“What’s the address?” she asked.
Dave just stared at her.
Megan listened closely. Then she hung up the phone and turned to her husband. “I need you to drive me to a prison.”
AFTER BROOME HUNG UP WITH MEGAN, he headed back into the holding area. Ray Levine was dressed in prison-garb orange. His hands and legs were both shackled. They were in an interrogation room at the Atlantic County jail. Ray had called his one friend in the area, his boss, Fester, and Fester arranged for an attorney named Flair Hickory to represent Ray. Hickory was known for being very good and very flamboyant.
When Broome entered the room, Flair Hickory, whose lavender suit was a bit much at eight in the morning, said, “Well?”
“She’s on her way.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’d still like to ask your client a few questions.”
“And I’d like to take a bubble bath with Hugh Jackman,” Flair countered with a double hand wave. “But alas, we can dream, can’t we? My client made it clear. Before he says a word to you, he wants a private powwow with Megan Pierce. Now, shoo.”
Broome left the room. Special Agent Angiuoni shrugged and said, “It was worth a shot.”
“I guess.”
“Even with the police escort, it will take at least an hour for her to get down here. Why don’t you get some air or something?”
“I have to go back to La Crème.”
“The nightclub? Why?”
Broome didn’t bother explaining. He headed outside to his car. There were still loose ends to tie up. It had indeed been a long night. The feds were still tearing apart Ray Levine’s residence, searching for other trophies. Twelve bodies had so far been taken out of the well, though, as they got deeper into the hole, it became harder to immediately classify whose bones belonged to whom. The bodies had been broken down into a heap over the years, the well becoming the ultimate boneyard.
After Broome arrested Ray Levine last night, he headed to that doomed house that had once been the family home of Stewart and Sarah Green. He told Sarah what he knew, that all evidence pointed to the fact that Stewart was in the bottom of the well, the victim of a serial killer. Sarah had listened intently as always. When he finished, she said, “I thought you said someone saw Stewart recently.”
So that was where Broome was headed now—to La Crème’s Saturday Brunch ’n’ Munch. They opened for breakfast just about now and shockingly did a pretty brisk business. He didn’t think that this particular trip would produce anything tangible. Lorraine, Broome was certain, would shrug her shoulders and say, “I told you I wasn’t sure. You just wouldn’t listen.”
But the truth was—a truth he could maybe start admitting to himself—he wanted to see Lorraine. It had been a horrible night, filled with too much blood and too many dead bodies. Sure, he had a professional excuse for visiting her, but maybe he just wanted to be with her, to see a familiar, pretty face looking back at him, one that wasn’t married to another man. She had that way about her, Lorraine, another wounded veteran of this city, and it felt good to be around her. Maybe that was all he wanted. Maybe he wanted to disappear into that comforting, crooked smile and throaty laugh for a little while. And maybe the fact that she was dying, that maybe in a few months she wouldn’t be here at all… maybe that made him realize how badly he didn’t want to miss out yet again in his life.
Was that so wrong?
The bouncers at La Crème were just opening the doors when he arrived. Some patrons had actually lined up early, probably coming straight from the casinos or whatever nighttime activity had kept them out. That was the breakfast clientele—not people who had just woken up for a morning meal but those who had stayed up all night and needed to start the next morning with a strip show. You could spin that any way you want, but it was hard not to conclude that they were, at best, pretty freaking desperate.
Broome nodded at the black-clad bouncers as he entered. He headed inside the dark confines, making a beeline for Lorraine’s bar. But she wasn’t there. He was about to turn around and ask where she was when someone shoved him from behind, sending him flying.
It was a red-faced Rudy.
“What the hell, Rudy?”
Rudy pointed a beefy finger at him. “I warned you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“First you talk to Tawny. Okay, no big deal. A dime a dozen. Fine.” He shoved Broome again. “But I warned you, right?”
“Warned me about what?”
“I told you Lorraine was different. That she was special. I told you what I’d do if something happened to her.”
Broome froze. The music seemed suddenly louder. The room began to spin. “Where is she?”
“Don’t give me that where-is-she crap. You know very well—”
Broome grabbed him by the lapels and threw him against the wall. “Where is she, Rudy?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, asswipe. She never showed up for work this morning.”
37
IN SOME KIND OF NONDESCRIPT yet surreal interrogation room, Megan sat across from Ray.
The car ride down had been subdued. A federal agent named Guy Angiuoni called and gave her details on the murders and the arrest. It was beyond comprehension. When she hung up, Dave tried small talk. She didn’t respond. Dave knew now about her past relationship with Ray—not the details, of course, but enough. She, in turn, knew that this couldn’t be easy on him. She wanted to comfort and assure him. Dave deserved that and more. But she was too stunned.
It would have to wait.
Megan had gone through a metal detector and thorough body search before being allowed to enter the holding room. There were five men inside: Special Agent Guy Angiuoni; two police guards; Ray’s attorney, Flair Hickory, who greeted her with a warm smile; and of course, Ray.
Flair Hickory held up a small stack of papers. “These are sworn affidavits that state that your conversation with my client will not be eavesdropped upon or recorded or used in any way,” he said. “Everyone in this room has signed one.”
“Okay.”
“I’d be oh so grateful if you could sign one promising not to divulge anything that my client tells you during this conversation.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ray said.
“It is for her benefit as well,” Flair explained. “Even if you trust her, Ray, I’m trying to make it more difficult for them to compel her to speak.”
Dave just stared at her.
Megan listened closely. Then she hung up the phone and turned to her husband. “I need you to drive me to a prison.”
AFTER BROOME HUNG UP WITH MEGAN, he headed back into the holding area. Ray Levine was dressed in prison-garb orange. His hands and legs were both shackled. They were in an interrogation room at the Atlantic County jail. Ray had called his one friend in the area, his boss, Fester, and Fester arranged for an attorney named Flair Hickory to represent Ray. Hickory was known for being very good and very flamboyant.
When Broome entered the room, Flair Hickory, whose lavender suit was a bit much at eight in the morning, said, “Well?”
“She’s on her way.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’d still like to ask your client a few questions.”
“And I’d like to take a bubble bath with Hugh Jackman,” Flair countered with a double hand wave. “But alas, we can dream, can’t we? My client made it clear. Before he says a word to you, he wants a private powwow with Megan Pierce. Now, shoo.”
Broome left the room. Special Agent Angiuoni shrugged and said, “It was worth a shot.”
“I guess.”
“Even with the police escort, it will take at least an hour for her to get down here. Why don’t you get some air or something?”
“I have to go back to La Crème.”
“The nightclub? Why?”
Broome didn’t bother explaining. He headed outside to his car. There were still loose ends to tie up. It had indeed been a long night. The feds were still tearing apart Ray Levine’s residence, searching for other trophies. Twelve bodies had so far been taken out of the well, though, as they got deeper into the hole, it became harder to immediately classify whose bones belonged to whom. The bodies had been broken down into a heap over the years, the well becoming the ultimate boneyard.
After Broome arrested Ray Levine last night, he headed to that doomed house that had once been the family home of Stewart and Sarah Green. He told Sarah what he knew, that all evidence pointed to the fact that Stewart was in the bottom of the well, the victim of a serial killer. Sarah had listened intently as always. When he finished, she said, “I thought you said someone saw Stewart recently.”
So that was where Broome was headed now—to La Crème’s Saturday Brunch ’n’ Munch. They opened for breakfast just about now and shockingly did a pretty brisk business. He didn’t think that this particular trip would produce anything tangible. Lorraine, Broome was certain, would shrug her shoulders and say, “I told you I wasn’t sure. You just wouldn’t listen.”
But the truth was—a truth he could maybe start admitting to himself—he wanted to see Lorraine. It had been a horrible night, filled with too much blood and too many dead bodies. Sure, he had a professional excuse for visiting her, but maybe he just wanted to be with her, to see a familiar, pretty face looking back at him, one that wasn’t married to another man. She had that way about her, Lorraine, another wounded veteran of this city, and it felt good to be around her. Maybe that was all he wanted. Maybe he wanted to disappear into that comforting, crooked smile and throaty laugh for a little while. And maybe the fact that she was dying, that maybe in a few months she wouldn’t be here at all… maybe that made him realize how badly he didn’t want to miss out yet again in his life.
Was that so wrong?
The bouncers at La Crème were just opening the doors when he arrived. Some patrons had actually lined up early, probably coming straight from the casinos or whatever nighttime activity had kept them out. That was the breakfast clientele—not people who had just woken up for a morning meal but those who had stayed up all night and needed to start the next morning with a strip show. You could spin that any way you want, but it was hard not to conclude that they were, at best, pretty freaking desperate.
Broome nodded at the black-clad bouncers as he entered. He headed inside the dark confines, making a beeline for Lorraine’s bar. But she wasn’t there. He was about to turn around and ask where she was when someone shoved him from behind, sending him flying.
It was a red-faced Rudy.
“What the hell, Rudy?”
Rudy pointed a beefy finger at him. “I warned you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“First you talk to Tawny. Okay, no big deal. A dime a dozen. Fine.” He shoved Broome again. “But I warned you, right?”
“Warned me about what?”
“I told you Lorraine was different. That she was special. I told you what I’d do if something happened to her.”
Broome froze. The music seemed suddenly louder. The room began to spin. “Where is she?”
“Don’t give me that where-is-she crap. You know very well—”
Broome grabbed him by the lapels and threw him against the wall. “Where is she, Rudy?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, asswipe. She never showed up for work this morning.”
37
IN SOME KIND OF NONDESCRIPT yet surreal interrogation room, Megan sat across from Ray.
The car ride down had been subdued. A federal agent named Guy Angiuoni called and gave her details on the murders and the arrest. It was beyond comprehension. When she hung up, Dave tried small talk. She didn’t respond. Dave knew now about her past relationship with Ray—not the details, of course, but enough. She, in turn, knew that this couldn’t be easy on him. She wanted to comfort and assure him. Dave deserved that and more. But she was too stunned.
It would have to wait.
Megan had gone through a metal detector and thorough body search before being allowed to enter the holding room. There were five men inside: Special Agent Guy Angiuoni; two police guards; Ray’s attorney, Flair Hickory, who greeted her with a warm smile; and of course, Ray.
Flair Hickory held up a small stack of papers. “These are sworn affidavits that state that your conversation with my client will not be eavesdropped upon or recorded or used in any way,” he said. “Everyone in this room has signed one.”
“Okay.”
“I’d be oh so grateful if you could sign one promising not to divulge anything that my client tells you during this conversation.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ray said.
“It is for her benefit as well,” Flair explained. “Even if you trust her, Ray, I’m trying to make it more difficult for them to compel her to speak.”
