“Back to the party in October, the Haunted House. Alanna heard about the party, you went with her, and according to your statement, the last time you saw her was when she was dancing around one a.m.?”
Jill nodded. “I don’t know the exact time, but we didn’t even get there until after eleven. I didn’t want to do any drugs, but I made a mistake and drank something I shouldn’t have and felt all weirded out. When I found Alanna, I told her I was sick, but she said she was having fun and didn’t want to leave. She gave me a pill. I don’t know what it was, but it did make me feel a little better.
“The rest of the night was a bit foggy,” Jill continued. “I hooked up with this guy-I don’t even know his name.” Tears started again. “I can’t believe I did that, just anonymous sex, and I didn’t know him. We went back to his apartment and did things I barely remember. I felt sick for days, but Alanna was dead.”
“Was there anyone at these parties who you knew? By name?”
“Not really-I mean, I might have known names that night, but I don’t remember.”
“What about someone who Alanna talked about who you didn’t know?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Someone Alanna mentioned as inviting her to the parties?”
She shook her head.
“What about her cousin?”
“Whitney.”
“Whitney Andrews?”
“I don’t know, she has a different last name. I only met her a couple times.”
Suzanne made note and asked, “What about a boyfriend? You’d told the detective that Alanna wasn’t seeing anyone specific. Was that true?”
“She didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“What about someone who showed her more interest than she wanted?”
“Alanna liked it when guys flirted with her. I know it makes it sound like she was a slut, and maybe she was kind of, but you didn’t know her, and I don’t want people thinking bad things about her.”
“I don’t think anything bad about Alanna or any of the other victims. My job is to find out who killed her and put him in prison for the rest of his life. Who Alanna was or what she did is not important to me beyond relevance in this case. What about an ex-boyfriend?”
“She had one guy in high school, Zach Correli, who was a year older than us. He went to college in Maine. When they broke up, I don’t think she was heartbroken, and neither was he.”
But it was something Suzanne needed to look into. If Correli wasn’t in New York when Alanna was killed, it should be easy to prove.
“One more thing,” Suzanne said. “Did Alanna have a job? Someplace where she might have met someone you didn’t? Maybe volunteer work, or part-time. Detective Panetta didn’t have anything listed except that she was a full-time student.”
“She didn’t have a job while in college. I worked part-time on campus for my scholarship. Her parents had a college fund for her. She’s never really been broke.”
“Last thing. This might be a little hard, but I’d like to show you the pictures of the other three victims, to see if you know them.”
She showed the photos to Jill one by one. There was no recognition until she saw Jessica Bell. “She looks familiar. She’s dead?”
“Last weekend.”
“Oh, God.”
“Do you know who she is?”
Jill shook her head. “She just looks familiar. Maybe I had a class with her, or I saw her somewhere.”
“Maybe at the Halloween party?”
“Maybe.” Jill frowned. “I honestly don’t know.”
“That’s okay. You did great, and I really appreciate your honesty.” Suzanne put the photographs back in the folder, then took Jill’s hands and squeezed them. “Don’t live in the past. I know you harbor a lot of regret and guilt. But I can tell you that it’ll eat you up if you let it. I think you should go to that Pennsylvania college. Alanna wouldn’t want you stuck in limbo.”
Suzanne handed Jill her card. “If you remember anything else, or just want to talk, call me.”
She left, and because she was in Hamden she stopped by the Andrewses’ house two blocks from where Jill lived. At first she thought no one was home, then a woman in her seventies answered the door. “Yes?”
“Hello, I’m Special Agent Madeaux from New York. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was in town and had a question.”
The woman’s face clouded. “About Alanna?”
“Yes, ma’am. Actually about her cousin, Whitney.”
“Whitney.” The woman sighed. “Is she in trouble?”
“No, not that I know of. But I was told that she and Alanna were close and I haven’t spoken to her yet regarding Alanna’s murder. Do you have her current address and phone number?”
“Yes. Wait here, please.” She closed the door. Several moments later she returned with a piece of paper with shaky writing. Whitney Morrissey, Brooklyn, and a number. “I don’t have her address, but her mother told me she was living in Brooklyn now. She’s an artist, very good, too. Goes to art shows all the time. But it’s a hard way to make a living.”
“Thank you for this.”
“I know what they said about my granddaughter-but I’m not going to remember that. Alanna was a sweet girl. She never hurt anyone. Never. She played cards with me every Sunday night.” Tears welled in the lady’s eyes. “I have fourteen grandchildren, and Alanna is the only one who always remembered my birthday.” She looked sharply at Suzanne. “You don’t know who hurt my granddaughter, do you?”
“Not yet, ma’am, but finding out is my number one priority.”
TWELVE
When Sean and Lucy left Washington at seven in the morning it was raining steadily. As they drove north, the rain slacked off, and by the time they hit the New Jersey border it was nothing but scattered showers and occasional gusts of wind. They were on 495 heading east toward Manhattan and Lucy couldn’t help but stare at the approaching landscape of skyscrapers.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t been to New York City,” Sean said.
She shook her head, awestruck.
“And how long have you lived in D.C.?”
“Six years. But I’ve been busy.”
“I wish the weather had been better so I could fly you in. It’s even better from the sky.”
Lucy felt she already knew New York from movies and television, but the sheer vastness of concrete and roads and buildings leading up to the city was overwhelming. The closer she got to Manhattan, the more she marveled at the ingenuity. She also felt apprehension about the population. “Aren’t there eight million people here?”
“That’s in the entire city, and I think it’s about 8.5 million now. Manhattan is under two million, but has the highest density.”
“And you know this off the top of your head.”
“Useless trivia,” Sean said.
Though D.C. was dense, it didn’t have miles of towering buildings, a seemingly never-ending concrete city. The architecture of New York intrigued Lucy: Some buildings were simple and bland, others old and ornate. New and old, big and small, all pushed together into something that should have been ugly but was surprisingly beautiful.
“This isn’t our weekend away,” Sean said.
She glanced at him. “I know.”
