Johnny Hon was still behind the wheel. He had followed Carter Wakeling into Manhattan, down the FDR Drive, and crosstown to Chelsea. He watched as Carter parked on 21st Street halfway between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, then walked to the cafe around the corner.
Less than a minute later a woman went into the restaurant. From his parked car Hon studied her through binoculars. With her slender carriage and classic features, he recognized Penny Rawling. Because of her midnight-black hair, white skin, and radiant blue eyes, one of the detectives had nicknamed her Snow White.
When he saw her sit down at Carter Wakeling’s table, he slipped an official tag on his car and followed her in, taking a table in the far corner where he could observe them. He had interviewed each of them three years ago and did not want to make it easy for them to see his face.
Leo had told him that Penny was one of the witnesses who had provided new information that could possibly implicate Carter in his mother’s death. She claimed to have told Carter that his mother was planning to reduce his inheritance substantially.
Suddenly Penny looked down and began to cry. She pulled paper napkins from a steel dispenser on the table to wipe her face. An instant later Carter leaned across the table and grabbed her wrists.
Hon could not be certain what was happening between the two from across the room, but he was more than concerned now. He was on alert. It looked to him as if Carter might be pressuring or threatening Penny as a witness. She was afraid enough to cry in public. If she continued and Carter panicked, he might go further in his efforts to silence her.
But then the two began to smile. Carter released his grip on Penny’s wrists, and it was obvious that whatever was going on between them, Penny was now at ease.
Johnny Hon signaled for his check and went back to his car. His instinct told him Carter Wakeling was not a killer, but he had seen murderers who looked as innocent as choirboys. He was not going to let Carter out of his sight. If he persuaded Rawling to get in his car or a cab with him when they left the restaurant, Hon would be right behind them.
70
When she left Tiffany’s house, Laurie looked at the time as she hit send on her phone.
The audio of Charlotte’s meeting with Tiffany was on its way to Jerry. She then tried to call him. It was 6:45 P.M. He often worked far longer hours than this, but he had been eager to celebrate their completion of the episode’s storyboard. As she listened to a fourth ring, she pictured Jerry and Grace having cocktails at Tanner Smith’s, the prohibition era–themed speakeasy they tended to frequent when Laurie didn’t tag along.
She waited through Jerry’s familiar outgoing message, and then left a message at the tone: “Call me as soon as you get this. I know who killed Virginia. We need to meet first thing in the morning to discuss our next moves. I’ll need to work on getting an immunity deal for a witness, and we need Ryan to interview at least one more person. So call me.”
By the time she hung up the phone, it was already 6:48. She was supposed to meet Alex on Central Park South in twelve minutes. The ride to Queens had taken forty-five minutes. The drive back would be quicker in reverse traffic, but it would still be a crawl across the bridge.
She decided that the subway was her fastest option. The F train was almost a straight shot. Even so, she would still be late. She knew he would understand, though. Last night at dinner, they had felt completely comfortable with each other, as if they were finally on the same page. This time, they were jumping in with both feet.
She pulled Alex up on her phone and was about to send him a text message. She hadn’t started typing yet when she heard footsteps behind her.
71
Tom Wakeling had been getting out of his car when he saw an unfamiliar woman leaving the house where he had picked up Tiffany for their two dates three years earlier. The stranger was wearing a navy-blue wrap coat. He had watched her walk to the corner. His pulse raced when he spotted Laurie Moran waiting for her.
The two women had a quick conversation, and then Laurie walked into Tiffany’s house alone. She had been inside for more than five minutes. He had no idea what to do now.
He’d formulated a plan the second his cousin, Anna, told him that the TV show people had been asking questions about Tiffany. He had a bag of painkillers in his pocket and had planned to make Tiffany’s death look like an overdose. He had a gun, too, and would use it to force her to swallow the pills. A woman like her was so eccentric, the police would write it off as yet another unfortunate casualty of the nation’s opiate-addiction crisis. Now that everything was going so well in his life, he couldn’t take any chance that Tiffany would retract her statement to the police. That story about being together on the second floor had spared him closer scrutiny after that horrible night on the roof with Aunt Virginia.
Now he was on the sidewalk in front of Tiffany’s neighbor’s house, pretending to make a phone call. A large pine tree between the two houses would shield him from view, but he was keeping an eye on Tiffany’s front door with the occasional glance. He watched as Laurie said good-bye to Tiffany and began walking. He had been worried that she might spot him behind her, but she was distracted by her phone.
He was close enough to hear her voice when she spoke. “Call me as soon as you get this. I know who killed Virginia. We need to meet first thing in the morning to discuss our next moves. I’ll need to work on getting an immunity deal for a witness, and we need Ryan to interview at least one more person. So call me.”
Listening, Tom cursed his bad luck. Until today, he’d been on a winning streak. After the incident on the museum roof, Tiffany out of the blue had told him that she had stolen some kind of bracelet while the two of them had been apart at the gala. She swore it wasn’t valuable, but the confession had confirmed his impression that she was insane. At the same time he couldn’t believe his good fortune. In an instant he had an alibi for the time of the murder. The money his aunt left him turned out to be a lousy $50,000, but it was enough to pay off his gambling debts. And then, unlike his uncle Bob or aunt Virginia, his cousins had given him a chance to prove himself with a job at the company. He had turned his life around on that one awful night.
But now all the good luck had run out. If he had arrived here just a little earlier, his plan might have worked. But now he was too late. Obviously Tiffany had been pressured to change her statement, and those people at Under Suspicion were about to place him under their microscope. Anna had said they were relentless.
He was going to be caught, unless he could figure out a way to kill both Tiffany and Laurie Moran.
Stealthily, he walked swiftly behind Laurie. He pulled the Glock from the back of his waistband. She didn’t seem to hear his steps until he was right behind her. He had the gun pointed at her when she turned.