shoes. One from Christian Louboutin, one from Prada. She had bought a handbag and a silver Versace dress. The overall bill came to $3,900. That was a hell of a shopping trip. Harper knew that the killer might keep these items so it was important to get photographs of them for the media. Someone somewhere might see them, even be wearing them. He wrote a note on the file and tried to find anything else of value, but he couldn’t. Everyone had been interviewed but no one had spotted a guy following her. Harper wanted them to go through them all again until they had a sighting. He wrote a second note and closed the file. He took it across to Kasper.
‘I need these two things, Eddie. I need shots of all the items she bought sent through to the press and I want these interviews repeated.’
‘Repeated?’
‘Yeah, repeated.’
‘You want me to square it with Williamson?’
‘Sure, if he’s around. If not, take a couple of guys and start yourself. Last two or three shops would be the best place to start.’
‘Okay, I’m on it.’
‘And thanks for the card, Eddie. It’s good to be back.’
‘How’s the shrink?’
‘She’s not as bad as I thought.’
‘High praise.’
‘You get anywhere on Erin Nash?’
‘You bet… I got her home address for you.’ Eddie handed him a scrap of paper. Harper read it and nodded.
‘Thanks, Eddie. That’s quick work.’
Harper arrived at Erin Nash’s apartment block still feeling wired. He hadn’t asked anyone’s permission to go talk to this upstart reporter, simply because he knew he’d be refused. Up at the top of the tree, they were doing political deals and giving Nash a midnight call wouldn’t smooth proceedings. But Harper wasn’t interested in the next mayoral elections. He wanted to meet the bright spark who’d fucked up the investigation for her own personal gain. Harper got out of his car and walked to her brownstone down near Greenwich Village feeling a mixture of emotions — or two separate feelings, rather: hungry and pissed off. He’d not had a bite to eat all day, and it wasn’t improving his mood. It was not a great combination but he wanted to know her source: a source who somehow knew too much and might be the key to unlock the case.
Harper went to the door and buzzed her apartment.
A bright, crisp voice replied. ‘How ya doing? Come on up!’ The door buzzed open.
Tom took a half-second to consider his actions. He went for dishonesty and the next moment was inside the building. This was further than he imagined he would get. But luck or something similar seemed to be on his side.
What was he going to do? He had no idea. He wanted the source but didn’t really know how he was going to get it.
He took the stairs up four storeys. The corridor was deserted. A little gold sign pointed him in the direction of her apartment. His back was sweating. He was more nervous than he should be. Why was that?
He got to her apartment and knocked on the door. Erin Nash, dressed in a big blue-flowered kimono, opened the door wide. ‘Hey, there,’ she said with a nice big smile. Then she saw it wasn’t the man she was expecting and her big smile vanished. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Detective Harper of NYPD North Homicide. I want to talk to you, Miss Nash.’
‘You’ve all talked to the legal team at the paper. I’m not saying anything.’
‘Well, unfortunately, that’s not possible, Miss Nash. You’re the journalist with the source and I want to know who you’ve been talking to.’
Erin smiled sweetly and tried to slam the door shut. Tom reacted immediately and pushed the door so hard it bounced off the wall and back against his outstretched hand. He was surprised by the pent-up energy. Erin stood in the doorway. She was about five foot two with jet black hair and pale skin. In her blue robe she looked scared and vulnerable.
‘Get out of here!’ she shouted, but she was moving backwards as she did.
Harper took a step across the threshold. ‘Can we speak, please, Miss Nash? Lives might depend on it.’
‘I told you! Get the fuck out of my apartment!’ Erin screamed. ‘How fucking dare you!’ Her hand rose instinctively as Harper stepped towards her. She was cat-like, good at self-preservation and good at lashing out. She hit Tom hard across the face.
That was the second thing he wasn’t expecting. This wasn’t going well. As a cop, he didn’t ever want to meet the unexpected so he thought things through. He hadn’t thought any of this through. Not a single thing.
Tom’s reaction was automatic. Eleven years of police work dealing with dangerous criminals left no room for thought. He had her wrist in a tight grip and she was on the floor. The two bones in her forearm moved one over the other and then hit the point where there was no more give.
This was the point where movement translated into pain. In less than a half-second Erin Nash was on her knees, her right arm held firmly above her by Tom, her chest cavity heaving. It was a basic arrest technique, but she wasn’t under arrest and he had no right to be in her apartment.
Tom released her arm and stepped back. ‘You hit a cop, he’ll disarm you. Sorry, Miss Nash.’
She looked up at him and rubbed her wrist. ‘Get the fuck out of here! How the hell do I know who you are? You haven’t even shown me your shield.’
‘Who were you expecting, Erin? Your source? Look, there’s a killer out there and we need to know everything you got.’
‘Do you think I’d give up access to my exclusive stories because some thug came calling? Grow up, Detective. People got a right to know what you’re not telling them. It’s a big bad world out there, and we all gotta get by. This is my moment.’
‘This isn’t some game. Real women are getting killed. Your source knows something. If you stand in the way of this investigation, we’ll throw everything at you.’
‘Can I get my notebook, so that I can write down what you say when you’re intimidating, harassing and threatening me? It’s going to make a great sub-story. What was your name again?’
‘Fuck you,’ said Tom. ‘I just want a name. Who is it? Is it a cop? Someone from the coroner’s office? Some wife of one of the team? Give it up.’
‘I’ll tell you who it is, it’s my fairy godmother and she’s just sealed my reputation. What are you offering me? Moral satisfaction? Get real, Detective.’
Erin Nash was still not afraid. She had a reporter’s lack of fear and, deeper still, the sense of a story. It was even half forming in her mind. ‘Hero Cop Knocked Me to the Floor and Threatened Me.’
Tom had nowhere else to go. He saw the glint in her eye and knew this was a battle he couldn’t win. ‘If you get a change of heart, call me. My name is Tom Harper.’ He backed away from her.
‘What? Lost your balls?’ she called out.
‘You don’t mind that your story just kicked a house-sized hole in our investigation? We had a means to find out who was telling us the truth and who was lying. Now we got to spend double the time on every witness and confession. You’ve just given this killer a two-week lead.’
‘If a few hundred words can do that to your investigation, I’d question your approach. Sounds like it’s already full of holes.’
Tom knew there was nothing to say. She had out-thought him. Beaten him. But that last line was too much. He took a step towards her, his face intense with emotion. ‘You aren’t worth the trouble,’ he said. ‘You’ve fucked things up enough. But we’ll be back with a warrant and we’ll tear this place to pieces.’
‘You know that won’t work. What I reported is a matter of record, isn’t it? It’s in your reports. What you going to get a warrant for? Telling the truth?’
‘You need to think about what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.’
‘Nice little speech. Now get the hell out of here.’
Tom turned and walked out. He’d just have to hope there was some part of her that was still human, but he doubted it.
