We sat down in steel folding chairs while Trent apologized repeatedly.
“We’ve never had this happen before,” he said. “We’re proud of our screening process and will cooperate with you and your wife in any way we can.”
Granger arrived with Low-neckline Girl in tow. She carried the black laptop like a serving tray. I tried not to remember Torquemada’s offerings.
“Our entire database can be accessed by this wireless remote system,” Trent began. He keyed in a password and looked up at Matteo.
“So what do you need to know?”
Matt gestured to me. “My wife will tell you.”
“Let’s start with my daughter’s best friend, Valerie Lathem,” I lied. “She was sharing names with my daughter, we understand.”
Trent typed in Valerie’s name.
“This account isn’t very active. Valerie hasn’t visited our site since October. She made a total of six dates through our registry.”
“Who?” I’d already pulled out a small notepad and had my pencil poised.
“Jack Wormser, Parnell Jefferson, Raymond Silverman, Dr. Anthony Fazio, Julio Jones, and Brooks Newman.”
“Nobody named Bowman?” Matteo asked.
Trent shook his head.
Of course, Bruce wasn’t going to be there — I knew that. Valerie had met Bruce through her job, not through this site.
“Our daughter’s other friend is Inga Berg,” I quickly continued.
Trent’s fingers flew across the keyboard.
“Ms. Berg has been busy…very busy. There are dozens of dates here since August.” He looked up at Matt. “Here’s the name you mentioned, though: Bowman. Bruce Bowman of Leroy Street in the Village. He definitely dated Inga.”
“We’re looking for the names of the men she last — uh, most recently dated,” I said. “The last two weeks you have on file for her should do.”
“Inga’s account hasn’t been active lately, either. Her latest hook-ups were Bowman, and also Eric Snyder, Ivan Petravich, Gerome Walker, Raj Vaswani, and Brooks Newman.”
I blinked.
Yes, I could believe he was a serial killer of women, too.
Newman’s attitude toward the opposite sex was close to misogyny — although if you asked him, Brooks would probably proclaim that he absolutely adored women, for their bodies, anyway.
“Mr. Newman is one of the men who’s been leaving messages for our daughter,” I lied. “Any other hook-ups on file for him?”
Trent glanced at the screen.
“Nothing in the last ten days…guess he’s been busy at work. But Mr. Newman has put two client profiles in his personal basket — that’s a cyber space for members to store the profiles of people they are interested in hooking up with in the future.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Ms. Sahara McNeil, and Ms. Joy Allegro, that’s your daughter, right?”
The confirmation that Brooks had put Sahara in his basket was less of an impact on me than the mention of my daughter’s name. I closed my eyes. “Oh, my god, Joy!”
Suddenly, a number of unconnected facts linked up in my brain to form a blood-red flag. It waved in front of me now in dire warning.
“Come with me!” I cried, grabbing Matteo’s hand.
“But — ”
“Come on!”
Matteo got up, leaving Granger and Trent totally confused.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Trent demanded.
“You’ll…you’ll hear from our lawyer,” Matteo cried, still in character, as I dragged him away.
I practically ran down the aisle, past the registration desk, and outside. Matteo hurried to catch up to me.
“Clare, what’s the matter?”
I ran down the block, until I reached the boarded-up building.
“Oh god,” I cried when I looked again at the Meat No More poster.
“Clare, talk to me!” Matt demanded.
“It’s Brooks Newman!” I cried. “He’s the one who’s been killing these women. I’m sure of it now. He dated Valerie, he dated Inga, and he’d obviously hooked up with Sahara at Cappuccino Connection night — her on-line profile in his web basket just confirms his interest in her…And now he’s after Joy.”
“Don’t worry,” said Matteo. “He’ll never get near our daughter.”
“She’s with him right now!”
“What?”
“The poster.” I slapped the board. “This is advertising the Meat No More Lingerie Show, it’s at the Puck Building tonight — it’s starting right now!”
“So?”
“So Joy told me she’s catering a vegetarian party at the Puck Building tonight. This is it, Matt. She’s there. Our daughter is with Brooks Newman right now!”
Twenty-Two
“HI! You’ve reached Joy Allegro. I can’t pick up my cell right now. I’m either in class or trying to keep a French sauce from separating. Either way, leave a message!”
Sitting next to Matt in the back of the cab, I exhaled in frustration. Waited for the beep.
“Joy, this is Mom, call my cell the second you get this message. I don’t want to alarm you, but I want you to make sure you stay away from Brooks Newman. If he should bother you in any way, go to your teacher at once. Don’t get caught alone anywhere, stay with your teacher. Be careful and just wait at the Puck Building for me and your dad. We’re coming to pick you up and make sure you get home okay. I’m not kidding, Joy. Call me as soon as you get this message and I’ll try to — ”
Beep!
“Shit!”
“Take it easy, Clare, it won’t help Joy to go bananas. Keep a cool head.”
“I know. Okay. I’ll try.”
I hated this feeling, and it wasn’t just the fact that Brooks Newman had killed at least three women and had targeted Joy, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Joy was in danger. Call it a mother’s intuition, but this nagging dark feeling that my daughter needed me had been running through me since we’d entered the New School auditorium.
I tried Joy’s apartment, but I’d just gotten her home machine. Not even her roommate was around tonight to answer.
“Try the coffeehouse,” suggested Matt.
The phone picked up after five rings.
“Village Blend. Hello.” It was Esther Best’s voice.
“Esther, this is Clare — ”
