Eighteen

I stopped walking.

Quinn studied my face and softened his tone. “What I mean is: without evidence, it would sound crazy to an investigating officer.” He folded his arms. “I assume you have a theory?”

“I do.”

“I’m listening.”

“When Carol Lynn Kendall terrorized Richard Crest tonight, she claimed it was because he charmed her into sleeping with him and instantly treated her like dirt. This is a pattern for Crest.”

“A pattern based on what?”

“Nancy and Esther witnessed him emotionally abuse at least two other Cinder-ellas at our coffeehouse. Even Crest’s own statement to Franco corroborated his behavior.”

“And the statement was?”

“Something along the lines of: ‘A lot of these bitches see bags of money when they look at a guy like me, so I’ve got to be harsh to shake them off.’”

“What a prince.”

“I know. That’s why I think our dead customer was yet another Richard Crest horrible hookup. I think she arranged a meeting to confront him, just like Carol Lynn Kendall did. But something went wrong, and he threw her body in the river, thinking it would look like a mugging. Or suicide . . .”

“Go on.”

“For her body to have ended up at Pier 66, she would have gone into the water somewhere north of the pier, and this park seems a likely place for two people to meet.”

“But how do you know the deceased girl met with Crest? Did the Harbor Unit recover her phone?”

“She had no ID or phone. Her pockets were emptied, which makes me think Crest took it all with him—”

“Slow down, Clare. Your theories are getting way ahead of the facts. I have yet to hear you connect the dead girl in any provable way with Richard Crest.”

“Didn’t I mention? I sent the victim’s photo to my staff. Before you arrived at the pier, Esther texted back. She didn’t know the young woman’s name, but she remembered her as a customer because of the heart tattoo. She also remembered the last two times she saw her. Earlier this evening, she refilled her travel mug. She also saw Heart Girl about two weeks ago, sitting and talking intensely with Richard Crest.”

Quinn frowned. “You realize that doesn’t prove anything.”

“I’m not finished. The victim had a memory stick in her backpack containing five different recordings of tonight’s Gun Girl incident. I didn’t even know there were five. I only saw one. But she found and collected all five, each from a different website or social media platform, which she labeled on every video file. That’s what the officers from the Harbor Unit told me.”

Quinn scratched the rough stubble of his unshaven jawline. “If she was astute enough to locate and download all those videos that quickly, she likely worked around here in Silicon Alley.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“So you believe our Jane Doe may have met with Crest to confront him, just like Ms. Kendall did in your coffeehouse. They argued and then what? It’s your theory. Keep it going—”

“He might have struck her. Maybe he panicked when he realized how hard he’d hit her. Instead of calling for help and giving paramedics a chance to save her, he could have taken her phone, wallet, and ID, making it look like a robbery. Then he dumped her unconscious body in the river. Or maybe she was dead already from his blow; the autopsy should tell us. Either way, I do think Crest is contemptible—and dangerous. If he was responsible for my customer’s death, I want to prove it.”

“What about that memory stick? The one with the viral videos. Why didn’t Crest take that, too? It connects him to the victim, doesn’t it?”

“My guess? In his haste or panic, he missed it. The same reason he misjudged her backpack.”

“What do you mean?”

“The pack was bulky. At a glance, anyone would think it was also heavy and would drag her body down. But it was filled with empty Tupperware and a half-empty Village Blend thermos. The pack was also waterproof, so it acted as a flotation device, which is how I spotted her.”

Quinn’s gaze drifted toward the overcast sky, where thick clouds were finally beginning to break up.

“So where are we going, Detective Cosi? And what exactly are we hunting for?”

Quinn already knew the answers to those questions. But after years of training rookies, Socratic habits die hard.

“We’re looking for a crime scene,” I stated with patience. “Somewhere in this park. We should stick close to the water and move north, because the victim floated south with low tide.”

“And? If you think the killer took her phone and wallet, what are we looking to find?”

“Whatever else she might have had in her pockets that can be connected to her. An ATM receipt or sales slip with credit card number. A Post-it note with her handwriting. A key chain or charm—she had a thing for hearts. Whatever proves she was here.”

Quinn scanned the waterfront around us. “I can see why you wanted to do this in the middle of the night. Sanitation is going to sweep this place in the morning, and anything like that will be gone. But I have to warn you, those things wouldn’t prove much. It’s pretty tenuous.”

“Maybe. But don’t forget the primary reason we’re out here—the item I mentioned on our call.”

“Sorry, but I don’t recall . . .” He scratched his head. “Drop the other shoe.”

“Funny you should put it that way.”

“Why?”

“Because our departed Cinder-ella was only wearing one.”