Deadly Fall (26 page)

Sandra Munter was average. Average height, average figure, average coloring, average features. However, there was nothing average about the very real grief on her face.

“You’re here about Charlie,” she murmured, looking about twelve years old in a pale pink tank top, faded sweat pants and stockinged feet.

“Yes,” Ethan said softly. When she swayed on her feet, he shot out a hand to steady her. “You need to sit down.”

Sandra nodded absently and fell down on the heavily patterned and worn, but clean loveseat. Ethan sat down on the matching armchair, facing her. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. Nick drew a chair from the tiny dining table in the corner and positioned it a foot to the right of Ethan and facing Sandra Munter.

Ethan waited until Nick was settled before he began. “Sandra, can you start by telling us how you found Charlie?”

“After I’d finished my shift at the diner, I came straight here. I was going to spend the night at Charlie’s because he hadn’t been feeling well because of what happened at that building he works at. And he had that bump on his head.

“I have a key to his apartment, so I used it to open the door. I remember it was dark and quiet inside, so I thought maybe he was sleeping.” Her eyes closed at this point, as if she was back in her boyfriend’s apartment. “I turned on the lights, went to the bedroom, and all I saw was red. It was red everywhere. I didn’t even notice…what was left of Charlie on the bed until Charlie’s neighbor across the hall came over. I didn’t think the thing on the bed was Charlie.” She was shaking her head, eyes still closed. “But I saw the tattoo on his chest.”

She was crying when she opened her eyes and accepted the tissues Ethan held out. She mopped up her tears and sniffed noisily. “Does this have anything to do with that businessman who was killed where Charlie worked?”

Ethan looked apologetic. “We can’t say.”

She was shaking her head again. “He wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Charlie’s not that type of person. He worked hard. Everything he had, he earned himself.”

And he didn’t have much, Nick was thinking. Could Medina have been resentful of the wealthy people living in the building where he worked? Could a small bribe have encouraged him to look the other way and let Langan’s would-be killers into the building? After discovering Langan had been murdered, would Medina have taken the video surveillance tapes as protection for himself, or perhaps blackmail? His brutal death suggested the latter.

“Did Charlie say or do anything in the last few days that was out of the ordinary?”

Nick could plainly see Sandra Munter’s inner debate as she struggled with Ethan’s question.

“We want to find the people who killed him, Sandra, and we can only do it with your help,” Ethan said, tone coaxing.

The tears started again. “I-I don’t know.”

“If Charlie said anything to you, you need to tell us,” Ethan said, scooting forward in the armchair. “We’re not here to prosecute you, Sandra. We just want information.”

She stared into Ethan’s intense eyes, searching, judging. Then she nodded and rose from the loveseat. “Please, wait here,” she said, and disappeared into the far room.

Nick and Ethan exchanged looks. They were both hoping for the same thing, but were afraid to voice it out loud. They might actually get the break they’d been praying for. Faint sounds of drawers opening and closing came from the bedroom door Sandra Munter left ajar.

Then Nick’s cell phone broke the silence. He pulled it out and looked at his screen. The caller’s ID was blocked. He flipped open the cell.

“Markov.”

“Nick!” Augusta’s breathless voice brought what he had learned from the ME earlier rushing to the forefront of his mind. “I—”

“Where are you calling from?” he demanded, deliberately cutting her off.

There was a long pause on the other end. “I’m in my car and I’m calling you on my new cell phone.”

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer.

“Augusta? If this isn’t important, I’m in the middle of something,” he said curtly. Sandra Munter was returning to the tiny living room, five video tapes stacked in her hands.
Finally.

“This is important,” Augusta said. Nick caught Ethan’s eye and inclined his head before getting up and walking to the kitchen for a measure of privacy.

“Uh, I went to see Adam today,” she began hesitantly.

“And?”

“Nick, what’s wrong?”

He bit back what he wanted to say. “Long day, and I don’t see an end yet.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh.” Her voice softened. “I take it you won’t be back in time for dinner.”

Nick planted his feet shoulder-width apart and tipped his head back. She sounded as if she would be disappointed by his absence. “No, don’t wait up for me.” Nick forced himself to relax his tense neck muscles. He needed some serious stress relief, he thought, and immediately cursed himself when a picture of Augusta, hot and welcoming, spread out beneath him flashed in his head. He shifted his weight and tried to conjure up images to kill his desire. Now was not the time for a hard-on.

“What were you saying before? You went to see Adam Langan?”

“Yes. I thought he would need to talk to someone about Jana. I was adjusting one of the pictures on Adam’s wall and I think I found a bug.”

“Bug?”

“As in listening device.”

“Damn.” Nick rubbed his free hand over his face and through his hair. “Are you sure?”

“I think so. It was attached to the back of a picture frame. It was small and round, about the size of a button.”

“What did you do?”

“I left it there.”

“Did you tell Langan?”

“No. I thought I should tell you first.”

“Good. Don’t tell him.”

There was a moment of dead silence on the other end.

“Nick, Adam can’t be involved. He wouldn’t have anything to do with Drew’s death.”

The vulnerability in her voice very effectively sliced through the barrier he had been trying to erect against her. Augusta was determined—stubborn, more like—and strong, but when it came to these two men she considered her family, her loyalty made her blind. It frustrated him—hell, he could admit it, it made him jealous—but it also made him wish he could hold her and reassure her that everything would turn out fine. However, he couldn’t lie to her. Nick squeezed his eyes shut tight.
God.
He wished she could do the same for him.

“Augusta, listen to me. I want you to call Joe Doyle and have him meet you at your house as soon as possible. Tell him you need to have your house swept for any listening or surveillance devices. He’ll know what to do.”

More silence.

“I don’t have his number with me,” she said, her voice soft, strained. Defeated.

“Write this down,” he ordered, and gave her the security consultant’s number. “And give me your cell number. Try to use that for all your calls now. Don’t use any of the telephones in your house. I’ll try to make it back as soon as I can wrap things up.”

“All right.”

“I met with the ME today. Langan’s body can be released to you anytime you want it.”

“Thank you.”

“Augusta?”

“Yes?”

“We’ll get through this.”

At first he thought she hadn’t heard him, then she draw a deep breath. “I know. Bye.”

“Bye.”

It was several moments before he closed his cell phone and rejoined his partner and Sandra Munter. Ethan was reassuring her that she was doing the right thing. Nick lightened up his expression and added his own reassurances and thanks. Ethan gave her his card before they showed themselves out.

“I need to talk to the condo board about going digital,” said Ethan when they were settled in the car and speeding back to Manhattan. “What did Augusta want?”

Nick gave a summary of his conversation with Augusta as he weaved through traffic. Ethan mulled over the new turn of events while they crossed the East River.

“So,” Ethan began, “Adam Langan didn’t report a break-in. Then we have two scenarios here. One, they didn’t toss his place like they did Augusta’s, so he doesn’t know they broke in. Or two, they already knew they wouldn’t find what they’re after at his place, but they were hoping Andrew Langan would let something slip to his brother.”

“Or three, Adam Langan’s knows more than he’s telling us,” Nick said.

“When do you want to bring him in for questioning?”

“Not today,” Nick replied, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Not yet. Langan’s a lawyer. If we tell him his home is bugged, he’ll make himself the victim. I want more on him before we bring him in. Besides, I want to view the tapes first.”

“Did you mention anything about what the Doc told us or the video tapes to Augusta?”

Nick shook his head. “No.”

“And what if she’s on the tapes?”

Nick didn’t answer right away. The tendons in his hands flexed as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “She won’t be on the tapes.”

Ethan made a noncommittal sound.

The Nineteenth Precinct was in the midst of shift change chaos when Nick and Ethan returned. They looked straight ahead and shouldered their way to an empty conference room, only grunting in reply when people greeted them. Ethan locked the door and closed the blinds while Nick readied the television and VCR. They could’ve gone to a technician, but they wanted to view the contents of the tapes first.

Nick looked over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Ethan decided the long, narrow table would work as a seat. “Yeah.”

Nick popped in the tape labeled “27th” and pressed PLAY. He stepped back until he could lean against the edge of the table, VCR remote control in hand. A silent, grainy, black-and-white image of the hallway outside Andrew Langan’s penthouse as seen from the far ceiling corner filled the television screen. The timestamp on the bottom left of the screen was hours too early. Nick fast-forwarded until 9:45 p.m., then went back to normal speed. Medina had said Langan returned home just before ten. Sure enough, a dark-haired man unlocked the penthouse double doors and disappeared inside. Nick waited a couple of minutes and when the picture didn’t change, he fast-forwarded intermittently until there was movement. Five minutes of that and a dark-haired woman emerged from the elevator. Nick automatically paused the tape.

Ethan withdrew his notebook and pen. “What time?” he asked, flipping open his spiral notebook to a blank page.

“10:56 p.m.” Nick un-paused the tape. The woman strolled up to Langan’s front doors, shook her wavy hair back and knocked. She was dressed in a long, belted coat that reached mid-calf. A visit from a woman at that time of night and in that type of coat, Nick had a damned good idea what she had on underneath. She had to knock a second time before Langan answered. They looked at each other and Nick could see Langan’s mouth moving. He silently cursed the low quality of the tape—a lip reader wouldn’t be able to make out what Langan was saying. However, it didn’t take a lot of arm-twisting for Langan to step back and allow the woman inside.

“Could it be Augusta?”

“No,” Nick said decisively, nothing of the relief bursting inside him evident. “Augusta’s about five nothing. This one’s almost eye-to-eye with Langan and he was six-one. If we take away the heels, I’d guess she’s about five-nine, maybe five-ten.”

“Then do you think Augusta knows about her or who she is?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask her.”

“How about Adam Langan? He seems to know his brother better than anyone else in their family. Hell, he knows more than he’s telling us if his apartment is wired.”

“We’re assuming that’s related to our case,” Nick said, playing devil’s advocate.

Ethan snorted. “It’s one hell of a coincidence otherwise.”

Nick agreed. “I know.” He started fast-forwarding again. “She’s about Jana Westenberg’s height.”

Ethan blew out a breath. “I really need to get the board to update the surveillance system. Sound and color would be nice.”

“Have Torie do it for you. You’re only the kept man.”

“There’s something to be said for having a sugar mama.”

“I’ll never know how you convinced Torie to walk down the aisle with you. She’s too good for you.”

“So you said at our wedding. But, yeah, she sometimes finds it hard to live with a man who’s better-looking than her, but the pros outweigh the cons.”

“So the latest disagreement is water under the bridge?”

All traces of humor disappeared from Ethan’s voice when he answered. “I’ve Langan to thank for that. You and I deal with death on a regular basis. We’re homicide. That’s in the job description. But Torie’s never had a death in her family. Both sets of grandparents are still alive and kicking. Langan is the first person she knew personally who died.” Ethan’s voice lowered. “Today, before I left for work, she made me promise to come home. She’s been making me promise her that since last Thursday.”