“That kind of loot out in the open and the shooter leaves it behind?”
“Hell, no. Stupid uniforms were snooping around where they didn’t belong. The bag was in the refrigerator. Guess Washington was hiding them. Who knows. Anyway, the sales receipt was still in the bag. The charges came back to Jordan McLaughlin’s credit card. Your lieutenant had a flag in the system for the Thirteenth to be notified on any developments, and I guess this counts as a development.”
“Any indication Washington’s murder was related to the mugging?”
Garcia shook his head. “Word so far-from the residents willing to speak to us-is that Washington was an outsider. A little too on his own. A little too quick to talk to cops. It could be a retaliation thing. Or we might be looking at a home invasion where the bad guy got his apartments mixed up. Narcotics has been monitoring some dealing going on next door. One thing’s for certain: whoever did it was a lousy shot-two bullets in Washington, but three in the living room wall. No dummy, though. Left the murder weapon on the floor. No serial number. No prints.”
“Did you find the credit card?”
“Nah. Washington probably used it once and ditched it. I told all this to your lou about an hour ago so he wouldn’t need to send a body over. No offense, but you must be in some kind of doghouse.”
Ellie took a quick walk through the apartment, just to make it look like there was a purpose to her being there. But she knew that Eckels had sent her here just to pull her away from Symanski’s house.
There was nothing left for her to do but go home.
JESS WAS WAITING at the apartment door for her with an open bottle of Rolling Rock. He helped her shrug her coat off around her bandaged hand.
“How bad is it?”
“I could show you,” Ellie said, “but you’ve already puked once this week.”
She plopped herself onto the sofa and took a long draw from the beer.
“So are you going to stand there looking all sorry for me, or are you going to tell me what was so important that you needed me to come home?”
He shrugged. “This whole feeling-sorry-for-you-thing, my brain’s having trouble processing it. It’s usually the other way around. And I called you before I knew some crazy dude stabbed you.”
She was really getting tired of that word. “Out with it.”
Jess took a seat next to her on the couch, and she knew it was serious. He had a determined, almost somber look on his face. She hadn’t known her brother’s facial muscles were physically capable of such an expression.
“You got a phone call about an hour ago. God knows how the wench got your number, but it was from an editor at Simon & Schuster. She was trying to verify facts in a book proposal she received from Peter Morse.”
Ellie didn’t know what to say. It had been only three days since Peter had called the book pie in the sky. He certainly hadn’t mentioned sending a proposal to any editor.
“What kinds of facts?” she asked.
“Well, it’s not like she dictated a list of questions, but she was saying all kinds of stuff about Dad and the College Hill Strangler case. The book’s not just about First Date, Ellie. It’s about you. I don’t get it, El. You’ve been a vault when it comes to that stuff and now it’s in the hands of some reporter?”
Ellie wanted to defend Peter, to say he wasn’t just some reporter. He was the first man she’d met in a long time whom she could actually picture herself with. He cared about her. He could be trusted. But instead she sat in silence on her sofa, wishing she had never spoken to Peter about William Summer.
“Ellie, are you listening to me? You need to call that editor and tell her Peter’s full of shit and that you never said any of this to him.”
“I can’t lie, Jess.”
“Oh, Jesus. Not this Girl Scout shit. He’s the one who’s the fucking liar.” He flipped open her laptop on the coffee table. “There’s something you need to see, Ellie. He’s still online. I’m really sorry.”
And, sure enough, there he was. “Unpublished,” the journalist and struggling author she’d first noticed online two months ago, was still listed on the very Internet dating service where they had first met.
Same profile. Same photograph. Same just-out-of-bed brown hair and piercing green eyes. All the same, as if he hadn’t met anyone yet. As if they hadn’t spent those nights together before she left for Kansas. As if they hadn’t spoken every day while she was gone.
“I’m sorry, El. He’s not the guy he pretended to be.” He placed a hand on her outstretched leg.
Ellie wiped her face, suppressing a sniffle. “I’ll call him first.”
“No. Don’t call him. Don’t talk to him. Ever.”
“I at least owe it to him to let him explain.”
“No, you don’t. You met him, what? Two months ago? And you were out of town for almost all of it? Jesus, I’m sorry if this is harsh, but you’re such a 1950s monogamist. Just because you go on a few dates with a guy doesn’t make him your husband. You know how many women I’ve dated who just stopped taking my calls one day? I’ve been dumped by text message. My e-mail address is blocked from, like, half the women in Manhattan.”
She gave him a sad smile.
“Trust me, he’ll get over it. I mean, it’ll take a while. This is, after all, the one and only Ellie Hatcher we’re talking about.” His tone became serious again. “I mean it, El. You’re one of the last single girls to make it to thirty without some asshole doing a number on your head. You know how many good guys are out there who’d kill for a chick like you? Don’t let this guy turn you into a basket case for the next good one who comes around the corner. Save the drama for your mama. You need to cut him loose.”
Her cell phone rang. She recognized the prefix as a courthouse number.
“Hatcher.”
“It’s Max Donovan. I heard what happened at Symanski’s. Knight wants to talk to you.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to work. My lieutenant seems to have sidelined me.”
“That’s why Knight wants you to come in. It would just be the three of us.”
“I don’t hide anything from my partner.”
“Fair enough. We’re not trying to get in the middle of things. Knight just wants to make sure everything’s getting a proper look. He can help you out with Eckels; he just wants to meet with you first.”
“What time?”
“He’s tied up until six.”
That gave Ellie an hour before she would need to leave her apartment.
“Yeah, okay.”
“And, not to press my luck, but I’m pretty much sitting here waiting around with nothing to do until then.”