You Don't Own Me Page 8

  She had sworn on her life—on her children’s lives—that she would do the television show without a single mention of his existence. Now what am I going to do? she thought.

  She pulled out her cell phone, pulled up “Mike,” and hit enter. He answered after only half a ring. “You’re done with your meeting?” he asked.

  She could tell he was on speakerphone, and she could hear the sounds of a car engine and horns in the background. He was in a car. She found herself looking up and down the street for signs of him.

  “I just left.”

  “And?”

  He had insisted that she apprise him of every development with the television production, and she didn’t dare cross him. “It was a rehash of the old news reports. Nothing I couldn’t handle. She didn’t ask about you,” she added. Technically, the statement was true.

  “When do you see her next?”

  “I don’t know. She said they’d call me about the shooting schedule.”

  “Remember, if you tell them about me, I tell them about you. You’ll go to prison for murder. Your children will be sent off with their grandparents, where they’ll be told every day that you killed their father. And that’s assuming they’re still safe and sound by the time you’re convicted.”

  The threat to Bobby and Mindy, once again, was clear. She felt herself starting to shake. “Please, don’t hurt them.”

  “Then don’t make me.”

  She remembered telling Martin one time during a horrible fight that he should have come with a warning label: Cruelest Man Alive. But now she was dealing with someone even more vile than Martin. With a trembling voice, she said, “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

  “It’s time for another meeting.”

  The thought of it made her blood run cold. It wasn’t even the money at this point. She had become used to him using her as his personal cash machine. The man terrified her at a primal, cellular level. “When?” She heard the quiver in her voice.

  “Not how it works. You know that. I’ll call you, and you will come. Bring the usual.”

  The usual was nine thousand in cash. Her best guess was that he didn’t want a withdrawal of ten thousand dollars, which banks must report to the government, to trigger an inquiry. She heard the hum of his car engine accelerating, and then he was gone.

  She pressed her eyes closed and took three deep breaths, trying to remain calm.

  When she was telling Laurie about the disintegration of her marriage, she had used the word gaslight to describe Martin’s practice of telling people that she had lost her mind. But the point of the movie was that Ingrid Bergman actually began to doubt her own mind. Martin literally drove me insane, Kendra thought.

  Did she really tell Steven about those malpractice lawsuits against Martin? She didn’t remember it. Just as she didn’t remember saying the horrible things she’d obviously blurted out at a dive bar, to a stranger who called himself Mike. What else did I manage to do in my blacked-out state? she wondered.

  Even though Kendra wasn’t religious, she walked into the Episcopal church on 10th Street. They had just opened the doors for weeknight services, but Kendra wouldn’t be staying long. She went to the back row of the church and knelt in silent prayer, as she had so many times before, asking forgiveness for something she didn’t want to believe she might have done.

  Will I ever know the truth? she wondered. Will I ever know if I had my husband killed?

  21

  After she said good-bye to Kendra, Laurie left Otto and started down Fifth Avenue in the direction of Washington Square Park. The sun was out on the first warm day of spring, which was license for New Yorkers to treat the park like the city equivalent of a public beach, with young women still in their work clothes reclined on the grass and a few brave, shirtless guys tossing around a Frisbee. Crowds gathered to take in the park’s spectacles, from the piano man playing Chopin under the arch to the break-dancers who spun and flipped by the fountain, their massive speakers drowning out the grand piano. Spring in the city felt like a reawakening, and everyone came out from the dark winter to breathe fresh air.

  As she made her way into the heart of the East Village, Laurie prepared herself for the Beehive, which, regardless of season, probably didn’t see much sun. She had clocked her fair share of time in tomb-like bars with sticky floors and graffitied bathrooms in college, but it had been a while since she’d spent her evenings underground.

  She pushed open a heavy door at the bottom of a steep staircase and stepped into the bar. The familiar scent of spilled beer thinly disguised by Lysol washed over her. It was nearing happy hour, but the place was empty. An LED sign that said “The Beehive” in honeycomb lettering flickered above the bar, and alcohol-inspired neon lights decorated the walls, casting colorful shadows throughout the lair. She had a hard time picturing Kendra kicking back with a drink at the bar or lining up for a game of pinball in the back.

  “Just a minute,” said an unconcerned voice from beneath the bar. A moment later, a young woman with partially shaven hair emerged. As Laurie approached, she noticed the bartender’s eyebrow and lip piercings shift slightly as her expression changed from indifference to surprise upon seeing her. Clearly Laurie didn’t fit the mold of the usual customer.

  Laurie gave her a friendly smile. “I’m hoping to speak to someone who worked here five years ago.”

  The bartender looked at her blankly. “Five years?” Her tone implied that nothing of import could have happened so long ago. Laurie got the impression she would have still been in high school.

  She opened a door with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign and called out. Turning back toward Laurie, she said, “Deb has been here for, like, forever.”

  An older woman with deep wrinkles and a messy bun stepped out from behind the door. Her haggard face did seem to reflect a sort of dive bar “forever,” which turned out to be eight years. Good enough for Laurie.

  “Did you know a woman named Kendra Bell?” Laurie asked, cutting to the chase and placing a fifty-dollar bill on the counter.

  Deb smiled, clearly remembering. “Always liked her. Sad what happened, huh?”

  “You knew who she was at the time? With her husband Martin being a public figure?”

  “Oh, definitely not. She was just a regular by appearance. We’d shoot the breeze, but I didn’t even know her name. She was always railing about how horrible her husband was, though. That he was fake, cruel. Cheating on her.” Deb motioned to the liquor, but Laurie shook her head. “Suit yourself,” she said, grabbing a bottle of Old Crow whiskey off the shelf and pouring herself a glass.

  “And you’re positive it was Kendra Bell?” Laurie continued.

  “Definitely. Even told me once about how she’d gone to medical school but never became a doctor. I didn’t even believe her at the time. Didn’t exactly strike me as a dedicated student type. I chalked it up to drunk babbling.”

  Laurie surveyed the establishment again, taking in the shag carpet hanging on the wall by the pool table. The young bartender had gone back to doing something beneath the bar. “Did she always come in alone?” she asked Deb.

  “Usually.” She gazed at the ceiling and squinted, trying to remember. “But there were a few times when I noticed her hanging around with a rough-looking guy. Shaved head with really mean eyes. It seemed like he was humoring her. Maybe hitting her up to pay his bar bill at the end of the day in exchange for listening to her blow off steam about the husband.”

  Laurie fished her phone out of her purse and pulled up a picture of Steven Carter, Kendra’s former med school boyfriend and current employer. The fact that Kendra, five years a widow, was still merely Steven’s friend and employee, not a girlfriend or wife, suggested that she was not involved with him romantically, but she wanted to make sure she wasn’t missing anything.

  Deb let out a cackle when she saw the photo. “Definitely not him. That guy’s like Mister Rogers compared to the dude I’m talking about.”

  Laurie nodded, getting a
better sense of the character she should be envisioning. “Have you seen him since Martin Bell’s murder?”

  “Never saw Mr. Tough Guy or Kendra again. When the murder first happened and I saw her wedding picture in the paper, I barely recognized her. The lady really went downhill. I was going to give her my sympathies the next time I saw her, but she never came back in. Him neither.” She took a swig of whiskey and paused. “You know her or something?”

  Laurie explained the Under Suspicion series and the reinvestigation of the Martin Bell case. “I’m collecting as much information about Kendra Bell as I can.”

  “You’re not the only one who thinks something was weird with her. I called the police tip line. Told them how she’d complain and complain about the marriage. Mentioned the Tough Guy, too. There was a reward, and I wasn’t going to leave money on the table. And justice,” she added. “I liked her and all, but if she did it, she should be locked up.”

  “Any chance you’d be willing to let us film in here? Maybe sit down with my show’s host and repeat what you just told me?”

  A broad grin settled across her tired face. “That would be pretty cool.”

  Laurie thanked Deb and the younger bartender, and left the bar. As she climbed the steps back into the sunlight, she was overcome by the eerie feeling of being watched. Maybe the description of the mystery man with the mean eyes got to me, she thought.

  But as she walked down Bowery toward the Lafayette Street subway station, she could not shake the thought of someone following her. She ducked into a handbag shop to monitor the flow of pedestrians outside. Her heart jumped at the sight of a tall man with a shaved head, waiting at the crosswalk at 3rd Street, heading in her direction on Bowery. He was wearing aviator sunglasses, so she couldn’t tell if his eyes were “mean,” as Deb had described.

  She looked away from the glass store window quickly to smile apologetically to the clerk. She got her cell phone out of her purse, ready to call 911 if necessary, and left the store.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The tall man was half a block behind her. They exchanged glances and he quickened his pace.

  Laurie darted into another shop a few feet away. Standing inside, she watched to see if the man would follow her into the shop this time. But, again, he did not. Instead he crossed the street, his gait determined. Laurie felt her heart pounding in her chest, even though she’d been walking slowly. He was tailing me and knows I made him, Laurie thought. Where is he heading now?

  Peering through the shop window, she briefly lost sight of him as a white SUV that had been parked behind a large truck pulled onto Bowery. Struggling to see past the SUV, she thought she spotted the tall man bend down and then stand again before vanishing once again from her view. She could feel her cell phone shaking in her hand and forced herself to manipulate the digital keypad—9, 1, 1. Her thumb lingered over the enter button as she wondered how long it would take the police to respond.

  Only after the light changed and the SUV made a left turn onto 2nd Street did she realize why the man had seemed so purposeful in his movements. On the other side of Bowery, the tall man was now holding hands with a young woman who had a giggling baby strapped to her belly. With an unobstructed view, Laurie could even see that the big, scary man who’d had her so shaken was wearing an Angry Birds T-shirt similar to one Timmy had outgrown two years earlier.

  Laurie laughed at herself for letting her imagination run wild. Feeling foolish, she nevertheless waited a full minute before thanking the shop clerk and stepping back onto the sidewalk. And when she saw the dome light of an available taxi, she raised her hand on instinct. Better safe than sorry, she thought.

  Once she was settled into the back of the cab, she processed everything she had learned this afternoon. She wanted to learn more about Steven Carter and the lawsuits against Martin Bell, but her thoughts kept returning to the Beehive. Having spoken to both Deb and Kendra, she was absolutely certain that Kendra was in fact the same woman Deb remembered. Maybe Kendra needed an escape from her house and unhappy marriage, but why would she lie? Laurie was certain that it all came back to the mystery man, and then she felt a chill return to her spine.

  She was so busy thinking about the case that she did not notice that the white SUV had circled back onto Bowery to blend into traffic behind her cab.

  22

  What a strange-looking couple, the man thought to himself as his white SUV approached a red light. The couple in question was on the east side of the street, standing between 2nd and 3rd. The man was at least six and a half feet tall, with a shaved head and aviator glasses. A real tough guy from the neck up. But he was wearing a cartoon-character T-shirt and holding hands with a petite blond woman carrying a baby in one of those body slings.

  They looked like a happy family, which the man found incredible.

  He could already picture them fifteen years from now. He’d get fat. She’d drink too much. Their simple, sullen children would know that their parents hated each other.

  He considered himself a realist about marriage. Sure, things might be all hearts and rose petals for the time being, but how will things look when life throws you a curveball? When that pretty girl starts losing her looks or can’t get out of bed, how long will it take for Happy Husband to find a replacement? And if Daddy winds up in the unemployment line? Forget about it. There was no for better or for worse, in good times and in bad—only selfishness and betrayal.

  He shifted his gaze to the passenger-side window, trying to lay eyes again on his target. That’s how he thought of Laurie Moran: as prey.

  A few months ago, when he was in one of his ruts, he had been spending too much time lying around on the sofa watching cable television. He saw a nature program about the chameleon. He had almost flipped the channel as they showed clips of lizards morphing from red to pink to green to yellow and blue. What kind of idiot didn’t already know those ugly things could change colors?

  But then the narrator started talking about the eyes. Turns out, a chameleon’s eyelids are fused except for a narrow opening, like a pinhole. But instead of blinding the lizard, this extraordinary feature turns each eye into a kind of periscope, plus each eye can move independently of the other. As a result, chameleons can scan a full 360-degree perimeter. They can search for predators and prey simultaneously. A chameleon sees everything at once.

  Imagine what that would be like, the man thought. To be one step ahead at all times. No one could fool you or cheat you, that was for sure.

  Now, behind the wheel of his white SUV, that was how he felt—all powerful. For the moment, from his viewpoint, there were no predators, only prey. They don’t see me, he thought, but I see everything.

  Except wait! Where is she? He had followed her from the dive bar. She had turned on Bowery, and he had done the same, but now there was no sight of her. She couldn’t have walked that far. As soon as the light changed, he hung a left on 2nd Street, hoping that he could circle the block and find her again.

  Once he reached the intersection of Bowery and 3rd, he pulled over to the curb in front of a hydrant and ducked low in his seat, scanning the street. He felt his power slipping away. It made him want to drive onto the sidewalk and mow down anyone who happened to be there.

  His foot was lingering over the gas pedal when she suddenly emerged from a shop across the street. She took only a few steps before holding up her hand to hail a cab. He counted to three and then pulled into traffic behind her.

  Where to now, Laurie Moran? And how much longer should I wait before life starts throwing you a few curveballs?

  23

  Laurie felt the safety that comes with tagging home base as she entered the lobby of her apartment building. She waited while Ron the doorman transferred a tower of neatly stacked packages from the storage closet to a young woman whom Laurie recognized from the building.

  “Do you need a hand with that?” Laurie offered.

  “That’s okay,” the woman said. “This is my punishment for a hardcor
e online shopping addiction.”

  Laurie watched in awe as the woman cautiously began her trek toward the elevator, the tower of boxes teetering with each step.

  Ron gave Laurie a knowing smile once they were alone. “She’s not kidding about an addiction. That girl will be down here tomorrow sending all that stuff back for a refund. The UPS guy is threatening to drop our building if she doesn’t rein it in.”

  Once again, Laurie realized how much she was going to miss this place if she and Alex ever managed to find an apartment. “Hey, Primo. Weird question, but has anyone been around the building asking for me?”

  A concerned look crossed his face. “Not that I know of. Are you expecting someone?”

  Laurie shook her head, but she could feel the worry lines furrowing her brow. “No, just wanted to make sure.”

  “We’ve always got your back down here. You know that, right?”

  “Always, but, really, no need to sound an alarm.” But I still have a feeling of being followed, Laurie thought. Obviously it wasn’t the tall guy who met that woman. But something is warning me to be careful.

  “Primo, do me a favor. If you notice anybody that appears to be watching the building, please let me know.”

  “We always look out for you, Miss Laurie, but we’ll pay extra attention.”

  • • •

  When Laurie stepped from the elevator, she was greeted by the smell of garlic and rosemary. She found herself wishing she had ordered dinner to go from the Italian restaurant where she’d met with Kendra. She was surprised when the smell became stronger as she opened the front door of her apartment. She could barely make out the soothing sound of the “Almost Blue” song by Chet Baker beneath a cacophony of voices. How lucky I am, she thought, that my ten-year-old son loves jazz instead of the noise I hear on the radio.

  She hooked her shoulder bag on the coat rack and was immediately greeted by Timmy calling out “Hi, Mom!” She found him in the kitchen, expertly wielding a wooden spoon in her largest saucepan, under Ramon’s watchful eye. “What are you doing here?” she asked, giving Ramon a quick squeeze around his shoulders.