Midnight Voices (19 page)

Just a second or two, and not much of a struggle. No struggle at all, in fact, except possibly a futile attempt to escape that resulted in a few strands of fiber being found under Costanza’s fingernails. Though the labs hadn’t yet come up with an ID on the fibers, Oberholzer would have bet a year’s worth of retirement money that they came from some kind of man’s coat. Maybe an overcoat.

It didn’t look like anything had been stolen, but it didn’t look like there had been anything worth stealing, either. But that was why Oberholzer was here—to try to find something that might give a hint as to the motivation for the killing. It hadn’t been rape, and given that the killer hadn’t even taken her purse, it didn’t look like robbery, either. Ex-husbands and former boyfriends usually slapped their victims around before killing them, which hadn’t happened in this case.

But something was nagging at Frank Oberholzer’s mind, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

His eyes drifted to the notebook computer that was still sitting on the table where Costanza had left it, and which no one had touched since he’d entered the apartment yesterday. A Dial-Up Network program was on the screen, along with a box that had popped up indicating that the Internet connection had been broken, and offering a button to reestablish it. Frowning, Oberholzer searched for some kind of log, and finally found one, indicating that the last web connection had been established at 8:32 p.m. last Friday night, and lapsed an hour later.

So Costanza had been alive at 8:32, and though there was not yet any way to prove it, Oberholzer’s gut was telling him that the reason the connection had lapsed was that the person who’d made it was no longer alive.

Saving the log, he stared at the familiar clouds of the Windows Desktop, then double clicked on the Outlook icon.

The Contacts directory on Costanza’s computer was as empty as the one on his own, and he found himself smiling as he realized that there had been at least one person other than himself in New York who hadn’t jumped on the computer bandwagon. The smile faded as he realized he might now be alone.

He checked the calendar folder of Outlook, and found it as empty as the Contacts.

Sighing heavily, he heaved himself to his feet and moved over to the telephone table by the door. Propped against it was the big tote bag that had served as Andrea Costanza’s purse. Taking the purse back to the dining table, he carefully began removing its contents: a comb and brush, a compact and a lipstick, a half-empty packet of Kleenex along with a crumpled handkerchief, a wallet bulging with pictures of children but containing only a couple of credit cards, a cellular phone whose battery had died, and a worn Day-Timer that had not yet been replaced by Outlook’s calendar. Buried at the bottom of the bag was a thick address book, its cover as worn as the Day-Timer’s, but not yet replaced by some kind of handheld computer.
Good for you,
Oberholzer thought to himself.
My kind of gal.

Setting the address book to one side, he opened the Day-Timer and began going though its pages, starting from today and working backward. It didn’t take long before a picture of Andrea Costanza’s life began to emerge.

Days spent working, with a lot of appointments outside the office, the last of which was with a doctor named Humphries.

Evenings and weekends mostly blank.

In short, a woman who worked hard, and didn’t have much of a social life.

Another argument against a boyfriend, either former or current. In fact, about the only things he found that looked like they might have been social engagements were an entry for
Caroline’s wedding—Plaza Hotel
from a few weeks ago, and
Lunch—Cipriani—B/R/C
from several months earlier.

He shifted his attention over to the address book, which was filled with entries executed in a variety of colors of ink and pencil. Though it was obvious that at some point many years ago the book had been laid out with care, over the years numbers had changed, some names had been scratched out entirely, while others went through various permutations of marriage and divorce. After thumbing through it quickly, Frank Oberholzer went back to the beginning and began again, this time page by page, not sure what he was looking for, but hoping that something would jump out at him.

Nothing did, at least not strongly enough to make him start dialing numbers.

He opened the briefcase he’d brought with him and put the Day-Timer and address book inside. Then he slowly went through the apartment, opening every closet and cupboard, searching every drawer, looking for something—anything—that might have a bearing on what had happened to Andrea Costanza.

Nothing.

Shutting down the notebook computer and adding it to the briefcase, he left the rest of the apartment for the evidence squad to go through, packing anything that might be relevant. He himself would go through the calendar and address book, calling everyone Andrea had known, seeing everyone she’d seen.

Somewhere, he hoped, there would be a clue as to why Andrea Costanza had been killed.

Assuming, of course, that there had been a reason, and it was Frank Oberholzer’s experience that in New York City, too many murders happened with no real motivation at all.

Just a case of someone being at the wrong place at the wrong time, like that poor bastard who’d been killed in Central Park last year. What was his name?

Evans. That was it. Brad Evans. Left a nice young wife and two kids, and there’d never been a hint of a reason as to why he’d died.

Oberholzer could only hope it wouldn’t turn out the same way with Andrea Costanza.

Caroline wasn’t quite asleep when the phone rang, but she wasn’t quite awake, either, and as she groped for the receiver she suddenly felt disoriented. Then, as her hand closed on the hard plastic of the phone, she remembered: she’d gone back to bed after calling in sick at the shop. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Fleming?” a female voice asked.

“Yes.”

“Please hold for the headmaster.”

The headmaster? What was going on? Sitting up, Caroline glanced at the clock: not quite three. Had she really slept all day? She’d only intended to sleep another half hour—an hour at the most. Then the voice of Ralph Winthrop came over the line. “I’m sorry to have—” he began, but Caroline cut him off, her heart suddenly pounding.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Has something happened to Ryan?”

There was just a moment of hesitation before Winthrop spoke again, and in that split second Caroline felt a cold sweat of terror turn her skin clammy. “No, he’s all right, but I’m afraid—well, I’m afraid he’s been in a fight.”

“A fight,” Caroline heard herself repeat as if the word had no meaning. “I—I’m afraid I don’t understand. You’re sure he’s all right?”

Again there was a hesitation. “He’s not injured, no. But as to his being all right—” He hesitated again, as if searching for the right words, then went on. “I wonder if you could come over to the school.”

Caroline was sitting up now, her feet planted on the floor, but somehow she couldn’t quite get her bearings. “I’m sorry,” she began. “My daughter has some kind of a bug, and I didn’t go to work and—”

Suddenly Tony’s voice came on the line. “Stay in bed, darling,” he said. “Whatever’s going on, I can take care of it.” The timber of his voice shifted slightly as he directed his next words to the headmaster. “This is Ryan’s stepfather. I . . .”

But Caroline wasn’t listening any longer. What was she doing, still lying in bed at three in the afternoon? It wasn’t as if she was sick—she’d just felt tired that morning. “It’s all right, Tony,” she broke in. I’ll take care of it.” Now it was her voice that changed. “I’ll be there in half an hour.” Hanging up the phone, she went into the bathroom, stripped off her nightgown, and took a shower, finishing with a blast of ice-cold water that made her skin tingle and knocked the last vestiges of sleep out of her brain. Ten minutes later she emerged from her room and started for the stairs, then remembered Laurie. She opened her daughter’s door a crack, peeked in, then opened it wider when she didn’t see Laurie in the bed.

Though the bed was unmade, the room was empty.

“Laurie?” she called out. When there was no answer, she felt another sudden surge of fear, even worse than the one she’d felt when she’d heard the headmaster’s worried voice on the phone. But it was ridiculous—it wasn’t as if anything could have happened to Laurie. Still, she found herself hurrying down the stairs and calling her daughter’s name even before her foot hit the last step.

“Back here,” Tony called. “We’re in the kitchen.”

And sure enough, there was Laurie, wearing her bathrobe and sitting at the kitchen table eating an open-faced grilled cheese sandwich. “May I assume you’re feeling better?” Caroline asked.

Her daughter’s head bobbed. “I bet I can go back to school tomorrow.” She held out the half-eaten sandwich. “Want a bite? Tony makes the best ones I’ve ever tasted. The cheese goes all the way out to the edge so there’s no yucky hard crust, and he knows how to cook it so it gets all brown but not burnt.”

Caroline shook her head. “I have to get over to the Academy.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go?” Tony asked. “If you’re not feeling up to it—”

“I’m feeling fine. Or at least I will be until I see what’s going on with Ryan. Be back as soon as I can.”

Kissing her daughter and her husband, Caroline hurried out of the apartment, and it wasn’t until she was already on the street that she suddenly remembered the worry she’d had the night Laurie’s first period had begun, when Laurie had dreamed there were people in her room.

When Tony hadn’t been in bed.

When Laurie had dreamed someone had been touching her.

When she had thought—

But no—she’d been wrong—nothing had happened! Laurie wasn’t the least bit afraid of Tony.

No, it wasn’t Tony she had to worry about—it was Ryan.

“Can I go up and see Rebecca?” Laurie asked as she put the dishes from the snack her stepfather had made for her into the dishwasher. Tony looked down at her uncertainly.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. If you’re sick—”

“But I’m not sick,” Laurie protested. “I just felt tired this morning. But I’m fine now.” She gazed up at him, her eyes wide. “Please?”

“If your mother finds out I let you start running around—”

“But I won’t run around. I’m just going upstairs.” She could see him wavering. “And I won’t be gone more than half an hour. I’ll be back before Mom even gets home.”

Still he hesitated, but finally he nodded. “Half an hour, and no longer. Deal?”

“Deal,” Laurie said. Hurrying to her room, she pulled on her clothes, shoved her feet into her slippers, then ran back downstairs and out into the hall. Ignoring the elevator, she took the stairs two at a time, came to the seventh floor, and knocked at the Albions’ door. A few seconds passed, but just as she was about to knock again, Alicia Albion opened the door.

For just a second, Alicia looked almost startled to see her, but then she smiled at Laurie, though it wasn’t the same as the welcoming smile she usually offered her. This one seemed almost sad to Laurie. “Oh, dear,” Alicia said. “You’ve come to see Rebecca, haven’t you?”

Laurie nodded uncertainly. Just from the way Mrs. Albion had asked the question, she knew that something was wrong. “Is she all right?”

A strange look passed over Alicia Albion’s face, but then she smiled and nodded her head. “Oh, yes. But I’m afraid she’s not here. Didn’t she tell you?”

Laurie frowned. “Tell me what?”

Again there was just the tiniest hesitation before Mrs. Albion spoke. “She’s gone out west,” she said. “To New Mexico.”

“New Mexico?” Laurie echoed. “What’s in New Mexico?”

“Her uncle,” Alicia replied. Now her hands were twisting nervously at her apron. “Well, I mean, not her real uncle, but Max’s brother. With fall and winter coming, we thought it would be good for her.”

Laurie gazed up at Mrs. Albion. Why hadn’t Rebecca told her she was going away? When she’d seen her yesterday, Rebecca hadn’t said anything about going anywhere. In fact, she’d just been hoping she wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. And if she was so sick she might have to go to the hospital, how could she have gone all the way to New Mexico? But if she’d had to go to the hospital, why wouldn’t Mrs. Albion tell her? “Is she coming back?” she finally asked.

Alicia Albion’s eyes seemed to widen slightly, as if she weren’t certain what to say, but then she nodded. “Well, of course she is.”

“When?”

Now Alicia’s eyes narrowed and Laurie thought she saw a flash of anger in them. But then Alicia was smiling at her again. “Well, I’m not sure,” she said. “If she likes it, she might stay a long time.” She hesitated, then spoke again. “Maybe all winter.”

Suddenly, from somewhere inside the apartment, Laurie heard Max Albion’s voice. “Alicia, who is it?”

“It’s Laurie,” Alicia called back. “She came to see Rebecca.”

There was a moment’s silence, then: “Why don’t you invite her in?”

The door opened wider, and suddenly Alicia Albion was smiling at her again. “Would you like to come in? I’m sure we could find something for you to eat. Why don’t you just—”

But Laurie was already backing away. “No,” she said. “I have to go home. I have to go home right now.” Backing away a few more paces, she finally turned and walked as quickly as she could back to the stairs. Only when she’d made the first turn on the way down, and was certain Alicia Albion could no longer see her did she break into a run, taking the rest of the stairs two at a time. Back in the apartment, she ran upstairs to her own room, and began changing back into her pajamas and bathrobe so her mother wouldn’t know she’d gone anywhere at all.

But even as she was changing clothes, her mind was racing. Where was Rebecca? She was almost sure Mrs. Albion wasn’t telling the truth; if Rebecca had really been going to New Mexico, she would have told Laurie. So she must have gone somewhere else.

The hospital?

But if she’d gone to the hospital, why wouldn’t Mrs. Albion have told her?

Then, even as the question echoed in her head, an answer came to her.