Isabelle nudged Marc as Jam beeped in her ear. She held an imaginary phone against her ear. He shot up, nodding at her to take the call. For some reason he hated carrying his earpiece. Maybe it reminded him of his past, who knew.
“Jam?” she asked over the car’s speaker phone.
“Bad news. There’s someone related to the case who lives in Tribeca. In fact, quite close to where you are now. That bodega you should be able to see from the car?”
Isabelle peered out the window to the shop they’d visited earlier. “Yes?”
“Detective Jane Wright lives in the apartment right above it.”
Isabelle glanced at the darkened windows directly above the twenty-four-hour shop.
“Do you know where she is?” she asked Jam. She prayed the detective had gone home and to bed after her visit to Ma Soeur.
“I’ll start a trace.”
“And Claire?” Marc chimed in. “Has she surfaced yet?”
“Nope. Her phone and bracelet are both still dark.”
Isabelle watched as Marc mulled over the information Jam had provided. “So, are we saying that Claire might have been following Detective Wright?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Jam said. “Or maybe it was a coincidence?”
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so. Claire’s a planner. I’ve always known her to be meticulous and precise.”
Isabelle didn’t know Claire but felt that she agreed with Marc. She sat back in her seat, eyes closed. Claire? Here? Why would she be follo—
The dots suddenly connected in her mind, surging forward in a maddening, disconcerting realization.
“Claire was worried,” she said. “She knew about the affair. She knew Andy gave her DNA to the police. She knew that would make Kate a suspect in Arlene’s murder. And if Kate was implicated, it meant Ma Soeur could potentially be unmasked. The police would go through Kate’s documents, her office. Turn her life upside down. Maybe Claire followed Detective Wright to keep tabs on the investigation. To see how things were progressing.”
Marc nodded silently, as if he agreed.
Jam digested the idea. “Could be,” she said. “Does it mean she suspected Kate of killing Hampton?”
“Maybe,” said Isabelle slowly. “Or…”
“Yes?” Jam snapped impatiently.
“What if Claire was the one who killed Arlene,” Isabelle said. “What if she knew about the affair and she wanted to get rid of Arlene? There was no way she would have approved of Kate sharing Arlene’s bed.”
Isabelle would kill anyone who looked at Andy with the merest hint of desire. Not too healthy an emotion, she had to admit. She knew she would have to shape it into something more manageable in the time ahead.
Marc switched on the SUV’s engine. “Have you traced Detective Wright yet?” he asked Jam. “We need to find her. Maybe Claire wants to do more than keep tabs on her.”
Silence, followed by the quick tapping of keys. A nervous laugh. “Here,” said Jam. “Her phone says she’s here. Across from our building.”
Marc’s decision was immediate. “We’re on our way.”
He pulled away, driving through the thinning Friday night traffic. They made good progress through the city, until they hit red lights on the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Must be an accident,” Marc said. “Or roadwork.”
Isabelle looked in the rearview mirror, but there was no way they could turn around. Multiple lights blinked at her, inching forward, closing them in.
She called Andy on the car’s media system. “Hi. You’re on with Marc and me.”
“Hi. Hi, Marc.”
He mumbled a response.
“Are you okay?” Andy sounded on edge. “Jam just told me that Claire might have been tailing Wright.”
“Yes.”
“And Wright is across from our building.”
“Yes. We’re trying to get there, but there’s a snarl-up on the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“Don’t worry. René and I will handle it.” A moment’s silence. “We found evidence that Claire knew about Kate’s affair with Hampton.”
Isabelle puffed up her cheeks. “That’s bad news.”
“I know. It gives her motive.”
“Be careful, please. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”
“Don’t worry,” said Andy. “We got this. I promise. Marc?”
“Yes?” he answered.
“Your first priority has changed. Please keep an eye on Kate, but make sure not to engage her. Just stay on her when she switches on her phone. She’s going into a meeting with Kuznetsova so it should come on pretty soon. Kate should know to have it on when its Ma Soeur business. I’ll text you the address as soon as I have it. René and I are going to make sure Wright is out of harm’s way before Claire does something stupid.”
“Andy…”
“I have to go,” Andy said hurriedly, as if she knew what Isabelle was going to ask.
“Andy!” Isabelle called. “Please.”
“What?”
“Just do one thing for me. If ever tonight you feel like sleeping, like going into the dark, open your eyes and look up. Just do that for me. Promise?”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. But promise?”
“Okay. I promise.”
* * *
Marc’s phone pinged with a text message seven minutes later. He looked at the phone.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Isabelle said, although she suspected she already knew.
They were speeding from the roadwork on the Brooklyn Bridge as if fleeing a crime scene.
Marc avoided her gaze.
“Marc. Where is Kate’s meeting with Natalya?”
“Roman’s Diner, near Ma Soeur, where they apparently always meet,” he said. “Neutral ground.”
Isabelle looked at the passing traffic and closed her eyes for a second, calming herself. She realized that everything she’d dreamed about the past few months would collide tonight, regardless of what she’d done to prevent it from happening. All paths would converge at a single point. Tonight would bring everything—everyone—that had brought her to Ma Soeur into a single space of chaos, into the realm of potential loss; at the doorstep of the most basic of mathematical truths: one minus one, equals zero.
Three minutes later, she got a call from a number she didn’t recognize.
“Are you alone?”
“No.” The voice was familiar, strong, talking over the sound of the Eagles singing in the background.
“I want to tell you something, but I need it to remain between us,” the woman said.
Isabelle thought about it, and then agreed.
* * *
Andy and René slipped out Ma Soeur’s back door. There was no need to make Detective Wright nervous by walking right up to her vehicle. Who knew if the woman had an itchy trigger finger.
“Which car?” Andy asked Jam on her earpiece.
“City says she drives a black Mustang. Classic. Sixty-eight.”
Andy saw the sleek body tucked in between two Japanese sedans. It was parked in such a way that the driver could keep an eye on Ma Soeur’s front door without being noticed.
“Got it,” she said.
René pulled her beanie tight over her head and pushed her hands into her coat pockets. She marched next to Andy, keeping pace with Andy’s long strides.
The evening had turned into early night, heavy with sudden clouds after a day of clear skies. The snow could come down at any moment. The air was frigid, the earth holding its breath, waiting in anticipation for the first flakes to fall.
Andy approached the Mustang from behind.
She walked by, then turned.
The vehicle was empty.
“She’s not here,” she called to Jam.
“What? Her phone says she was there just now. I couldn’t keep an eye on her the whole time. You guys got me working alone here, because you don’t trust anyone.”
Andy could hear furious typing. “Hang on a sec, let me ping her phone again.”
“Did Kate take her car to the meeting?” Andy asked.
“She must have. She wasn’t here. We all know that.”
“So Wright wouldn’t have seen Kate leave the building. Maybe she spotted her car passing by? Or maybe Claire lured Wright out of the car?”
“Wright’s phone is dead,” Jam said. “But Kate’s is on. She’s at Roman’s Diner.”
René looked at Andy. “The diner is due east. Shall we hope Wright is on her way there? Maybe the cops were also keeping tabs on Kate’s phone?”
Andy nodded. It was their best bet. She started running. She felt an eerie calm descend on her, as if what should be happening was finally playing out in front of her. She glanced at her watch. Two minutes after eight.
“Maybe you should let René go in, Andy,” Jam said in her ear. “Actually, please let René go in.”
“No way. I’ll be fine. You keep on looking for Claire. Chances are she’s around here somewhere if she’s been following Wright, and I don’t want her to be the one to blow my brains out.”
Up ahead, she saw the red and white lights of the diner. A family spilled from its doors, speaking German. They looked at Andy and René running toward them suspiciously.
Andy schooled her face into something resembling a smile. Slipped in the door left open in their wake, into the warm, welcoming space of Roman’s Diner.