Chapter Three
Being escorted back to the office by Danny Finnegan, Tyler found himself grateful that Sarah had found such a supportive group of friends.
Just going through the pub, he’d heard people call out to Danny and to one another.
“Regulars?” he asked. “They all know each other?”
Danny, a leaner, slightly younger version of his brother Declan, shrugged and grinned. “Our folks—and theirs before them—wanted it to be a real Irish pub. Well, back in the day, men had a room, and women and families had a separate one, if they were allowed in at all. But hey, progress is a good thing, right? Yeah, we like to be an Irish American Cheers, and we want everyone to feel welcome.”
“I do,” Tyler assured him.
Danny pushed open a door in the long hallway. “Tyler and Craig are back, Sarah!”
She had been very seriously staring at the computer screen and looked up quickly, a question in her eyes.
Tyler wished he could tell her that yes, simply going to the morgue had solved the whole thing.
He prayed that eventually, and sooner rather than later, they would have answers.
It wasn’t going to be easy; they had nothing to go on.
“Kieran will have roast out for you all in a few minutes. We’ve got you at a back booth,” Danny said, and left.
Tyler dropped into a chair in front of the desk.
Sarah stared at him. “It was...horrible, wasn’t it?” she whispered.
He nodded. “I can’t help but remember—we all had such promise.”
“But did you learn anything?”
“I’m heading to the bar where she was last seen, Time and Time Again, around eight or so. If they get some of the same clientele nightly, someone might know or remember something.” He hesitated a moment. “She wasn’t working at the strip club anymore—she hadn’t been for about two weeks. From what I understand, it was a pretty decent place. I’ve heard it’s easy for strippers to become involved in drugs—helps them through. But there are a number of clubs run fairly well, professionally—no touching for real, and no drugs. Anyway, Hannah was fired about a week ago. Craig and I dropped by the club after we visited the sites where she was found.”
“So...wow. I feel worse and worse.”
“Don’t. Something happened that night ten years ago. We were incredibly lucky. Thanks to Davey, we weren’t killed. But we all changed. We became introverted. And when we got over it, time had passed. This was in no way your fault—you have to know that. You couldn’t have stopped what happened in Cemetery Mansion, any more than you could have saved Hannah now. You have to accept that.”
“I know.”
“The thing is...I do think this is random. The first suspects in a murder are always those closest to the victim. Except in a case like this. There’s no one really to look at—her last boyfriend was in Chicago when it happened.”
“Random...” Sarah paused and took a breath. “I know this may seem far-fetched, but I have an idea who we’re looking for.”
Tyler couldn’t have been more surprised. “Who?”
“Perry Knowlton!”
He was still for a minute. “Perry Knowlton is dead. Archibald Lemming killed him, too. Police found the ashes in a veterinary clinic before they even caught up with Lemming.”
She shook her head firmly. “They never proved it!”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been reading up on Archibald Lemming and Perry Knowlton all day. I’ve studied every newspaper article, every piece of video. They found a body so badly burned there were no DNA samples—maybe there might have been today, but not back then. They found his prison uniform. They found trinkets he carried. But they never proved without doubt that the bone fragments and ash they discovered were the remains of Perry Knowlton.”
Tyler had read up on the killers, too.
And she was right.
Before, Knowlton hadn’t been someone to consider. He hadn’t made any appearances over the years and had been assumed dead. He was a killer, too. A serial killer. Like his prison buddy, Archibald Lemming, he had loved to kill with knives. He hadn’t been known for decapitating his victims, but for slashing them, the kill strokes being at the jugular vein.
“Maybe,” Tyler said.
“But how, and where has he been? Those are the things I’ve been wondering. I mean, he’d be in the system. If he’d been arrested for any crime in the past ten years, his prints would be on record. They’d have known it was him. What? Did he find a distant farm somewhere and hide out for ten years? Kieran said serial killers don’t stop, unless they are dead or incarcerated somewhere.” She flushed, her beautiful blue eyes wide. “I know I just write science fiction novels, but I am good at research.”
“Sarah, your theory is just as sound as anything else we have at the moment, that’s for sure,” Tyler told her. “I—I don’t know. We can look.”
There was a tap at the door and Kieran stuck her head in. “Roast!” she said. “You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to continue working on this thing. That means actually having a meal. Craig says you’re going to the bar later. Nothing to do until then except fuel up!”
“Sounds good to me,” Tyler said. He rose. Sarah still had a bit of a shell-shocked look about her. He walked around the desk and reached for her hand. “Let’s eat,” he said.
“Dinner,” she agreed.
She stood. Her palm rested in his. He couldn’t believe ten years had passed and it was still incredibly good just to hold her hand.
And then she smiled at him.
And he knew. He’d waited forever to be back with her. He sure as hell hadn’t wanted it to be like this... But he had never managed to fall out of love with her. And that was why nothing else in his life had ever been more than a fleeting moment in time, sex between consenting adults, panacea to ease a pain he’d refused to admit existed.
Maybe it was true that there was one person in the world who was simply everything, one person you were meant to love for a lifetime. Still, neither of them had fallen apart; they had created good lives. Responsible lives.
So why had he left?
Because she had pushed him away. And that would never lead to a lifetime of happiness. And, of course, he was still afraid she would push him away again. But at least not in the middle of a murder investigation. Not this one.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
There was something soft in her eyes. Something that made him think of years gone by.
It hurt.
And it was good, too. Oddly good.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured.
They made their way back down the charmingly paneled old hallway and out to the restaurant section of the pub. As promised, Kieran had a back booth for them, out of the way of the now very busy crowd. Sunday roast was apparently extremely popular.
Although Craig was careful about what he said, Tyler learned the FBI agent had been working on an organized crime case that included bodies found as the result of a rather old-fashioned but very efficient form of retribution murder—they had their feet stuck in concrete and had been dropped in the East River. “My partner, Mike, has been doing some cleanup paperwork for me, but we still have a few arrests to make. I’ll be as much help as I can.”
“You’ve opened doors for me. I’m grateful,” Tyler said. “And Sarah might have a very good idea for us to pursue.”
She hiked her brows in surprise and flushed again. “I hope you’re not going to think I have an overactive imagination,” she said.
“We definitely think you have an overactive imagination,” Kieran told her. “But that’s a good thing. It pays. On this, however, what do you think?”
“Tell them,” Tyler urged.
And so she did.
Neither Kieran nor her boyfriend looked at her as if she were crazy.
“That’s true?” Craig asked. “I remember the case—when Archibald Lemming died here on that table leg. Of course, the entire country talked about it. But I never studied anything on Perry Knowlton. As far as the public was concerned—as far as everyone was concerned, really—the man was dead, a victim of the man he had befriended. Now that is something I can look into for you.”
“That would be great.”
“Excuse me,” Kieran said. “Drinks, anyone?”
They opted for iced tea all around and she disappeared to get it. Another smiling waitress arrived with their plates.
The food was really good.
The conversation became lighter. They learned that Kieran and Craig had met during a diamond heist. Because of Kieran’s employers, Dr. Fuller and Dr. Miro, she was able to help Craig with a number of cases—recently one that had involved the deconsecrated old church right behind the pub. “My brother was affected by that one... He’d been in love with a victim,” Kieran said softly. “That’s Kevin. You haven’t met him yet, Tyler. But I’m sure you will!”
Tyler told them he was living on Beacon Hill. He described his daily work. “I take on a lot of missing-children cases,” he said. “When I’m lucky, I find them—most often, they’re runaways. When they’re not...I have a great relationship with the Boston PD, which is very important. I won’t work possible-cheating-spouse cases—too sordid. I have worked murder cases—a number of cold cases. It wasn’t always that way, of course, but working the cheating spouse thing just seems nasty—and finding justice for someone feels really good.”
“Have you ever considered coming back to New York, Tyler?” Kieran asked.
“It’s home. One never knows,” he said.
“Boston, New York...so many great cities!” she said. And then she looked at her watch. “Whoa. Well, dinner with you two was great. I wish we were heading to a play or a movie now, but I know you want to stay focused. It’s eight o’clock.”
“Time to go,” Tyler said, rising.
“Are you going with him?” Kieran asked Craig.
“I have to head to the office for at least an hour or so,” he replied. “Hey, this man is a good investigator. He’ll do fine.”
Sarah had risen, as well. “I’m going with you,” she said.
“Sarah,” Tyler protested. “That’s not a great idea.”
“I can help.”
“How?”
“I can make you look human and sweet—better than looking like a linebacker out to tackle someone!”
* * *
TIME AND TIME AGAIN was off Forty-Second Street and the Times Square area, but far enough away from the theater district on Ninth Avenue to just miss most of the theater-going crowd.
It would best be described, Sarah thought, as a nice dive bar.
She definitely wanted all her facilities about her, but deeply disappointed the bartender by ordering a soda with lime.
“Don’t you want a Ninth Avenue Special, a Dive-Bar Exotic or a Yes, It’s Time Again?” he asked her.
He was a young man of maybe twenty-five. Cheerful and flirty.
Sarah was sitting at the bar; Tyler was meeting with the night manager in his office.
“No, thanks. Just the soda water.”
“Your friend a cop?” he asked her.
She shook her head, smiling though, and looked around. The place was decorated with old posters that depicted the city during different eras. They helped cover the fact that the bar really needed to be painted.
“No, Tyler isn’t a cop.”
“But he’s in there asking about that girl,” the bartender said. He had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache combo, and she wondered if he was a student at one of the city’s colleges.
“Yes, he’s asking about Hannah Levine,” she told him softly.
“I’m Luke,” he said, looking down the bar to see if he was needed. He wasn’t. He leaned on it. “The cops have already been all over us. She was carrying one of our promo matchboxes—that’s how they knew she’d been here.” He grimaced. “They have raised lettering—really swank matches for this place, but we get a mixed clientele. We cater to the local music scene.”
“Nice,” she replied. He was friendly, and she decided she might be able to help the investigation. She could ask questions, too, and maybe in a different way. “Are you from New York?”
“Nope. Akron, Ohio. Loving being here. Don’t be deceived by appearances. This is actually a great place. Yes, we have a few lowlifes hanging around. But it’s honest work for me and helps pay the bills.”
“Hannah was my friend,” she said softly.
“Oh?” He seemed surprised. He leaned closer to her. “You don’t look like a junkie.”
“Hannah wasn’t on heroin,” she said defensively.
“No, just everything else. She came in here frequently. The owner had barred her for a while, but...people liked her. She just—well, she looked for tricks here, you know.”
Sarah winced.
“Hey, I’m so sorry. I guess you hadn’t seen her in a while.”
“No, I hadn’t. But...”
“I can see you care.” He straightened and said, “Excuse me,” and hurried down the length of the bar, speaking to customers seated on stools along the way. He refilled a few drinks, whispered to someone and then headed back to speak with Sarah.
“I don’t know what it was with her!” Luke said. He lowered his voice. “We dated a few times, but then...I found out she was hooking. I...well, that didn’t work for me. I want to have a wife I’ll grow old with, kids. Hannah said she’d never settle down. But we didn’t part badly. We were friends. I tried to help out, give her food—pay her bar tab when she walked out. She was her own worst enemy. Sometimes I thought she was committing slow suicide. Even when she had people trying to help her, she’d laugh them off. She said she loved the danger of hooking, you know?”
Sarah did know. Hannah had wanted to be on the edge—she’d wanted to skydive, ride the fastest coaster, speed on the FDR.
“I don’t care what she was doing. What happened shouldn’t have happened to her or to anyone!” Sarah said passionately.
“No! Of course not! I didn’t mean that. Just that...I don’t know who she might have met, who could have done such a terrible thing...”
His voice trailed off as he realized he obviously didn’t need to remind Sarah what had happened.
“Were you working when she was here?” Sarah asked him.
“I was coming for the late shift. But I was just outside. Coming in.”
“And you talked to her?”
He nodded. Sarah thought she saw the glint of tears in his eyes and his voice was husky when he said, “She gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and told me she ‘was about to go roll in some dough.’ I assumed that meant she had met up with a rich guy willing to pay a nice price. She was so pretty. Even...even with the drugs and alcohol. And nice. No matter what, she had something about her. A core that had some real warmth, you know?”
“I do know,” Sarah assured him. She cleared her throat. “Did you tell the police what she said?”
“I wasn’t interviewed. I wasn’t actually in the bar when she was here, so the manager never called me to talk to the police.”
“And you didn’t volunteer to help?” Sarah asked.
“Hey. They were trying to paint a picture of her I don’t agree with—that she was a druggie whore who got what was coming to her.”
“That can’t be true. Any sensible, decent person knows that, whatever someone’s lifestyle, they don’t deserve such a horror ‘coming to them.’ That can’t be—”
She was suddenly interrupted by Tyler’s deep voice right behind her. “Whatever made you think the world was filled with sensible and decent people?”
She fell silent. The bartender was looking at Tyler. Sarah quickly introduced the two. They shook hands as Tyler crawled up on the stool next to Sarah’s.
“You’re not a cop?” Luke asked him warily.
Tyler shook his head. “I’m a PI, in from Boston. Mainly here because, as I’m sure Sarah told you, Hannah was a friend.”
“Pity you guys weren’t around when she was still living,” he murmured.
“Yes, we’re well aware of that,” Sarah said.
“Hey,” Tyler said. The word wasn’t spoken angrily, nor was it shouted. But it was filled with the fact that Sarah could not be blamed—nor could any of them.
“A sick killer is responsible, no one else. When she was a kid, no one could tell Hannah what to do. I sincerely doubt she’d have listened now. But we were her friends,” Tyler went on. “And we will see that justice is done for her.”
“Okay, okay!” Luke said, hands in the air. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t go bursting into the office and say hey, yeah, I knew Hannah. I don’t know who killed her...”
His voice faltered suddenly.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
“A man.”
“A man?” Tyler asked.
Luke nodded. “He was in here several times a couple of weeks ago. I thought that he was watching Hannah. No way out of it, with those cat eyes of hers...bedroom eyes, you know what I mean? Anyway, he was watching her.”
“Was he...old, young? Can you describe him?” Tyler asked.
“Well, he was average. He wore a low-brimmed hat all the time—I sure don’t know his eye color or anything like that. Narrow face. Wore a coat, too. But then, you know, when it’s cold, people don’t always take their coats off in bars. Especially this one—the heating system isn’t so great.”
“Anyone else unusual?” Tyler asked him.
“I’ll think...honestly, I’ll think about it. But as far as this place goes... I mean, describe unusual. We get all kinds. Some hardworking, partying-on-Friday-nights kind of people. Drug dealers now and then. But Willie—you met Willie, the night manager, right?” he asked, looking at Tyler. “You were just in talking with him, right?”
Tyler nodded.
“He doesn’t like drug dealers or junkies. He can usually ferret them out and he’s as tall and muscle-bound as you are, dude,” he said, glancing quickly at Tyler and then grimacing at Sarah as if they shared a great joke. “I think they hired him because they don’t need a bouncer when he’s on. Also, he’s the owner’s cousin. Owner is in Utah, so... But you see, Hannah left here—after that, we don’t know.”
“I know,” Tyler said. “And, listen, the cops on this really are good guys. If I can get them to send a sketch artist down here, do you think you could help us get some kind of an image of the guy in the hat and the coat?”
“I’ll go you one better,” Luke promised. “Bring your guy down. We’ll also post that we need any help—no matter how minute—anyone can give. How’s that?” He pointed across the room to a large bulletin board. “Trust me. People will want to help. Kind of like back in the days of Jack the Ripper, you know? People may like to think this guy only went after a prostitute and he won’t target them. But this kind of thing...” A shudder shook his whole body. “This is terrifying!”
“Hey, is there actually a bartender in here?” someone shouted from the end of the bar.
“Hang on, there, Hardy! Give your liver a breather! I’m on the way!” Luke said. He nodded to the two of them.
“Did you pay yet?” Tyler asked Sarah.
“No.” She scrambled in her tote bag for her wallet, but Tyler had already set a bill on the bar.
“I think I’m supposed to be paying you,” she said. “For your services.”
He stared at her and smiled slowly. “I was that good, huh?”
She realized just how her words might be taken, and yet of course he was teasing.
Still...
Ten years between them.
She felt the blood rise to her cheeks. She had not blushed this much since...well, since forever.
“I meant I’m next of kin, or so Hannah said. I’m hiring you to find her killer.”
He shook his head. “I’m going to find this killer for Hannah. And for all of us,” he said.
* * *
TYLER HAD BARELY gotten into his hotel room after dropping Sarah off at her place when his phone rang.
“Tyler?”
He was curious the caller had voiced the question, as he always answered his phone with one word, his surname, “Grant.”
But despite time and distance, he knew the caller.
“Sean,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s Sean. Hey, how are you? I know this is out of the blue, but...”
There was fear in Sean’s slightly garbled and wandering words.
“I’m here. In New York.”
“Because of Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God!” Sean said. “I mean, you were in the military, right? You, uh, know your way around a gun and all that.”
“I know my way around a gun and all that,” he agreed.
“I’m afraid they’re after us,” Sean said.
Tyler hesitated. Then asked, “Sean, who are they? Everyone thinks what happened to Hannah is horrendous, but why would any ‘they’ be after all of us?”
“You don’t know the latest. Oh, well, it just broke. Maybe you haven’t heard.”
As Sean spoke, Tyler realized he had another call coming in—from Craig Frasier.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back with you,” he told Sean. “Craig?”
“There’s been another murder. Body and head left in a park by the FDR. There was ID. Her name was Suzie Cornwall.”
Suzie?
Sarah’s best friend? God, no.
“Bob Green called me. You can join us at the park. I’ll text the address.”
He switched the call back over. “Sean, my God, I’m so sorry—”
“Oh, Suzie—our Suzie—is here with me.”
“What? Listen, Sean—”
“No, no, I heard on the news. Suzette Cornwall was murdered. But it’s not our Suzie. Our Suzie is here, with me. We’re married now, you probably know, so she’s Suzie Avery. The cops found me—I guess as a Suzie Cornwall’s husband, in whatever database. She was Suzie Cornwall, too. But...oh, Lord! Our Suzie is here. She’s fine. But that’s just it, don’t you see? He—or they!—got Hannah. They’re looking for us, Tyler. They’re looking for us—the group at Cemetery Mansion that year.”
That was crazy. Just crazy. The only person who might want some kind of revenge was Archibald Lemming. And Lemming was dead. Tyler had seen the table leg protrude right through his body.
He’d seen the blood. The ripped and torn flesh, down to the organs and bone. Lemming was not alive. And Tyler had lived with the fact that he was at least partially responsible for that man’s death...no matter if he was a murderer the world was better off without.
Perry Knowlton? Was he really out there? Had Archibald Lemming helped him pretend to die—so that he could live?
“Tyler? Help!” Sean said softly.
“All right, listen, Sean. You and Suzie stay close and keep your doors locked. Don’t go out tonight. Stay in until I know what’s going on. You hear me?”
“I hear you. Loud and clear. Door is locked. But please, don’t you see? He killed Hannah Levine. Now he’s killed a Suzette Cornwall. We’re all supposed to die, Tyler. I don’t know why, except that we were there. We were there.”
“I’ll be in touch. Just stay put. Where are you living now?”
“Brooklyn. Got a little house.”
It was too bad Sean wasn’t living in a tiny apartment with no windows and one door.
“Windows—check all the windows. Make sure you’re secure.”
“Got it. You’ll call me?”
“As soon as possible. I’m meeting the cops at the site.”
He hung up; he didn’t have time to waste on the phone. He put a call through to Sarah. Her phone rang a few times, and in those split seconds he felt debilitating panic setting in.
Then she answered.
“Sarah, listen to me. I’m asking Detective Green to get a man out to your aunt’s house. Now I do think we’re all in danger.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“No.”
“Okay, it’s not the Suzie who was our friend, but a Suzie Cornwall was murdered. I just talked to Sean. They’re fine. But I’m going to stop by for you. I need to get you somewhere safe. You can stay at Kieran’s with her for now. Craig has been living there, mostly, I guess, so I am assuming it’s pretty darned safe. You have to lock yourself in...”
“A woman named Suzie Cornwall was murdered?” she asked.
“Not our Suzie.”
“Poor woman. Oh, my God, poor woman!”
“Sarah, listen to me. Don’t open your door until you hear my voice!”
“Right, right. I won’t,” she promised.
“And call Davey and Renee. Tell them to stay put until we figure something out.”
Tyler hung up, and then, with his wits more thoroughly about him, he dialed Craig back. Craig let him know that yes, of course Kieran would be happy to have Sarah come stay with her. He should have said something; he had thought it was a given.
Tyler thanked him and headed out. His hotel wasn’t far from Sarah’s place on Reed Street. It seemed as if the distance had somehow become greater since the last time he drove it.
He left his car in the street, not caring what kind of a fine he might get, and took the steps to her apartment two at a time.
But Sarah was ready to go. She had a little bag with her. She looked at him with wide eyes, shaking her head. “That’s too much to be a coincidence, right?”
“It’s too close,” he agreed.
“My theory...I think it has to be right!” she whispered.
“It may be right. Listen, I’m taking you to—”
“Kieran’s. I figured. Where else could you drop me at midnight—or is it 1:00 a.m. yet?”
He just nodded.
Then he told her, “I’ll find out more when I see the crime site.”
They hurried out to the car and he got her in safely before he jumped back in the driver’s seat. When they got to Kieran’s place in SoHo, he parked the car in the street again.
“Go on—I’ll run in!” Sarah told him.
“Not in this lifetime,” he answered, leaving the car and taking her arm.
Kieran lived above a karaoke bar. Someone was warbling out Alice Cooper’s “The Man Behind the Mask” as they made their way up.
The singer wasn’t so bad. His choice of song seemed grating.
Of course, Sarah knew which unit was Kieran’s door. She stopped in front of it.
Tyler reached out to knock.
And then it touched him that they were on the run from an unidentified threat, and he was on his way to go see the corpse of a woman—an innocent victim—who, just earlier today, had surely believed she had years left before her.
Life was fleeting.
He turned, pulled Sarah into his arms and kissed her. It was a hard kiss, hurried and passionate, hotly wet and very sloppy. She was surprised at first, but then she returned his kiss, and when he released her, she looked at him breathlessly, with confusion.
“Tyler—”
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. And so help me God, we will survive this!”
Kieran’s door opened; she’d heard something. She had expected them. Tyler saw one of her brothers was there, as well.
“Danny is going to hang with us,” she said.
“Great,” Tyler said. “Okay—”
“Don’t even say ‘lock up.’ I’m a New Yorker, and I live with Craig!”
He actually smiled at that. Then he turned and left. No cops had ticketed his car and no tow company had taken it away.
He drove quickly and competently.
He needed to reach the crime scene.
To see everything in situ.
He had to get there.
And, dear lord, how he dreaded getting there, as well.