Chasing Shadows (First Wives #3)(55)

“Manhattan.”

Once again the officers exchanged glances. Their precinct was in Suffolk County, a good hour and fifty minutes outside the city. While her assault case had originated in Manhattan, it had merged with the murder case of Trina’s late husband, who lived in the Hamptons. Officers Armstrong and Gray had the cases combined. Left alone, Avery’s assault case would have gone to the bottom of the page in terms of priority. A murder case of a wealthy man, on the other hand . . .

Avery turned several pages over in her notebook, took a pen from the desk, and scribbled down her cell phone number. “How long will it take to retrieve the file?”

“Later today, maybe tomorrow.”

She tore the paper out and placed it on the desk as she stood. “I remember you saying that you had a video of the man you believe responsible leaving the garage.”

“I think that’s right,” Gray said.

“Was there any other evidence linking this scar-faced man to me?”

“Physical evidence? No. Not that I recall. But one of Petrov’s men turned state’s evidence on the other in the suspicious deaths of your suspect and the housekeeper,” Armstrong told her.

No evidence. None? “What was the state’s evidence?”

“That Ruslan Petrov had put a hit out on you. His man hired Scarface, as you call him.”

“What was the name of the scum that you assumed altered my face forever?”

“Mason, I think.” Armstrong looked at Gray.

“Ken Mason. Went by Krueger on the street,” Gray added.

“As in Freddy?” Avery asked.

“That’s what his rap sheet told us. A known hit man.”

“Did this Krueger have spider ink?”

They were silent.

“I’d have to look at the photos again,” Armstrong eventually said.

Avery felt her blood pressure rise. “I will bet my next paycheck he didn’t. The picture of Krueger that you showed me was a man with acne scars and haunting eyes. No ink on his neck from the mug shot. And while I don’t remember the whole conversation, I do think you said something about him liking ink, but he kept it off his neck and arms. Since this Krueger made his living killing people for money, that would make sense. If he had two brain cells to rub together, he would keep any defining marks like this one”—she slapped her hand on her open notebook—“hidden.”

Armstrong raised both palms in the air. “I understand your frustration. But at the time this was happening, you remembered nothing, and all we had to go on was the evidence we did find and the testimony of those in Petrov’s circle. Now that you’ve remembered something distinctive, we can look into the case again. If Krueger didn’t have this tattoo, we will reopen it.”

She really wanted to scream. “By reopening it, what does that mean? Put out an APB on a tattoo?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we have to.” Gray stood, along with Armstrong. “We need to do our job and get back to you.”

She felt a brush-off coming.

“If you remember anything else, call us.” Armstrong handed her a business card.

Avery started toward the door.

“Ms. Grant, don’t forget your purse.”

Avery glanced at the chair she’d just vacated. “I didn’t bring one.” No, she had the rental car key in her front pocket, a pocket wallet on her right hip, and her cell phone on her left.

“Let me walk you out,” Armstrong said.

They zigzagged through the station and out into the lobby. From there he walked her to the front door and matched her pace down the steps. “Where are all of those bodyguard friends of yours, Ms. Grant? The last time we saw you, you were surrounded by an army.”

Avery stopped in front of the rental car she didn’t bother locking and opened the door. “You only need an army when you can’t defend yourself.”

He hiked a brow.

“Have a nice day, Detective.” Avery slid behind the wheel, started the car, and reversed out of the space.

Armstrong stood, hands on hips, in her rearview mirror until she drove out of sight.

They had the wrong guy. She’d seen the looks on their faces, expressions that shadowed doubt on what they remembered about the case.

They had the wrong fucking guy.





Chapter Twenty-Two

Derrick Armstrong walked back into the station and straight to the office he shared with Gray. His partner was busy clicking behind the computer monitor. “Did you find it yet?”

“I’m not that fast.”

They did have to dig a little deeper for archived files. But unlike the days when everything was paper and physical photographs that were stored in remote locations, they didn’t have to leave the station to find what they were looking for.

Armstrong looked at the chair Ms. Grant had sat in. “A woman without a purse?”

“Less likely to get mugged,” Gray said.

“More prepared to fight if she were.”

Gray glanced up. “She doesn’t look like a fighter.”

“Looks aren’t always what they seem.”

“She sure as hell didn’t fight the last time.” Gray went back to the computer.

“No guarantee she wouldn’t now.” In fact, he would bet his next paycheck she would.