“Cat?”
“I got a kitten. At least, a kitten got me. She arrived a couple days ago, a stray. Guess you didn’t know.” She shrugged. “I mean, how would you know?”
“You’re such a softie,” he said. “Always trying to make everyone’s lives work. Even a stray.”
“Yeah.” She pursed her lips. Dismissive. “So much for that idea. Now she’s gone. I have to find her. What if-”
He could tell she was trying to pull herself together. And he’d help her look for this cat. It was probably easier for her to focus on the missing pet than on what really happened.
“Jane? They’ll find the cat, or the cat will come back. And I’ll stay as long as I can. But I need to-”
“Jake. Listen. I need to find out who it was that got into my apartment. Aren’t you going to take fingerprints or something? I mean there was obviously-and that Officer, Way-whatever his name is.” She pulled a business card from the rear pocket of her jeans. “Wayland. Didn’t seem he was terribly concerned. He was nice enough, and I know he didn’t find any ‘signs of forced entry,’ as he said about a million times, but aren’t there investigations that you guys are supposed to do to figure out if-and who-and what if they’re-?”
She took a deep shuddering breath, closing her eyes and sitting up straight, untangling herself from him. “I mean, someone broke into-”
“Honey?” It slipped out again, and he didn’t correct himself. He took his arm from around her shoulders, and turned to face her. This was gonna be tough.
If the “honey” registered, Jane’s face didn’t show it. “What?”
“That threatening phone call you got? Involving Brianna Tillson. The one I was asking you about yesterday when you so conveniently had to get off the phone.”
Jane’s eyes widened. She looked at him from under those wet lashes, wary. “Why do you-”
He held up both palms. “You want to be coy? Or talk about it?”
She nodded, acquiescing. “Yeah. Fine. You heard from the Register. Alex Wyatt called Superintendent Rivera.”
“Okay,” Jake agreed. “And I cannot believe you didn’t tell me. Anyway. So. Remember you were told there’d be someone watching your apartment? Doing surveillance?”
“That’s what they said, but I never saw anyone.”
Jake had to smile. “Well, that’s why they call it surveillance. But in this case, there’s a Boston cop who’s got a brother or pal or something, a camera buff, apparently, who lives across the street from you. In that brownstone. I talked to them from the car, on the way over here. They told me after that threatening phone call you got, they’d set up a surveillance cam on the third floor, recording everything. You follow?”
Jane blinked, tilting her head, as if picturing it. “I was on camera?”
“Well, when you came and went, you were. So was anyone else who came and went.”
Jake saw the light dawn.
“Oh, now I get it. Whoa. You don’t need to investigate.”
This was the first smile he’d seen since he arrived.
Jane clasped her hands under her chin as if she was praying for an answer. “So? Who was it? Who came in? Are they in custody?”
And here we go.
“Well, Janey, that’s the thing,” Jake said.
“The thing?” This was the first good news Jane’d heard in a long time. Jake had gone all cop on her, which, she supposed, was his job. Officer Wayland was solicitous enough, but he’d seemed distracted, not really focused on-well, her home invasion.
This must be why. They had a suspect. It would be pretty damn interesting to find out who. Couldn’t be Finn Eberhardt, because he’d answered the phone when Tuck called DFS. Which meant she was wrong about that whole thing, but soon there’d be answers. Big answers. And she could go back to work and her life would be normal again.
“Jake? Thing about what?” He hadn’t answered her, and he had that funny look on his face again.
He couldn’t avoid it any longer. She would be so pissed. Or confused. And she’d never accept it. That’s what Jake was worried about the most. He stood, adjusting his jacket, feeling the weight of the weapon under his shoulder. He’d kept his jacket on so his gun wasn’t so obvious. But part of his job here was to be a cop. The Sig reminded him.
“Yeah, well. The surveillance guy has the video, and we could get it, if need be. We’ve been given parallel jurisdiction for your case, Superintendent Rivera talked to the Brookline brass after the Register’s call. Anyway. Bottom line, the camera has night vision, and they’ve gotten ID on everyone who came into the building.”
“And?”
“And. They just talked to the surveillance guy, and he reports he saw you come home last night. Saw a thirty-ish woman, identified as Neena Fichera, the one I met the day-remember?”
Jane made the hurry-up sign with one hand. “Geez.”
“Her son Eli, and the baby. He reports seeing the mail carrier, and a couple of tenants-they check out, including the guys from the back apartment one floor below you. Saw Tuck come in this morning. Saw your car leave.”
“Yup yup, fine.” Jane waved off his words. “Get to the good stuff.”
“There is no… good stuff.” Jake needed to handle this as if Jane were any other “victim.” That’s what he was trained for, and that’s what he’d rely on. “Jane, according to the surveillance person, no stranger came into this building. No one. You, the Ficheras, the tenants, Tuck. That’s all. You must have left your door unlocked. And it came open.”
Jane stared at him. She looked at the ceiling, as if searching for answers. Stood, and took two steps to her bay window, pulling back the gauzy curtains and peering out to the street, curving her hands around her eyes to block the glare. Then, with both hands, she waved.
“Jane?”
“I’m just waving at the stupid asshole who thinks he can do surveillance by looking at the front of the apartment.” She talked into the window, then whirled to him, hands on hips. “Brilliant. Even I, dumb girl who supposedly can’t remember to lock her door, know it’s pretty stupid to watch one fricking-to watch one side of a building. Cheap, yeah, oh-so high tech. Convenient. Fabulous. But there’s a back door, right? Did your cut-rate police brain trust think of that?”
She put her hands over her face, so all he could see was the wave of her hair and tiny gold earrings, and the slim gold band she wore on her right hand, her mother’s wedding ring, she’d told him. Her good luck talisman.
“I’m so sorry, Jake.” She took her hands down from her eyes. “I don’t mean to yell. But that’s so dumb, and someone got in the back door, duh, and I just don’t see how you can blame it on me. I mean, you saw Mona Washburn, right? She’s home. How’d she get in? She’s not on the big-time night-vision hotshot video.”
“Yeah, I know. But the back has a keypad that opens with a number pad code, correct?” He’d expected an explosion, and got one. Now the fireworks would dissipate, and Jane would see what had to be reality.
She was frowning, stretching the black wool of her sweater sleeve down over one hand. Not looking at him. Then she did. “Yeah. So?”
“Well. It activates every time the door is opened, and keeps a record of who entered. Don’t need a surveillance cam for that. And it shows tenants only. Mona Washburn was the last to use it, around three A.M. She told Officer Wayland she’d stayed late to close her restaurant and didn’t see anyone or anything unusual.”
Jake’s radio crackled. “Jake? DeLuca. You copy?”
“Copy.” Jake talked into his shoulder radio, raising a hand to put Jane on hold.
“Got that warrant,” DeLuca said. “For the Ricker house? Time to make his day, Jake. You clear to move?”