knees. She stared down in disbelief and astonishment as thick dark blood pulsed from her body. Only then did she look up into the face of her attacker. Curiously, her face held an expression of wonderment rather than fear, as though she was bewildered that anyone could want to do such a thing to her. By then it was too late-life was draining from her body with every beat of her heart.
She was still alive when her attacker fled the building, walking quickly in the direction of the subway. But by the time he reached the platform, she was dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“No mask this time,” Elena Krieger said. “But otherwise the same MO?”
“Yep,” said Butts. “She was ambushed in the foyer of her building, run through with a single stab wound, and left to die.”
“It wouldn’t have taken her long to bleed out from a wound like that,” said Lee.
They were staring at crime scene photos taped to the bulletin board in Butts’s cramped office. The call had come in about Caroline’s death a little after noon, and now it was nearly four. Her body was already at the ME’s office, and the three of them were back at the precinct awaiting the autopsy results. Not that they expected to learn much from it, though there was still a thin hope of some trace evidence turning up on the body.
“Why no mask this time?” asked Krieger, studying the photos. Poor Caroline lay on her back, her unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling of the drafty lobby where she had taken her last breaths. Her bright green coat was stained with crimson blotches of dried blood. A pair of sunglasses lay to one side of the body.
“Could have been he was in a hurry because he was about to be discovered,” Butts replied. “Or-”
“He realized he had killed the wrong person,” Lee finished for him. “Caroline Porchowsky was Sara Wittier’s roommate.”
“So when he saw that he had the wrong person, he abandoned his plan and fled?” said Krieger. “Without leaving his ‘signature’ behind?”
“Right,” said Lee. “The signature only had meaning for his intended victim. Caroline was a mistake-the wrong place and the wrong time.”
Krieger shook her head. “Poor girl.”
“Either that or he heard someone comin’ and cleared out fast,” said Butts. “Either way-” The phone rang, and he snatched it up. “Yeah? No kiddin’? Okay I’ll be right down.” He hung up and turned to the others. “They think they got DNA this time. I’m goin’ down to the lab.”
Lee looked at his watch. “It’s almost time for rehearsal. I’m going over there.”
“Okay, see you there,” said Butts. “I won’t be long. I’ll send Sergeant McKinney in the meantime.”
“Did you manage to reach Sara?” asked Krieger.
“They said at the restaurant she was going to rehearsal straight from work.”
Krieger’s eyes widened. “So she doesn’t know yet?”
“No, and that’s the way we’re going to leave it,” said Butts. “Don’t worry-we’ve still got a patrol unit watchin’ her.”
“If the killer is in the cast, when she turns up alive, his reaction should give him away,” Lee explained. “ If he didn’t realize he had made a mistake at the crime scene.”
“But these are actors,” said Krieger. “They should be good at hiding their real feelings and pretending, no?”
“Even the best actor won’t be able to suppress a micro-expression of astonishment,” Lee replied. “That’s what we’re counting on.”
Rush hour had already started by the time Lee hailed a cab. It crawled up Third Avenue as far as the forties, where the driver made a few slick moves crossing Forty-second Street. Lee tipped generously when they pulled up in front of the building on West Fifty-fourth Street.
There was no sign of Sergeant McKinney when Lee pushed open the door to the theatre. A few actors were there already-the Wilson twins and Carl Hawkins were sitting on the edge of the stage running their lines. Davillia brushed in a few minutes later, and while she seemed surprised to see Lee, she gave him a friendly smile as she bustled down the aisle with her coffee thermos and white bakery bag.
“I brought muffins for everyone today,” she sang out cheerfully. “I thought you all could use a boost.”
“Why, thank you, Madame Director,” Fred Wilson replied, taking a blueberry muffin from the bag. Lee couldn’t help noticing that he was dressed in a dark blue wool coat, whereas his brother Keith wore a down jacket. He was pondering this when the door swung open and the Atkins twins entered. They looked as though they had been arguing-Danny’s face was dark and moody, and Ryan looked preoccupied and upset. Ryan declined Davillia’s offer of muffins and went straight backstage. Danny sat in the audience, pulled out his iPhone, and began typing.
“As soon as Sara gets here we’ll start,” Davillia said chewing on a bran muffin. Danny interrupted his typing to give her a quick look, then, seeing Lee sitting behind him, went back to his iPhone.
“She’s late,” Carl said. “That’s not like her.”
“Should we be worried?” Davillia asked.
“She’s got a cop tailing her around the clock,” said Fred Wilson, finishing his blueberry muffin. “If she’s not safe with a police escort, who is?”
Danny looked up from his phone. “What?”
“Fred’s right,” said Carl. “NYPD gave her ’round-the-clock protection. She’s probably just running late from work. ”
There was the sound of quick, light footsteps on the stairs, and everyone turned to see Sara enter the theatre.
“Sorry I’m late,” she panted. “Got stuck at work.”
Lee studied Danny Atkins’s face, though it was hard to read his expression behind the black glasses. But just then his brother stepped out onto the stage, and the astonishment on his face told the entire story. When he saw Sara, he took a step backward, and his jaw dropped open.
Fred Wilson noticed him and laughed. “What’s up, Ryan? You look like you saw a ghost, man.”
Atkins didn’t answer, but his eyes and Lee’s met. Lee stood up, but before he could move, Danny Atkins shot out of his seat, his iPhone clattering to the floor.
“My god, Ryan,” he said. “My god. You-?”
The others looked confused-Davillia stopped chewing mid-bite, and Carl put down his coffee.
“What’s going on?” asked Sara, still at the back of the theatre.
Danny took a couple of steps toward the stage, but before he could get there, his brother reached into the prop bin and pulled out a rapier, the largest and most dangerous of the swords. With one violent motion, he whipped it across one of the brick columns on either side of the stage. The blunted cap fell to the floor, leaving a lethal, jagged piece of steel on the end of the sword.
Davillia gave a yelp and dropped her coffee, which splashed onto the ground, creating a thin brown river at the foot of the stage. Carl and Fred backed away from the proscenium, keeping their eyes on Ryan. Sara screamed and put her hands to her face.
“Why, Ryan?” Danny said, his voice more full of sorrow than anger. “Why did you do it?”
“You’ve never had a clue, have you?” said Ryan. “Little Lord Fauntleroy, always in everyone’s good graces. You have no idea what it was like being me! You stupid little prick.”
Danny took a step toward him.
“Don’t come any closer!” Ryan said, waving the weapon in front of him. “Drop that!” he yelled when Danny reached for his iPhone. “Blood isn’t thicker than water, brother-at least, not your blood.”
While this was going on, Lee managed to duck behind the black curtain that ran along the side of the south wall. Flattening his body against the bricks, he shimmied to the steps leading up to the stage. He darted out of the protection of the felt scrim and dove toward the basket of swords. Seeing him, Ryan lunged at him, but Lee grabbed an epee and rolled to the other side of the stage. Regaining his feet, he held the sword in front of him.
With a roar, Ryan charged him, but Lee parried his thrust, throwing Ryan off guard. Ryan stumbled and fell to his knees, but leapt to his feet quickly and came at Lee again, slashing wildly. Lee realized that all his high school
