Have You Seen Me?(69)

“Why bother telling me he had an appointment? He didn’t owe me an explanation.”

“Maybe he was covering up for himself as much as for you.”

I glance off, mulling over his words. For some reason my mind keeps resisting the story.

“Look, I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around this, too,” Williams says, as if reading my thoughts. “He did the same with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He left a message on my cell saying he had an appointment related to your case.”

“My case? He didn’t say that when we spoke.”

“So maybe it wasn’t true.”

I feel a stab of fear, and instinctively I reach out and grasp Williams’s forearm.

“Do you think there’s any chance Kurt was murdered because of me? Because of something he discovered?”

“Ms. Linden, there’s no reason to go there. Like I said earlier, maybe Kurt needed to tell himself he had a different plan than trolling for anonymous sex.”

“But I was pushed into the street last night at an intersection. Kurt wondered if I might have witnessed something I shouldn’t have.”

“He ran that idea up the flagpole with me, too, but none of the video he obtained of you showed you in any kind of dangerous situation. Of course, there are still blocks of time unaccounted for.”

The waitress returns with our drinks. I take a long sip of my wine and then a second. Williams has assured me there’s no reason to panic and all I can do is take him at his word. Still . . .

“I’m sorry to make this all about me,” I say, setting the glass down. “This is a big loss for you. I take it you guys were friends as well as partners.”

“We were.” He briefly presses a knuckle to his mouth. “This is tough, coming out of nowhere.”

“Did Kurt have any family?”

“A brother he hadn’t heard from in years, but he had a bunch of buddies, some still on the police force. I’m going to do my best to get ahold of people.”

I nod.

“I don’t want you to worry about this,” he adds, picking up the distress I’m unable to tamp down. “And don’t be con cerned about the progress of your investigation, either. The cops took Kurt’s computer, but we have a shared server and I’ll start going through your file later tonight.”

I feel grateful, which in turn triggers a flash of guilt. It pains me to think of Mulroney dead, but at the same time, I’m relieved not to lose any ground.

A couple in the booth behind us slide across the vinyl seats, preparing to leave. I glance at my watch and realize I’ve been gone longer than the couple of hours I promised Hugh. I explain the situation to Williams, and he says he has to hustle, too.

After paying the check, we step out onto Broadway, and Williams hands me his own business card, promising to check in tomorrow. Traffic is bumper-to-bumper so I say a rushed good-bye and hurry to the subway station three blocks south, where I can pick up the 1 train. I walk and text at the same time, telling Hugh I’m delayed but on my way.

I live only a few stops south, but this is my first time back on the subway since coming unglued, and as I descend the steps, my dread builds. Once I’m on the platform, I hug the wall, pressing my back tightly against the filthy tiles. The train roars into the station, and though there’s an empty seat, I choose to stand instead, gripping the metal pole with both hands. I force myself to focus on the ads, repeating the words in my head.

Mercifully the entire trip takes barely ten minutes and in five minutes more I’m unlocking the door to the apartment and letting myself in. I’m halfway into the great room when Hugh pads toward me from the bedroom hallway, barefoot, hair wet, and a large white towel wrapped around his waist. I’m surprised—he rarely showers in the evening, except on weekends, after a late tennis game or bike ride.

“What’s going on, Ally?” he asks. I hear a tiny note of irritation entwined with his concern.

“Something awful happened.”

His eyes widen.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to me,” I say. “The detective I was using—the private eye. He was murdered last night.”

“My god.”

I unload the details, catching my breath a few times as I race through the story.

“That’s horrible,” Hugh says.

“It is. He was a nice guy. He seemed to want to help me.”

And in that moment, I can hear Mulroney again in my head. His husky voice, the way he chuckled about me paying him the big bucks.

“Ally, what is it?”

I press my hands hard against my eye sockets, still thinking it through.

“I can’t stop worrying that his death has something to do with my case. He told his partner he was working on it last night.”

“But what about your situation could make someone want to kill him?”

“What if I was witness to a crime during that time, and Mulroney was close to figuring it out?”

“That seems like an awful stretch.”

“Remember the bloody tissues in my pocket?”

“You said those could have been from a nosebleed.”

“But it wasn’t my blood type.”

“Right. But I just don’t see how—”