First Born(68)

Approximately one quarter of my cash is stashed behind a plug socket by my bed. I used my multi-tool to ease out the plug and then I inserted the roll of notes in the cavity before tightening it back up. One quarter is hidden beneath a piece of carpet, itself hidden and weighed down by my luxurious king-size bed. I sliced the carpet with a razor blade. It took considerable time and patience. The bump is almost imperceptible. You’d never notice it. One quarter is located inside a large torch I bought from Macy’s. The torch has no batteries, just a roll of twelve thousand dollars in used bills. And the other quarter is on my person right now as I wander down Park Avenue. Some in each sock. More in my bra. Some concealed in a zip pocket inside my coat. I have sixty bucks in my main pocket in case I get attacked. You must always have mugger money.

I find the corner store I’m looking for, but there are too many people and I get a bad vibe from the place. I walk on past Madison and head west.

Past St Patrick’s Cathedral, past Barnes & Noble, past Washington Square Park. This city has a grip on me. The next two years – my final two years, statistically speaking – living them out quietly but fruitfully, I’ll think of this place often.

My phone rings.

‘Molly Raven?’

‘Molly, it’s Detective Martinez. Listen, where are you right now?’

‘What? I’m in the Village, I think. Greenwich, maybe, I’m not sure of the areas just yet.’

‘I’m coming to pick you up.’

‘What?’ I start sweating, looking around for an exit. ‘Why?’

‘For your own protection, Molly, that’s all. There’s been an incident. I’ll explain when I see you. Can you get to the corner of Seventh and 33rd, Penn Station? Can you get there?’

‘Yeah, I can find it.’

I hear some banging. A door closing.

‘Be there in thirty minutes.’





Chapter 40


The unmarked car pulls up and the window winds down.

‘Get in, Molly. I’ll explain as we drive.’

I climb into the back seat of the car next to Martinez. His partner is in the driving seat.

‘How are you holding up?’

‘I’m OK. What’s going on?’

‘We’re working hard on your sister’s case, even though the Crimestoppers thing didn’t happen. I’m sorry about that. There are a lot of moving parts to this.’

‘Why did you pick me up?’

The partner takes a call as he drives and Martinez says, ‘It’s for your own protection. You can leave any time you want to. There’ve been developments.’

‘What developments?’

He rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw and says, ‘Scott Sbarra, your late sister’s boyfriend – he’s been found dead in a hotel room.’

I cover my mouth with my hands. ‘No!’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Already? Something’s gone wrong. He shouldn’t have been found yet.

The partner watches me in the rear-view mirror.

‘What happened? Did he kill himself? Oh, God. He did, didn’t he? Scott killed himself.’

‘We don’t know all the details just yet, Molly,’ says Martinez. ‘The crime scene is still being investigated. I can’t tell you much, but I can tell you we’re working on the basis that this was a homicide. And, as he and your sister were in a relationship, we’re also assuming that these crimes are likely connected.’

‘You mean . . .’

‘There’s a risk someone is here in the city with some kind of vendetta against Katie and Scott, and we don’t know if that’s the end of it or if they have anyone else in mind. We need to make sure you’re safe. That’s why we’re here, especially as you look the same, you and Katie.’

‘Do I need to get out of the city? Am I not safe in New York?’

‘We’ll make sure you’re safe,’ says Martinez. ‘That’s our job.’

‘Scott’s really dead?’ I say.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Was he a suspect? You think he might have . . . to KT?’

Martinez clears his throat. ‘Scott Sbarra was with someone else at the approximate time of your sister’s death. His alibi wasn’t rock-solid, but it was something.’

‘OK.’

Violet Roseberry. He was with Violet. Vi.

We don’t drive to the precinct, we drive to some other government building.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘A safe place, Molly. Police property.’

Suddenly I’m afraid. What is going on here? Am I being na?ve? The building has no police shield and it has no uniformed officer standing guard outside. There are no marked cars parked on the street. No sign that this is an official police building.

The car stops and shakes on its axle.

‘Let’s go,’ says the partner.

We walk in through a door with a key-code lock, and through a corridor, up a flight of stairs and into an open-floor room. People are making calls, having meetings, drinking coffee, reading files.

‘In here,’ says Martinez.

We go into a small room with a table and a bin in the corner. There’s a mirror on the wall and a camera mounted up near the ceiling.