The receptionist looked up and smiled, giving me a very professional “May I help you?”
I smiled back. I wanted to keep this friendly—at least for now. “I need to speak with Jeffrey Cedar.”
Her eyes darted to her appointment book, then to the closed door on my left. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I do not.” I pulled out my badge. “I just need to ask him a couple of quick questions.”
She made no pretense of hiding her phone as she texted someone and received a message in return. She then smoothly informed me, “Mr. Cedar is with a client at the moment.”
“I’ll wait.” I suppressed a smile at the receptionist’s uncomfortable squirm in her desk chair.
The receptionist texted some more. I was only mildly worried about Cedar trying to avoid me. My bet was that he would definitely consider himself more than capable of talking his way out of the domestic dispute he probably assumed I was here regarding.
A few minutes later, the door opened and I saw a middle-aged man with long brown hair walk out. He turned in the doorway and said, “Thanks, Jeff. I feel a lot better now.”
I popped up before the lawyer could close his door. I could hear the receptionist calling out to me as I pushed Cedar’s door open.
I found myself inside a large, comfortable office, staring right at the man I’d seen on the video from the sports bar, in photographs at Lila Stein’s and Marilyn Shaw’s apartments, as well as at the home he shared with his wife and son.
I still had my badge in my hand. I held it up and said, “Are you Jeffrey Cedar?”
He tried to smile as he stood up. “Officer, is this about my argument this morning?”
“With your wife?”
I could see the relief in his face. What criminal defense attorney couldn’t talk his way out of a domestic dispute? I let him relax. His confidence would be his undoing.
I waited a moment before I burst his bubble, then said, “No, this is not about your wife. It’s about Marilyn Shaw.”
For starters, I thought. This man had a lot to explain, or he’d be pinned for multiple homicides. He was an attorney who’d thought he could walk a tightrope. He had just fallen off, and there was no safety net.
Cedar said, “Who?”
I held up one of the still photos I’d gotten from the sports bar security system. It clearly showed Cedar and Marilyn holding hands.
He tried to act casual. “Oh, you mean Mary. I’d be happy to talk about anything you want. I’m just a little busy right now.” He casually picked up his mug of coffee from his desk. “Maybe we can schedule a meeting later.”
“Nope.”
“Excuse me?”
I spoke slowly. “I want to talk to you right now.”
That frustrated Cedar. He sighed and looked away. Then he said, “Not without my attorney.”
“Okay, who’s your attorney?”
That’s when Cedar surprised me. I mean, big-time. By committing the fresh offense of assaulting an officer.
With his left hand, he flung his warm coffee in my face in a smooth motion, then used the heavy mug to swat me across the temple. It felt like a bomb going off right next to me. I saw streaks of light and heard the heavy ringing of a head injury.
Yet even as I felt myself falling, I knew to block Cedar’s exit. I felt for the door and shoved it closed as I hit the thick carpet. With what energy and clarity I had left, I rolled toward the door so Cedar couldn’t open it.
I kept my right eye open as I reached for my Glock. I couldn’t risk him coming at me again. If he managed to kick me in the throat, I’d be done.
Once again, I was surprised by the guy.
Cedar saw my movement as I reached for my weapon, and he panicked. He raced across the room, opened a tall window, kicked out the screen, and jumped.
Chapter 70
Just as I managed to get to my feet, the receptionist burst through the door.
“Jeffrey!” she called, rushing to the open window. Her voice was filled with emotion—not shock, but something deeper. Her boss’s bizarre exit meant something more to her than just a disappearing paycheck.
I was right behind her. I still couldn’t believe that the low-rent attorney had jumped. Not far, though, it turned out. The fire escape was less than three feet below the windowsill.
Craning my head—still dizzy from the blow Cedar had dealt—out the window, I saw my assailant making his way down the old fire escape. He was already two floors below us and moving fast.
I didn’t like the look of the drop from the fire escape. But I had no choice. I couldn’t risk him escaping arrest. Not if he was our killer.
I got on my phone and called dispatch directly. As soon as someone came on the line, I said quickly, “This is Detective Michael Bennett of Manhattan North Homicide. I have a suspect on the run. His name is Jeffrey Cedar, thirty-seven years old. White male, over six feet, sandy hair.” I gave my location and told the dispatcher to get some patrol cars headed my way. Immediately. And to have the office building locked down. The receptionist could not be allowed to leave the premises.
My forehead was throbbing. I’d definitely have a bump where Cedar had hit me. I crawled out of the office window and onto the fire escape. I immediately regretted it. My acrophobia kicked in big-time. I’m not fond of heights. As soon as I took a few steps down the fire escape toward the fleeing man, I realized I could have taken the internal stairs. But on the other hand, if I didn’t keep Cedar in sight, who knows what direction he’d run—and then I’d have no chance of finding him.
I focused on making sure my feet connected with each metal step as I carefully but quickly climbed down the fire escape. I had a little spin in my vision, the world swirling as I took in the distance to the ground. The sounds of the city faded to a soft white noise. My determination to get justice for Cedar’s victims pushed through any fears I had.
I’d just about reached the third floor when Cedar managed to make the jump down to the narrow road below.
He never once looked back, although he must have heard the clattering sound of my footsteps in pursuit. I guess he thought he’d hit me hard enough to slow me down. Like I said, his confidence would be his undoing.
Chapter 71
My legs weren’t quite as shaky by the time I made it to the fire escape’s second floor. I had just seen Jeffrey Cedar running through the street and around the corner of a building. I knew he was headed west.
Once I landed on solid ground, I felt my stomach rumble like I’d just gotten off the Cyclone in Coney Island. I was panting. I swallowed the feeling and kept going.
My rubber-soled work shoes are not dedicated running shoes, but I made it to the street and turned the corner in an all-out sprint. I didn’t shout or draw attention to myself. Cedar wasn’t going to stop at the command Stop! Police! Instead, I relied on my running ability to close the distance.
My plan went into the toilet once Cedar looked behind him and saw me gaining ground. Then he shoved aside a couple of people next to him and picked up the pace from a fast lope to a mad dash.
I looked around, hoping one of the patrol cars I had called for would come roaring up and save the day. That didn’t appear likely at this moment. I had to keep running. I could feel the sweat bead on my forehead and my lungs start to burn as I pushed my own pace.