Come Home (24 page)

Jill couldn’t keep up. The SUV found open road and was getting away. Her heart thundered. Her legs wobbled. She stumbled, almost falling.

The Saturn driver leaned from his window. “Get outta the street!” he hollered, waving at her.

Jill threw her purse at the SUV in frustration, hitting the back just as the driver took off, cut the wheel, and jumped the median, making a daring U-turn and zooming down the other side of the highway, going downtown.

“Move, lady!” the Saturn driver yelled.

Jill hurried to the curb, then doubled over, trying to catch her breath. A police siren blared behind her, but it sounded too far away to get here in time. She straightened up and watched a minivan run over her purse and BlackBerry.

Cars and trucks
whoosh
ed past her, and the police siren sounded closer. She blinked sweat from her eyes and spotted the NYPD cruiser, driving toward her.

She stuck out her hand to flag it down.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Jill sat in a hard chair beside Officer Mulvane’s desk, and he was just finished typing his report on an old computer, with a grimy keyboard. The Greenwich Village precinct house had the same desks, mismatched file cabinets, and cluttered bulletin boards as the police station in Philadelphia, except for the moving tribute in its entrance hall, where six gleaming bronze plaques on a tan marble wall memorialized its six officers who gave their lives on September 11, 2001. Jill had paused at the memorial, saying a silent prayer.

“Okay, that’s about it.” Officer Mulvane hit a key and the form printed at a cheap desk printer with a Yankees sticker. He was a beefy cop in his thirties, with bright blue eyes, a ready smile, and thinning blond hair. He extracted the form, picked up a pen, and handed both to Jill. “Wanna give me your John Hancock?”

“Sure.” Jill skimmed the typed portion, which was her account of what had happened, then signed it at the bottom. Her flattened purse sat on her lap, and her BlackBerry was road kill, but she felt more like herself, having washed up in the ladies room. “So what do you think, Officer? Can you help me find Abby?”

“Here’s how it goes.” Office Mulvane eyed Jill, pursing his lips. “I’d like to help you find your kid, I mean, your ex’s kid, but we don’t have jurisdiction. If your ex was murdered in Philly, it’s a Philly case. If the kid went missing in Philly, it’s a Philly case. Here, take this back.” Officer Mulvane handed over the photo of William and the mystery man in the blue shirt. “Neither of these guys are known to us, much less a Known Wanted. I can’t run a check on them using the images alone.”

“Thanks.” Jill stuffed the picture into her broken purse. “But here’s what I don’t understand about jurisdiction. My ex is renting an apartment a few blocks from here, under a fake name, with fake identity. Doesn’t that give you jurisdiction?”

“No. Your ex-husband could be guilty of fraud in connection with the apartment, but not all fraud is criminal.” Officer Mulvane nodded hello at another cop passing his desk, a radio attached to the cop’s thick belt and flopping against his side. “If your ex-husband entered into a contract with the co-op membership under a false name, it’s not enough to involve NYPD.”

“But what if he’s impersonating someone? Isn’t that criminal?”

“Criminal impersonation is somebody pretending to be somebody famous, to get favors or money. Like we got a guy, he’s in here all the time, pretends he’s Robert De Niro to get a free meal.” Officer Mulvane picked up a Styrofoam cup of coffee with two thick fingers, as if he’d crush it otherwise. “Your ex-husband isn’t doing that.”

“So you need jurisdiction—”

“No,” Officer Mulvane interrupted, setting down his cup. “I don’t
need
jurisdiction. I can’t act unless I
have
jurisdiction. I’m not looking for things to do, I got plenty.”

“Okay, what about the fact that I think I’m being followed by a black SUV, on the West Side Highway?”

“You don’t have any real evidence that you are, and you don’t know it’s the same car.”

“The license plate has the T, and he drove away when he saw me coming.”

“Dr. Farrow.” Officer Mulvane smiled, sympathetically. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I saw you, and you looked drunk and crazy. No wonder the guy hightailed it. And lots of plates start with T.”

Jill tried another tack. “What if I were a friend of Neil Straub’s, and I come to you and tell you that he’s missing. I tell you he lives a few blocks away and I’m worried about him. What if he’s dead in his apartment, right now? That would be criminal, and you’d have jurisdiction, right?”

“Right, but that’s not what you said.”

“It could be.” Jill saw her opening, but Officer Mulvane frowned, shifting heavily away from her, in his chair.

“It isn’t. I stopped for you because I thought you were a knucklehead about to get run over.”

“Now you know I’m a knucklehead trying to find my daughter.” Jill managed a smile. “You want me to go out, come back in again, and tell you the new story?”

“It’s not a game, Doc.”

“I know, and I’m not playing. I really need help. No one’s looking out for Abby but me. You understand, you have a child.” Jill gestured at the photo on his desk, of an adorable little boy in a blue baseball uniform, resting a bat on his shoulder. “What if your son were out there on his own, after you were gone?”

“Oh, don’t do that to me.” Officer Mulvane looked pained, and Jill thought of the 9/11 memorial in the entrance hall. She realized that cops went to work every day, knowing that they might not come home. She flushed, feeling terrible.

“I’m so sorry, Officer. That was thoughtless of me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Officer Mulvane sighed. “Okay, you win. There’s one thing I can do for you, in these circumstances.”

“Thank you so much,” Jill said, grateful.

Chapter Thirty-eight

“They’ve been up there forever, haven’t they, Mike?” Jill paced the lobby in William’s building, waiting for Officer Mulvane and his partner, who were upstairs with the super, a bald and surly little man named Ivan Ronavic.

“No. You need to relax.” Mike peered at her over his glasses. He was sitting at the desk, turning a page of the newspaper. “It’s only been twenty minutes. They’ll be down soon.”

“I wish I could’ve gone with them.”

“You heard them. No way. The cops aren’t even allowed in the apartment, they gotta wait in the hall while my boss checks it out.”

“Is Ivan your boss?”

“Yes.” Mike chuckled. “You asked him so many questions, I thought he was gonna hit you.”

Jill snorted. “I’ve met surgeons with less ego.”

Mike laughed. “He didn’t like you much, either.”

“Ask me if I care. I should fix him up with
my
boss, Sheryl.”

Mike cocked his head. “You’re a doctor. You shouldn’t have a boss.”

“That’s what
I
think.” Jill let it go. “You’ve seen the apartment, right?”

“Yes.”

“What does it look like?”

“Not for me to say. You’ve gotten me in enough hot water for one day.”

“Sorry.” Jill felt a guilty twinge. “I can write Ivan a letter, apologizing.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s good to shake things up. Get’s so quiet around here.”

“I wonder what’s going on up there.” Jill sank onto a cushioned bench, suppressing her anxiety. She felt so out of touch without her BlackBerry and wondered if Abby had called her or Victoria. Or if Sam was home from the lab, Megan had had another panic attack, or Rahul’s bloodwork had come back. Jill stood up and started pacing again.

“Here they come.” Mike rose, and the elevator
ping
ed. Jill got to the elevator as its stainless steel doors slid open, letting out Ivan, Officer Mulvane, and Officer Yokimura, his talkative young partner.

“Well?” Jill asked, and Officer Mulvane smiled in a reassuring way.

“Nothing to worry about, and your kid isn’t up there. It’s all in order. Clean as a whistle.”

“What did you see? What does it look like?”

“It’s a typical guy apartment.”

Officer Yokimura added, “A typical
rich
guy apartment.”

Officer Mulvane didn’t comment. “There was nothing suspicious. Ivan did a walk-through, answered all our questions, and told us what we needed to know. Neat and clean. Refrigerator empty except for water and beer. Stack of newspapers and bills on the table.”

“What name’s on the mail?”

“Neil Straub.”

“No other?”

“No.”

“Except for Current Occupant,” Officer Yokimura deadpanned.

“Any mail from a business, like one he owned?” Jill asked.

“Not that Ivan noticed.”

“What’s the oldest date on the mail, do you know? Or the oldest newspaper?”

“About a week ago, that Ivan saw.”

Jill turned in frustration to Ivan, who had walked to the front desk. “Can’t you please tell me more about him, like what you have on file, from when he subletted?”

“No, I can’t.” Ivan’s thin lips made a flat line. His wiry frame seemed lost in his blue jumpsuit, and he had mournfully dark eyes. “Like I told you, I do what the board president tells me. He’s not givin’ out any info without a warrant.”

“But Neil Straub is only a subletter.”

“Makes no never mind.”

Jill turned back to Officer Mulvane. “We can’t get a warrant?”

“No. No probable cause. No crime. No nothing.”

Jill knew when she’d lost a fight. “Was there any sign of a woman living with him, like things in the bathroom, medicine chest? Or stray jewelry? He has a young blonde girlfriend, and it would help if I knew her name.”

Officer Yokimura grinned. “Hell hath no fury, eh?”

Jill turned to Officer Mulvane. “Well?”

“Ivan did see some things that belonged to a woman. Clothes in the closet, that sort of thing.” Officer Mulvane crossed to the front desk. “Hey, Mike, how does the mail get upstairs?”

“When the resident is out of town, we bring it up every few days. We always do that for Mr. Straub because he’s usually gone so long, it clogs up his mailbox. About ten percent of the building is absentee; they got second and third homes in Florida, or they’re foreign. We’re white glove here. Bring up the dry cleaning, water the plants, too. Whatever they need, we do.”

Officer Yokimura smiled. “Must be nice.”

Officer Mulvane asked, “When was the last time Straub was here?”

Mike consulted a log book on the desk. “I found the entry, when you were upstairs. Last Monday, he left at 10:20
A.M.
I was on the desk, I remember, because I filled in for Enrique. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”

Jill felt her gut tense. Monday was the day before William died. Neil Straub wouldn’t be back, because William Skyler was dead. “Was he alone?”

Mike hesitated.

Officer Mulvane asked, “Was he?”

“Yes,” Mike answered.

Officer Mulvane patted the desk, as a farewell. “Thanks for your trouble.”

Jill came over. “Officer Mulvane, can we check out his car, too? I just want to see if it’s here.” She’d asked before, but maybe he’d forgotten. “He has a silver Mercedes, but we can’t get into the garage unless they let us in.”

Ivan looked over at Jill, annoyed. “You’re an instigator, you know that?”

Jill smiled at him. “Hardly, but are you single? Because I’ve got the girl for you.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

Jill felt her eyes adjust to the darkness as she walked past one expensive sedan after another, their chrome fenders gleaming under the low lights in the garage ceiling. Reflective numbers painted on the concrete floor behind each car bore an apartment number, and they were at 4-B.

“Hey, Doc.” Officer Mulvane turned to Jill as they walked together with Ivan and Officer Yokimura. “You understand, we can’t search his car without a warrant.”

“I know. I just want to see if it’s here.”

“Fine. Then we’re done.”

“This is it.” Ivan stopped, gesturing with his jingling keyring at a silver Mercedes that sat in one of the parking spaces assigned to 4-D. The other space was empty, and William’s car had a New York license plate, JU 5359. Jill took a pen out of her bag and scribbled the number on a scrap of paper, since she didn’t have her BlackBerry to take a picture.

“We done here?” Ivan scowled.

“Yes, thanks,” Jill answered, but she stepped over and peeked inside the car, which had a light, clean interior. William always kept his cars clean, then Jill remembered that he also always kept a spare key under his car’s back bumper.

Officer Mulvane peered into the car, too. “Looks kosher to me.”

Officer Yokimura snorted. “Looks
awesome
to me.”

Jill’s thoughts raced ahead. “Well, thanks, Officers. I really appreciate your time.”

“No worries.” Officer Mulvane put a hand on Jill’s shoulder. “I wish you luck with your kid. She’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“Thanks, I hope so.”

Ivan gestured. “Come on, folks. Wild goose chase is over, I got things to do,” he said, and they all turned to follow him, with Jill a step behind, pretending she’d gotten something in her shoe.

“Oops, a stone,” she said, but she hooked a finger inside her flat and pulled out the small innersole in the back of her heel, which had an adhesive bottom.

Ivan led them to the exit door, which he opened, and Officer Yokimura went through. Jill hung back, expecting Officer Mulvane to go next, but he turned to her.

“Ladies first,” Officer Mulvane said, with a smile.

It caught Jill off guard, and she had to think fast. “Damn, I was trying to check out your butt.”

“I still got it, eh?” Officer Mulvane burst into easy laughter. “Tell my wife that.”

“She already knows it. Now, work it!”

Officer Mulvane wagged his butt in a comical way as he went through the door, and Jill stuck the gluey bottom of her innersole on the doorjamb, blocking the lock, then closed the door.

“Thanks for all your help, Officer Mulvane,” Jill said, as they walked together down the street toward the West Side Highway.

“Sure thing. I’m sure your kid will show, sooner or later. Hell, at that age, I was up to no good. Take care, Doc.” They reached the West Side Highway, where Jill waved good-bye to them.