“As you can see, today’s post was made from a different location than the previous comments.”
“I don’t understand, Detective. Aren’t you looking into Julia’s death? Why are you even bothering with this?”
“We have one of Ramona’s friends—Casey Heinz—in custody as a person of interest. But because Julia was connected to at least one of these prior posts, a defense attorney for anyone we might eventually charge in her death will make an issue of them.”
“I told you before that there’s no way Julia would have done something like that.”
“You don’t seem very worried about the fact that someone is threatening you, Mrs. Langston. You haven’t even asked for details about this new post.” Ellie had always found it odd that Adrienne hadn’t simply erased the grotesque comments that had been posted on her blog. She’d given her all that mumbo jumbo about wearing the signs of her victimhood proudly, but she never mentioned that traffic to her blog shot through the roof after the threats started. There was also the rumor Katherine Whitmire had passed along, that Adrienne had apparently scored herself a significant book deal. And from the very beginning, Adrienne seemed entirely too certain that Julia could not have been the person writing the anonymous comments, suggesting she might have known the author’s identity all along.
“I told you before that if some crackpot wants to live it up with meaningless comments, I’m not going to let it get to me. I walk in and see my kid getting bullied by a cop, and I’m worried about her.” She wiped away a tear that was beginning to form at the inside corner of her right eye. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m yelling. I’m scared, but not for myself. I’m scared for Ramona. Her best friend is dead, and we don’t even know if someone killed her. What if they come after my daughter?”
“There’s no reason to believe Ramona’s in any jeopardy. You’re the one who’s being threatened.”
“It’s just a bunch of stupid words.”
“Except your daughter’s right. It’s more than meaningless words now. Whoever did this seems to know your identity. They used your name.” Ellie read the comment verbatim from her phone screen. “Blog by ‘Anonymous’? Yeah, right. I know who you are, Adrienne. Stop writing your drivel or die. Not just words. That’s an explicit threat. We’ve been told, Mrs. Langston, that your blog has earned you a contract to write a memoir? Is that true?”
“What does that have to do with any of this?”
“I asked you a question.”
“You’ve asked an awful lot of questions, Detective. Did it ever dawn on you that you don’t necessarily have a right to know every single thing about my family?”
“If it’s true you have a book deal, these threats on your website could make for excellent publicity. Is that why you don’t erase them?”
Adrienne shook her head. “If you must know, Detective, I do have a book deal. And I earned it. And I signed it before these threats even started. Check with my editor if you’d like. Janet Martin at Waterton Press. You know, first you show up here not sure whether Julia’s death was a suicide or murder. Now you say you have some friend of Ramona who is a ‘person of interest,’ whatever that means. And you’re asking questions about stupid threats that were supposedly made by Julia but continued even past her death. You’re ruining everything. My website was anonymous for a reason. Even the book is to be published under a pseudonym. I wanted to help people by writing about what happened to me, but I never wanted Ramona to know.” She blew air up toward her eyes, obviously frustrated by the onset of tears. “I don’t want her to know things that might scare her. Ramona’s just a little girl in so many ways. This is scaring her. Julia being gone scares her. Your being here scares her.”
As they were leaving the apartment, Ellie spotted Ramona watching her from the apartment’s back hallway. Her lips were moving silently, first subtly and then with more urgency. It took Ellie a few attempts to make out the words she was mouthing: You have to do something. Help her. Help Casey.
Outside the Langstons’ building, Ellie was still replaying the episode mentally. She kept coming back to Adrienne’s confident assurance: I earned it. Ellie had thought she’d finally figured out who was responsible for the threats on Adrienne’s website, but her theory fell apart if Adrienne had signed the contract for her book prior to the first threat. She was just about to call the publisher to confirm the timing of the book deal when her phone rang.
“This is Hatcher.”
“Detective, this is Janet Martin at Waterton Press. Can you please explain to me why the NYPD is trying to silence an abuse victim?”
As Ellie drove away in the Crown Vic, she did not notice the man standing on the corner at Park Avenue, staring up toward the twenty-first floor. He had arrived at the Port Authority Bus Terminal at 6:30 that morning on a Greyhound Bus from Buffalo with nothing but his gym bag.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Waterton Press was located in the Flatiron Building, a triangular structure marking the juncture of Broadway and Fifth Avenue. Considered a skyscraper when erected in 1902, the historic building was now dwarfed by nearby condo towers. Size wasn’t everything, however. Waterton’s offices were only midway up the building’s modest height, but Ellie still felt herself marveling at the unencumbered views of Madison Square Park from the editor in chief’s windows, right at the northern tip of the triangle.
“Janet Martin,” the editor said, standing behind her desk to offer a surprisingly firm handshake. “Thank you for heading right over. Well, aren’t you the best-looking police detective I’ve ever laid eyes on?”
Ellie didn’t enjoy pretty-for-a-cop comments, seeing them as insults to other female police officers rather than compliments to her. But she needed Janet Martin to like her. “Actually, I’ll let you in on a little secret. We get an extra stipend for appearance-related expenditures. A few highlights, a wee bit of Botox . . . It’s all part of the mayor’s new plan to revamp the department.”
“Oh, and funny, too. Gorgeous and funny.”
“That’s very nice of you. And I’m sorry again that we got off on the wrong foot. I know Adrienne has concerns about maintaining her anonymity, but I certainly didn’t do anything to dissuade her from writing about her experiences.” Ellie had already primed this pump when Martin had called her in a huff, but she figured a little extra obsequiousness couldn’t hurt.
With a single hand wave, Martin let her know it was all bygones. “I should’ve known it was Adrienne being Adrienne—blowing things out of proportion. I’ve never met an author so afraid of success. Hey, I bet you have fabulous stories about catching the bad guys, saving the good guys, and doing it all in your Jimmy Choos. Ever thought of writing a book?”
“One pair of Jimmy Choos would eclipse my entire shoe budget, and the only writing I have time for is police reports,” Ellie said, taking a seat in one of the guest chairs.
“You adorable girl. You wouldn’t actually have to write it. That’s how we do it these days, haven’t you heard? Snooki’s a New York Times best seller. A witty girl like you? I could sell TV rights tomorrow.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Martin, but the only book I’m interested in right now is Adrienne’s.”
“Now she’s a real writer, doing it all herself. Such a doll. And she’s got a fantastic story. And now defending herself against this crazy stalker?”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Did you sign a book contract with Adrienne before or after these threats started?”