Codella crossed Central Park at Eighty-First Street, turned onto Fifth Avenue, weaved around the M1 bus, and pulled the car in front of Merchant’s building. A doorman came out at once and said, “You can’t stay here, ma’am.”
She showed him her shield. “Is Mr. Merchant home?”
“His entrance is around the corner.”
Codella turned the corner and parked in front of the side entrance. And then she saw him in the shadows. He was leaning against the building, wearing the same green parka he’d worn to the station last night. She lowered her window. “What are you doing here, Brandon?”
He walked over. “Waiting for him.”
“Waiting for him why?”
“To talk.” She heard the resolve in his voice.
“Just talk?”
He didn’t respond.
“Get in the car. Right now.”
A doorman approached. “Is there a problem here?” His eyes darted from Codella to Brandon and back.
“No problem,” said Codella.
“Because I can call the police if—”
“That won’t be necessary.” She showed her shield again. “This young man is with me. Is Mr. Merchant at home?”
The doorman’s eyes went to Brandon.
“Is he, or isn’t he?” Codella demanded.
The doorman nodded ever so slightly.
“You liar,” Brandon hissed at him. “Everyone either lies to me or about me. I’m so sick of it.”
“Get in the car,” repeated Codella.
The doorman retreated to the lobby.
Brandon sauntered toward the passenger side and got in. He slumped in the seat next to Codella and said, “You should have seen that press conference.”
“What press conference?”
“At Park Manor. An hour ago. Starring Merchant and Hodges. What a show. How come they can get away with their lies and no one believes me? I told you—”
Codella held up her hand to stop him. “I believe you, all right. I know you didn’t kill anyone.”
He turned.
“I know you’re innocent, Brandon.”
“You do?”
“Now I need to go have a talk with Merchant. Can I count on you to wait for me in here?”
He nodded. She got out of the car and went into the building. “I’m going up to Mr. Merchant’s floor,” she told the doorman.
“The elevator opens directly into his apartment. I need to call him first.”
“Then do it,” she said.
He picked up a house phone and dialed. Then he hung up. “There’s no answer.”
“When did you see him?”
“Forty-five minutes ago?”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone else gone up to his apartment?”
“Not that I know of,” he said.
“Could they get to his apartment without you knowing?”
“Only if they went in through the Fifth Avenue door and used the fire stairs or service elevator,” he said. “And only if Mr. Merchant left his entrance to the stairs and service elevator unlocked.”