The Wrong Man: A Novel of Suspense (11 page)

When they were halfway to Kit’s apartment, Molinari returned the call.

“I was just hoping for an update,” Kit told her.

“An update?”

“Yes, about the case. Did you find out any more about how Matt Healy died?”

“There’s no reason not to tell you because we’ve just released a statement. Mr. Healy’s death was a homicide.”

Her heart nearly stopped

“How—how could you tell?” Next to her she felt Baby’s body stiffen, as she sensed something was up.

“Primarily from the tire tread marks. Mr. Healy was crossing the road and the driver clearly accelerated in order to strike him.”

Kit tried to fight off the image but it bullied its way into view regardless: Healy crossing an intersection, turning his head at the sudden sound of an engine being gunned, the look of terror on his face as the front hood razored into him, hurtling his body into midair. She could almost hear the awful thud.

“Do you have a suspect yet?”

“We don’t at this time, unfortunately. The person you met in the Keys is still a person of interest, but we haven’t had any luck locating him. Based on your sketch, the hotel staff confirmed he was staying there under the name Matt Healy, but he’s vanished without a trace.”

“There’s something you should be aware of from my end,” Kit said. “My apartment was broken into last night. The police have categorized it as a routine burglary, but in light of the timing, I’m worried it could be more than that.”

“I’m in the middle of something right now, but why don’t you give me the name of the detective in charge and I’ll reach out.”

Kit tapped onto O’Callaghan’s contact info and read off the phone number. Molinari said a quick goodbye, promising to follow up.

“Not good,” Kit whispered and turned to Baby. “Healy was definitely murdered.”

Baby said nothing, just grasped Kit’s hand and held it tightly. Kit appreciated the gesture. With each day she seemed to find herself ever deeper into the plot of a film noir. It was like a dream she’d had once in which a piece of paper, something she wasn’t meant to lose, had blown out of her hand and as she tried to rescue it, the wind kept snatching it farther and farther away, first through a field and then, to her alarm, into the woods, which grew darker and more sinister with each step she took, until finally she was horribly lost, stumbling over tree roots and rocks with the paper no longer anywhere in sight.

It’s like that now, Kit thought. She was looking for a piece of paper with all the answers and she couldn’t save herself until she found it.

As soon as the taxi pulled onto her street, Kit was flooded with fresh dread. She hated the idea of seeing the chaos again, but postponing the moment wouldn’t do any good at all.

Stepping off the elevator, they found an exhausted-looking Andre in the hallway, dressed in the same clothes he’d been in the night before and limply dabbing a paint brush at the now patched-up doorframe. The temporary door was fully installed, with the promised pins into the floor and upper doorframe. Andre turned over the key and Kit made sure that there was no difficulty opening the door with it. Then she and Baby entered the apartment.

Baby threw her hands up in disgust as she surveyed the scene.

“Let’s go check your desk,” Kit said quickly.

They stepped over and around the items still on the floor and Kit unlocked the door to the office. Her breath caught in her chest as she fumbled on the wall for the overhead light switch. She wondered if she’d ever again walk into her darkened apartment or office without a rush of fear.

Baby went straight to her desk, glanced over the top and then opened the drawers one by one.

She shook her head slowly back and forth. “I don’t have your gift for neatness, but nothing appears to be missing.”

“Flash drives?”

“I didn’t have any in here.”

They returned to Kit’s apartment and began to tackle the upheaval, Baby focusing on the living room while Kit restored the bedroom and bathroom to order. As she worked, she realized that an older camera of hers was also missing. But that didn’t change her mind about the motive of the intruder.

By the time Dara arrived at noon, dressed in jeans and carrying
a pizza, Baby and Kit had the apartment back to normal.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here earlier,” Dara said, dropping the box on the kitchen island. “I thought I’d at least pick up food.”

“Thanks, I’m famished,” Kit said. “But why don’t you take a look at your desk before we eat?”

Dara checked her top drawer first. She had the impression, she said, that someone had rustled through there, but nothing was missing. She took a set of keys from her purse, and opened the bottom drawer, where she kept petty cash and anything valuable. She had locked it, per usual, at the end of the workday. She glanced through and announced that everything appeared just as she left it.

“I thought New York was supposed to be so much safer these days,” Dara said worriedly as the three returned to Kit’s apartment.

“Yes, but stuff still happens,” Kit said. Baby shot her a questioning look, obviously wondering how much should be revealed to Dara. But Kit didn’t want to alarm her assistant any more than necessary. “Are you nervous about working in the office, Dara?”

“No,” she said, though not convincingly. “But I’m freaked about you being here at night.”

“The super told me on the phone this morning that he’s ordering a security camera downstairs above the entrance, and he’s going to have his son come by periodically during the day just to keep an eye on the building. That should help. And as a precaution, let’s agree that for the time being, no one will stay alone in the office. We’ll arrange our schedules so that two people are always here together.”

Both Dara and Baby nodded, looking relieved at the suggestion.

Dara departed just a few minutes later, saying that she would swing by the police precinct to be fingerprinted before returning
home to change for the wedding. As the door clicked shut behind her, Baby turned to Kit.

“Why don’t you grab some extra clothes and come back uptown with me now,” Baby said, her face etched with worry. “Despite the super’s precautions, I think you should bunk down with me for a while.”

“Thanks so much, Baby, but I’m going to bite the bullet and stay here. Every day I delay sleeping in my apartment will make it tougher to finally do it.”

Besides, Kit despised the idea of being uprooted from her home.

“But what if this man isn’t done searching?”

“That’s why I need to get some answers. If I can figure out what’s going on, maybe I can better protect myself.”

“Kit, please,” Baby said. “I was hoping you’d woken up this morning and scared yourself silly with that idea of snooping around.”

“I just want to see what I can dig up about Matt Healy. I’ve started to wonder if he and X were connected, maybe working together. The more I learn, the better.”

“Where do you start? The Miami police are hardly going to let you in on their investigation. You had to call them just to find out his death was ruled a homicide.”

“I know. And those guys at Ithaka aren’t going to blab either. That place looks like an impenetrable fortress. I—”

She paused and lifted her eyes.

As she’d uttered the words, she sensed an idea beginning to push toward the surface of her mind, as if it had been slowly gnawing its way through the tangle of thoughts. She suddenly realized who might spill at least a little of what she needed to know.

“Wait, what are you thinking?” Baby asked.

“Umm, nothing, just letting my mind wander,” Kit decided not to spill, knowing she’d only make Baby fret more. She took a last bite from her pizza slice, which she barely tasted.

“Just be careful, Kit. I don’t want to think of you running around playing private detective.”

Kit smiled. “Well that would be tough for me to do considering the only rod I generally pack is one you hang drapes from. But look, I’ve already taken up enough of your Saturday, Baby. Why—”

A buzzer sounded suddenly, making them both jerk. It had come from the office. Someone was ringing up from the lobby.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Baby asked warily.

“No,” Kit said. She wondered if the cops were back, following up from last night. She hurried into the office, with Baby behind her, and answered the intercom.

“Hi, it’s Keith Holt,” a male voice said. “I’m here for our appointment.”

“Oh, right,” Kit stammered. She had completely and utterly forgotten. She buzzed him in, spun around, and blurted out the situation to Baby.

“My brain’s so fried from this whole experience that I forgot
that he was coming by today,” Kit added. “I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid about a client.”

She also felt like a grungy mess from the cleanup.

“You’ll pull it together,” Baby reassured her.

“Would you mind staying one more minute? Meeting you could help seal the deal.”

“Of course. But if I don’t get the chance to tell you while he’s here, promise me you’ll consider coming back to my place later.”

In the time it took the elevator to transport the doctor to the fifth floor, Kit threw on a new top, doused herself with fragrance, and undid her hair from the braid she’d fastened earlier. She also lit two fig-scented candles in her living room. None of it did anything for her state of mind, however, and as the doorbell to the office rang, she told herself she was going to have to suck it up and manage to be mentally present.

Holt was dressed down today compared to their first appointment, wearing dark brown pants and a hip-length navy jacket, and yet he still managed to exude that almost palpable aura of self-assurance she’d beheld at their first meeting.

Baby gave him a taste of her charms and then, after a few minutes, announced that she needed to head back uptown.

“Why don’t we go over to my apartment,” Kit said after Baby had left. “It’ll be more comfortable there.” Besides, she knew it could be a bonus for him to see it.

After they entered her living space, Kit gestured toward the dining table.

“Please have a seat,” she said. “And, uh, let me take your jacket.”

She realized she felt oddly disoriented, like an actor who’d just dropped a line in a play and was scrambling for what to say next. The break-in was still clearly weighing on her.

“Your place is terrific,” Holt said as he slipped out of his jacket. “I really like what you’ve done with it.”

“Thank you. It’s not a huge space, but that made the challenge even more fun. Can I get you something? An espresso? Or cappuccino. I have sparkling water, too, if you’d like.”

“An espresso would be terrific.”

“Um, sure, just give me a minute to get the machine going.”

Kit detected a flicker of puzzlement in Holt’s eyes.

“Is this still a good time?” he asked.

“I’m sorry if I seem a bit flustered,” Kit said, realizing she was doing a lousy job of disguising her lingering distress. “I was robbed last night and I still feel slightly rattled from the experience.”

“That’s terrible,” Holt said. “Were you injured?”

“No, no. I guess I should have said burglarized, not robbed. It happened when I was out for the evening.”

“Did they get much?”

“A fair amount. And yet, maybe not what they were really looking for.”

He cocked his head, his expression quizzical.

“It’s weirdly complicated,” she told him. “But to answer your other question, this
is
a good time for me to meet with you. I’d so much rather be talking to you than focusing on what happened.”

“Great,” he said. “But I tell you what. You sit and I’ll make the espressos.”

Kit laughed. “No, please.”

“I insist.” He nodded toward the counter. “I own the same kind of machine.”

She settled into one of the dining chairs as Holt took over. It wasn’t until she’d spread out her legs beneath the table that she realized how much her whole body ached, partly from all the picking up she’d done earlier.

“Cups are to the left,” she called out.

“Yes, I see,” he said. From the distance of the table, she
watched him work, his hands moving with utter confidence and control. Surgeon hands, she thought. There was something comforting in that.

A minute later he approached the table, carrying two bright white espresso cups in their saucers. As odd as it was to have a near stranger waiting on her in her apartment, Kit couldn’t deny how satisfying it was. She was in dire need of a little tlc at the moment.

“Now that I’ve made you wait on me hand and foot, tell me what you wanted to discuss,” Kit said, smiling. “I take it you had additional questions.”

“I did actually. As I mentioned, I really like your portfolio. But I’m curious about how you work with clients. During my last experience with a decorator, I felt so shut out.”

He’s definitely open to hiring me, she realized. Whatever mental fatigue she’d succumbed to, she knew she had to get the better of it pronto.

“If you hired me, the first thing I’d do is have you collect tear sheets from shelter magazines,” she said, leaning forward. “Pictures of rooms that appeal to you. I’d also want you to print out images from online. Famous paintings you love, favorite travel photos, anything that grabs you. Next I’d analyze them to get a sense of what you’re drawn to on a visceral level. And then I’d present you with possible design ideas and listen to your feedback.”

She was a hundred and ten percent sure the guy didn’t have a Pinterest account, so she hadn’t suggest using
that
as a tool.

Holt nodded, absorbing her words. “I like the sound of that. Why don’t we go ahead then?”

Well, well, she thought. That’s literally just what the doctor ordered.

She smiled once again. “I’m delighted. I’ll put a letter of agreement together and send it to you Monday.”

“Excellent.” He took another sip of his espresso, cupping the bowl with his long, strong fingers rather than primly holding onto the handle.

“Weekends must be nice for you,” Kit said. “Considering how intense your job is.”

“I do value my weekends, and it’s good to have the break. But I also love performing surgery. They’ll have to drag me out of the operating room one day.”

There was a fierceness to his tone that reinforced the passion he obviously felt.

“What area of the body do you focus on?”

“Knees primarily. My specialty is in skeletal issues impacted by rheumatoid arthritis.” He smiled. “Not very sexy sounding, I know, but it’s a major issue with an aging population.”

“As a surgeon, you must handle stress awfully well. Is that hardwired or something that you’ve worked at over time?”

As he considered the question, he stroked the side of his jaw slowly back and forth with his thumb. “Probably both. I was always fearless as a kid. But you need to learn ways to shut out the world when you’re operating. I use my time at the scrub sink to prepare mentally. Scrubbing is such a rote activity—the way you use the brush methodically over each plane of your hands—and it helps me visualize what’s ahead and begin blocking out distractions.”

Intriguing, she thought. The fearlessness. But also the discipline, and the ability to compartmentalize. They were qualities that could draw you to a man initially, but she wondered whether they might frustrate the hell out of you over time, when you suddenly saw that you were being denied access to what you yearned to know the most. Had that played a role, she wondered, in the demise of his marriage?

“I’m going to scrub my dishes with a whole new attitude,” Kit said.

Holt’s espresso cup clicked against the saucer as he set it back in place. “I should let you return to your Saturday.”

“Trust me, this has been a wonderful diversion,” she said, rising from the table with him. “And thank you for the opportunity.”

“One last question before I go.” He stared off for a moment, thinking. “Would it make any sense at all for me to start from scratch?”

“From scratch?”

“Buy a new apartment in a totally modern building and go from there.”

“That’s one possibility, of course,” she said. If he went that route, it would be an even bigger—and more lucrative—project for her in the long run, and yet it would entail a lot of upheaval for him, which he might not appreciate once he found himself in the thick of it. “Why don’t you start pulling those clips I mentioned? Once I have a sense from those, we can discuss all the options.”

After closing the door behind him, she listened to his footfalls recede. Stepping back, she studied the temporary door. It looked sturdier than the old one and yet hardly crowbar resistant. A wave of panic plowed into her from behind. She would be all alone tonight in the apartment. And every night going forward. She knew she had no choice but to suck it up and take the necessary precautions.

She checked her watch. It was time to trudge to the Apple store in order to purchase another MacBook Air. But there was a matter she had to deal with first—the idea that had wiggled into her brain while she was talking to Baby.

She dug in her purse and pulled out the card Sasha Glen had given her last night. After mentally rehearsing what to say, she made the call.

Sasha picked up on the second ring. There were bustling
background noises, as if she might be in the midst of a shopping spree.

“Hello, this is Kit Finn. We spoke at the gallery in Chelsea.”

“What can I do for you?” Sasha asked. Pleasant, but not nearly as eager to chat as she’d been last night.

“I wanted to follow up on our conversation. A client I was about to take on just called to say he was being transferred to California and won’t need my services after all. You had said you were looking for a decorator and I’m open to talking if you’re still interested.”

“Hmm,” Sasha said, as if the idea had lost its luster overnight. “You’ve caught me at an awkward time.”

Damn, Kit thought. She’d convinced herself the woman was nosy enough that she would jump at the opportunity.

“I’m sorry to call out of the blue this way. I have your card so why don’t I send you an email with my info. If you want to chat at a later point, feel free to follow up.”

An excruciating pause followed.

“It’s not that I’m uninterested,” Sasha said. “I’m just in the middle of something. Can I have you come by my place and take a look?”

“Of course,” Kit said, surprised by the turnaround. “When would work for you?”

“Unfortunately weeknights are bad because I’m usually dining with clients.”

“Well, weekends are fine for me. Would . . . tomorrow work?”

“Not now,” she said, and it took Kit a moment to realize the woman was addressing another person. “Uh, yes, tomorrow’s good. Let’s say two.” She rattled off her address and then announced she had to go.

When the call was over, Kit stood for a few moment in the middle of her living room, grasping the phone in her hand. She wasn’t sure how much information she would glean from
the meeting, but it was a start at least. She was
doing
something.

The rest of the day was a crazy rush, and her body practically vibrated with anxiety. Where are you
now
? she wondered, thinking of X. If it was indeed him who had broken in, she prayed that he’d moved on, having realized she’d deleted any client information of value to him. But she kept
sensing
him, the man hiding behind the curtain.

After a trip to the mobbed Apple store on Prince Street, where she purchased a new laptop, she took the subway to a store that sold security supplies, which she’d researched online before leaving her apartment. A home security system remained out of her price range, but she needed
something
to make her feel safer. The store claimed to sell affordable devices that could provide a small amount of comfort. She ended up buying three hanging door-handle alarms. They supposedly emitted an eardrum-splitting sound if someone so much as jiggled the handle on the other side.

“Trust me,” the salesperson told her. “When this thing starts to shriek, no one is going to stick around.”

While racing around downtown, she’d called her friend Amy, explained about the burglary, and asked if she could glom onto Amy and her boyfriend’s plans for the night. The answer was yes, of course. She tagged along on their dinner to a Thai restaurant. Kit had hoped the evening would be a distraction, but Amy was intent on warning her how burglars often targeted the same place twice, and trying to convince her to stay with them. By the time the couple dropped her off after dinner, she felt even more on edge.