She was heading out of the room when it struck her. Today was the day. She’d declare independence, then figure things out from there. She had to tug hard to get them off. She left the wedding and engagement bands on the bedside table, right where he couldn’t miss them.
MELANIE WALKED THROUGH DAPPLED LIGHT ON a leafy block in the East Sixties, checking the numbers on the beautifully maintained brownstones. She found Sarah van der Vere’s building and studied the names written beside the intercom. Sarah lived on the second floor, but Melanie didn’t want to announce herself if she could possibly avoid it. Peering through a pane of etched glass set into the wooden door, she saw a mom in shorts and running shoes in the foyer loading her baby into a jogger-stroller. The mom turned and opened the front door. Melanie held it for her so she could maneuver the stroller through.
“Thanks,” the mom said, looking at Melanie questioningly.
“I’m a friend of Sarah’s,” Melanie explained. “Two, right?”
“Yup, parlor level.”
Whoever had taken the evidence from her bag last night knew that, too. She hoped they wouldn’t decide to pay Sarah a visit, because the security here was nonexistent. With her black pantsuit, heels, and briefcase, Melanie looked plenty respectable, but still…The mom had let her in without checking at all. Life without a doorman. The place was beautiful, though, the foyer cool, elaborately wallpapered. In Manhattan real estate, you made trade-offs.
She walked up the stairs and pressed the buzzer outside Sarah’s door. No answer. She buzzed again, holding the button down longer.
“Who is it?” a voice answered warily after a couple of minutes.
“Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Sarah. We met in the elevator at your firm yesterday. I’m here to talk to you about Jed Benson’s murder.”
Complete silence. A moment passed, then another.
“Sarah?” she called, more insistently this time.
“You have the wrong apartment. Go away.”
“I know I’m in the right place. If you don’t open the door, I’ll have to come interview you at work.”
Melanie held her breath, listening. A moment later she heard the sound of the chain being removed. Sarah van der Vere opened the door and stepped aside, frowning. Still in her bathrobe, wet hair streaming over her shoulders, she looked young, yet firmly in possession of herself.
Melanie walked past her into a large, loftlike space. The internal walls had been removed from what had once been a one-bedroom floor-through. Light streamed in through tall windows at either end of the apartment, reflecting off lovely hardwood floors. In the front part of the space, two love seats were arranged before a charming old mantel. Opposite, a sleek kitchen opened to the room, divided off by a marble breakfast bar and two high stools. At the far end, a queen-size bed stood against one wall, its rumpled sheets telling of a fitful sleep.
Melanie gestured toward the seating area. “Let’s talk,” she said.
“What do you want?” Sarah asked irritably, not moving from her spot near the door.
“You spoke to me on the elevator yesterday. I know you know something about Jed Benson’s murder.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sarah’s face was bright red, her breathing fast. Was she angry or scared?
“Are you afraid to talk to me, Sarah?” Melanie asked, searching her face.
“Afraid? No! I just don’t know why you’re here accusing me, that’s all. Jed was my supervisor. I don’t know anything about his death. Why should I?”
She was clearly lying. And the way she said Jed Benson’s name had an interesting ring to it. An intimate ring. Melanie took a shot in the dark.
“Sarah, somebody wanted Jed Benson dead. Given your close personal relationship with him, you could be next. You need to talk to me.”
“What do you know about me and Jed?” Sarah scoffed.
“We know a lot,” Melanie bluffed.
Sarah stood there for a second in silence. Then, slowly, her chin began to quiver, her face crumpled, and she started to sob. There was a stagy, overdone quality to the display, and Melanie made no move to comfort her. Besides, it was too galling, given Melanie’s own current circumstances. Sarah might be young, but she was old enough to know it was wrong to sleep with your married boss. And if the big secret was an affair with Jed Benson, it wasn’t much of a lead. No reason to think such an affair would have caused Benson’s murder.
Sarah got up and bolted for a door off the kitchen, leaving it ajar. Melanie heard the sounds of water being turned on and Sarah sobbing melodramatically.
“Go away! Just go away!” Sarah cried, and slammed the bathroom door.
Melanie sighed and checked her watch. She was due downtown in half an hour to meet Dan and Randall for the trip to Otisville. She needed to wrap this up and get on her way, and she hadn’t gotten a single useful piece of information yet. But something told her not to quit. The karma here was weird.
She moved farther into the room, looking around. A side table next to the bed held a telephone-and-answering-machine combo with a caller ID display. Glancing at the bathroom door first, Melanie leaned over and began scrolling back through the caller ID, reviewing Sarah’s telephone calls. All the calls in the past day or so had come from the same cell-phone number. It had called her twelve times last night alone between 9:58 P.M. and 1:40 A.M. Someone had something pretty urgent to discuss with Sarah van der Vere. Melanie snatched her notebook from her briefcase and copied down the number.
“You okay in there, Sarah?” she called through the closed door.
“I said go away!” Sarah yelled between sobbing breaths.
Melanie crossed to a tall dresser standing against the wall opposite the bed and examined the things strewn across its top. A wallet, some jewelry, and a large, old-fashioned clock radio. She quickly went through the wallet. Nothing interesting, just cash and credit cards. The clock radio was odd. Clunky, cumbersome. She looked closer. The knobs were phony. She lifted it up and studied it. Huh.
“Sarah,” she called, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, “when are you planning to come out of there?”
“I’m not coming out until you leave!”
Melanie knew a thing or two about hidden cameras. Generally they broadcast to receivers equipped with video recorders. Judging from the vintage of this one, it probably had limited range, meaning that the receiver must be hidden in this room somewhere. The closet next to the dresser, perhaps? Caught up in the rush of discovery, anxious about getting caught snooping, Melanie didn’t have a moment to waste. She hurried to the closet, turned the knob slowly to avoid telltale creaking, and eased the door open. Unbelievable, there it was. A video recorder, in plain view on the floor of Sarah’s closet. Melanie knelt down and pushed “eject.” A videocassette popped out. She held it in her hand, staring at it, heart pounding. You never could tell about people. The camera in the clock radio pointed directly at Sarah’s bed. Maybe it was just her own private porno, but maybe she was blackmailing Jed Benson with tapes of their trysts. Difficult to imagine how that would result in him winding up dead as opposed to her, but still, this had to be important.
Sarah turned off the water in the bathroom. Swiftly, Melanie closed the closet and shoved the videotape into her briefcase. She headed for the front door.
“Look, Sarah,” she called loudly, “I’ll leave now. But I’m warning you, this isn’t over.” No response.
“Once you know you’re needed for questioning, you can be charged with contempt if you leave town.”
Nothing. This girl was beginning to annoy her.
“I’ll pull the door closed behind me, Sarah. You’ll be hearing from me.”