65
For once Rhoda was right, Laurie marveled as she stepped inside the apartment. The light was flooding through the arched ceiling over the foyer. On her left she could see the spacious living room with a fireplace. She walked into it and paused to admire the view.
“Hello, Laurie.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Hi. I thought no one was here,” she said nervously. “Are you the owner?”
“Definitely not.” He took great pleasure as her eyes widened at the sight of his gun.
Laurie knew she was staring at a complete stranger, but she was absolutely certain—on an instinctive level—that the man in front of her was the same person who had pushed her in front of a cab after her engagement party. Her best guess was that he was about fifty years old. He had the build of a man who used to be in good shape but had let himself go, the muscle turning to fat.
Her survival instincts told her to speak quietly as she held her hands up. “Whatever’s going on here, we can talk about it,” she said, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice. “You were outside the piano bar on Monday, right? Was that you?” She was grasping at straws, struggling to understand how he was connected to the Martin Bell case. “Do you work with Joe Brenner? He’s in custody. He’s well positioned to cut a deal with the DA. You could be part of that plea agreement, too. Or if Leigh Ann Longfellow hired you, you should know she’s under arrest, too. You could get total immunity if you testified against her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he looked around in awe. “You bought this place? It’s got to be a fortune.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m meeting a Realtor. Please, I have a young son. I have nothing to do with this apartment. This is my first time here. Let me go, and you can take whatever you want.”
The man’s gaze shifted between the kitchen and the living room. She could tell he had never been here before. He seemed impressed by his surroundings. This clearly wasn’t a random encounter. The man had used her name. He was here because of her, not the property. Alex and Rhoda would be here soon. She knew she had to keep him talking.
“Did my television show pass on a case you’re connected to?” she asked, struggling to find a reason someone would target her.
“A TV producer can’t afford a spread like this,” he said. “This is hot shot Alex Buckley, living the dream life once again. Big reputation. Fancy new job. Front page of the New York Times when he got through the Senate. And, to top it all off, a beautiful girlfriend he’s about to marry. Too bad it’s not going to happen.”
The sound of Alex’s name from his mouth was like an anvil falling from the sky. What did Alex have to do with any of this? Laurie knew that the very nature of her job put her in contact with people who had dangerous secrets they were determined to hide at all costs, but this was something different. She had no idea who this man was, but his desire to hurt her was palpable.
• • •
Ramon slowed to a stop in front of the building. The doorman was standing inside. Alex walked over to his station. “I’m Alex Buckley. I believe our Realtor Rhoda Carmichael spoke to you. I’m meeting my fiancée and Rhoda to look at the sixteenth-floor apartment.”
The doorman’s expression changed. “A pretty young lady already went upstairs, and her husband a few minutes after.”
“Her husband?” Alex asked. “Did the lady tell you her name?”
The doorman picked up a business card off his desk. “She gave me this. Her name’s Laurie Moran.”
“And another man went up to the apartment?” Alex asked, the concern rising in his voice.
“Yes, a guy who said he was her husband. I was surprised. He didn’t look like her type.”
Alex was already racing to the elevator. After pushing the button for the sixteenth floor, he dialed Leo. He prayed he would not lose the connection while in the elevator. “A guy who claimed to be me followed Laurie into the apartment. It’s at 230 East Eighty-fifth, sixteenth floor. I’m on my way up now. Send help.”
Leo disconnected without answering.
The elevator door opened to the sixteenth floor. Alex, grateful that the apartment door was not fully closed, moved it open very slowly. He could see into the living room where Laurie, her hands up, was talking to a man whose back was to him. He could overhear the conversation.
“You’re running out of time, Laurie. Say your prayers.”
• • •
In a second, Laurie saw snippets of a future she wouldn’t be around to experience. The images were as real as if she had already lived them. Either Alex or Rhoda would arrive to find her body. Leo and Alex would probably tell Timmy together. Timmy would run to his room and cry on his bed, burying his face in his pillow so no one could hear.
Her current will appointed Leo as Timmy’s legal guardian in the event of her death. Would Alex still be part of the picture when she was gone? She wanted to think so. He’d become an honorary uncle to her son instead of a stepfather.
Would her murder ever be solved? She imagined Ryan Nichols taking over Under Suspicion—maybe with Jerry at his side. Maybe her own case would be the show’s first priority. But maybe not.
She pictured Timmy graduating from college. Getting married. Having a baby and maybe naming her Laurie.
All of it, she saw in an instant. And only then did she realize that she had seen a version of this story play out before. Greg had been shot in the head in the middle of the day by a killer known only as “Blue Eyes,” based on the best description Timmy could provide as a toddler. For years, she believed the murderer was some dangerous man Greg had encountered as an emergency room doctor at Mount Sinai.
But Blue Eyes turned out to be a sociopath who had never even met Dr. Greg Moran. His long-harbored grudge was against someone else entirely—Deputy Police Commissioner Leo Farley. To ruin Leo’s life, he planned to kill everyone close to him, starting with Greg. Laurie and Timmy were supposed to be next.
She looked directly into the eyes of the man pointing a gun at her and knew her instincts were right. He had nothing against her personally. This was all about Alex.
She had known Alex for less than two years, but they had no secrets. She took her best guess at the source of the grievance.
“This is about Carl Newman, isn’t it?” she asked, referring to the investment banker who had run a Ponzi scheme on his clients to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. “Even Alex was surprised by the acquittal. Other defense attorneys would have strutted like peacocks on the cable news circuit. Not Alex.”
“Stop saying his name!” the man said, straightening his gun arm out to bring the weapon closer to her.
“Please,” she said. “I have a young son. His father is dead. He needs me.”
“I had a family, too. I lost them!” he shouted at her. “I had a lot of money and I lost it. And the guy who did this to me got away with it because of your precious Alex Buckley.”
Looking past him, Laurie could see the door of the apartment opening slowly. It was Alex.
“Newman stole your money?” she asked, struggling to remember the victims who were most vocal in their opposition to Alex’s judicial nomination. She remembered Alex telling her that, despite the large financial amounts involved, most of the victims had lost a combination of inherited money and relatively small percentages of their overall wealth. Only a few people had been completely wiped out of everything they had worked for. Looking at the man in front of her, a name came to her: Willie Hayes, son of a handyman and a laundress, a wholly self-made contractor who rolled over all of his assets to Carl Newman after his baby was born, only to discover he had lost everything six years later.
“Are you Willie Hayes?” His face told her that she was right. “Please, tell me your story. I have a TV show. Carl Newman was acquitted in federal court, but the state could still bring charges. We could make that happen. A civil suit, too.”
“None of that will rewind the clock,” he said. “I used to have it all, and now it’s gone. A loft in Tribeca, a country house upstate. A wife. A son. Love. I had to file for bankruptcy. The property, the bank accounts, the cars—all of it got taken. My wife and son, too. Alex Buckley doesn’t deserve to be happy.”
She pictured this man watching her engagement party at the piano bar. He had never been interested in her laptop and case notes. He was angry because she and her friends had been celebrating the life she was going to share with Alex.
“Please,” she said, hearing her own voice begin to shake. “I have nothing to do with any of that. My work is literally dedicated to finding justice for people who are wronged. I have a son, too. How old is yours? I’ve been raising Timmy on my own since his father was murdered.” She felt sick entrusting this sociopath with her past, but she was willing to do anything possible to live.
As she was talking, Alex was making his way quietly across the room toward them. The wail of a police siren in the distance helped drown out the faint sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor.
“Shut up!” Hayes yelled. “You . . . you mean nothing to me. If you want to blame anyone, blame Alex Buckley. He’s the one who landed his dream job with courthouse security and U.S. Marshals installing high-tech alarms in his apartment. You’re the only way I can get to him.”
She opened her mouth to speak, not knowing what words to use. She wished there were some furniture, a couch to dive behind if he began shooting. There was nothing between the two of them as he began to walk closer, the gun at her chest.