those television people off on you, I never suspected that you, of all people, would fall for this crap.”
“Brian, I can’t explain it, but I’m starting to believe it,” Carey said, glaring at him.
Shawn studied the duo carefully. It was painfully obvious that Brian was still carrying a torch for his ex-wife.
“Detective Jessup,” Shawn interrupted the standoff that the former spouses were starting. “You don’t have to believe in what I do,” she said slowly, weary of having to explain her gift to everyone she met. “Just let me tell you what I saw, and you can take it from there. Believe me, don’t believe me, it doesn’t really matter. Just do this for Hester. Fifty-some-odd years ago, someone got away with murdering her. Wouldn’t you like to bring her some peace?”
“What the hell.” He tapped an old file. “Go ahead, but if this is a waste of time, Jay, you owe me dinner.”
“Why do I owe you dinner? Never mind. If you close this case, you’re spending the night at the ballet,” Carey said with a scowl. “Okay, Shawn, tell my pompous ex-husband what you saw.”
“The two of you are really evenly matched aren’t you?” Shawn laughed. “Fine. It was dark. Hester was walking from that direction,” she said, the images returning. “She was wearing a poodle skirt, saddle shoes, bobby socks, a simple white blouse, and a light blue sweater.”
Shawn watched with a small degree of amusement as Brian tore open the file and his eyes widened. “She was happy, for no reason in particular, just enjoying the night air and looking forward to a dance that weekend. Norman, Norbert, something like that, had asked her earlier that day to go with him. She saw someone stumbling as she approached the front steps. She knew him. For a brief moment, she wondered if he was sick, then she realized that he was drunk and felt sorry for him.”
&nbs
p; “Was this the guy who asked her out?” Carey said.
“No. This guy was someone she thought of as a kid, not someone she would date. I can’t see his face. She’s thinking that he’s going to be in trouble if his parents find out he’s been drinking. She doesn’t want to talk to him because he’s always following her around and doesn’t understand that she doesn’t think of him that way. She waves to him and tries to get in the building before he starts talking to her. He says hello, and she thinks he’s silly, trying to act sober when he can barely stand. He staggers towards her. I can see his jacket. It’s one of those letterman jackets, and it’s red with white sleeves.”
“Does it have a name on it?” Carey asked.
Shawn tried to focus. “Marsh,” she said. “Which could have been either boy’s nickname. He grabs her by the arm. He wants her to stay and talk with him. He stammers, begs her to stay. She doesn’t take him seriously and tries to get away without hurting his feelings. She isn’t afraid of him, even as his hold on her tightens. He asks her to the dance, she tells him she’s going with someone else. She still isn’t afraid, in fact she feels sorry for him.
“I can’t understand what he’s saying. He’s very drunk. She’s disgusted by the smell of cheap bourbon, definitely bourbon she notices. He asks her for just one kiss. She laughs and tries to push him away. He’s holding on to both of her arms. Still she doesn’t raise her voice, because she doesn’t want him to get into trouble. She tries to push him away as he tries to kiss her. Even as he tightens his hold on her, she isn’t afraid of him. ‘Just one kiss,’ he keeps repeating as he pushes her down. She laughs at him again, and one of his hands wraps around her throat. She’s furious when she feels his other hand groping her. ‘Just one kiss,’ he keeps repeating. His hand tightens against her throat.
“Now she is afraid, she can’t breathe, he slams her down against the steps. Her heart is pounding. She’s in pain. He slams her against the stoop once again. His eyes are dark with anger. She gasps for air, his hand has slipped from her throat, and he tears open her blouse. She screams. He shoves her down harder, and her head splits open on that step. Her last thought is, ‘Why?’ as the blood spills from her body.
“The lights in the building turn on. He sees the blood and realizes what he’s done. He races into the alley, climbs the fire escape, and ducks into that window.
“That’s all I saw, except on his jacket there are a pair of what looks like shoes with wings embroidered on the letter.”
“Track and field,” Carey noted as she glanced over at Brian. “So, which one of the Marshal boys lettered in track?”
“Both,” Brian said.
“Why did I think this would be easy?” Carey grumbled.
“I can’t believe you’re buying this,” Brian said. “She could have looked the case up online and made up the rest.”
“True,” Shawn said, “but I didn’t, and why would I?”
“Ms. Williams.” Brian dropped her title and addressed her in a condescending tone. “The one thing I’ve learned from my job is that I will never understand why people do the things they do.”
“Charming isn’t he?” Carey snickered. “What about the witness statements?” she asked, wandering towards the alley. She looked up. “That’s a hell of jump to reach the fire escape, unless you’re a terrified teenaged boy who’s on the track team.”
Shawn could feel two people watching.
“No one saw or heard anything except Hester’s scream,” Brian said reluctantly as he and Shawn followed Carey into the alley.
“Even from this building?” Carey asked, pointing to the building adjacent to the crime scene. “If he climbed the fire escape, whoever was living there would have heard something.”
“If it had happened last week,” a gruff voice interrupted them. “Back then, this building wasn’t overpriced condos for the upwardly mobile. It was a hardware store.”
“Captain Mallory?” Carey was clearly surprised. “Sir, what brings you here?”
“It isn’t captain anymore,” the elderly gentleman said with a warm smile. “I heard that you were looking into the Moscovich homicide. You, I’ve seen you on television.” He nodded at Shawn. “The Discovery Channel, I think. I hope you don’t mind, but I was eavesdropping. I wanted to hear what you had to say.”
“You covered her with a blanket,” Shawn said, knowing this was one of the people she had felt watching them, the one who was filled with concern. “For her parents’ sake, and because of her eyes.”
“I felt like she was staring at me,” he said sadly. “Jack Mallory, NYPD, retired.” He offered Shawn his hand. “Hester was my first homicide. I still remember the look in her eyes. I never forgot, and I never stopped looking for the truth. She wasn’t that much younger than me.” His voice trailed off. “I always wondered why the lead detective never pushed the boys. I was just a rookie beat cop back then, so no one listened to me.”
“Why is it that you thought they should talk to the Marshal boys, sir?” Brian asked.
“They were sound asleep at ten o’clock at night,” Mallory said. “What fourteen- and sixteen-year-old boys are asleep at that hour? Now, I don’t want to get in the way, but maybe I can help.”
“Anything you can tell us would be helpful, captain,” Carey said. “What can you tell us about the other tenants?”
“Some moved immediately after the murder, those that could find a new apartment. Back in those days, folks used to read the obituaries just to find an apartment,” he said. “Three of the tenants from back then still live here. Most of the others are scattered, or have passed on. Frank Lanes owns the building. He lives on the first floor, and normally he would have been sitting by that window right there. That night, he and his wife were towards the back end of the apartment because the baby was colicky. Then there’s Eileen Shavers. She’s a retired schoolteacher. She’s on the second floor towards the back. She heard the scream and called the police. And last, but not least, Maynard Marshal. You already know about him.”
“Good, we’ll talk to them one by one so it doesn’t look like we’re only focused on Maynard,” Carey said.
“Um, Jay, a moment of your time?” Brian led her away from the others. Shawn followed closely behind, knowing that it was her contribution to the investigation that was troubling Brian.
“Look, Jay, this one means a lot to the captain. Maybe I should review the file before we go off half-cocked.”
“Bri,” Carey said. “The captain means the world to me, too. Sorry, Shawn, Mallory was a mentor to both of us. Hell, he gave me away at our wedding. Brian’s worried that it’ll turn into a wild-goose chase.”
“And he still carries Hester’s picture in his wallet,” Shawn cut Carey off. “He calls her mother down in Boca Raton once a year to let her know that he hasn’t forgotten.”
“And despite his advanced years, he can hear you,” Mallory shouted, waving for them to join him. The frantic motion of his arm informed all of them it wasn’t a request. They hurried over to him.
“Kids, I want to be able to call Sophia and tell her that her daughter’s killer has finally been locked away. If there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that this young lady has stumbled upon the key to answering that question, maybe I can go to sleep tonight and not see that girl staring up at me. Now let’s start knocking on some doors.”
“Yes, sir,” Carey and Brian chimed in unison.
“That case in Arkansas, did you really see a workman running around that hotel?” Mallory asked, holding his arm out for Shawn. She smiled, accepted his gracious offer, and allowed him to lead her up to the building. Despite Jack Mallory’s advancing years, the man was as sturdy as a rock. Shawn felt a strong sense of warmth and honor emanating from him.
“Michael was a carpenter when the hotel was being built,” Shawn said as they entered the building. “He died during the construction. He was quite a prankster, loved lifting up the maid’s skirts and such.”
Mallory chuckled at
the story. Brian knocked on the door of the first-floor apartment.
Brian and Carey showed their badges to a young brunette who appeared to be in her early twenties. “Good afternoon, miss,” Brian said. “I’m Detective Jessup, and this, oddly enough, is Detective Jessup. We need to speak to Frank Lanes.”
“Come in,” she said, stepping aside. “I’m Candice Summers. What do you want with Gramps?”
“Thank you, Ms. Summers.” Carey cut Brian off before he could take control. “We really hate bothering you and your grandfather, but we’re looking into an old case from the fifties. If there’s any chance either of your grandparents can remember something, it would really be helpful.”
“Gram died three years ago,” Candice said, guiding the group through the apartment to a back bedroom. Frank Lanes was propped up in a hospital bed, staring blankly.
“I don’t know if Gramps can help you. Since the last stroke, he hasn’t been very coherent. Every once in a while he seems to know what’s going on, so you could try. When did you say this happened?”
“1955,” Brian said.
“Wow, my mom wasn’t even born yet,” Candice said.
Jack Mallory approached Frank Lanes. “Mr. Lanes?” he said gently. “Sorry to bother you, sir. I’m Jack Mallory. I was one of the police officers who was here the night Hester Moscovich was murdered.” Frank stared off into space. Mallory sighed deeply. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife, Mr. Lanes, she was a nice lady. I see your granddaughter has been keeping up the window boxes. They look beautiful.” Frank blinked at the comment. His eyes turned to the window, and he smiled. “It was good seeing you again,” Mallory added and patted the aging man on the shoulder.
“Thank you for saying that.” Candice shook Mallory’s hand. “Gram’s window boxes were her little garden. I always asked her why she didn’t just move and buy a nice little place with a yard. She said this was home. I’ve been trying to keep them up since she passed.” Her eyes misted over. “So, um, this Hester, she died in the building? That’s a little creepy.”
“No, not in the building,” Mallory said. “Her family lived here at the time, that’s all.”
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