“I found out Torrey’s into some pretty big-time scam. There’s a lot of money involved. Did either Allison or Melissa ever say anything to you?”
Hickey shook his head. “No, should they have?”
“I guess not. Did they ever say that anything was unusual about Torrey or the others?”
“No. Except that sometimes they liked threesomes. I don’t like to encourage kinky stuff, it could get me a bad rep, but the girls didn’t seem to mind.”
I tried not to visualize anything. “Can you get me the names of the other McGee guys?” I whispered.
His foot started tapping, but he didn’t seem aware of it. “I never told you any of this.”
I nodded. “Okay. Fine.”
“Albert Webber and Nicholas Curtin.”
Albert Webber was the lawyer I’d gotten Torrey’s number from at my mother’s party. My mother must not have known he was in tight with Torrey, or she wouldn’t have invited him. It hadn’t dawned on me that he would be involved directly, especially since he obviously knew who I was. He’d gone along with my innocent ploy to get the number, all the while knowing I wanted Torrey for my story. It was a way for Torrey to speak without talking to the cops. It got his side of the story: how he’d left Melissa very much alive in that apartment, how much he liked her, how tragic this was.
Nicholas Curtin, however, I didn’t recognize.
I winked, or at least gave it my best effort, since it’s not my best talent. “It’s funny, but you said something just now, but I can’t remember what it was.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, his eyes straying to my thigh. I pulled my jacket closer. “I’m serious,” he added. “I think you could have a good career as an escort.”
While I
was
getting used to him, his career choice still made my skin crawl. “Why don’t you find another line of work, Hickey? Something that wouldn’t put young girls in any danger.”
“I know it may not last forever,” he conceded. “I’ve thought about other options. I’ve thought I could eventually write a book or something.”
It would probably end up on the bestseller list. “You need some celebrities first.”
“Who says I don’t have them now?”
I couldn’t help myself. He piqued my interest and I wanted to know which celebrities. As the question reached my tongue and I was about to ask, the guy looking at the turtle suddenly turned around and asked loudly, “Do you have the time?”
My heart jumped into my throat, and Hickey looked like he was going to have a stroke on the spot.
“Two-thirty,” I offered.
“Thanks.” He turned and as he moved out of the room, something struck me.
“Did that guy have a mole on his chin?” I asked Hickey, getting up without waiting for an answer.
He shrugged. “Beats me.”
I can move pretty fast when I want to and I was in the museum lobby in seconds.
“Did you see a guy walk through here with a mole on his chin?” I asked the woman selling tickets.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t notice.”
I went to the stairs and paused, trying to hear footsteps. It was him, David Best’s roommate. It had to be. It was too much of a coincidence.
Hickey was panting behind me, his big belly a sign that he should start working out and stop eating crap.
“Who was it?”
“Maybe he
is
somehow involved in all this,” I thought out loud.
“Who?” Hickey repeated.
“I think it’s David Best’s roommate.”
“The ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“This isn’t making any sense.”
I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t have a clue either, so I kept my mouth shut, thereby insinuating that I perhaps could make sense of this and just chose not to say anything.
He wasn’t outside when we got there. I looked up and down the sidewalk, but he had disappeared just as Vinny had. Shit. And I didn’t even know this kid’s name. I thought about Sarah, not sure if I could impose on her again. She certainly wasn’t welcoming me with open arms. Those kids I met at Atticus the day Melissa died might help. I was so busy thinking about my next move that I almost took off without saying goodbye to Hickey.
“You won’t say anything?” he asked, and I pulled myself back to the moment so I could answer.
“Don’t worry, Hickey. I really appreciate it.”
That was all I could give him—he was lucky he got that—and I got into my car and barreled off.
I ran into Sarah on York Street near David Best’s college. At first I wasn’t sure it was her: She was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
“Hey,” I said loudly.
She almost fell over, and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, shit, it’s you.”
“Don’t be so happy to see me.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“I need to find David Best’s roommate. What’s his name?”
She cocked her head, and I wished I could see her eyes through those damned glasses. “Why?”
“Just tell me.” This girl was testing my patience. God knows I had precious little of it under even the best of circumstances.
“You know, I may remember something about Melissa that night.”
Okay, so it wasn’t what I’d asked, but it got my attention. “What?”
“She said there was something going on that she didn’t want to have anything to do with.”
“Did she say anything specific?”
Sarah shrugged. “Not really. But it sounded like something.”
A couple of murders and everyone was Miss Marple. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“She wanted out.”
She still didn’t answer my question, but I was intrigued. “Out of what?”
“I figured it was that escort service stuff. She’d had enough, but she said she couldn’t get her boss to leave her alone.”
Hickey? Had he been holding back on me? “How do you know?”
“She was my roommate. I heard her with Allison.”
“Did Allison want out, too?” It was a test. Allison liked the money, she told me that, so if this kid was trying to pull a fast one, she’d try to tell me otherwise.
“No.” It seemed like she wanted to tell me something else.
“Listen, Sarah, are you sure you don’t know more about this than you’re saying?”
Her face changed slightly, I couldn’t put my finger on just how, but she bit her lip and she shrugged. “No, um, well, maybe.” Sarah glanced at her watch. “Gotta go.” And she scurried off, leaving me wondering just what the fuck was going on over here in the Ivy League and pissed that she hadn’t told me about David Best’s roommate.
I walked a block to the college, hoping for some good luck. An Asian kid was coming through the gate out onto the sidewalk.
“Hold up,” I said, sprinting toward him. Thank God chivalry is still on a respirator; he held the gate for me and I stepped into the courtyard. A tall, pimply kid with shocking red hair lounged against a wall to my right, smoking a cigarette.
“Hi. I’m with the
Herald.
I was wondering if you know David Best’s roommate.”
His smile was long and slow, his eyes a little glazed, and I looked at the cigarette to make sure it was tobacco. It was, but I had a strong suspicion the one before this wasn’t. “Oh, you’re looking for Matt. He’s not here.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Minneo.”
“Do you know him well?”
He shrugged in that way teenagers do when they know more than they want to say. “Little bit.”
“You wouldn’t know where he went?”
Another shrug. This guy was way too stoned for me to get much out of him. “If you see him, can you call me?” I scribbled my cell number on the back of one of my cards and handed it to him. He was still staring at it like it was some sort of mysterious secret code when I walked away.
I wasn’t going to find Matt Minneo unless I staked out the dorm, and I really wasn’t in the mood to do that. I could’ve gotten Dick to come down and do it for me, but I wasn’t sure how I could explain that without telling him and ultimately the entire newsroom about the threatening note. I didn’t want anyone to know about it.
So I pushed the facts around in my head as I walked back to my car, trying to sift through the shit and come up with my next move. Which had to be Torrey and his scam. Which meant yet more contact with my mother in a very short period of time. I would need a shrink after all this.
I left a message with her secretary. Either she really wasn’t in or she didn’t want to talk to me.
Marty was hovering when I got back to the newsroom. I briefed him on what Paula had told me about Torrey.
“We need confirmation.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m trying to get it.” How could I explain that my mother would call me back when she felt like it? It could be ten minutes, it could be a week.
“Do you know any of the other people he’s scammed?”
I shook my head.
Marty eyeballed me. “Can you find out?”
It was not really a question, it just sounded like one. I wanted to go home and have a beer and watch some stupid television and go to bed early.
“We’re not even on the front page anymore,” I tried, my voice as tired as I felt.
“And we won’t be for a while. The cows are coming tomorrow.”
I stared. “What?”
“The cows. Remember?”
It was coming back to me. “That’s tomorrow? I thought it wasn’t until Thanksgiving.” I had managed to skim the memo while waiting for callbacks.
“That’s when it’s over.”
The powers that be in the city of New Haven had seen something on the Internet about the CowParade in Chicago and then a similar event in New York City. It was a big economic boon. Three hundred fiberglass cows decked out in everything from mirrors to rhinestones, all over the city, luring the suburbanites who never left their malls and playgrounds. New Haven actually thought it could cash in on the cows. I was disappointed the city couldn’t come up with another idea, dinosaurs maybe, to give it its own unique flavor. But the cows came cheap from some factory in Switzerland if they were bought in bulk. Local artists had the job of taking the nude cows and creating their visions on them.
It worried me, those naked cows, just placidly standing there while those artists did what they would to them.
After a reasonable time on display throughout the city, the cows would be auctioned off, the tourists’ money tucked firmly in City Hall’s pocket. City officials decided to combine the cows with the annual influx of leaf peepers.
I didn’t want to be the one to write the stories when someone shot them full of holes during a late-night drug raid. Vandalism was inevitable. Those poor cows had two months with us. The graffiti artists should’ve been given first shot; they’d get the last say anyway.
My pessimism was even getting to me. I needed a drink, it was late in the day, I had no story to write.
“Fuck the cows,” I said quietly.
Marty shook his head. “Go home, Annie. You’re burned out. Get a good night’s sleep.”
He was right. A good night’s sleep would do me a world of good. But I couldn’t resist. I had to ask.
“They’re writing some stupid slogan that’s going to run on the front page every day until the cows leave, aren’t they? Something dumb like If You Moove Them, They Will Come?”
I saw the corners of Marty’s mouth curl up as if he was going to smile. But he still couldn’t even look me in the eye. “The cows aren’t a bad idea, Annie. I think it’s one of the better ideas the city’s come up with. People are already calling, asking about the cows and if they’re on display yet.”
Oh, Christ. They’re going to take all the parking spots. They’re going to clog up the streets and crowd the coffeehouses. I needed some air.
“Fuck the cows,” I said again as I walked out.
I
DIDN’T NOTICE
the car at first. But then it kept turning everywhere I turned. I kept my eyes on its headlights in the rearview mirror, turning off Mick Jagger so I could concentrate on my jitters. It slowed down when I got to Wooster Square; it seemed sure I would stop, but it had gotten me going, so I went around the square a couple of times. It kept with me.
I tried to shake the ominous feeling. But then I remembered Vinny. He’d been following me all over the city. It had to be Vinny.
I finally stopped in front of my building. The car moved past, my headlights illuminating it briefly. It was white, but that’s all I could make out about it before it turned right, out of sight. I sighed with relief, probably just someone who was lost. I was getting way too paranoid. I saw Amber’s curtain move a little, the pink glow from her lights splashed against the window. I fumbled with my keys, dropping them, and as I bent over to pick them up, I could hear heavy footsteps approaching. I straightened up, expecting to see Vinny, but before I could focus on who it was, I felt a sharp pain scream through my head and something pushed over my eyes.
“She’s heavy,” I thought I heard, and it pissed me off. I tried to ignore the pounding across my skull and attempted to struggle.
“You should’ve hit her harder.” The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“So hit her again if you think you can do it better.”
Maybe they’d hit each other and leave me alone. But no such luck. I jerked my head back and felt something land on my shoulder, sending waves of pain to my fingertips. I shouldn’t have given up those tae kwon do classes so quickly three years ago. Maybe I would’ve been able to actually defend myself.
“Oh, shit,” one of them said.
“Oh, shit” was right. Someone was dragging me by the back of my shirt along the sidewalk. Just when I needed a nosy neighbor, they seemed to be busy concentrating on their own lives. Wouldn’t you know.
My face scraped against the rough concrete, and I think I finally made a sound something like “eeeooowww.”
“Christ, can’t you hit her again?”
A car door opened and a blast of warm air slapped against my face.
“Just get her in.”
Where had I heard that voice before? I felt myself levitating, but then I heard screeching tires and I fell with a thump, my back slamming against the curb. Car doors slammed, a car moved past me with enough force that I could feel my hair blow back.
A cold hand touched the scrape on my cheek and I finally screamed.