As the daughter of a police officer Laurie knew that a welfare check was a low priority. She could be waiting for hours. She tried again, but could tell her urgent pleas were falling on deaf ears. The clock was ticking. She hung up and called her father’s cell phone. On the fourth ring, she heard his voice mail inviting her to leave a message.
“Dad, there’s an emergency.” She didn’t have time to explain the entire story. “Casey’s cousin Angela is the killer. And now I think Charlotte’s in danger at a warehouse in DUMBO. The address is 101 Fulton Street in Brooklyn. I called 911, but the dispatcher entered it as a welfare check. Charlotte’s not answering her phone. I’m headed there now.”
As she ended the call, with a sinking heart she realized why Leo hadn’t picked up. He had been asked to consult on a new antiterrorism task force. The first meeting was at the mayor’s office this afternoon.
He might notice a text, she thought, and began tapping on her phone: EMERGENCY. CHECK MY VM MESSAGE. CALL ME.
64
“No, no, no, no.” Angela was standing over Charlotte’s prone body, her hands pressed together tightly to control the energy pulsing through her own veins. “What did I do? What did I do?”
She crouched to her knees and reached a tentative hand for Charlotte’s throat. Charlotte didn’t flinch from Angela’s touch, and her skin was warm. Angela placed two fingers on her carotid artery. She felt a pulse. She leaned over Charlotte’s face. She was still breathing.
Charlotte was alive. What am I going to do now? Angela agonized. Maybe I can still make this work. I have to think and be careful, just like that night at Hunter’s house. Charlotte has to die, here, right now, and it has to look like an accident. If I can push her down the elevator shaft from the third floor, it will certainly kill her. They’ll think that the bruise on the back of her head was caused by the fall.
Feeling more confident now that she had a plan, she looked around and then rushed to the pile of tools the builders had left with the construction materials, not even knowing what she was looking for until she stumbled onto a packet of zip ties and a box cutter. She slipped the knife in her pocket.
She was about to slip the zip tie around Charlotte’s wrist when she stopped. Looking at the thin, wiry bands, she wondered if these would leave marks on her wrists and ankles, marks that could not be explained by a fall down an elevator shaft. There had to be something she could use that wouldn’t-
Angela almost smiled at the irony of her solution. After checking Charlotte to assure that she was not yet regaining consciousness, she hurried over to one of the cardboard boxes and retrieved two stretchy super-soft Ladyform workout tops.
She cinched Charlotte’s wrists together behind her back and was working on her ankles when she heard Charlotte begin to moan softly. She needed to work faster.
“There,” she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Charlotte might regain consciousness, but she wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Angela’s thoughts were racing. She wanted to stop time and travel backwards to a parallel universe ten minutes in the past. If she could have hit the pause button at that exact moment, she would have seen that the situation wasn’t as dire as it felt. All Charlotte knew for certain was that she had clicked on a few websites from work. Depending on how closely Ladyform monitored employees’ computers, Charlotte might even know that she leaked information to Mindy Sampson and posted negative comments about Casey online. At that instant in time, if she had been thinking straight, she could have talked her way out of this. But of course she wasn’t thinking straight, because she’d been panicked about that stupid television show ever since she heard Laurie Moran’s name.
“Maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad about what’s going to happen to you after all,” she said bitterly as she stared at Charlotte. “Your family’s connection to Under Suspicion is what helped persuade Laurie Moran to work with Casey in the first place.”
All these years, she had led Charlotte-and everyone else-to believe that she was Casey’s most loyal friend and advocate. She was the one who regularly visited Casey in prison. How many times had Angela been told, You’re such a good friend. You’re such a good person. Casey’s so lucky to have you.
Was there any way she could hold on to that now?
At first, she was merely annoyed at the thought of Casey on television, claiming to be innocent. Once again, at least in some eyes, she’d be the sweetheart who could do no wrong. But then Casey told her she’d noticed a picture was missing from Hunter’s nightstand after the murder. Worse, Casey had told Laurie about it. In that moment, Angela believed that the truth was finally going to come out.
But then she realized how much time had passed since she killed Hunter Raleigh. The human mind is fragile. Memories blur and fade. She was certain that Sean would remember the fight that ended their relationship. He’d recall that it was about Hunter. He might even call to mind the box of mementos he discovered in her closet. But would he have memorized the exact contents of the box? Would he conjure up the one specific photograph of Hunter and the President? Maybe not. In fact, probably not, or so Angela had struggled to convince herself. And of course she had disposed of the box’s contents the very next day, as much as it had pained her.
Charlotte began to move. She let out a low groan of pain. It was guttural.
Angela had taken a chance by phoning Sean after Casey suggested that Laurie interview him for the show. “After all these years, I think it would be hard if the two of us were to cross paths again. You’re happily married. I’m still alone. Why didn’t we end up together? I’d prefer that not to be an issue. Does that make sense?” He agreed that it did, even though it didn’t, because people were so quick to assume that a single woman her age would not be happy alone.
But now Charlotte was starting to wiggle, not understanding why she couldn’t move her limbs. “Angela?” she asked, in a faltering voice.
Angela tried to slow her mind down. Even though I persuaded Sean to decline Laurie’s show, I didn’t dare ask directly about the memory box he’d found in my closet. Any mention of it could have triggered his recollection or made him wonder why I was asking him about that. I had to cross my fingers that he wouldn’t think back on that night. I had to hope that maybe he wouldn’t even see the show. I could picture his wife saying, “Why are you watching that? Is it because you’re curious about Angela?” If he didn’t watch, no problem. If he didn’t remember the picture of Hunter and the President, no problem. And even if he put two and two together, I could have said Sean was confused. He may have seen a different photograph. Or he had held a grudge against me all these years. I could have said I admired the photo and Hunter had given me a copy. There was no way to convict me of murder beyond a reasonable doubt based on an ex-boyfriend’s ancient memory of a framed picture in a storage box in my closet.
But now look what I have done. I have no choice. I have to kill her and make it look like an accident.
Charlotte was regaining consciousness. Angela reached for the weapon she’d been carrying in her purse as a precaution since the day Casey signed the papers to appear on Under Suspicion. She could tell from Charlotte’s terrified expression that she was awake enough to see the gun in Angela’s hand.
“Okay, boss,” Angela said, “you need to get up on your feet. Let’s go.”
65
Laurie’s Uber driver came to a halt in front of the address she’d gotten from Charlotte’s secretary. She offered a weak thank-you to the driver. “Sorry, it probably sounded like you were driving into a war zone.”