The Herd(60)

Ted, one of a very few non-members who had easy access to the Herd. To Eleanor’s office, to the knife on her shelf. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d always thought of Ted as sort of uncomplicated and hapless, the one guy who’d do anything for Eleanor. His devotion to her had bordered on unnerving, but in a way, I’d almost envied it—wondered, privately, what it must be like to have a man worship you like that. No way he could’ve…?

At home, I checked my email and had only a few, which meant the news about Eleanor hadn’t hit the papers yet. Way out in India, Stephanie relayed that she was still trying to catch a flight back; the coming storm made rebookings a nightmare. I pictured her on the beach in Goa, coconut in hand, wondering if the Herd was hers for the taking when she got back. Aurelia had emailed to relay that, per the ongoing investigation, the Herd would be closed until further notice (“through the end of the year at minimum”) and could I please disseminate this news? Not even one day, one day, to mourn the loss of my best friend, her supervisor. The thought of writing a media alert, one carefully crafted and bristling with low-stakes bad news, made me want to sink to the floor and stay there until January.

In the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, snowflakes bopped in the breeze. The impending “snurricane.” Those who weren’t traveling for the holidays would be treated to a white Christmas. The rest of us were screwed.

I was still poking away at the press release, willing my brain to focus, when my video intercom shrieked. Two figures, standing shoulder to shoulder and towering over the sweet nameless doorman.

“Ms. Bradley, you have two…guests?”

“Who is it?”

A beat. “They say they’re detectives.”

I glanced around—the apartment was still a mess, my coat and umbrella slung on the floor, sheets and pillows on the sofa where I’d set up Katie for the night. My pulse picked up its tempo, but I couldn’t say no, couldn’t send them away without arousing suspicion.

“Send them up,” I replied.

“Ms. Bradley, how are you?” Ratliff called as I opened the door. Behind her Herrera was stout and tense, like a closed fist.

I shook their hands, then murmured, “Thank you for coming,” like a host at a dinner party. What?

“We know you were at the precinct until quite late last night,” Ratliff said. “But time is of the essence, so now that you’ve had a little time to process, we hoped to go over everything again.”

“Of course.” They followed me into the living room and hovered as I moved the pillow and duvet from the sofa to the hallway. I felt their eyes on me, watching, judging.

“Didn’t realize you had guests,” Herrera remarked.

“Just my sister. She stayed here last night.” It was a little odd she hadn’t checked in, come to think of it—earlier, she’d been very interested in my trip to Daniel’s. “Can I get you two anything?”

“No thanks.” Ratliff pulled a notebook from a pocket and opened it with a flick. “So as you know, we were just in the process of closing the investigation. Based on the email you and your friends had gotten.”

I nodded. “It looked like Eleanor had left town. Moved to Mexico. But now it seems pretty clear someone staged that to, to throw us off their trail or whatever. Whoever sent those texts and emails from her account is the obvious smoking gun, no?”

Ratliff’s face revealed nothing. Her eyes could be catlike, intelligent but expressionless. “We’ve determined those texts and emails were sent from Ms. Walsh’s phone,” she said. “From the vicinity of her apartment.”

I frowned. “You’re sure they were from her brand-new phone? Not the stolen one? ’Cause if someone just logged into her iCloud from the old one…”

“The new one. Purchased the week before.”

“Okay.” I watched Cosmo amble into the room and sit, his tail swishing. “Well, if it was the vicinity of her apartment, it was also the vicinity of the Herd. They’re within a few blocks of each other.”

“That’s correct. Unfortunately, we’ve only narrowed it down to a cell tower’s range. Location services were turned off.”

Herrera leaned forward. “You’re sure you haven’t seen her new phone anywhere?”

“What, just lying around? No. Obviously the killer took it with him.” I opened my palms. “So either he stuck around the neighborhood the next morning, or he made it look like he did. Even I know how to use VPNs.”

Ratliff made a note. “Backing up, can you tell us exactly what you were doing the evening of Monday, December sixteenth?”

I felt a prickle of fear. “I was here. Getting everything ready for the announcement. Sometimes I have trouble focusing at the Herd, so I went home midday.”

“Directly home?” she said.

“Yes. I had lunch here.” I swallowed. “I was in all night.”

“And the front desk could confirm that? I saw they have CCTV.”

“I think so. Actually, wait.” I shook my head. “If I was coming from the subway, I’d take the side entrance. Gets me inside faster when it’s super cold. But they’d have footage of me leaving the next morning.”

They had me repeat some things I’d already shared: How I knew Eleanor, my role at the Herd, how Eleanor had seemed these last few months, what I thought about Daniel. The last one was the hardest: How does anyone feel when their spectacular best friend partners with someone who is…fine? He was fine, inoffensive and sweet, appropriately head-over-heels for Eleanor (I’d thought), and good in all the checklist ways a best friend watches closely: He respected her independence, wasn’t intimidated by her success, made a passable effort to be chummy with her friends, check, check, check. He wasn’t as incredible as Eleanor, but then again, who was? He had an unglamorous yet stable job as a hospital administrator and vague interests in running and nice foodie restaurants and CrossFit. Right now he was on my Nice list for calling me instead of the detectives upon finding that blackmail note. Today’s one-on-one conversation was the longest Daniel and I had ever had, I realized. Hopefully he hadn’t mentioned it to the cops.