Chapter Twenty-one

Arlene Hampton’s building was a five-story structure with fifteen apartments. The top floor was a penthouse. Hampton and three other owners or tenants were on the level just below that.

The apartment they—Hannah and Wren, a young couple moving here from Washington—were interested in was on the third floor. Number thirty-four.

Gerri Hope was eager to make the sale. Andy was impressed that she insisted on showing off her calf muscles despite the weather. They said she biked a lot. The rest of her body betrayed that she was a gym fanatic. Couldn’t sell upmarket real estate if you didn’t look good and smile, her entire body, brimming with energy, screamed as she bounced to the elevator in stilettos, security tag in hand.

There was no way Andy could determine her age. Thirty, forty, fifty? Not one muscle north of her lips moved when she smiled, and there were no frown lines in sight.

Getting inside the lobby required a small gray security tag and getting into the elevator a second tag.

The owners were considering a number of biometric options, Hope explained.

A security guard was stationed in the lobby, keeping an eye on an array of screens that suggested there should be about fifteen cameras dotted throughout the building.

“Would you mind if I take a few photos?” Isabelle asked as she dug around in her handbag. “My mom is curious about the places we’re looking at.”

“Of course, please go ahead,” Hope said.

Andy wondered whether Isabelle was still miffed at her. She hadn’t had time to fully explain what had happened in the alley, but it had been clear that Isabelle wasn’t impressed about being left in the restaurant. Not to mention being cut off from the comm network when Andy walked into trouble. Jam would never allow a rookie dreamer to distract a keeper.

Hope pointed to the left as they walked into the building. “There is CCTV in the lobby and the elevators, but not in the hallways. The residents like their privacy.” She beckoned them into the elevator, which looked like a gilded, mirrored cage. “May I ask what it is you’re looking for specifically?”

It was clear she’d not yet determined who carried the purse between Hannah and Wren, so the question hung in the air, not directed at either of them in particular.

Andy knew she’d been vague on the phone, and deliberately so. She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to soothe the ache between her shoulder blades. It hurt like hell. That damn Black Jacket in the alley had made a solid connection with a baton of some kind. René had said nothing was broken, then asked why she hadn’t heard him coming.

Andy felt a hand slipping into hers. She watched as Isabelle held a protective hand over her stomach. “We’re pregnant and we’re looking for a safe, secure place to rent until we decide on where we want to buy,” Isabelle explained. “Wren travels a lot for her job. She’s in the defense industry.”

“Ah.” Hope’s eyes gained a sparkle, as if she’d just heard a delicious story. “Then you’re at the right place. This building has got excellent security, and a really open-minded homeowners association. The penthouse is owned by Fabricio Bernardo. The fashion guru from TV? Real drama queen, but nice, I hear.”

She frowned as her phone rang and muted it quickly. She shot Andy an appreciative glance. “You must be doing well for yourself to afford a place such as this at your age. If you don’t mind me saying.”

“Not at all,” Isabelle answered. “Wren is really driven. I can’t get her to sit down for anything. Not even a hot meal.”

“Ah. One of those.” It almost looked as if Hope wanted to add something, but then she resorted to flashing the practiced smile of someone who had spent years in the sales industry.

Andy squeezed Isabelle’s hand, motioning with her eyes. Keep going. She could almost feel Hope quickly warming to Isabelle and her story.

They stepped out of the elevator.

Isabelle kept her hand in Andy’s, as if it belonged there. They walked past two doors to number thirty-four. Again, Isabelle took some photos.

“Here you go,” Hope said. She unlocked the door. “The apartment is really spacious. Lots of room for a little one to run around. And Central Park is close by, as you probably know.”

“Won’t it upset the neighbors, though? Having a baby around?” Isabelle asked, hand still on a nonexistent baby bump.

“Oh no. Don’t worry. The apartments are almost soundproof. And the tenants include one other couple with a baby, and as far as I know nobody has ever complained about the noise.”

Isabelle nodded, as if relieved. To Andy it meant only one thing. Nobody would hear Arlene Hampton scream when the shooter entered her apartment two days from now.

Isabelle walked to the kitchen and opened a cabinet or two. She nodded as if impressed by their size. She snapped a few aimless pics. “What about the other tenants? And the owners? Are they nice people?”

“From what I hear, absolutely.”

“That’s good news.” Isabelle peered down the hallway, then walked down to take an obligatory look.

“Bedrooms,” Hope noted as she followed. “A big main bedroom with an en suite and a cozy second bedroom.”

Andy walked to the large window overlooking Central Park as Isabelle and Hope explored the apartment. As Isabelle had explained in her dream, this should almost be the same view as the one from Hampton’s place.

She turned when she heard the sound of heels and looked past Hope to Isabelle. “What do you think, darling?” she asked, pointing to the Met, slipping her hand around Isabelle’s waist and inhaling her particular scent: freshly turned soil and wildflowers.

Isabelle stiffened at first, then scrutinized the picture in front of her. “I think it’s just about right.” She turned to Hope. “We’ll take it.”

“But you haven’t even seen the rooms?” Hope asked Andy, the surprise causing the slightest of creases between her eyes.

“No need,” Andy said. “I trust Hannah completely. When do you think we can move in?”

 

* * *

 

As they left Hampton’s building for Ma Soeur, Andy called Jam.

“Her name is Gerri Hope. Do you see her?”

“Yeah. We got eyes on her. Silver BMW across the road.”

“You need a security tag to get into the building, and another to get into the elevator. I suspect the same tag will also get you into the fire escape. Isabelle took some photos of the tags and of Hope. I’ll send them to you now. We need you to lift the tags from Hope’s handbag and replace them, if possible. We can only move in in three days’ time and that may be too late.”

“We’ll do our best.”

“Better be quick. I’m getting nervous.” Andy looked up at the weather. It was eerily silent in the city. The air was cold and unexpectedly humid. She could almost smell the coming snow.