The First Victim

CHAPTER 47

"I don’t remember all that much. It happened so quickly.’’ Stevie McNeal wore a T-shirt over her pajamas. The T-shirt promoted a five-mile run to benefit cancer, with KSTV as a sponsor. Teams of police had been inside her apartment for nearly two hours. The Sunday morning sun was trying to steal the night from the sky. The apartment still smelled of weapons fire.

Detective Bobbie Gaynes, looking as tired as the rest, nodded sympathetically.

LaMoia, cupping a disposable blue ice pack to the side of his face, directed traffic in the living room where SID shot photographs and dusted for prints.

She thought that the police were worse than the press when it came to turning a place into a zoo.

Lou Boldt sat in a chair facing the news anchor. He looked older. ‘‘When you’re dressed,’’ Boldt informed her, ‘‘we’ll move you to a hotel. Detective Gaynes will stay in your room with you, if that’s okay. We’ll post a uniform in the hall, outside a room next door, a room that will be empty.’’

‘‘What about Edwardo?’’ she asked to blank expressions. ‘‘The night watchman.’’

‘‘Emergency room. Concussion,’’ Boldt answered. ‘‘We’ll question him in the morning.’’

‘‘I didn’t mean that,’’ Stevie said.

‘‘They knew what they were doing,’’ Gaynes explained. ‘‘Clubbed him, took his keys, killed the building’s phone system, removed the security video. Without you, we’ve got nothing.’’

‘‘I’ve provided you as much detail as I can.’’

‘‘I’m sure you have,’’ Boldt said patiently, though he was clearly disappointed.

‘‘So it was. . professional?’’ she asked them both tentatively.

Gaynes looked to Boldt and then back to McNeal. ‘‘They. . he?. . knew what to do. Knew the building. Your location. The elevator pass. We’re assuming it wasn’t blind luck that got him up here, and it certainly was not a random act.’’

‘‘Was not,’’ Stevie clarified, needing to hear the words again.

‘‘They’d scouted the building,’’ Boldt stated. ‘‘That’s how it looks to us.’’

Stevie knew she should say something, but she couldn’t think what. She couldn’t think hardly at all. ‘‘So they meant to-’’

‘‘We don’t know what they had in mind,’’ Boldt corrected, intentionally interrupting and preventing the words from being spoken. Maybe he was superstitious about that.

‘‘Klein. .’’

‘‘We don’t know that,’’ Gaynes echoed her lieutenant.

Boldt retreated to an earlier subject. ‘‘We’d just as soon get you out of here, Ms. McNeal. When you’re ready. When you’re up to it.’’

‘‘Are you going to show me photos?’’ she asked. ‘‘Maybe I can recognize the guy.’’

‘‘We can try that-later today, or Monday morning-if you like,’’ Boldt said, but it was clear he didn’t believe she’d make identification.

‘‘A hotel,’’ Stevie muttered.

‘‘When you’re up to it.’’

‘‘I hate this.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ Boldt agreed. ‘‘We’d like to work with you,’’ he added, reminding her of his earlier offer.

‘‘About the sergeant,’’ she said, nodding toward the bedroom’s open door. ‘‘How the hell did he respond so quickly?’’

‘‘We were lucky this time,’’ Boldt answered.

‘‘That doesn’t answer my question,’’ Stevie said. Boldt remained impassive. He wasn’t going to answer the question. ‘‘Was he following me?’’ she asked indignantly. ‘‘Do you have me under surveillance?’’

Boldt noticed the three gray boxes by her television set and was drawn to them. He said, ‘‘Are these the tapes?’’

‘‘Those are private property.’’

‘‘Who knew about these tapes? We did, yes. But who else? A producer, an editor?’’

‘‘No one!’’

Thinking aloud, he stated, ‘‘We’ve been assuming whoever broke in here was coming after you. But what if we’re mistaken? Or maybe it was supposed to be a two-for-one: look like a robbery gone bad. A VCR, some jewels, these tapes. You’re killed or injured in the process.’’

Stevie paled, hesitated a long time, looked directly at Boldt and finally offered, ‘‘I mentioned the tapes to Brian Coughlie. Both the VHS and the digital. I asked him for help with the digital tape. You should have allowed me to view that tape!’’

‘‘When was this?’’

‘‘Wednesday night. The meeting you knew about. Dinner. Cough-lie knew I had the VHS tapes up here. The first ones she shot. I as much as told him so.’’ She waited for some reaction from him. ‘‘You don’t think-?’’

‘‘I heard you,’’ he snapped.

The dull drone of city traffic filled the room, barely audible, competing with the gentle hush of the ventilation system. A ship’s horn far in the distance, followed by a police siren like a wounded cat. These sounds were as much a part of this city as its weather.

She objected, ‘‘But it doesn’t necessarily mean that Coughlie — ’’

‘‘No, it doesn’t,’’ Boldt said, interrupting her. He looked around, closed the bedroom door firmly and said, ‘‘Okay. Now, let’s start all over.’’

MONDAY, AUGUST 3114 DAYS MISSING