Thirty-six

SUE Ellen wasted no time: “Three nights ago, you told Sergeant Jones and his River Rats that the girl in the water was a regular here at the Village Blend, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Tell us what you know about her,” Lori commanded.

“Not much. We spoke only once. I didn’t even know her name or exact age—”

“The victim was twenty-six,” Sue Ellen read from her notes. “Single. She lived alone at 1 Horatio Street. Her name was Haley Elizabeth—”

“Hartford!” I blurted. Of course, I thought, now it made sense. “She was head of the development team at Cinder, wasn’t she? But she left three weeks ago—under some sort of a cloud, by the sound of it.”

Sue Ellen scowled. “I thought you said you didn’t know anything about the dead woman.”

“Sydney Rhodes made a few comments about her former employee. I just now made the connection.”

Lori flipped through her notes. “In your statement, you name someone who you claim is a ‘strong suspect’ for Ms. Hartford’s killer. Did that information happen to come up in your conversation with Ms. Rhodes?”

“Only the fact that her company appeared to ignore abuse reports about him. That may be how Haley Hartford ended up murdered.”

Sue Ellen and Lori exchanged skeptical looks.

“What?” I pressed. “You don’t think she was murdered?”

“Oh, it’s definitely murder,” Sue Ellen said. “Ms. Hartford did not die of drowning. The amount of river water in her lungs was minimal.”

“The official cause of death is blunt-force trauma,” Lori added. “She was struck once, on the side of the head, and was likely dead before she hit the Hudson. According to the ME, it was a blow with a small object from a right-handed perpetrator. We also found blood near her shoe. DNA testing is still out, but the type matches the victim. The weapon has not been recovered. No surveillance footage to speak of—DOT cameras were too far away.”

“And private cameras in the area gave us zilch,” Sue Ellen said. “Park foliage blocked views of the scene, and the forensics recovered thus far gave us no hits with known offenders.”

“I assume you interviewed the usual suspects?”

“If you mean neighbors, friends, and family, yes,” Lori said. “We always look for romantic or personal angles.”

“Would you mind sharing what you found?”

The pair hesitated, and I thought fast.

“The details might, you know, jar my memory of Haley—as a Village Blend customer . . .”

After mulling this over in silence, Sue Ellen and Lori gave each other consenting looks. Then Lori consulted her notes.

“Ms. Hartford’s parents are deceased. They died in a car accident on Long Island five years ago. We spoke to her only sibling, a younger sister, studying medicine at Stony Brook. We also interviewed her ex-boyfriend, a graduate student at Cornell. Both seemed genuinely devastated, and both have solid alibis. Her current employer is a Mr. Ferrell, who was at his place of business, with plenty of witnesses, until midnight the evening of Ms. Hartford’s murder. No one knew of enemies or animosities. By all accounts, Haley Hartford was a good-natured young woman, described as kind, intelligent, thoughtful, and hardworking. You just saw us interview her previous employer, who had nothing to add, just a routine statement for the file, similar to all the others.”

“And what about my statement?”

Again, the detectives exchanged glances. Then Sue Ellen folded her arms. “Okay, Cosi, get it off your chest.”

For the next five minutes, I reviewed all I’d learned the other night, including Esther’s recollection of seeing Haley in an intense discussion with Richard Crest two weeks ago, and Crest’s abusive pattern of behavior toward women.

“I think Haley may have been one of Crest’s horrible hookups. I believe she could have recognized him in that viral video and may have decided to confront him, just like Carol Lynn Kendall. She could have arranged a meeting at Habitat Garden—or maybe Crest set the meeting place. It may have been an accident during an argument, but I believe he could have tried to make it look like a mugging or random assault by taking her wallet, smartphone, and any identifying information.”

When I’d finished, a long silence followed. Finally, Lori spoke.

“We can see you’re honestly trying to help. Unfortunately—”

“There are giant holes in your theory,” Sue Ellen cut in. “Including one the size of a South Bronx subway rat.”

“I’m not wrong about Crest. I’m sure he’s involved. You’ve got to interview him, at least.”

“We tried,” Lori said. “Based on your statement, we gave it a shot.”

“What do you mean, you gave it a shot?”

“All of Richard Crest’s identifying information was available to us based on the crime that occurred in this coffeehouse. We went to his apartment and his place of business—”

“And?!?”

Sue Ellen shook her head. “The man doesn’t exist. There is no such person as Richard Crest.”