The Sleeping Beauty Killer Read online

  “Oh, sure. That was Angela’s. She said that’s how they do it on all the detective shows. Do you want to talk to her about it? She’s down in Brooklyn getting ready for Ladyform’s fashion show, but I’m sure you can call her cell.”

  Laurie assured Paula that wasn’t necessary and asked her not to mention her call to anyone else for now.

  As Laurie hung up the phone, she knew exactly why Angela hadn’t wanted Sean Murray to speak to Laurie. She didn’t want anyone to know that she was the one who removed that picture from the nightstand after she murdered Hunter and framed the woman he’d chosen over her.

  Charlotte had described Angela as panicked about stopping the television show today—desperate was the precise word she’d used. But contrary to Charlotte’s belief, Angela wasn’t desperate to protect her cousin from humiliation. She was desperate to protect herself.

  Laurie called Charlotte’s cell phone, but the call went directly to voice mail. She tried twice more, with no luck.

  She didn’t want Charlotte to be caught in the crossfire when Angela realized that she was going to be arrested. She had to warn her. She pulled up her Uber app and requested the nearest driver.

  62

  At the warehouse, Charlotte was pulling up the most recent printout from Ladyform’s Information Technology Department summarizing Internet usage on the company computers. The monthly list notified her of every single website accessed at Ladyform, ranked with the most commonly used sites first. As usual, Ladyform’s own website and social media platforms dominated the top of the list. She hit “Command-F” on her keyboard to access the find function. She typed in the word Chatter and hit enter.

  She remembered Laurie complaining about the speed with which the Chatter blog had broken the news of Casey’s release—and in such a negative light.

  Seventeen hits in the last month—all from one computer. The users were listed by computer numbers, rather than name.

  She pulled out her cell phone to call the IT Department, but couldn’t get a signal. She finally found two signal-bars at the front of the warehouse, just inside the rolling steel door. It did not take long for Jamie in IT to confirm that the computer in question belonged to Angela. He also confirmed that she hadn’t merely read the blog. She had used her computer to submit comments on the page for “anonymous chatter.” Charlotte had a feeling that the time stamps for those entries would line up with the comments Laurie had been tracking.

  She sent a quick text to Laurie: I think I know who’s behind those “And also” notes you were curious about. It’s complicated. Let’s talk tonight.

  Laurie understandably wasn’t going to pull her show, but Charlotte might be able to convince her to leave Angela’s name out of it. Charlotte could only imagine what a difficult decision it had been for Angela. She loved her cousin, aunt, and uncle, but Casey was a murderer. Those Internet comments about Casey’s guilt must have been her way of trying to see that justice was served, without completely losing her only remaining family.

  When Charlotte returned to the workout set, Angela was standing, hands on hips, next to the pile of exercise equipment she’d brought from the office. She picked up a pair of hot pink, three-pound hand weights and did a few curls, feigning fatigue. “What do you think? Set all this up in one station, or scatter it around the larger machines?”

  “Great minds think alike,” Charlotte said, reaching for the two alternative sketches she’d been contemplating. “I couldn’t decide either. Maybe we should flip a coin. In the meantime, can we talk about something?”

  “Sure.

  “So this is awkward, but you know you can tell me anything, right?”

  “Of course. What’s up?”

  “I know about The Chatter. And RIP_Hunter. I know it was your way of trying to tell the world Casey was guilty.”

  “But how did you—”

  “We monitor Internet use at the office. I noticed a pattern in the last month.” She saw no need to tell Angela that she’d specifically looked for one. “I’m just confused. You’ve always told me how close the two of you are. You said she was innocent.”

  “I can explain, but, honestly, I was looking forward to finally getting my mind off Casey today. Let’s figure out this set first, and then I’ll tell you way more than you want to know about my cousin and me. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “Hand me that mat over there?”

  Charlotte turned around and bent over to reach for a blue yoga mat. The thud of the three-pound hand weight against her head knocked her to the ground, where a blanket of darkness covered her.

  63

  Laurie was waiting outside Sean Murray’s brownstone for the Uber car that was supposed to have arrived three minutes earlier when a new text message appeared on her screen. It was from Charlotte: I think I know who’s behind those “And also” notes you were curious about. It’s complicated. Let’s talk tonight.

  She immediately tried calling Charlotte, but got her voice-mail message again. She pulled up Charlotte’s contact information and tried her office number instead. Her assistant answered. “Sorry, Laurie, she’s at the warehouse with Angela, but she must have her phone on. She just had me connect her to someone in IT a few minutes ago.”

  That phone call must have been around the same time Charlotte sent the text about RIP_Hunter. “Do you know what she was calling them about?” Laurie asked.

  “She had a question about Internet usage—who was looking at what from their company computers. You wouldn’t believe the garbage people look at during work. No common sense.”

  Laurie asked her for the address of the warehouse, and then thanked her for the information and ended the call. Charlotte had been looking at the RIP_Hunter comments when she was in Laurie’s office. Something about them must have sparked her curiosity. If she had figured out that Angela was behind the posts, she was in real danger.

  Laurie was dialing 911 when she spotted a black SUV with an Uber sticker in the window. She nearly jumped in front of the car to make sure the driver didn’t pass her.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.

  Laurie blurted out the address of the warehouse as she climbed into the backseat of the SUV. “Please hurry,” she said to the driver.

  “Is that your location, ma’am? I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Sorry, no, I’m not there. Not yet. But my friend is. She’s in danger.”

  The dispatcher was all business. “Did your friend call you? What kind of danger are we talking about?”

  “She’s in a warehouse with a woman we suspect of murder. She texted me because she figured out something very critical, and now she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Ma’am, I really am trying to understand you, but you’re not making any sense.” Laurie saw the Uber driver eyeing her suspiciously in the rearview mirror. She realized she sounded insane. She forced herself to slow down and explained to the dispatcher that she was the producer of Under Suspicion and that a woman named Angela Hart was likely guilty of committing a murder for which someone else had already been convicted. “She knows we’re on to her. I’m very worried about my friend. Her name’s Charlotte Pierce. Please, it’s a matter of life and death.”

  She saw the driver roll his eyes and shake his head. To him, she was just another crazy New Yorker.

  “Okay, ma’am. I understand you’re concerned, but you haven’t told me of any violence, threats of violence, or any other concrete danger to your friend. I’m putting in a request for a welfare check, but it may take a while. We’ve got two major call-outs in that same precinct.”

  As the daughter of a police officer Laurie knew that a welfare check was a low priority. She could be waiting for hours. She tried again, but could tell her urgent pleas were falling on deaf ears. The clock was ticking. She hung up and called her father’s cell phone. On the
fourth ring, she heard his voice mail inviting her to leave a message.

  “Dad, there’s an emergency.” She didn’t have time to explain the entire story. “Casey’s cousin Angela is the killer. And now I think Charlotte’s in danger at a warehouse in DUMBO. The address is 101 Fulton Street in Brooklyn. I called 911, but the dispatcher entered it as a welfare check. Charlotte’s not answering her phone. I’m headed there now.”

  As she ended the call, with a sinking heart she realized why Leo hadn’t picked up. He had been asked to consult on a new anti­terrorism task force. The first meeting was at the mayor’s office this afternoon.

  He might notice a text, she thought, and began tapping on her phone: EMERGENCY. CHECK MY VM MESSAGE. CALL ME.

  64

  “No, no, no, no.” Angela was standing over Charlotte’s prone body, her hands pressed together tightly to control the energy pulsing through her own veins. “What did I do? What did I do?”

  She crouched to her knees and reached a tentative hand for Charlotte’s throat. Charlotte didn’t flinch from Angela’s touch, and her skin was warm. Angela placed two fingers on her carotid artery. She felt a pulse. She leaned over Charlotte’s face. She was still breathing.

  Charlotte was alive. What am I going to do now? Angela agonized. Maybe I can still make this work. I have to think and be careful, just like that night at Hunter’s house. Charlotte has to die, here, right now, and it has to look like an accident. If I can push her down the elevator shaft from the third floor, it will certainly kill her. They’ll think that the bruise on the back of her head was caused by the fall.

  Feeling more confident now that she had a plan, she looked around and then rushed to the pile of tools the builders had left with the construction materials, not even knowing what she was looking for until she stumbled onto a packet of zip ties and a box cutter. She slipped the knife in her pocket.

  She was about to slip the zip tie around Charlotte’s wrist when she stopped. Looking at the thin, wiry bands, she wondered if these would leave marks on her wrists and ankles, marks that could not be explained by a fall down an elevator shaft. There had to be something she could use that wouldn’t—

  Angela almost smiled at the irony of her solution. After checking Charlotte to assure that she was not yet regaining consciousness, she hurried over to one of the cardboard boxes and retrieved two stretchy super-soft Ladyform workout tops.

  She cinched Charlotte’s wrists together behind her back and was working on her ankles when she heard Charlotte begin to moan softly. She needed to work faster.

  “There,” she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Charlotte might regain consciousness, but she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  Angela’s thoughts were racing. She wanted to stop time and travel backwards to a parallel universe ten minutes in the past. If she could have hit the pause button at that exact moment, she would have seen that the situation wasn’t as dire as it felt. All Charlotte knew for certain was that she had clicked on a few websites from work. Depending on how closely Lady­form monitored employees’ computers, Charlotte might even know that she leaked information to Mindy Sampson and posted negative comments about Casey online. At that instant in time, if she had been thinking straight, she could have talked her way out of this. But of course she wasn’t thinking straight, because she’d been panicked about that stupid television show ever since she heard Laurie Moran’s name.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad about what’s going to happen to you after all,” she said bitterly as she stared at Charlotte. “Your family’s connection to Under Suspicion is what helped persuade Laurie Moran to work with Casey in the first place.”

  All these years, she had led Charlotte—and everyone else—to believe that she was Casey’s most loyal friend and advocate. She was the one who regularly visited Casey in prison. How many times had Angela been told, You’re such a good friend. You’re such a good person. Casey’s so lucky to have you.

  Was there any way she could hold on to that now?

  At first, she was merely annoyed at the thought of Casey on television, claiming to be innocent. Once again, at least in some eyes, she’d be the sweetheart who could do no wrong. But then Casey told her she’d noticed a picture was missing from Hunter’s nightstand after the murder. Worse, Casey had told Laurie about it. In that moment, Angela believed that the truth was finally going to come out.

  But then she realized how much time had passed since she killed Hunter Raleigh. The human mind is fragile. Memories blur and fade. She was certain that Sean would remember the fight that ended their relationship. He’d recall that it was about Hunter. He might even call to mind the box of mementos he discovered in her closet. But would he have memorized the exact contents of the box? Would he conjure up the one specific photograph of Hunter and the President? Maybe not. In fact, probably not, or so Angela had struggled to convince herself. And of course she had disposed of the box’s contents the very next day, as much as it had pained her.

  Charlotte began to move. She let out a low groan of pain. It was guttural.

  Angela had taken a chance by phoning Sean after Casey suggested that Laurie interview him for the show. “After all these years, I think it would be hard if the two of us were to cross paths again. You’re happily married. I’m still alone. Why didn’t we end up together? I’d prefer that not to be an issue. Does that make sense?” He agreed that it did, even though it didn’t, because people were so quick to assume that a single woman her age would not be happy alone.

  But now Charlotte was starting to wiggle, not understanding why she couldn’t move her limbs. “Angela?” she asked, in a faltering voice.

  Angela tried to slow her mind down. Even though I persuaded Sean to decline Laurie’s show, I didn’t dare ask directly about the memory box he’d found in my closet. Any mention of it could have triggered his recollection or made him wonder why I was asking him about that. I had to cross my fingers that he wouldn’t think back on that night. I had to hope that maybe he wouldn’t even see the show. I could picture his wife saying, “Why are you watching that? Is it because you’re curious about Angela?” If he didn’t watch, no problem. If he didn’t remember the picture of Hunter and the President, no problem. And even if he put two and two together, I could have said Sean was confused. He may have seen a different photograph. Or he had held a grudge against me all these years. I could have said I admired the photo and Hunter had given me a copy. There was no way to convict me of murder beyond a reasonable doubt based on an ex-boyfriend’s ancient memory of a framed picture in a storage box in my closet.

  But now look what I have done. I have no choice. I have to kill her and make it look like an accident.

  Charlotte was regaining consciousness. Angela reached for the weapon she’d been carrying in her purse as a precaution since the day Casey signed the papers to appear on Under Suspicion. She could tell from Charlotte’s terrified expression that she was awake enough to see the gun in Angela’s hand.

  “Okay, boss,” Angela said, “you need to get up on your feet. Let’s go.”

  65

  Laurie’s Uber driver came to a halt in front of the address she’d gotten from Charlotte’s secretary. She offered a weak thank-you to the driver. “Sorry, it probably sounded like you were driving into a war zone.”

  The driver was already checking his phone to connect to his next customer. “No offense, lady, but you’ve got a wild imagination. If you ask me, you should take a walk around the block. Maybe learn a bit about meditation. It’s the only way I make it through the day.”

  He drove away, leaving Laurie alone in front of the warehouse. She heard a dog bark in the distance. The streets were surprisingly quiet.

  She called Leo again, but his cell phone went straight to voice mail. She tried her own apartment next.

  “Hey, Mom.” One of Timmy’s video games played in the background.

 
“Is Grandpa back from his meeting?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding stressed.

  “Not yet. Kara and I are playing Angry Birds.”

  Whenever his favorite babysitter was there, Timmy was perfectly happy to have Laurie and Leo stay out late.

  Her father had to be on the subway.

  She tried Charlotte’s cell phone again. There was no answer.

  At the front of the warehouse, she spotted a foot-wide crack beneath the steel roll-up door. Am I already too late? Did Angela realize that Charlotte was on to her . . . ?

  She couldn’t wait any longer. She slid her back beneath the gate, pressed her belly to the ground, and shimmied inside.

  66

  Leo was deep in thought as he exited the lower Manhattan office building. He missed the excitement of police work, but did not want to jump back in full-time. The opportunity to work on this task force was perfect. It would be several evenings each month, and he could do a lot of his work from home. He could continue to look after Timmy and be around to help Laurie.

  As he walked the three blocks to the subway, he spotted a cab discharging passengers and changed his mind. After they got out, he jumped in the back and gave the cabbie Laurie’s address. He reached for his cell phone to check for messages. He then remembered that he had turned it off to avoid interruptions during the meeting.

  His heart raced as he saw Laurie’s text and then listened to her voice mail. The building Charlotte and Laurie were in was less than two miles away. “Change of plans,” he shouted to the cabbie. “Go to 101 Fulton Street in Brooklyn and step on it!”

  He yanked open his wallet and held up his police credentials so the driver could see them in the rearview mirror. “I’m a cop. You won’t get a ticket. Move!”