First Born(41)

‘And the storm won’t affect things?’

‘No,’ says Dad, softening. ‘You should see the crematorium, Moll. It’s beautiful, like a cathedral – rock-solid. It has a chapel and everything.’

‘It’s dignified,’ says Mum.

‘You said you were researching tonight,’ says Dad. ‘Researching the storm? The flight path? What?’

‘The case,’ I say. ‘Suspects.’

Dad’s brow furrows. ‘Leave that to the cops, Moll. They know what they’re doing.’

‘Nobody knew KT like I did. I can add value.’

Mum puts her hand on mine. ‘Your father means you need to take a break from it. Don’t stay up too late, OK?’

We battle through the storm, the cab’s wipers moving as fast as they’ll go. Mum and Dad walk to their room to pack while I head back to the diner. It’s open 24/7, says so on the window, and it is my favourite place in this intimidating city. It’s warm and consistent and it manages to feel safe, somehow. Like the staff understand some of my worries and anxieties, and act accordingly.

I’m halfway through my first coffee, researching the Connecticut boarding school Scott Sbarra attended, scanning his Facebook friends for people I can make contact with, when my phone rings.

‘Hey, Molly, it’s Detective Martinez. Now a good time to talk?’

‘Sure,’ I say, placing down my cup. ‘Thanks for calling back.’

‘Sorry it took me so long. What can I do for you?’

‘I was talking to Bogart DeLuca, the PI hired by Columbia. We were talking about the four people closest to KT in New York, and who had what motive. Alibis, opportunities, that kind of thing. I’m not sure if he’s updated you on this yet. We wanted you to look deeper into Professor Eugene Groot. He was likely involved with my sister, romantically. Scott Sbarra, he has some previous allegations of erotic asphyxiation from his high school days. There’s a chance he’s in some kind of relationship with Violet Roseberry. I don’t know if it’s likely or not, but maybe they could have done this together, or maybe she covered it up for him? I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m rambling. The guy downstairs, the incel, Shawn Bagby. I don’t trust him.’

‘I can agree with you there, Molly. We’ve looked into Bagby’s past. Multiple complaints from multiple women all around your age. No convictions to date.’

‘Has DeLuca had a meeting with you yet?’

‘Well, that’s the thing that worries me, see, Molly. I’ve never heard of Bogart DeLuca, and with a name like that I’d be unlikely to forget him in a hurry. I’m assuming he’s a PI, right? An investigator?’

‘Yes. Licensed.’ I start to feel my heart race. ‘I assumed you knew of him. He used to be police.’

‘New York police? He hasn’t approached us, Molly. You got his contact details for me?’

I take DeLuca’s business card from my pocket and look it over and tell Martinez.

‘OK, I just searched all the licensed private investigators in the Tri-state area on the computer and DeLuca does not show up. So either he’s from out of town or else he’s not legit. Hold on.’

My skin goes cold.

DeLuca lied to my face. What does he want if he’s not a PI?

‘OK, there’s nobody by that name registered in the United States. Molly, listen to me. Do not talk to this guy again, you understand me? Could be he isn’t safe. For all I know, he could be the man who killed your sister.’





Chapter 21


I stare at Bogart DeLuca’s business card, my vision blurring a little. My first instinct is to ignore Martinez and call DeLuca directly and ask him what the hell is going on. Who is he?

I Google him.

Zero results.

Zero.

I wipe sweat from my upper lip. Who is this man? I could be in acute danger right this second. Does he really want to help me? Maybe he’s Canadian or Swiss and that’s why Martinez couldn’t trace him. Just because he talks with a broad Brooklyn accent doesn’t mean he’s ever been to Brooklyn. Or could it be that he really is a private investigator, or freelance detective, and he’s working discreetly for Kandee’s foundation using a false name?

I look around the diner. It’s just past midnight and the crowd of theatregoers is thinning out. They’ve finished their post-Broadway-show meal and they’re heading back to their hotel rooms. Two waitresses huddle around a TV and a fellow patron asks them to turn the volume up. It’s a news piece about the incoming storm, about the havoc it’s causing to the North Carolina coastline. The head waitress denies the request. The volume stays the same.

I order more coffee. Vigilant of the other patrons. Hyper-aware.

Less than twenty-four hours left in New York. I need to survive a hurricane, as well as the cremation of my beloved twin sister. I need to survive all that while watching the backs of my parents, and then we need to fly safely back to the routines of home.

By two a.m. I’m deep into James Kandee and his affairs and the intensity of my research process is soothing. It always is. The waitress has lent me two Bic biros and a new order pad. I have loose sheets all over this family-size Formica table. Lists of companies owned or majority controlled by James Kandee and his foundations. His web spreads from Switzerland to Liechtenstein to the Cayman Islands to Singapore to Delaware to Jersey to Panama.