Through the Grinder (24 page)

“Bruce’s ex-wife.” I closed my eyes. It did make sense, and the truth was, seeing all those raging e-mails from Vintage86 in Bruce’s computer had disturbed me. But something in me just couldn’t equate a woman spurned with serial murder. After all, I’d been spurned myself, I’d felt that consuming rage, that devastating pain, but I’d never acted on it, never tried to physically hurt anyone. I’d assumed Bruce’s ex-wife wouldn’t, either. Maxine must have gone off the deep end.

“I knew Bruce was the key in some way, Clare,” said Quinn. “Even if it wasn’t Bruce Bowman himself, then it had to be someone close to him.”

I shook my head. “I thought you were trying to get Bruce.”

“I don’t try to get anyone. I try to get evidence. And I thought he was a strong suspect.”

“I’m not a suspect,” Brooks said. “I didn’t do anything!”

“We’re not talking about you,” barked Quinn.

“Then let me go,” Brooks cried.

“I’m booking you for sexual assault,” said Quinn.

“Against who?” Matteo demanded.

“Against me,” I said, still holding together my torn nightgown.

Matteo seemed to notice this for the first time. Not too surprising, since there wasn’t a whole lot to this nightgown in the first place. He turned to Brooks. “You son of a bitch. If you weren’t in cuffs I’d punch you in the face.”

“Matt, you don’t know the half of it. He made a pass at Joy, too.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Calm down, Pool Boy,” Quinn said, blocking Matt’s reach. “We have other issues. I talked to Esther Best back at your store and she told me about Joy’s little shove off the curb and into the path of an M20 bus. I doubt very much that what happened was an accident—Maxine Bowman is a pusher. I’m betting she tried to kill Joy.”

“Try your cell!” I told Matteo.

He spread out his arms. “Like I have a place to carry a cell phone.”

“Here,” said Quinn. “Use mine.”

I dialed the Blend. Esther answered. “Esther! Is Joy there?”

“She just got here.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight! Tell her to stay put. We’ll be right there!”

“What’s the meaning of this!” an outraged voice bellowed.

A portly bald man in evening clothes hurried across the kitchen. “What are you doing to my client?”

“Jerry, thank God!” Brooks Newman cried. “Get me out of this. Now!”

Quinn flashed his badge and the portly man calmed a little.

“I’m Jerry Benjamin, Mr. Newman’s attorney. Are you going to charge my client with a crime?”

Quinn looked at me.

“We don’t have time for this,” I said.

Quinn shook his head. Then he stood Brooks Newman up and unlocked the handcuffs.

“That’s better,” Brooks said, rubbing his wrists. “Why I ought to charge you with police brutality!”

He was so angry at Mike Quinn that he never even saw Matteo’s fist coming.

B
ACK
at the Village Blend, we found Joy safe and sound. After a round of hugs, Joy said she was really tired and wanted to go back to her apartment. I asked her to please consider staying over in the duplex upstairs, but she flatly refused.

She said her roommate was home now and she was eager to check her home machine and see if the young man she’d met earlier had called—they had a “date to talk” after she finished her work. I pointed out she could call him from upstairs, but she wanted her privacy—either that or the date was for the young man to stop by, too, and not just call.
Ah, youth.

Well, I couldn’t stop her from going, but it gave me a substantial amount of relief to watch her walk out the Village Blend’s front door in the company of her father. If there was one thing Matteo Allegro could do without fault, it was protect his daughter.

And if there was one thing Mike Quinn could do, it was cuff a guilty party. He had identified the murderer, now all he had to do was locate her. After we parted at the Puck Building, he said he was off and running in an attempt to locate and arrest Bruce’s wife.

I knew Maxine Bowman wouldn’t be that hard to find—with driver’s licenses, credit cards, social security numbers and the like, nobody could hide for long in this day and age, even if she was going by another name. And, of course, Bruce could help locate her, too. Even if he didn’t know the woman’s exact address, he could probably help Quinn set up some sort of trap.

A few feet away from me, behind the coffee bar counter, Tucker looked completely exhausted. After pulling a double shift, I hated asking him to stay a little longer but I didn’t want to be here alone, and Matt said he was coming right back.

When the store’s phone rang behind me, I quickly picked it up.

“Village Blend.”

“Clare? Clare, is that you? Thank God.” It was Bruce. His deep, warm voice resonated in my ear, feeling more like a touch than a sound.

“I am so happy to hear your voice,” I told him. It felt like a year had passed since I’d last seen him. “It’s been one crazy day.”

“Has it? I stopped in earlier and saw Joy but nobody seemed to know where you’d gone or when you’d be back. I was really starting to get worried.”

“You don’t have to worry. Everything’s okay.”

“I’m in lower Manhattan, in my SUV. I’ll be there in ten minutes tops. Don’t move.”

Since he was on his way, I didn’t bother trying to explain anything that had happened over the last two days. I’d probably need hours to do that anyway. Quinn would also need to be updated. I intended to call the detective after Bruce got here—and we had a few minutes privacy to say hello. Whether Bruce knew the location of his ex-wife or not, I was sure Quinn would want to question him.

“Don’t worry,” I told Bruce. “I’m about to close, and I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t see me and the door is locked, I’m probably upstairs. Just call my cell and I’ll come down.”

I hung up and smiled brightly at Tucker, my energy renewed.

“Why are you so happy?” he asked.

“Bruce is the most amazing man, and I’ve fallen in love with him.”

Tucker gave me a tired smile. “I’m glad for you, honey. Really glad.”

“He’s on his way up.”

Tucker nodded. “I’ll stay till he comes.”

But I felt terrible making him wait. He looked ready to collapse. “You don’t have to. I can see you’re exhausted. Just help me shoo the last customers out and lock up. What can happen in less than ten minutes with me locked in here?”

Tucker nodded. “I am about ready to fall off my feet. You’re sure?”

“Of course.” And to be honest, I suddenly knew how my daughter felt, rushing back to her place for privacy with a new beau. I couldn’t wait to be alone with Bruce again, so I could wrap my arms around his neck and just hold on.

In the next two minutes, Tucker and I politely shooed the last five customers out of the place. Then Tucker gathered his things and headed toward the front door.

“Are you sure, you’re sure I should leave?” Tucker asked again.

“Positive!”

“Thanks, Clare. Good-night.”

I locked the door and quickly began to clear the marble-topped tables of any stray debris, mostly crumpled napkins, crumbs, and paper cups. When I got to a table by the fireplace, I noticed a closed laptop computer.

“What a thing to leave behind…”

Curious, I flipped up the top. The machine’s screen was blank. I hit the spacebar and it sprang to life. There were files on the desktop.

“Okay, who do you belong to?” I murmured, trying to find a name. I clicked on a folder that read “E-mail Backups.” Inside were two more folders. Before I could read the folder names, I heard an insistent tapping at the front door.

“Winnie?” I called as I approached the door. It was Winnie Winslet, the Shearling Lady. “Can you open the door, Clare?” she called. “I’m so stupid—I left my laptop.”

“Oh! So it’s your laptop. I was wondering. Just a second.”

The key was still in the lock, waiting for Bruce to arrive so I could easily turn it and let him in. I turned it now, for Winnie.

“Come on in.”

I closed the door and led her back to the computer. As I approached the laptop, I was ready to apologize for snooping. My eyes strayed to the screen, ready to point and explain when I saw the names on the “E-mail Backups” folders:
Vintage86 Sent
and
Maxine’s Incoming
.

I looked into Winnie’s face.

“Is that your screen name?” I asked as steadily as I could manage. “Vintage86?”

“Yes. It is,” she said.

“Winslet’s your maiden name, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And your married name was Bowman, wasn’t it?”

The gun was drawn quickly. She’d been ready. The laptop was clearly a ploy to get back into the closed Blend.

“You’re kidding yourself if you think Bruce cares about you,” she said. “He doesn’t. He’s playing a sick little game behind your back, by the way—your daughter spent the night with him. I bet you don’t know that.”

“I spent the night with him, Maxine.”

Winnie’s superior, condescending mask momentarily fell. “What? You’re lying. I saw Joy go in.”

“You saw Joy’s coat go in. That was me. What is ‘Winnie’ then, your cover? Did you change your name?”

“It’s an old nickname, bitch, not that it’s any of your business. Now let’s get this over with fast. Turn around.”

“No.”

“Turn around. We’re taking a walk.” She cocked the gun. I looked into her eyes. She was ready to fire and we both knew it.

Bruce was coming. He’d be here very soon. Matteo was coming back, too. If I could just stall her…

“Okay,” I said. “Okay…where do you want to go?”

“First to the front door….”

She told me to lock the door. I turned the key back and forth, but I didn’t actually lock the door. I locked and unlocked it. Clearly, she thought I had obeyed her.

“Let’s go. To the stairs.”

I tried to walk slowly, but she jammed the gun into my ribs and pushed. We climbed past the second floor and third, past my duplex door and all the way up to the highest landing of the service staircase. Before us stood the door to the roof.

On the way up I’d been careful to push each door all the way open. I had told Bruce I’d be upstairs, so if these stair doors were left open and my duplex door was locked, I prayed he’d follow the obvious lead and come up to the roof, which was clearly where we were headed.

“Unbolt the door.”

I turned the heavy lock at the center of the roof door, retracting the thick bolts backward from the wall.

“Let’s go,” she barked, and we were out on the snowy roof, the door standing wide open behind us.

The wind was whipping off the river and it lashed my body with icy blasts. I shivered in the dark, stepped forward, and slipped, going down to my hands and knees. It wasn’t an accident. I wanted to be down here. My hands closed on the layer of snow still there from the night before.

“You’re going over, Clare. Let’s go.” She grabbed me by my hair and tugged.

“No!”

She pulled harder, forcing me toward the edge.

“You have two choices. Jump, and you might survive the four-story fall. Or I will shoot you dead and make it look like a smash-and-grab robbery. These idiot police won’t do a thing. Believe me, there are no geniuses in law enforcement these days.”

“Don’t be too sure, Maxine,” I said, shivering with pain and fear and cold and still trying to stall. “Detective Quinn already knows about the intern in Westchester.”

Once again, Maxine’s beautiful, confident face fell. “What? What does he
think
he knows? What? Tell me?”

“He knows you pushed that girl to her death. That it wasn’t a suicide. He knows you pushed Valerie Lathem, too, at the Union Square subway. He knows you lured Inga Berg to the roof and somehow made her jump or pushed her off. He knows about Sahara McNeil. He knows about Joy, too, and for that I hope they light you up like a fireworks display—”

That’s when I let her have it. I sent the icy snowball right into her face and stumbled to my feet. The snowball landed hard, smack on the plastic surgery perfect nose, between the high cheekbones, above the collagen lips.

“You bitch!” she screamed, but I was already lunging away from her and the edge of the roof.

She dove for my legs and I went down. Now we were both in the snow and struggling near the roof’s edge. I felt her get on top of me, straddle me. I was kicking and screaming, then somewhere in the struggle I heard Bruce’s cry—

“My God! No!”

He ran toward us, and then I felt the gun at the back of my head.

“I’ll kill her,” rasped Maxine, her voice high-pitched and crazed. “I’ll shoot her, Bruce. I will. Then your little precious Clare’s brains will be all over the nice white snow.”

“No! Don’t hurt her, Maxi. Don’t. It’s
me
you want to hurt. You know that. Come on, Maxine. Hurt
me
.”

The gun moved away from my head for a moment. My god, I thought, what was she doing? Was she going to shoot Bruce?

“No!” I cried.

And then the gun was back, the cold barrel pressing against the base of my skull, and I knew I was dead.

A second later, I heard the explosion. The gun going off was like a cannon at my ear, but I wasn’t shot. My ears were ringing painfully now, but the bullet had missed, and I could no longer feel Maxine’s body straddling mine.

I was alone on the roof, and I realized Bruce had thrown his body at Maxi, knocking her off. The body slam had knocked the gun away from my head, but the momentum had carried them both a few feet beyond the edge of the roof.

I was very close to the edge myself. I looked down, into the alley behind the Blend, then closed my eyes. The image was one I’d have to live with for the rest of my life.

Bruce and Maxi were laying four stories down on the concrete, their still bodies in a terrible, twisted embrace.