George Langston and Adrienne Mitchell. A birth certificate, documenting the birth in 1980 of baby Adrienne to mother Carmen Watson and Henry Mitchell, unmarried. Ellie felt a rush of adrenaline as she flipped to the next record, a marriage license for Carmen Watson and her new husband in 1988. “We’ve got it, Rogan. We were right.”
What was it that Grisco said when the Buffalo police had asked him about his girlfriend? She was getting a “fresh start.”
Ellie reached for the final file, labeled “Newspaper Articles.” The headline on the first article read “Man Brutally Slain Outside Cheektowaga Office.” It detailed the stabbing of Wayne Cooper. A twenty-three-year-old suspect named James Grisco was in custody. The police had not yet established a connection between the two men or a motive for the killing. The victim was survived by his wife, Carmen, and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Adrienne.
She handed the article to Rogan. “Stepdaughter, actually,” she said. “There’s no adoption records here. That’s why she was going by Adrienne Mitchell when she married George.”
“But it looks like she was using Cooper’s name all through childhood.” He was flipping through a file of what appeared to be photocopies of pages from school yearbooks. Ellie looked at one of the photos.
Where today’s Adrienne went for a natural look, with long, caramel-colored waves, the 1995 version had choppy, jet-black hair, charcoal eyeliner set against white-powdered skin, and an extra twenty pounds.
The girl formerly known as Adrienne Cooper was almost unrecognizable.
Almost.
Janet Martin was waiting for them in the reception area. “I take it you found what you were looking for?”
Ellie nodded. “We’re all set.”
“You don’t have to look so happy, Detectives. There’s legal justice, and then there’s moral justice. Not everything is black-and-white.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Ellie said.
“But here’s the thing, Detective. When most people say that, they’re asking you to see shades of gray. But some things can be black and white-right and wrong-all at the same time.”
E llie’s cell buzzed. She didn’t recognize the phone number, but it was from the 716 area code.
“Hatcher.”
“Detective Hatcher, this is ADA Jennifer Sugarman from the Erie County district attorney’s office in Buffalo, New York. I understand you’re handling the shooting of James Grisco back east there.”
“That’s right.” Ellie remembered seeing Sugarman’s name on some of Grisco’s court papers. She would have been the prosecutor who cut the deal for Grisco’s early release in exchange for testimony against his cellmate.
“I’m sorry to be late getting this information to you, but I just saw Grisco’s PO at a parole-violation hearing, and he told me about Grisco’s death.”
Ellie was eager to catch up with Max to let him know they’d been right about Adrienne’s connection to Grisco. “What can I do for you, Miss Sugarman?”
“I got a call two Mondays ago from a corrections officer up at Welde. Seems they got a call from Cooper’s daughter-Cooper was the man Grisco killed in ’95. Anyway, the daughter wanted to know for some reason whether he had Internet access there at the prison. When they told her Grisco had been released, she wasn’t real happy about it. Anyway, since I’m the one who signed off on letting Grisco out, I called him into my office to make sure he firmly understood his parole conditions prohibiting contact with any of his victim’s family members.”
Apparently that conversation had been a real Come to Jesus moment for him, but Ellie didn’t have time to explain the entire story to this lawyer.
“I got the impression there was nothing to worry about at the time. I’m not sure if you know why he wound up there in the city-”
“We think we’re getting a handle on it, but thanks for calling.”
“No, wait, here’s the thing. When Cooper’s daughter called the prison, they automatically logged in the caller ID information. They, in turn, passed the phone number on to me. Seems I had it written down on my desk when I hauled Grisco in here, right there next to her name-Adrienne Cooper. It was a Manhattan number. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I thought I better let you know, just in case.”
Ellie listened as the assistant DA rattled off the digits that Grisco would have seen scrawled next to Adrienne Cooper’s name, but she didn’t need to write them down. She’d read through the Langstons’ phone records thoroughly enough to recognize their number.
Chapter Fifty-Six
They looked up at the Langstons’ high-rise.
“You ready to do this?” Ellie checked her watch. It was almost three o’clock. Hopefully Ramona wouldn’t be coming straight home from school.
They had manufactured a reason to call George at the office, so they knew he was at work. They had just watched Adrienne enter the building alone. The gun registered to George Langston was tucked away safely in a property room in East Hampton.
“All right. Let’s see what we can get.”
A drienne met them at the apartment door, still in yoga pants with a thin ring of perspiration around the V- neck of her pink T-shirt. She held a glass of water in one hand.
“Sorry for my appearance, Detectives. I just got done with a workout.”
She led the way into the living room. When they had first arrived here eleven days earlier, Ellie thought she’d had a perfect read on the family. George the uptight lawyer. Adrienne the breath of fresh air who made the house a home.
Sometimes more than one truth defined a family.
“How are you holding up?” Ellie asked.
“I’m making it through. I got a call from Detective Howard this morning from Long Island. The district attorney’s office there has officially closed the investigation. I’m still waking up in the middle of the night thinking about that back window crashing and him walking into our house, but-well, at least the official part of the matter is over.”
Ellie searched Adrienne’s face for any sign of the woman who had orchestrated that event with such calculation. She had to have broken the window herself before Grisco arrived. She’d given him the address, perhaps even directions to the house. Staged the signs of a struggle. Planted a knife in his hand.
Now they were the ones setting her up. The phone call from Howard was intended to make her feel safe. All Ellie saw in Adrienne’s expression was the security of a woman who believed she’d gotten away with it. Ellie hoped that same arrogance would keep her talking.
“Unfortunately, we probably won’t be able to say the same about the David Bolt case for several months. The DA’s office assumes he’ll opt for a trial, so we’re still trying to shore up some of the loose ends.”
“Well, I want to help however I can. I hope you realize that I would have told you about George’s terrible role in settling that lawsuit against David if I’d had any idea it was related to Julia’s death. I’m still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he knew about those threats on my website. He was so worried about our marriage, but it never once dawned on me to leave. Now, frankly, I’m not sure we’re going to make it past this.”
“That’s actually why we’re here, Adrienne-about those comments on your website. The first one, as you know, came from Julia’s laptop, and we believe David Bolt typed it. Then we had several other comments posted at public computers around the Upper West Side and down near the Village. We now know that those were located near Bolt’s office and residence, respectively. But the final post-the one mentioning your name-was created on a computer in the lobby of a hotel just eight blocks from here.”
“With all due respect, Detective, you already asked me about that last week.”
“That was before we had this.” Rogan slid a printout with six photographs, including Adrienne’s, onto the coffee table. “We showed this photo montage to some of the hotel employees yesterday afternoon. See those
