The Ex(57)

“We have surveillance footage,” I said, locking eyes with her. “We don’t have any interest in exposing anything about your life. In fact, there was nothing illegal about this particular job. Someone hired you to sit on the waterfront—dressed to the nines, reading a book, waiting for a man who’d be jogging by. He’s in trouble now. You’re the only one who can help us understand what really happened. We need to know who hired you.”

“I don’t know how many times I can say this: whatever you’re talking about has nothing to do with me.”

“Emin confirmed you were hired for the entire night,” Charlotte insisted. “June fifth.”

“I remember that night. I was at a hotel on Central Park South, if you must know.”

“What hotel?” I asked.

“Essex House, okay? That’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry, maybe there’s some other woman who looks like me. Now, please, go. I don’t want my boys to hear any of this.”

She closed the door once more, this time for good. Charlotte started to knock again, but I shook my head, knowing it was futile.

I had looked up Sharon Lawson the actress online. She had minor guest roles on a number of television shows filmed in New York: Gossip Girl, Law & Order, The Good Wife. Last year, she starred in an off-Broadway play. But New York was no longer a city where artists could pay the bills with a side job waiting tables, especially if the artist had two extra little mouths to feed. On the other hand, I noticed she’d been wearing hundred-dollar yoga pants on the porch and had what appeared to be a relatively new Lexus SUV in her driveway. Maybe she only told herself the money was for her children.

I pulled out my phone to snap a picture of her license plate. It was a long shot, but we could check parking garages near both Essex House and the waterfront to figure out where she’d been before Jack’s missed moment.

My phone vibrated in my hand before I had a chance to take the picture. It was a reporter from Eyewitness News named Jan Myers. She said she was calling for a comment on Jack’s case.

“We’re under a gag order,” I said. “You know that.”

“Well, I’m not, so I always give every party the opportunity, regardless.”

“What’s there to comment on anyway? Max Neeley’s interviews? Of course it’s understandable that a shooting victim’s son would be looking for quick answers.”

“Ah, I guess the prosecutors haven’t told you yet. Sorry to be the one with bad news.”

It was far worse than bad.

A homeless man named Francis Thomas had arrived at the Downtown Men’s Center during this morning’s downpour, a shopping cart full of possessions in tow: clothing, cans and bottles, books, a soggy picnic basket. Inside the picnic basket was a Glock .45—the same kind of gun used in the waterfront shootings.





Chapter 16


CHARLOTTE DOUBLE-TAPPED THE horn of her Porsche, but I remained planted in Sharon Lawson’s driveway, trying to convince Jan Myers to sit on the story.

I was having such a hard time controlling the tone of my voice that I couldn’t even process the information Jan had given me. According to this Francis Thomas person, he found the basket “by the water” on the same day Malcolm Neeley was shot, though he wasn’t sure where. If he even noticed the gun inside, he wasn’t able to explain that to the police.

“I can promise you a good exclusive down the road, Jan.”

“Down the road?”

“You know I’m good for it.” Even as I was trying to negotiate this one reporter’s silence, I was thinking through the possibilities. If Jack was framed, whoever did it knew he was bringing a picnic basket. Jack claimed to have left it just outside the football field. The shooter could have dropped it inside. The theory still worked.

Nevertheless, the basket’s discovery was a game changer. Until now, arguing that Jack was framed was just one of many potential options for our defense. There were far safer bets. I had a good chance of getting the GSR evidence suppressed as the fruits of an illegal arrest. Without the GSR, the prosecution was toast. But even if I got the GSR evidence suppressed, the discovery of the murder weapon in a picnic basket that I had a feeling would look just like the one Jack was carrying before the shooting meant that our only option was to argue that he was framed.

“Sorry, no can do,” Jan said. “Besides, the word’s out. I’m not the only one who’s got the story.”

“Supposedly we have a gag order.” As I paced behind Sharon Lawson’s Lexus SUV, I noticed the curtains part on the aspiring actress’s front window. Something about her was bothering me, but I had to deal with Jan first. “Who’s your source? Just a hint: the police or the DA?”

“I was only calling for a comment, Olivia.”

“Is it Max Neeley?” I didn’t really think Scott Temple would intentionally leak information, but as a victim’s family member, Max could very well be getting inside information from the police. “Did it ever dawn on any of these reporters he’s courting to ask him why he pushed his father’s will into probate only two days after he died?”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “You’re always interesting to talk to, Ms. Randall. Sounds like you’d have a lot to tell me if you weren’t so damn ethical.”