The Ex(66)

I smiled. My jury of one had come to the conclusion all by herself. That meant the story felt real. I’d used people before as alternative suspects, but this one was actually guilty. Two Neeley sons, both of them killers.





Chapter 19


I KNEW FROM Tracy Frankel’s one interaction with the criminal justice system that she had attended multiple private high schools and then managed to secure an expensive private defense attorney when she got caught as an eighteen-year-old trying to buy heroin from an undercover officer in Washington Square Park. But there’s a difference between rich kids and rich kids.

The Frankel family home turned out to be a brick townhouse on East 76th Street. Approximately five thousand square feet on the Upper East Side, complete with an elevator and servants’ quarters.

Given the cotton smock of the woman who answered the door, I took an educated guess that she was not one of Tracy’s family members. “Hi. I’m looking for Joanne Frankel.” Tracy had given her mother’s name as her emergency contact when she was arrested.

The woman closed the door without comment and soon a younger woman took her place. “Tracy’s not around anymore, so you can lose this address—” Looking me up and down, the woman apparently decided that I didn’t fit her expectations for a person inquiring about Tracy. “Wait. Who are you?”

“Olivia Randall. I’m a lawyer. I’m here about Tracy Frankel?” I quickly replayed Einer’s rundown of Tracy’s phone records. “Are you perhaps her sister?”


SHE WAS IN FACT TRACY’S sister, Laura. Her mother, Joanne, was also home. Her father, Eric, was at work at his commercial real estate management job.

Once I explained who I was, Joanne made it clear that I had some nerve showing my face at the family home. I apologized for their loss, knowing how shallow the sentiment sounded. As I had countless times before, I did my best to make it appear that our interests aligned. “I know it seems out of place for me to be here, but there’s some evidence I don’t think the prosecution has brought to your attention. They’ve portrayed Tracy as a random victim caught in the cross fire, but this is what we’ve learned.” I spelled out the phone calls from Tracy’s cell phone to the Sentry Group. “Your daughter wasn’t just . . . collateral damage. I want to find out the truth about why she was killed.”

It was straight out of a Lifetime movie. But I could tell from Joanne’s quick response that it was working.

“When they told me she was at the waterfront at seven in the morning, it didn’t make any sense. I don’t think Tracy has woken up voluntarily at that hour since she stopped believing in Santa Claus.”

“Can you think of any reason why she would have called the Sentry Group?”

Joanne looked away. “My daughter was flawed. She had—problems.”

Laura reached over and grabbed her mother’s hand. “What my mother’s trying to say is that my sister was an addict—a junkie. We don’t know why she was at the waterfront that morning, but assume it was related to her substance abuse.”

“You don’t have to be so harsh,” Joanne said, pulling her hand away. “Yes, Tee had her issues. That’s what Tracy always wanted us to call her. For reasons I never understood, she decided in the sixth grade that Tracy was too much of a boy’s name. I tried to tell her that Tee sounded too much like tee-tee. She would giggle, but thought the nickname was cute. Sort of street tough, I guess. I never did quite warm to it. One of many, many mistakes, I suppose. But, yes, as I was saying, Tee had her issues, but I always thought they were temporary. She just needed to find the right school. She did really well at one of them, was it Halton Girls’? I don’t remember. Anyway, she had that teacher who got her into her poetry. She even talked about applying to a writing program. But then it became clear that it was all just a crush on an older man. It was always about men for her. She was such a kind soul but so reckless.”

I caught Laura the sister in an eye roll. Time to get the conversation back on track. I changed the subject to Tracy’s phone calls to the Sentry Group. “Forgive me if I’m saying anything to upset you, but this seems too coincidental. We’re worried that perhaps the police have missed an important explanation for the reason your daughter was shot.”

Joanne was shaking her head. “Do you have children?”

“No,” I responded.

“My husband loves Tee as much as I do—did, I suppose. More, if I had to say so. But when you have a child consumed by addiction, there are no clear right answers. I wanted to give her the world. To make her so happy that no drug could possibly compete. But Eric was all for tough love after Tracy was arrested. We hired the lawyer to keep her out of prison, but that was pretty much it for him. He cut her off. She moved to some crappy walk-up in Brooklyn.”

“So you have no idea why your daughter may have called the Sentry Group?”

“I wouldn’t say no idea.”

“Some idea,” I said.

“Yes, if I had to guess. She was—” Joanne reached for her daughter’s hand again. “An addict, as Laura said. Tee had even stolen from us in the past. Once we stopped letting her inside the house, I suspected she’d find other ways of raising money. That’s what drugs can do to a person.”