“Nope, just this,” he said, tapping the thin notebook.
“Really, that’s all you’ve got? Just that one laptop?”
“Yep. Maybe when I hit it big, you know.”
“So,” Jess interrupted, “you got a girlfriend these days or what?”
Ellie jerked toward Jess with a glare. Guzman apparently mistook her shocked expression. “Wow. Um, I’ve never seen a brother try to hook his sister up. Uh, I don’t know. Maybe you and I can—”
“No, dude, maybe you can stop looking at my sister before you find yourself in a cell.”
So much for her plan of flirting her way onto Guzman’s computer. She removed her shield from her purse and flipped it open for a quick view.
“I need to talk to you about Megan Gunther.”
“Yo, bitch. This is some serious bullshit.”
“All right, Li’l Keith, you can drop the street act.” They stood on the relatively quiet sidewalk outside the club. Guzman had initially tried to resist, but then Ellie pretended to reach for one of the silver hoops in his lip, and he made his way out the door with her. Now polite and charming Keith Guzman had transformed into DJ Anorexotica, and Ellie could see why Jess had called him an annoying poseur. “When was the last time you had contact with Megan Gunther?”
“I’ve moved on past her. Couldn’t you tell when I was getting ready to make a play on you?”
“Sometimes the best way to move on is to hurt someone. Bad.”
“Megan’s hurt?”
Ellie was starting to wonder whether this guy had a serious case of multiple personality. The An-Ex ’tude had withdrawn, replaced by a softness to his eyes and concern in his voice that seemed genuine.
“Someone posted some pretty heinous stuff about her online.”
A wave of relief washed over his face. “But she’s okay?”
“You get information when I get information. What do you know about a Web site called Campus Juice?”
“It’s a gossip site.”
“So you know about it.”
“Sure. People post evil shit about each other on there. Pretty funny sometimes.”
“You mean college-student-type people. You’re not a college student.”
“Boy, you have been talking to Megan, haven’t you? She had to go talk about that shit to you? Fine, I don’t go to college. I didn’t take the three-thousand-dollar prep course for my SATs like Megan and her friends and her snotty-ass roommate. I know a hell of a lot more about life than they do. I can tell you that.”
Ellie held up her palms. “All I’m asking you about is a Web site, Keith. You’re the one who got all defensive about this college thing.”
He pressed his lips together and looked down at the sidewalk. “Let’s just say it was an issue between me and her. So, whatever. This Web site. Yeah, I know about it, even though I don’t go to college.”
“Have you posted on it before?”
“Yeah. About six months ago.”
Ellie was wondering if this was going to be easier than she thought. “You have?”
“Sure. That’s my target demographic. I did a guerrilla gig last year in Tribeca at a test screening of some artsy-fart indie film about homeless kids on the needle. I leaked the buzz on message boards aimed at college students. Pretty sure I covered NYU, Fordham, and Columbia on Campus Juice.”
“Have you posted on the site since then?”
He paused. “Nope.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Why are you asking me this shit?”
“Have you been on the Web site at all since then?”
“Nope. The event was a bust anyway. I got about thirty people there to see me take over the theater, but only about twenty people showed up for the movie. And no press. Sort of defeats the purpose of going guerrilla. Again, why are you asking me this shit?”
“Where were you this morning between eight and nine o’clock?” She had an approximate time of death from the ME.
“At home.”
“Anyone with you?”
“My mom was home.”
“You live with your mom?”
“Surprised Megan didn’t tell you that, too. She didn’t believe me that I could afford to pay rent. So instead she gets that Heather bitch to move in. Said it would be nice to have a girlfriend around. And what did it get her? Nothing. Heather’s not her friend. She goes out with some mystery boyfriend she didn’t even tell Megan about. She even tried to come on to me one night, telling me all about how she started having sex real young and all this other crazy shit. What kind of friend is that?”
“Keith, enough about the roommate and what could’ve been if you lived with Megan. If I take your laptop in, are my analysts going to back up what you say about not going to that Web site in the last six months?”
“You’re not taking anything anywhere. That laptop’s my fucking livelihood. That’s my
He pulled out his phone and hit the button for his contact list. Megan had deleted all evidence of their relationship from her electronic world, but apparently Keith had not. Ellie grabbed the phone from Guzman’s hand and hit the end button. He jerked his hand away.
“First you talk shit about taking my computer. Now you’re messing with my phone. You better step back.”
“Or what, Keith?”
He stared at her.
“Or what? You gonna stab me? Cut me up?”
“Bitch, you’re crazy,” he muttered. “Just call Megan, a’ight?”
“Megan’s dead.”
She watched as a look of confusion on his face turned to realization. He began shaking his head. “No, no. No. No.” He spoke that same word over and over again until he bent forward and began to cry.
The front door of the bar swung open, nearly smacking Guzman. He stepped out of the way and tried to regain his composure. Ellie recognized the woman who walked out of Gaslight as one of the attractive group of three from inside. Just behind her came Jess, hands in pockets, guilty smile on his face.
Jess was not the only one leaving with more than he’d hoped for. She headed back into the bar for Guzman’s laptop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
6:30 P.M.
Katie Battle made certain to keep her knees together beneath the short hemline of her dress as she shifted her weight from the cab. A uniformed bellman opened one side of a set of double red doors for her.
“Welcome to the Royalton, ma’am.”
She bypassed the hotel lobby’s suede sofas, leather-covered walls, and steel tables and headed directly for the wood-paneled Bar 44.
It was six thirty, a bit early for New York City happy-hour standards, but the space had already started to fill. She’d learned that this time of day was popular for married men who could fit in an after-work diversion and still make it home in time to claim a late night at the office.
Taking the last remaining seat at the bar, she ordered a Manhattan from a light-haired bartender, who gave
