44 Charles Street (19 page)

The police told her it wasn’t a problem, instructed her not to go back in, and promised to be there in ten minutes. They were there in five, they had a car with two patrolmen nearby. She described the feeling she’d gotten and what she’d seen, and they told her to wait outside. They asked her if anyone else lived in the house. She described the other occupants and said that all of them were still away, except one who had stayed in town, and she might be at work, or asleep upstairs. She described the layout of the house and who lived where. She said Eileen lived on the top floor, and everyone else was gone. Both patrolmen walked in, looking alert, with their hands resting loosely on their guns. It told her that they had taken her seriously. She thought of calling Chris while she waited, but she didn’t want to bother him again, and more than likely they would find nothing more than the broken chair. She didn’t want to sound like a hysteric, and she started to relax after they’d been inside for a while. Obviously nothing was wrong, nothing had happened, there had been no gunshots, no burglars had come running out. She had moved slightly away from the direct line of the door, but it was fully twenty minutes later when one of them came out. They had made a thorough search. The officer came slowly down the stairs and looked at Francesca with an unreadable expression.

“Everything okay?” Francesca smiled at him, feeling foolish again. His partner was still inside.

He spoke to her in a quiet, calm voice. “Your instincts were right. Your tenant on the top floor is dead.” Eileen. Oh my God. That couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Francesca felt like she was going to faint. He led her back to the steps and helped her to sit down. She looked so pale that he told her to put her head between her legs. It took Francesca a minute to catch her breath.

“She can’t be dead,” Francesca said in a choked voice. “She’s twenty-three years old.” As though that made it impossible. Francesca’s mind was a blur. She couldn’t think.

“She was severely beaten, and strangled. We’re not sure, but she may have been raped. She’s naked in her bed. She’s been dead for about three days. Do you have any idea who might have done this? Did she have a boyfriend? An ex-husband? It doesn’t look like it was done by an intruder. Very little is disturbed in the house. A couple of chairs, and that’s about it.”

Francesca was staring at him with wide eyes. “She had a very nasty boyfriend, but when I last saw her, she hadn’t seen him in a while. He beat her up twice. I left three weeks ago, and I don’t think she’d been with him since June. I don’t know. She wasn’t always honest with me about it. But I think it must have been him … or someone new she met on the Internet … she did a lot of that …” He had taken out a notepad, and the other patrolman had called for backup. As they were talking, three squad cars and an ambulance arrived.

“Do you know his name?” the officer asked her, taking notes, as everyone else ran inside.

“Brad. Brad Turner, I think. He was a really nasty guy.”

“Do you know where he works?”

“No, I don’t. He’s a motorcycle mechanic, but that’s all I know. He has a lot of tattoos.”

“Do you remember what they look like?”

She closed her eyes as she answered, trying to see them again in her mind. She was shaking even more violently by then, and she felt like she was going to be sick. “An eagle … a rose … a big snake down one arm … some kind of Chinese thing … I can’t remember the rest of them.” She opened her eyes again, and all she could think of now was Eileen, dead upstairs in her room, probably killed by Brad. The officer looked at her apologetically then.

“I’m sorry to ask you this, but we’re going to need someone to identify the body, to make sure it’s her. Do you think you can do that?” Francesca didn’t answer and looked at him with terrified eyes.

“Do I have to?” She didn’t want to see Eileen that way. Francesca had never seen anyone dead before.

“You’re all we’ve got. We don’t want to ID the wrong person. For all we know, that’s a stranger up there in her bed.” Francesca nodded, as another squad car arrived. Her house had become a crime scene, and it was crawling with cops. The patrolman went back inside for a minute then, and with a shaking hand on the phone, she called Chris.

He saw her number come up on his phone and answered immediately. “Hi, Francesca. What did they say? Coast clear?” He was hopeful.

There was an endless silence at her end before she spoke. “Eileen’s dead. Someone beat her up and strangled her, and may have raped her. She must have seen Brad again after I left. Or someone else just as bad.”

He was silent for a moment, absorbing what she’d said. “I’m so sorry.”

“She was just a kid. They want me to identify the body. I don’t know if I can. They said it might not even be her. But she’s naked in her bed.” She was clutching at straws. Chris had no doubt that it was Eileen, and neither did she. She didn’t want it to be, but she was sure it was.

“Do you want me to come back right now?” Chris offered. “I can be back in a few hours.”

“It’s okay. It’ll just scare Ian. When were you planning to come back?”

“In three days. I can shorten the trip and come back tomorrow. I don’t think you should be there alone.”

“I won’t stay at the house.” There was no way she could now. “I’ll go to a hotel.”

“I’m so sorry you have to identify the body. If they’ll wait, I’ll do it when I get back.” He didn’t want to either, but he would have done it for her.

“I should do it, so they can call her parents.” Not that her father would care. But she had five siblings and a mother. And they had to know. She deserved at least that. Eileen had given her her mother’s number once, in case of an accident. Francesca had the number in her desk.

Two of the patrolmen came out and got her then, and asked her to come inside after inquiring if she was all right. They had put Eileen on a gurney, and covered her with a sheet and a blanket, and they had set the gurney down in the front hall. They asked her if she was ready, and she nodded, clutching the patrolman’s hand. He had an arm behind her in case she fainted; they knew how rough this was for everyone. One of the officers pulled back the blanket and the sheet, and Francesca knew instantly that it was Eileen. Her face was beaten almost to a pulp, but she was recognizable. Francesca nodded, and they covered her up again and took the gurney out. Francesca sat down on the floor, and then they led her out of the house, sat her in one of the patrol cars and gave her a bottle of water they kept on hand for occasions like this. She knew it must look to the neighbors like she was being arrested, but she didn’t care. She was crying when she called Chris again.

“It’s her. He almost destroyed her face.”

“I’m so sorry. Why don’t I leave Ian here with his cousins, and come into town. I don’t want you there alone.”

“Thank you” was all she could muster, and hung up. She leaned out of the patrol car then and threw up.

They drove Francesca to the station and had her sign her statement. They did a composite computer sketch of Brad, according to her description, and put out an all-points bulletin for him. And then they called Eileen’s mother and told her, after Francesca told them where the number was in her desk. The house was locked up after that. They said Eileen’s mother wanted her cremated and her ashes sent to San Diego. There was going to be no funeral or memorial service in New York. She had no real friends except her roommates and the men she met on the Internet. In the end, her Internet obsession had killed her. Francesca knew that if it hadn’t been Brad, it had been someone else she met online. She took too many risks. Francesca couldn’t believe it, but the sweet little girl next door with the freckles and red hair in pigtails was dead. She had looked so innocent and cute the day Francesca had left. It had been the last time she’d seen her as she waved goodbye from the steps.

The police took Francesca to the Hotel Gansevoort. She took a room, and sat there shaking. She didn’t want to go back to the house. And it seemed like hours later when Chris called her. She had lost all track of time. He was on his way in from the airport and wanted to know where she was. She told him, and he was there a few minutes later. She opened the door to him and nearly fell into his arms. He stood there and held her, and then sat down on the bed with her as Francesca cried.

“Stupid kid” was all he could bring himself to say. He was angry and sad all at the same time. And if it hadn’t been Eileen, it could have been his wife a dozen times. She had just been lucky so far, but one day she wouldn’t be. One day she would wind up like Eileen, only with a needle in her arm, and Ian would be heartbroken. He hated them for the risks they took, the people they hurt, the hearts they broke, all the tears that were shed for them. Francesca cried herself to sleep in his arms that night. He lay on the bed next to her, and held her as he had Ian so many times. And in the morning, Francesca got a call from the police. They had Brad. They had run fingerprints on him and from the scene. The prints matched. It was him. They would do DNA tests, but all the puzzle pieces fit. The evidence was conclusive so far. Brad had killed Eileen.

Chapter 14

F
rancesca woke up feeling groggy and confused, unsure if what she thought had happened had been a dream. She had fallen asleep in her clothes on the bed next to Chris in the room she had taken at the Hotel Gansevoort. As she opened her eyes, she turned to look at him. He was still lying next to her, and he was awake.

“Did I dream it?” He shook his head. It wasn’t possible. That couldn’t happen. It wasn’t fair. Eileen was dead. Her Internet insanity had killed her. But it was more than just that, it was Eileen’s appalling judgment, her addiction to bad men, and her lifetime familiarity with abuse. All of that had contributed to her sad end. They all knew lots of nice people who had met each other online, fallen in love, and gotten married. But mixed in with the good ones were terrifyingly bad ones, and Brad had been one of those. And Eileen had become too addicted to him and the abuse to save herself. She had gone back for more one last time. One time too many.

Chris had checked, and Brad was still being held on suspicion of her murder. They wanted Francesca and Chris to identify him in a lineup, and then they would arraign him the next day. They had already started the DNA tests from his skin, to match traces found under Eileen’s nails. They would have partial results in three days. Her body was at the morgue, and after the autopsy she was going to be cremated, but not for several days. With her heart in her shoes, Francesca couldn’t help asking herself now what did any of it matter. Whatever they did, she’d still be dead. She was such a lost girl. She kept thinking of her making papier-mâché puppets with Ian, and as Francesca thought of the scene the day before, and identifying her, she got up and went to the bathroom and vomited again. She was kneeling on the bathroom floor, as Chris rubbed her back, and held her hair, and then handed her a wet towel.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face with the towel.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry for her. Abusive relationships are a terrible thing. Psychological abuse is almost as bad and just as addictive. I think people stay in it, or go back, so they can turn it around, and convince their abuser that they’re nice people and don’t deserve it. They always get blamed. And sometimes they get killed. She just wasn’t strong enough, or healthy enough I guess, not to see him again.” They both knew it happened all too often. Francesca went back to the bed and lay down. The thought of getting up was too much for her. She wanted to lie there forever, as Chris sat on the bed next to her and stroked her hair.

Marya and Charles-Edouard had just come back from a walk in her garden, and were starting to make breakfast when Chris called on Marya’s cell phone. It was sitting on her desk, and she didn’t rush to get it. She wasn’t expecting any important calls, she wanted to enjoy Charles-Edouard, and she was still in vacation mode. She didn’t recognize the caller’s number when she picked up her phone, but she answered anyway, and was surprised to hear Chris’s voice.

“Hi, Marya,” he said in a hoarse, somber voice. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, and had watched Francesca for most of the night. She had woken several times in tears. He was tired and sad.

“What a nice surprise,” Marya said happily. “How’s Ian? Where are you both? I’m still in Vermont.” She hadn’t spoken to him since they’d all left New York for the summer.

“I’m in New York with Francesca,” Chris said quietly, as Francesca listened. She had asked him to make the call. “Ian’s at the Vineyard. I’m going back for him in a couple of days.”

“Is something wrong? Is Francesca okay?” It seemed odd to Marya that he would be with her, or said it that way, and he sounded upset.

“She got back yesterday, and I’m sorry to call you, but something terrible happened at the house. Eileen was killed a few days ago, probably by Brad.”

“Oh my God, how awful.” Tears instantly filled Marya’s eyes, imagining it. She was such a sweet, silly, innocent young girl. Charles-Edouard was watching her and was instantly concerned, with a question in his eyes. “Did Francesca find her?” She hoped not. She couldn’t imagine a more traumatic scene than that.