“Thank you,” I said, and sipped the black coffee. I didn’t like coffee much, but I needed something to do with my hands.
“You need to listen to me, Peter. This is important.”
I nodded.
“Edith Jones was telling the truth. She has no nieces. There is no Cami Jones registered at SU.”
“
“I had them run every C. Jones registered. There are four. Three are men. One is a senior from Albany, lives with her boyfriend in town. Christina Jones.”
I heard what Charlie said but didn’t understand.
“Maybe-”
Charlie interrupted. “The crime scene unit dusted your apartment for fingerprints. There were none.”
I frowned. That made no sense.
“Someone cleaned your entire apartment,” Charlie said. “Your fingerprints were on the door and the doorframe of your bedroom. That’s all we found.”
My stomach clenched. I looked at Charlie but didn’t see him. I saw Cami put her hands to her mouth.
She’d been wearing gloves.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up. There had to be an explanation. There
Why? I didn’t know her. I’d never met her until last fall. Who would do that to me? How could I not see it?
A knock on the door startled me.
“Peter, come on out.”
I washed my face with cold water and came back to the table.
“Do you have a picture of Cami?”
I slid over my cell phone. “The only pictures I have are on my phone.”
Charlie started scrolling through my phone. He frowned and said, “Your SIM card is missing.”
I took the phone and looked. The card was gone.
Cami had used my phone earlier, before I went to class.
“She planned it.”
“We’ll find a picture of her. On Facebook maybe?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have any social media. I hate the Internet. I don’t even have a television. I had an e-mail account once, and a reporter found me and wanted to interview me. So I deleted the account. I have an e- mail account through the university because I had to get something for my classes.”
“You shouldn’t go back to your apartment. Do you have someplace to stay?”
I shook my head. “I need to disappear.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I’d never thought about killing myself. Maybe in passing, but then I’d think of Grams and knew she’d be heartbroken. She was dead, but sometimes I felt her. I lived for those moments.
“Don’t run, Peter. Someone had been stalking you since high school. They’re escalating. Only you know who it is.”
“But I don’t! It was all a lie. Cami was a lie. But I swear, she was not at my high school.”
“Let me do a little research on her. Maybe something will come up. You can work with a sketch artist; we’ll get a good picture of her.”
Charlie Mead really wanted to help me.
“I’ll try.”
“Stay with me tonight,” Charlie said. “I’ll find a safe place for you tomorrow.”
One night turned into two years. I lost a sister when I was nine, but I found a brother when I was nineteen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
New York City
Jimmy Bartz was picked up late Saturday night by uniformed officers in Queens. Suzanne and Joe decided to let him stew the rest of the night, and Suzanne arrived at DeLucca’s precinct at eight Sunday morning.
“We could have come in together,” Joe said.
“No, we couldn’t,” Suzanne said. Joe had wanted to go home with her last night, but she had put her foot down and after one beer had left alone. The worst thing was that she had wanted to give in, but reason vetoed her heart. Heart? Who was she fooling? It was her body that craved Joe. She didn’t want to fall back into bed with him because then her heart would be at risk and it would only end badly. Just like last time. Because she would not give him any ultimatum that affected his relationship with his son, nor did she want to play the role of mistress with a man who was hiding her from his ex-wife.
“Has he talked?” Suzanne switched the subject back to the case at hand.
“No.” Joe checked in with the desk sergeant. “Can you bring Bartz to interview?”
“Room one,” the sergeant said. He got on the phone.
Joe led Suzanne through the bullpen to his desk. It was a quiet Sunday morning. Joe sat down at his tidy desk. Suzanne glanced around at the stacks of paper on everyone else’s desk. “You have the cleanest crib in town.”
“Just in this neighborhood,” Joe said. He quickly checked his e-mail, then brought up Bartz’s rap sheet. Joe turned his monitor so both he and Suzanne could read it.
“Worst thing is assault-no weapons charges.”
“The guys who know him said he never carries a weapon, and it’s served him well. Three arrests, all bumped down to misdemeanors, one time-served, and a three-month, then six-month stint in county. No hard-jail time.”
“And he then kills a woman for a ring?”
“Could have been hired.”
They both shook their heads at the same time.
“Let’s play with him a bit. He’s a two-bit thief. Money drives him.”
The on-call detective said, “Hey, DeLucca, you need to pressure Bartz? Drop his buddy’s name-Franks. His stats are in the rap sheet. They’re friendly rivals.”
“Thanks, Parker.”
He turned to Suzanne. “Let’s see what this guy has to say.”
Jimmy Bartz was a scrappy forty-year-old who didn’t look strong enough to snap a toothpick. Suzanne could see why he was an effective thief-he looked harmless, skittish, and had quiet gray eyes. But his eyes became fearful when he saw Joe’s stern expression.
“You’re not Detective Kramer.”
“I’m Detective Joe DeLucca. This is Special Agent Suzanne Madeaux with the FBI.”
Bartz looked at Suzanne. “FBI? Why’s the FBI here? Detective Kramer handles property crimes in this jurisdiction.”
Joe smiled slyly. “You know our system well. Kramer is off today. I’m in Homicide.”
“Homicide? Why is Homicide handling property crimes? Why is the FBI here?”
This guy was either a great actor or truly clueless.
Joe said, “You tell us the truth and you’ll be able to walk out the door today. You lie to us and you’ll be in Rikers before lunch.”
“I told the officers exactly what happened. I found that ring, just wanted to know how much it was worth.”
“You pawned it for two thousand dollars.”
