| |
OVER THE NEXT THREE days, while they waited for Rowe to find out when the Wenns would be out in public again, Gia and Carlo kept tabs on Janice Jones.
She lived in a three-bedroom, two-million-dollar apartment on Eighth Avenue and West Forty-Third Street with spectacular views of the Hudson River and lower Manhattan. On the first day, when Gia and Carlo strolled past the building at just past six in the morning, the sun was bright, and the March air was crisp against their backs. As they walked by the doorman, they nodded at him. He nodded back.
“Fancy,” Gia said about the building when they were out of earshot.
“Janice Jones must have been one gold-star stripper,” Carlo said.
“Rowe did the right thing,” Gia said. “Giving her the money to buy the place in a cash deal with no ties to him was smart. Janice was his mistress at the time. It would have made it difficult for Meredith to uncover any links between them.”
“I bet it burns his ass that Jones still lives here,” Carlo said.
“You think? She destroyed him when she outed their relationship at that press conference.”
“I wonder how she affords to stay here?” Carlo said. “There are building fees, lights to keep on, food to buy. Where is she getting her money now? Is she back to stripping?”
“I doubt it. Remember the jewelry Rowe told us he’d given to her over the years? My guess is that she’s selling them off whenever she’s tight on cash, and that it will be a very long time—if she’s smart with her money—before she runs out of it. But whatever,” she said. “Let’s get a coffee at the Starbucks across the street. We’ll take a window seat and wait to see if she emerges.”
“You do realize that we could be sitting there all day, don’t you?”
“Starbucks won’t mind,” she said. “After all, isn’t that what they’re all about? Buy a cup of coffee, plug in your computer, and stay as long as you want? If that’s what we have to do to start getting a read on how Janice lives her day, Carlo, then suck it up because I see no other way.”
* * *
OVER TIME, THE RHYTHM of Janice Jones’ life played out for each of them, but on that first day? There was an unexpected twist.
At nine, Jones started her day by getting a coffee at the Starbucks where Gia and Carlo were sitting. Unbelieving, they watched her jog across the street, enter the store, and stand in line, which allowed them to view her in person for the first time.
“Can you believe this?” Carlo said over his coffee.
“It’s Starbucks. It’s morning. It’s right next door to her. It actually makes perfect sense.”
Rowe had shared several photographs of Jones with them, but as far as Gia was concerned, none of them did her justice. Janice Jones was beautiful and polished, a fine-boned woman in her early thirties with blonde hair, blue eyes, and fresh-looking skin.
She also was in impeccable shape, which was clear since she was wearing black leggings, a deep-blue Spandex workout shirt, and matching sneakers. She looked flawless—and Gia had to admit that, because of Jones’ background as a stripper, she hadn’t been expecting her to look so poised and sophisticated. If Stephen Rowe was going to cheat on Meredith, it was no wonder that he’d chosen this woman.
“She’s hot,” Carlo said in a low voice as Jones gave her order.
“Looks to me like she’s off to the gym...”
“Either that, or she’s going for a run. Let’s hope for the gym.”
“It’ll be the gym,” Gia said. “She’s not going to run with a cup of coffee in her hands—unless she finishes it here. We’ll see, but my bet is that she’s going to enjoy her coffee while she either walks or takes a cab to whatever gym she goes to.”
“Plenty of them around here.”
“I think there’s a gym on every block in this city.”
“Looking like that, I bet she made a fortune when she was stripping,” Carlo said. “And wherever she was stripping, it had to have been at one of the high-end gentlemen’s clubs.”
“No question—and there she goes. Coffee clutched to her breast. Hair swinging in her ponytail as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. God, does that woman have a shock coming her way. Let’s give her a minute to walk ahead of us, and then we’ll follow.”
They followed her to the Manhattan Plaza Health Club, where she disappeared inside for two hours. Over the next two days, it became clear to them that this was part of her morning routine, information that would become critical to them when they decided when and how to take her out.
* * *
FOR JANICE JONES, AFTERNOONS were either spent lunching at expensive restaurants with her girlfriends, or going shopping with them on Fifth.
“The middle of the day is out,” Gia said on the third day to Carlo.
They were in their kitchen, and Carlo was pouring them each a glass of red wine.
“She always seems to be with someone in the afternoon, which will make it impossible to get near her. But in the mornings, I think that we can agree that she’s out on her own. Same goes for early evening. For the past two nights in a row, she’s gone for a run at seven o’clock. If she runs at that time tonight, then we have a confirmed pattern. She’ll run south to Thirty-Sixth Street, she’ll cut a right and run until she hits Madison Avenue, and then she’ll take a left onto Forty-Third Street and head back to her home. A solid three-mile run.”
“And so what if she does?” Carlo said as he leaned on the island and took a sip of his wine. “As far as I’m concerned, nights are also out. Rowe wants us to take her down on the same day that we murder the Wenns. You know that. And there’s a perfectly good reason for that, which we agree with—not showing our hand and potentially giving ourselves away. Since we both know the Wenns’ next social event will likely be in the evening, we also know that our only chance to get Jones is going to be in the morning.”
“Here’s what concerns me,” Gia said. “What if Rowe calls today and tells us that that the Wenns’ next event is tomorrow night? We’ll have zero time to plan for it.”
“Then we tell him it’s out of the question. We tell him that we need at least three days to plan. Anything short of that is a non-starter for us.”
“He might fire us. We could lose millions.”
“I really don’t care whether he fires us or not, Gia, because no amount of money is worth going to prison for that son of a bitch. If he wants to end our relationship? Let him. But I’m betting that he won’t, because as far as I know, there isn’t some random assassin hotline that he can just tap into to replace us. People like you and me? We’re not so easy to find.”
She had to smile at that.
“So this much we know,” Carlo said as he touched his glass against Gia’s before taking a sip. “We’ll target Jones in the morning when she leaves for her workout. We’ll find some way to pluck her off the street and murder her in a safe location. My suggestion is that we lease a warehouse, kill her there, and then leave her there to rot until someone starts to smell the bitch—which will be several days after we’ve taken out the Wenns because it’s still cool outside.” He shrugged at her. “How does that sound to you?”
“Like a plan. And you know? I bet Mario could help us find that warehouse. He had that car across from the Witherhouses’ home towed away for us. And he said to call him if we needed his help again. That man is as well-connected in this city as Uncle Niccolo was. He’ll know of a warehouse.”
“Then call him now and make it happen soon, because we need to lock this down before Rowe calls with information about when we go after the Wenns. But listen to me on this—the warehouse must have an entrance like a garage. A door that can be lifted by remote control. To make this as seamless as possible, I want to open the door as we approach it, drive inside, and close the door behind us. Only then do we end Jones’ life.”
“I’ll call Mario now.”
“Get the warehouse, Gia. And offer him whatever amount of money it’ll take to secure it as soon as possible.”
