Peter Spiegelman - Red Cat

“It’s fatal, is what it is. If this becomes public, it’s fucking fatal.” David put his head in his hands, and no one spoke. Only the whoosh of air in the ducts relieved the heavy silence.

“You can’t wait for them,” I said after a while. “If they come for you-”

David straightened. Some color returned to his face. “If I go to them, I’m not going alone.”

Mike nodded. “Of course not. I’ll be there, and so will John, and you’ll have the full resources of this firm behind you as well.”

David waved his hand impatiently. “That’s not what I mean. If I go talk to them, I’m not going in empty-handed. I’m going in with other names.”

Mike looked at me, confused. He wasn’t the only one. “What names are you talking about?” I asked.

“If I go in there and the police have no other suspect but me, there’s a chance they’re not going to look any further. And even if they do, for as long as mine is the only name on the table, I’m going to be the only news story. But if I go in with other names- the guys in the other videos, the guy who hired the lawyer, the guy who punched you out, boyfriends, whoever the hell else you can find- then I’m not alone. There are other people the cops can build a case against, and other guys the press can chew on.” He looked at Mike. “Like you said, plenty of reasonable doubt.”

My mouth opened, but it took a moment for the words to come. When they did, they sounded far away. “Whoever I can find? You’re asking me to investigate Holly’s death?”

David waved again. “Her death, her life- whatever. I need names I can bring with me to the cops- anyone they’ll be more interested in than me.”

I looked at Mike, who tapped his chin. There was a glint in his eye, and it was familiar and unwelcome. I shook my head. “Have you forgotten that this is an active police investigation?” I said. “The NYPD is not overly fond of strangers pissing in their garden, and even less when the stranger’s a PI and the brother of a likely suspect.”

Mike nodded slowly. “Of course, but David does have a point. This woman led a high-risk life- her videos are testimony to that- and it’s important that the police be made aware of this as they’re setting the course of their investigation, and before they settle on a suspect. It should also give the DA’s office something to consider, when they’re thinking about cases that are winnable and cases that aren’t.” I shook my head more vigorously, but Mike ignored it. “And it’s not as if you haven’t done this sort of thing before: checking stories, finding new witnesses, identifying inconsistencies- developing alternative theories.”

“But usually it’s postindictment, when we’ve got charges and a defendant and a trial coming up, and when the police have finished their investigation-‘finished’ being the operative word there. In this case, they haven’t started yet.”

“But you have done it before. Your relationship to the client is something of an issue, but not insurmountable. You’ll need to be meticulous with your reports, and chain of custody on any evidence you may find- but you’re careful about those things anyway. The police won’t be thrilled, but it should be manageable.”

David squinted at me. “I need you to do this, dammit,” he said. “And since when do you care who you piss off?”

It was almost eleven o’clock when David left for the Klein amp; Sons offices, still brittle looking but with necktie straightened and at least some of his abrasive composure back in place. Mike had assured him several times that he’d call if he learned anything about the dead woman from his contacts in the NYPD, but cautioned him against optimism. Even so, David was all too hopeful when he walked out the conference room door. Mike sighed and helped himself to what remained of the soda water.

“I should be annoyed that you don’t return my calls,” he said, “but at least when you finally show, you bring new business along. I guess we’ll call it even.”

“Give it time. A few more meetings with David, you may wish I was still MIA.”

“He is…intense.” Mike smiled. “And given what you’ve said about your family, he’s not a referral I would’ve predicted.”

“You and me both.”

“So this isn’t a rapprochement?”

“It’s a job.”

Mike peered into his glass and mostly hid a skeptical look. “You have a plan in mind?”

“I know where to start: looking at her place, talking to the neighbors, to the family, to Krug and anybody else I can find- all the usual stuff. After that, it’s read and react.”

“How about her friend- the actress?”

“Jill Nolan? That’s a tough call. I’m not sure how far I’d get with her on the phone- her hackles were raised pretty high when we spoke- and if she hasn’t seen the mermaid stories in Seattle, I don’t want to get her thinking more about Holly than she is already.”

Mike nodded and drank off the last of his seltzer. “I assume your brother’s hobby took you by surprise,” he said. I nodded. “You think he’s told us all there is to tell?”

“I know he hasn’t,” I said. “He won’t talk about Stephanie, for one thing.”

“You think that’s all there is?”

“If you’re asking me to vouch for the guy, I can’t. I know less about him every day.”

“I’m just wondering if there are shoes waiting to drop.”

“Clients lie.”

Mike frowned. “Your brother has a lot on the table here- his marriage, his job, potentially, not to mention the black eye all this would give Klein amp; Sons. His situation is shaky enough without keeping secrets.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I said. “If I was the cop who caught the case, and I had a choice of spending my valuable investigating time on a guy who’d already been strong-armed into being in one of Wren’s videos, or the guy she was in the process of strong-arming when she died, I know who I’d pick.”

Mike nodded gravely. “And the window we’re working in isn’t big. If Jane Doe really is Wren, the police could be coming around soon.”

I nodded. “A week or two, I figure. No more.”

The ice gave way to lashing sleet by afternoon, and the sidewalks were glazed and perilous in Brooklyn. Meltwater dripped from my parka and puddled at my feet as I stood in the vestibule of Holly Cade’s apartment building, which still smelled powerfully, though of bleach now rather than decay. The intercom speaker was still banged up, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a few more names were missing from the buttons.

I pressed the button for 3-G, Holly’s apartment, and got no response. No surprise. I tried her irate, curious neighbor, Mr. Arrua, in 3-F. Silence there too. I pushed another six buttons at random, but the three voices that replied- one in English and two in Spanishwanted to know who the hell I was before they’d buzz me in. The inner door was firmly locked, and though I had vinyl gloves, a screwdriver, and a small pry bar in my pocket, I wasn’t sure I wanted to use them just yet. I went outside.

There was a short flight of metal stairs under the stoop, and a metal door at the bottom. It was heavy and imposing and accessorized with a fat deadbolt that would surely have secured the basement against all comers, were it not for the folded paper coffee cup that someone had used as a doorstop. I went in, and past the darkened laundry room to the elevator.

The door to 3-G was still locked, and no more scuffed than it had been last time; I was relieved to see no crime scene tape on it. I knocked, expecting nothing, and wasn’t disappointed. Then I turned to 3-F. I rapped twice and heard shuffling and a scrape of metal by the peephole.