MARY CLARK - Every Breath You Take

By the time she hung up the phone, it was already 6:48. She was supposed to meet Alex on Central Park South in twelve minutes. The ride to Queens had taken forty-five minutes. The drive back would be quicker in reverse traffic, but it would still be a crawl across the bridge.

She decided that the subway was her fastest option. The F train was almost a straight shot. Even so, she would still be late. She knew he would understand, though. Last night at dinner, they had felt completely comfortable with each other, as if they were finally on the same page. This time, they were jumping in with both feet.

She pulled Alex up on her phone and was about to send him a text message. She hadn’t started typing yet when she heard footsteps behind her.

71

Tom Wakeling had been getting out of his car when he saw an unfamiliar woman leaving the house where he had picked up Tiffany for their two dates three years earlier. The stranger was wearing a navy-blue wrap coat. He had watched her walk to the corner. His pulse raced when he spotted Laurie Moran waiting for her.

The two women had a quick conversation, and then Laurie walked into Tiffany’s house alone. She had been inside for more than five minutes. He had no idea what to do now.

He’d formulated a plan the second his cousin, Anna, told him that the TV show people had been asking questions about Tiffany. He had a bag of painkillers in his pocket and had planned to make Tiffany’s death look like an overdose. He had a gun, too, and would use it to force her to swallow the pills. A woman like her was so eccentric, the police would write it off as yet another unfortunate casualty of the nation’s opiate-addiction crisis. Now that everything was going so well in his life, he couldn’t take any chance that Tiffany would retract her statement to the police. That story about being together on the second floor had spared him closer scrutiny after that horrible night on the roof with Aunt Virginia.

Now he was on the sidewalk in front of Tiffany’s neighbor’s house, pretending to make a phone call. A large pine tree between the two houses would shield him from view, but he was keeping an eye on Tiffany’s front door with the occasional glance. He watched as Laurie said good-bye to Tiffany and began walking. He had been worried that she might spot him behind her, but she was distracted by her phone.

He was close enough to hear her voice when she spoke. “Call me as soon as you get this. I know who killed Virginia. We need to meet first thing in the morning to discuss our next moves. I’ll need to work on getting an immunity deal for a witness, and we need Ryan to interview at least one more person. So call me.”

Listening, Tom cursed his bad luck. Until today, he’d been on a winning streak. After the incident on the museum roof, Tiffany out of the blue had told him that she had stolen some kind of bracelet while the two of them had been apart at the gala. She swore it wasn’t valuable, but the confession had confirmed his impression that she was insane. At the same time he couldn’t believe his good fortune. In an instant he had an alibi for the time of the murder. The money his aunt left him turned out to be a lousy $50,000, but it was enough to pay off his gambling debts. And then, unlike his uncle Bob or aunt Virginia, his cousins had given him a chance to prove himself with a job at the company. He had turned his life around on that one awful night.

But now all the good luck had run out. If he had arrived here just a little earlier, his plan might have worked. But now he was too late. Obviously Tiffany had been pressured to change her statement, and those people at Under Suspicion were about to place him under their microscope. Anna had said they were relentless.

He was going to be caught, unless he could figure out a way to kill both Tiffany and Laurie Moran.

Stealthily, he walked swiftly behind Laurie. He pulled the Glock from the back of his waistband. She didn’t seem to hear his steps until he was right behind her. He had the gun pointed at her when she turned.

“Keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told,” he whispered, holding the gun low, close to his waist, inside his open coat. “We’re going to take a walk.”

He did not notice the phone slip from Laurie’s hand as he directed her back to Tiffany’s house.

72

Laurie searched futilely for a way to escape him. He had his arm linked around hers and was leading her back toward Tiffany’s house. In his free hand, he held a gun pointed directly at her side.

A stranger approached on the sidewalk, the only other person visible on the street, fiddling with his cell phone. Tom’s arm tightened around hers. She wanted to cry out for help, but knew that doing so could get them both killed. She tried to implore the stranger with her eyes as they passed, but the man was distracted by his screen.

She felt all hope leave her body as the stranger continued walking into the distance.

As she expected, Tom marched her to Tiffany’s front porch.

“Knock,” he demanded.

She remembered the sound of the door locking behind her as she left. She had warned Tiffany to call 911 if Tom sought contact with her. As long as Tiffany didn’t open the door, she would probably be safe.

She stared at Tom defiantly.

“Do it,” he hissed.

She pictured her father having to tell Timmy that he had lost another parent to a gunshot. Her son would be an orphan. But if she went inside this house, Tom would kill not only her, but Tiffany, too. At least if Laurie remained here on the porch, Tiffany would be safe.

She did not move. She only hoped Timmy would know that she thought of him at the end and was trying to save a woman’s life.

Tom glared at her, knocked on the door, and stepped to the side, out of sight from the peephole. Laurie heard footsteps approaching the front door. “Tiffany, no!” she yelled. “Don’t—”

But she was too late. The door opened, and Tom pushed Laurie inside, his gun pointed at both of them.

73

You sure I can’t get you a drink while you wait?”

Alex looked at his watch. He had been sitting alone at Marea for fifteen minutes, but he had arrived early. It was only 7:05.

After the wonderful evening they’d had last night, he was certain Laurie would be here shortly.

“Sure. I’ll have a Bombay Sapphire martini with olives, please.”

He would catch up on emails on his phone while he waited.

74

Tom Wakeling was pacing frantically in Tiffany’s living room, gesturing toward various mementos on display. Every time he waved the gun around, Laurie flinched.

“How much is this tiara worth? What about this signed photo with Frank Sinatra?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened. She was shaking with terror. “I have no idea,” she said. “These things meant the world to my grandmother, but I don’t think they’re valuable.”

“What about that bracelet you stole from the museum? It has to be worth a fortune.”

“It’s not, I promise!” Tiffany broke into sobs. “I was telling you the truth that night. It was a cheap souvenir. I gave it to my grandmother.”

“What money or real jewelry have you got here?” Tom demanded.

“There’s two hundred dollars in my wallet. My jewelry is on the dressing table upstairs. It’s all costume.”

Laurie was trying to remain calm, but inside, she was even more terrified than Tiffany. She knew what Tiffany did not. He wasn’t looking for money. He was on the rise at Wakeling Development. Whatever he was planning, it had nothing to do with these knickknacks. Laurie realized that he was going to stage a home invasion gone wrong. He would make it appear as if someone had ransacked the place in a search for valuables, left with a couple of mementos, and killed them both.