“I’m not saying this is the person who brought down Francie Fain,” I said, “but you’ve got to find out who she is and what she stopped Francie for.”
“I’m with you,” Vickee said.
“Get someone over to Francie’s office and see who her visitors were on Monday, all throughout the day, until she left.”
“I can do that,” Mike said.
“We’ve been to her office,” Vickee said. “Crime Scene went to both her home and her office in Hazmat suits and came out with everything that wasn’t nailed down. It’s all at the lab being processed.”
“See if you can get a picture of Janet Corliss from somewhere,” I said. “A judicial dinner photo spread or a column in the New York Social Diary.”
“We got perps in the society columns now?” Mike asked.
“I’m not saying she’s a perp. She’s just a little frantic—and quite possibly for a good reason,” I said. “She has convinced herself that Bud and Francie were carrying on together. I’d like tech guys to try to compare Janet’s height and body type and hands—if we can see them—to the woman in the video, just so we cover all the possible bases.”
“You want us to pixelate Janet Corliss?” Mike said. “Sounds more like something her husband would do to a law clerk.”
“Francie didn’t seem afraid of the woman, whoever she was,” Mercer said.
“Yeah, but we don’t know what her relationship really is with either of the Corlisses,” I said. “Could be they are all just friends, and the judge got a little more friendly than before.”
“We’ve all got things to do,” Vickee said, turning to leave the room. “Thanks for coming over to take a look at this.”
“Could I talk to you for a few minutes?” I asked her.
“It’s not necessary,” Vickee said.
“I just want to apologize for my behavior—our rudeness—at Primola last night,” I said. “You’re the last person I’d want to push.”
“Come for dinner when this is all behind us,” Vickee said. “Logan asked why he hasn’t seen you.”
Vickee and Mercer’s kid—my godson—was almost five years old. I had kept my distance from him when I was at the height of my PTSD period, but the invite to see Logan—to be back in the warmth of their home—meant Vickee accepted my weak apology.
On the way back, Mercer and I stopped at the deli to pick up sandwiches to eat in my office, then continued working on our case.
It was four o’clock when Laura told me that Lucy Jenner was on the phone.
“Lucy? All good?” I asked.
“I want you to talk to someone,” Lucy said, sounding slightly off, as though she’d been drugged. “I’m passing my phone to my counselor from Streetwork.”
“Ms. Cooper?” the woman asked, introducing herself by name. “I need to talk to you about Lucy.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked. “She doesn’t sound like herself.”
“Well, she was involved in an accident today. I’m with her at Mount Sinai West, the old Roosevelt Hospital, right now. She’s fine, medically. No worries.”
“What’s wrong? What kind of accident?”
“Lucy was coming from the library.”
“The New York Public Library? Fifth Avenue, with the lions out in front?”
“Yes, the main one. Basically, she fell and got pretty scraped up, so we brought her here to be checked out.”
“But it was just a fall?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Sort of a fall.”
“What was she doing at the library?” I stood up, pacing back and forth behind my desk with the phone cord trailing behind me. “Let me talk to her, please.”
I would have to get the meaning of “sort of” from Lucy herself.
Lucy got back on the phone. “Can’t my counselor tell you what happened?”
“No, no,” I said. “I want to hear it from you, and I want to know that you’re okay. Let’s start with that. Are you—?”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t quite sound like yourself.”
“The doctor gave me something for pain, for my bruises.”
“Bruises?” I said.
“I was at the library for a couple of hours, and then I walked to the subway station, to come back to the project.”
“Which subway?”
She told me the location of the station on Sixth Avenue, at the far end of Bryant Park.
“I was standing on the platform, with this guy and this girl from Streetwork, and somebody was making a commotion. It’s just that when people starting pushing and shoving, I was the one that got jammed in the middle, and I just fell.”
“Fell? How did you fall?”
“Onto the tracks,” Lucy said. “Onto the subway tracks.”
“What?” I shrieked into the phone. “How did you get up?”
“Two guys. Two men who were standing there helped,” Lucy said, sounding both weary and scared. “One jumped down and helped lift me up on the platform.”
“Stay right where you are, Lucy,” I said. “Mercer and I will be there as fast as we can.”
“My counselor wants to take me back to Streetwork, but she listed you as my contact on the hospital papers, so the discharge nurse made us call.”
“Stay put,” I said, jabbing my finger onto my desk blotter. “Don’t talk to anyone except your counselor and the nurse. Mercer and I are coming to get you.”