her. Stacy in turn called Tanya, who was now living her life as Heather. The call was only a minute long, so Stacy left a short message. But just as Rogan wasn’t able to get a signal in this building now, Tanya couldn’t use her cell to return Stacy’s call from the apartment. She’d used the landline instead.
Ellie began searching the small desk against the window while Rogan opened the top drawer of the nightstand, searching for some sign of who Tanya Abbott was and where she might be.
“Jesus,” Rogan said, flipping open a dog-eared copy of John Hart Ely’s
“She got popped ten years ago for hooking. You’re tricking already at twenty years old, the idea of being a garden-variety undergrad might sound pretty appealing.”
“Getting into NYU with a fake application’s got to take some serious preparation. And now just like that, she bailed because the hospital couldn’t find a record of her insurance? You’d think a real grifter would try to lie her way through it.”
“Guess she figured that once the hospital started asking questions, her whole story would unravel.”
“So? Worst thing that could happen are some fraud charges.”
“J. J., we need to look at this woman for a lot more than fraud.” Ellie closed the final drawer of the desk and moved on to a stack of textbooks propped against the desk on the floor, flipping each one open in case Tanya had stashed any papers inside the books. “Right now she’s our best suspect for Megan’s murder. We got distracted by Campus Juice. If Megan found out about Tanya’s secret—if she saw something, or overheard a conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear—”
“But Heather—Jesus, what are we calling these people?”
“Real names. Heather Bradley doesn’t exist—or if she does, she’s not the woman we care about. We’re talking about Tanya Abbott.”
“Well, Tanya got cut up pretty good.”
“But she didn’t die, did she? Passing herself off as another victim is a pretty good way of throwing off suspicion. And it worked. We just assumed the roommate was collateral damage.”
“So she kills Megan and then has enough stones to stab herself multiple times? That’s hard-core.”
“Or she had help. Megan’s ex-boyfriend said fake Heather was always running off to meet some mystery man.”
“Could have been a lot of different men if she was turning tricks.”
“Or she could also have a boyfriend who was in on the con and helped get rid of the meddling roommate when the time came.”
“If she had someone helping her, they might also be good for Katie Battle’s murder tonight at the Royalton. It’s not like a woman to inflict that kind of violence alone.”
Ellie reached the final book in the stack, unmarked and clothbound. She flipped it open to find two photographs mounted on the first page, both black-and-whites of a woman holding a baby. “I think I found something.” She sat on the bed and began turning the pages.
Someone had taken the care to place the photographs in chronological order—from baby to toddler to Santa Claus’s lap to a blue ribbon for the fifth-grade relay team. By the time they hit the shot of a dark-haired girl with long hair, full lips, and almond-shaped eyes, beaming from beneath a handmade banner that read “Happy 13th Birthday,” Ellie could recognize a young Tanya Abbott.
She flipped the page and found two photographs of Tanya with a young boy, probably only four or five years old. In one, Tanya was seated on the grass next to the standing boy, squeezing him tightly to her chest—apparently too tightly, from the look on the kid’s face. In the other, the boy carried an impish expression as he smashed a snowball on top of an unwitting Tanya’s wool-capped head.
“Little brother?” Rogan asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Maybe.” There was something vaguely familiar about the child’s face. He had white-blond hair while Tanya was dark, but plenty of children started out as towheads and then darkened as they got older. Jess had been even blonder than she as a toddler.
She compared the two children in the picture more closely, trying to figure out what was familiar about the boy. Physical similarities could be elusive that way. Although she and Jess looked like polar opposites in all of the most salient ways—coloring, body type, the shapes of their faces—plenty of people had told them there was some indescribable resemblance between them.
Something about that little boy made her feel as if she’d seen him before, and recently at that. There had to be something in his face that reminded her of the adult Tanya, but whatever it was, she couldn’t put her finger on it.
After a few more photographs, the pages suddenly went blank. In the final image, Tanya dangled a set of keys and a tiny card that Ellie guessed was her learner’s permit to drive. By then, Tanya had discovered makeup, hairspray, and the power of cleavage. But despite the girl’s bolder appearance, something else in her had flattened. While the youthful Tanya was radiant, with a broad grin, this older version seemed withdrawn and less secure, as if someone was cajoling her to pose with her newfound driving props.
Only five years later, she’d be arrested for prostitution.
Rogan plopped down on the bed next to her. “Remember that couple in Canada? Those two whack jobs who went on a killing spree somewhere up there.”
“You mean the Ken and Barbie murderers?”
“Yeah, it was this dude and his girlfriend. She helped him rape and murder multiple women, including her own little sister. We could be looking at something like that. They had a reason to take out Megan if she realized the scam Tanya was running. Once they killed Megan, maybe the guy developed a taste for it. Went next to Katie.”
“Yeah, but why Katie? And why set up a date? If Tanya knew Katie, she wouldn’t have needed the ruse. And if she didn’t know her, it’s a little coincidental that they wound up going after a prostitute who just happened to be friends with Stacy.”
Rogan shook his head and then flopped backward on the bed. “I don’t know, but I’m so fucking tired, I could fall asleep right here.” He shut his eyes, and for a moment Ellie thought he might have actually nodded off until he muttered one word: “Tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we find Tanya Abbott.”
“How? We have no idea what she’s been up to in New York. She could be on her way back to Baltimore. She could be on her way to Mexico for all we know. And she’s got a head start.”
“You’re right. We have no idea where to look, which is why there’s no point trying to chase her ass down now. But tomorrow we won’t be exhausted. Tomorrow we’ll figure it out. We’ll find her, and we’ll get some answers.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
Ellie grabbed Tanya’s photo album before they left. “If we ever catch up to her, this might be useful.”
Ellie returned home to find Jess sprawled on her sofa. A pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream rested on his slumped chest as he took in an episode of
She unholstered her Glock and threw her jacket on a chair in the corner. “I thought you worked tonight.”
“Called in sick after I met that girl at Gaslight.”
She nudged him with one knee and found a place for herself next to him. “I can’t believe you watch this vacuous garbage.”
“Hot girls juggling work, school, and boys, all in sunny southern California. What more could a guy want?”
“One little ounce of testosterone?”
“Just ask that girl from the bar if I’ve got a problem in that territory.”
“Ugh,” she said, snatching the pint of ice cream while the spoon was resting in the carton. “And here I thought I might actually get some decent sleep tonight.”
“What about your juggling of work, school, and boys? No Captain America tonight?”
“No. We were off to a good night, and then I wound up at the Royalton. The victim’s a realtor for Corcoran—a
