Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
With an hour to kill and my bag on my hip with my laptop inside, I decide hanging out at the coffee shop next to the building where the good doctor lives might prove informative. Of course, ten minutes later, my coffee order is wrong once again. My coffee order is always wrong. I’ve barely finished fighting with the barista over the difference between two-percent milk and skim—one justifying a chocolate bar in my mind and the other not so much—when my cellphone rings with an unknown number.
Jay hangs out for our drinks while I claim a seat at a table and answer, “Agent Love-Mendez.”
“Agent,” a youngish-sounding woman greets. “This is Sue Myers. I was told to call you.”
Myers. As in Michael Myers. It’s a weird coincidence and Roger always said there was no such thing. “What do you know about Landry Williams?”
“I’ve lived next to him a few years.”
“Have you fucked him?”
I can almost hear her gasp. “I—should you talk like that?”
I roll my eyes. “Did you make passionate love? Is that better?”
“No,” she declares, but there is a hitch in her voice as she adds, “we’re not intimate.”
That hitch is why I say shocking things that probably make my mother cringe even in her grave. “Why did the security guard think you were?” I counter.
“I—ah—he’s confused.”
“There’s lots of security footage I can look at.”
“What is this even about?’
“My FBI badge and something Landry Williams may or may not have done. Back to that security footage.”
“Okay, we flirt a bit,” she blurts. “That’s all.”
“Okay. So where is he?”
“He told me he was going back to Europe. He made lots of money in crypto and got out before everyone went belly up. He has a place up there. In France.”
“Sounds like you know a lot about him.”
“I don’t.”
“Do you have a key to his apartment?” I ask.
“No. No, of course, not.”
“All right,” I say. “I’m going to check you out. I’ll let you know what I think of you later.”
I hang up, leaving her flustered to see where that leads.
Jay sets my remade drink on the table and I thrum my fingers on the wood next to it. I dial Tic Tac. “Lilah.”
“I need—”
“Stuff. Always. What?”
“Landry Williams left the country. I’m not sure if I believe that. Find out, if you will, everything you can. When, if, why, how, and so on.”
“I’ll start with flight data and a phone ping. Sounds like someone is on the run and hiding.”
“If he’s really out of the country this might actually be his alibi for last night, but it doesn’t mean he’s not involved in the murders. If he’s still here, I’ll be giving him a much closer look.”
He punches keys and then says, “Okay, this is coming back to me. He’s the one who was at the horror club close to the diner. The doctor who said he was there to check it out for his teenager. The same doctor who was friends with one of the victim’s fathers and used yet another victim as his real estate agent.”
“That’s him. He owed me the name of the patient who supposedly recommended it but never got me that name. He’s also ghosting me.”
“Yeah, he sounds involved.”
“Maybe. Or just scared. Have you talked to Murphy?”
“Not for a couple days. I thought he was there?”
“He is.” I leave it at that.
“If I don’t answer when you call back, text me and email me. I’m headed into the subway in about half an hour and then an autopsy.”
“Copy that.”
I disconnect, and Jay sits down and sips his coffee. “Serious question. How do you know the difference between two percent and skim milk?”
Obviously, a question inspired by my coffee debacle. “If it tastes good, it’s two percent or whole.”
His brow furrows. “So you drink what doesn’t taste good?”
“It’s an acquired taste and healthier.”
“You ate an éclair today,” he points out.
“And think how much worse I’d be without my skim milk.” I scowl. “Asshole.”
My phone buzzes with a text message and I glance down to read a message from Tic Tac: Just a quick answer before I dig deeper. He flew to Europe yesterday morning. He landed in France. More soon.
I reply with: Do we have anyone in France who can pay him a visit?
Over my pay grade, is his reply. That’s a Murphy question.
I grimace and dial Murphy. I end up in his voicemail again. Irritated, I text him: My person of interest ran away to Europe. I need someone to go and pay him a visit.
And I wait for a reply that doesn’t come.
“Why are you staring at your phone while I stare at you staring at your phone?”
I glance up to find Jay doing just that. Staring at me. “What milk is in your coffee?”
“Whole.”
I slide my cup to him. “Try it.”
He grimaces and drinks before he says, “It’s not that bad, actually.”