212: A Novel Part 20

1:45 A.M.

Ellie knew the moment that she stepped from the elevator into the hallway of the fourth floor that they were too late. It felt like a week, but it had been only fifteen hours since she'd emerged from this same elevator earlier that morning to see the body of Megan Gunther being wheeled from the apartment. Now the door of that apartment was covered with two overlapping X's of yellow crime tape, except for the one edge of a single ribbon that had fallen to the carpet below.

Ellie kicked the loose end of tape with the pointed toe of her boot. "She beat us here."

Rogan slipped the key they'd retrieved from the superintendent into the lock. "We don't know that," he said, even as his tone suggested otherwise.

They both headed straight to Heather's bedroom, the room to which they'd given so little attention earlier that morning. Ellie opened the top drawer of the dresser to find an empty hole in the otherwise overstuffed collection of underwear. From there, she pulled open the closet. The hangers were s.p.a.ced evenly enough, but the tidy stacks of sweaters on the shelf overhead were separated by a gap just large enough to fit a missing pile.

Ellie slammed the closet door. "She grabbed some clothes in a hurry, and she split. And we were right about the sequence of the calls. Check your cell."

He gave his phone a quick glance. "No signal."

Back at the precinct, they had fit together the final pieces of the story that the phone records had been trying to tell. Nearly five months ago, Tanya Abbott, posing as Heather Bradley, had called Megan Gunther after seeing the ad for a roommate on Craig's List. Less than a month later, Katie Battle called Stacy Schecter to cover a date for her. Stacy in turn called Tanya, who was now living her life as Heather. The call was only a minute long, so Stacy left a short message. But just as Rogan wasn't able to get a signal in this building now, Tanya couldn't use her cell to return Stacy's call from the apartment. She'd used the landline instead.

Ellie began searching the small desk against the window while Rogan opened the top drawer of the nightstand, searching for some sign of who Tanya Abbott was and where she might be.

"Jesus," Rogan said, flipping open a dog-eared copy of John Hart Ely's Democracy and Distrust. "Why the h.e.l.l would a grown woman make up a false ident.i.ty just to go to college and write political science papers?"

"She got popped ten years ago for hooking. You're tricking already at twenty years old, the idea of being a garden-variety undergrad might sound pretty appealing."

"Getting into NYU with a fake application's got to take some serious preparation. And now just like that, she bailed because the hospital couldn't find a record of her insurance? You'd think a real grifter would try to lie her way through it."

"Guess she figured that once the hospital started asking questions, her whole story would unravel."

"So? Worst thing that could happen are some fraud charges."

"J. J., we need to look at this woman for a lot more than fraud." Ellie closed the final drawer of the desk and moved on to a stack of textbooks propped against the desk on the floor, flipping each one open in case Tanya had stashed any papers inside the books. "Right now she's our best suspect for Megan's murder. We got distracted by Campus Juice. If Megan found out about Tanya's secret-if she saw something, or overheard a conversation she wasn't supposed to hear-"

"But Heather-Jesus, what are we calling these people?"

"Real names. Heather Bradley doesn't exist-or if she does, she's not the woman we care about. We're talking about Tanya Abbott."

"Well, Tanya got cut up pretty good."

"But she didn't die, did she? Pa.s.sing herself off as another victim is a pretty good way of throwing off suspicion. And it worked. We just a.s.sumed the roommate was collateral damage."

"So she kills Megan and then has enough stones to stab herself multiple times? That's hard-core."

"Or she had help. Megan's ex-boyfriend said fake Heather was always running off to meet some mystery man."

"Could have been a lot of different men if she was turning tricks."

"Or she could also have a boyfriend who was in on the con and helped get rid of the meddling roommate when the time came."

"If she had someone helping her, they might also be good for Katie Battle's murder tonight at the Royalton. It's not like a woman to inflict that kind of violence alone."

Ellie reached the final book in the stack, unmarked and clothbound. She flipped it open to find two photographs mounted on the first page, both black-and-whites of a woman holding a baby. "I think I found something." She sat on the bed and began turning the pages.

Someone had taken the care to place the photographs in chronological order-from baby to toddler to Santa Claus's lap to a blue ribbon for the fifth-grade relay team. By the time they hit the shot of a dark-haired girl with long hair, full lips, and almond-shaped eyes, beaming from beneath a handmade banner that read "Happy 13th Birthday," Ellie could recognize a young Tanya Abbott.

She flipped the page and found two photographs of Tanya with a young boy, probably only four or five years old. In one, Tanya was seated on the gra.s.s next to the standing boy, squeezing him tightly to her chest-apparently too tightly, from the look on the kid's face. In the other, the boy carried an impish expression as he smashed a s...o...b..ll on top of an unwitting Tanya's wool-capped head.

"Little brother?" Rogan asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Maybe." There was something vaguely familiar about the child's face. He had white-blond hair while Tanya was dark, but plenty of children started out as towheads and then darkened as they got older. Jess had been even blonder than she as a toddler.

She compared the two children in the picture more closely, trying to figure out what was familiar about the boy. Physical similarities could be elusive that way. Although she and Jess looked like polar opposites in all of the most salient ways-coloring, body type, the shapes of their faces-plenty of people had told them there was some indescribable resemblance between them.

Something about that little boy made her feel as if she'd seen him before, and recently at that. There had to be something in his face that reminded her of the adult Tanya, but whatever it was, she couldn't put her finger on it.

After a few more photographs, the pages suddenly went blank. In the final image, Tanya dangled a set of keys and a tiny card that Ellie guessed was her learner's permit to drive. By then, Tanya had discovered makeup, hairspray, and the power of cleavage. But despite the girl's bolder appearance, something else in her had flattened. While the youthful Tanya was radiant, with a broad grin, this older version seemed withdrawn and less secure, as if someone was cajoling her to pose with her newfound driving props.

Only five years later, she'd be arrested for prost.i.tution.

Rogan plopped down on the bed next to her. "Remember that couple in Canada? Those two whack jobs who went on a killing spree somewhere up there."

"You mean the Ken and Barbie murderers?"

"Yeah, it was this dude and his girlfriend. She helped him rape and murder multiple women, including her own little sister. We could be looking at something like that. They had a reason to take out Megan if she realized the scam Tanya was running. Once they killed Megan, maybe the guy developed a taste for it. Went next to Katie."

"Yeah, but why Katie? And why set up a date? If Tanya knew Katie, she wouldn't have needed the ruse. And if she didn't know her, it's a little coincidental that they wound up going after a prost.i.tute who just happened to be friends with Stacy."

Rogan shook his head and then flopped backward on the bed. "I don't know, but I'm so f.u.c.king tired, I could fall asleep right here." He shut his eyes, and for a moment Ellie thought he might have actually nodded off until he muttered one word: "Tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we find Tanya Abbott."

"How? We have no idea what she's been up to in New York. She could be on her way back to Baltimore. She could be on her way to Mexico for all we know. And she's got a head start."

"You're right. We have no idea where to look, which is why there's no point trying to chase her a.s.s down now. But tomorrow we won't be exhausted. Tomorrow we'll figure it out. We'll find her, and we'll get some answers."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

Ellie grabbed Tanya's photo alb.u.m before they left. "If we ever catch up to her, this might be useful."

Ellie returned home to find Jess sprawled on her sofa. A pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream rested on his slumped chest as he took in an episode of The Hills.

She unholstered her Glock and threw her jacket on a chair in the corner. "I thought you worked tonight."

"Called in sick after I met that girl at Gaslight."

She nudged him with one knee and found a place for herself next to him. "I can't believe you watch this vacuous garbage."

"Hot girls juggling work, school, and boys, all in sunny southern California. What more could a guy want?"

"One little ounce of testosterone?"

"Just ask that girl from the bar if I've got a problem in that territory."

"Ugh," she said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the pint of ice cream while the spoon was resting in the carton. "And here I thought I might actually get some decent sleep tonight."

"What about your juggling of work, school, and boys? No Captain America tonight?"

"No. We were off to a good night, and then I wound up at the Royalton. The victim's a realtor for Corcoran-a frickin' realtor, and she's whoring herself on the side. Oh, excuse me-she worked for an escort agency. Prestige Parties."

"Cla.s.sy. My employer could take a lesson from them."

"Well, unlike the fine gentlemen's establishment that employs you, these escort services are always, without exception, a cover for prost.i.tution. I really don't get it. This woman had a good job. A roof over her head. How can a woman with options do something like that to herself?"

"It's more common than you'd think."

"Oh, G.o.d, don't tell me-"

"Relax. I'm talking about the girls at work. They're doing dry humps in the VIP lounge for a hundred bucks. Fifty of that goes to the house. Another twenty-five gets tipped to the waitresses and people like yours truly who don't have to get groped. By the time those girls are done paying percentages and the flat fee to the house to work, they're lucky if they're not in the hole on a slow night. Inevitably a few of them see customers on the side for a little more action."

"It's not the same."

"Try not to judge, little sis. That's always been your weak spot."

"Kind of hard to be in my business and not have the occasional streak of judginess. You can't be throwing people in a cell if you think it's all relative."

"If you want, I can ask around at the T&A Cafe about this service. Prestige Parties?"

"Yeah." She handed the ice cream carton back to him, and he growled when he saw the empty bottom. "I'm hitting the sack."

She had removed her contacts, washed her face, and moved on to the brus.h.i.+ng of her teeth when she heard the phone ring, followed by Jess's voice saying, "Come on up." She spit out the minty foam before yelling toward the living room.

"Please tell me you didn't invite company for the night."

"I wouldn't say I invited it, but when contacted, I didn't exactly decline the offer."

"Jesus, Jess." She used her hands to make a sipping cup beneath the faucet and rinsed. "You can't just a.s.sume I'm not coming home. Now where the h.e.l.l-"

"Relax, El." He was pulling on his jacket. "The company's not for me. Captain America texted a few minutes ago to see if you were back yet. I guess it was supposed to be a surprise. Gag. And really, I know you two are on the road to being that old married couple at Denny's every night, but seeing how he's trying to be so romantic and all, you might want to put in a little effort." He pointed a scrutinizing finger up and down her general person.

Ellie was no longer in front of a mirror, but looking down, she got the gist. Blue flannel pajama bottoms. Extra-large David Bowie T-s.h.i.+rt. The slippers her mother had given her, adorned with plush green frog heads. Not to mention her hair was pulled back in a red terry-cloth sweatband and her face was slathered with overnight cream. She heard a tap at the door.

"Off with you," Jess said. "I'll buy you some time."

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"Out."

"You sure?"

"Sis, when are you going to figure out that I can always find a place to sleep?"

Ellie dashed into the bathroom and slid the band from her hair while she wiped at her face with Kleenex. She threw the slippers and the sweatpants in the bathtub. By the time she heard Jess say good-bye to Max, she was ready to emerge-just her and her David Bowie T-s.h.i.+rt-for some well-deserved privacy with Max Donovan.

From the look on his face when he saw her, he didn't mind the attire. His smile-and every activity that followed-kept her mind off Tanya Abbott, Megan Gunther, Katie Battle, Sparks, her lieutenant, all of it. She and Rogan had big plans, but not until tomorrow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

8:15 A.M.

She takes a triangle stance in her stall at the firing range. The sound of gunfire echoes through the cold room. She levels her Glock in front of her, fixes the torso of the paper target in her sights, and locks her right elbow to prepare for the recoil. She pulls the trigger but nothing happens. She tries again but, again, nothing. She pulls the trigger once more, and this time, the weapon falls from her hand.

"Hatcher."

She turns to find Robin Tucker standing behind her.

"You're not ready, Hatcher. You knew you weren't ready, but you came here anyway. And now everyone is pulling their weight except you. Take a look at Nick's work."

Ellie hears a rumble as a paper torso in front of the adjacent stall flies in her direction like a ghost. Six holes form a tight cl.u.s.ter in the middle of the target's chest.

"Excellent shooting."

She turns to see Nick Dillon, the head of security for Sparks Industries. He kisses Tucker on the cheek and gives her a playful tap on the a.s.s. She giggles in delight.

Ellie hears another rumble. She sees another target being pulled in from the end of the firing range. More rumbling. More targets, all with centered shots. She fumbles for her Glock on the floor and makes one more futile attempt to fire. She hears another rumble as her own target moves toward her. She looks at the paper and sees the gloating sneer of Sam Sparks.

"Ellie."

She holds her hands in front of her to keep the paper from swallowing her.

"Ellie."

She feels hands on hers, pus.h.i.+ng her arms closer to her body.

"El, your phone."

Ellie opened her eyes to see her bedroom ceiling. In bed next to her, Max let out a tired groan. "You okay? You were waving your arms around. Thought you were going to coldc.o.c.k me for a second."