She had other uses for Hal. He had fulfilled his purpose, and she didn’t even have to pay him a dime.
What Hal had discovered and turned over to Dreyer would be interesting. Even without Hal, Dreyer could spin that particular piece of evidence any way he wanted. It had less impact without Hal, was much less important, but still usable.
Killing Hal had taken split-second timing. She had a window of four seconds, and it had proven more than enough time. She had left the courthouse, taken a cab to her garage and suited up in her leathers. From there, she waited outside Hal’s office for him to leave, having first made an anonymous call to make sure he was still in there. Once he left, on foot, she tracked him the four blocks to Hogan Place, and the DA’s office. Taking him out in Center Street was the perfect spot.
She idled the bike to the traffic light, waited and then when she saw Hal begin to cross, she spun the back wheel, let it go, drew the knife and pointed it at Hal as she shot past. The speed of the bike did the work. There was a shockwave that travelled up her arm when the knife hit bone.
This time, she didn’t miss.
No need to stick around to make sure Hal was dead – she knew it was a fatal stab wound. She struck a glancing blow to the pregnant woman, but thankfully it was slight enough not to send the bike over. There had been a wobble, but she corrected it quickly and burned the tires as she shot across the street, through Collect Pond Park and onto White Street.
Within minutes she was several blocks away, and, managing to use some of the few alleyways in this part of town, she avoided the last five traffic cameras before she entered a ten-story parking lot. In the lot, she parked the bike in the back of a brown panel van, then drove the van out of the lot. The cameras were looking for a black bike with false plates, not a busted-up van.
The risk had been worth it. Hal was dead.
And her sister had no idea the storm that was about to land in court.
THIRTY-SIX
EDDIE
Harry rested his elbows on his knees and studied Clarence. The little dog sat there transfixed by his master, his tail wagging.
‘If someone was drugging Frank, taking control of his empire, making him submissive, and getting away with it, why was it necessary for him to die?’ asked Harry.
Clarence licked his chops, moved forward onto all fours and stuck his nose under Harry’s arm, prodding it away. Obliging his friend, Harry stroked his fur in something approaching contemplation.
Clarence didn’t have an answer for Harry’s question. Neither did I.
‘We can’t assume anything here,’ I said. ‘Frank was being slowly poisoned and controlled, but we can’t know for sure that it was the same daughter that ended up killing him.’
‘True, but it makes the most sense. My guess is Frank found out who was drugging him, called up Mike Modine to cut the culprit out of his will. That forced the hand of the poisoner – they had no choice but to kill Frank before he could make that change.’
‘That explains why they had to take drastic action before he met his attorney on Monday. Kinda strange the cops haven’t found Mike Modine, don’t you think?’
‘I’d say it’s darn right suspicious. One thing I know is lawyers like Modine never run off to join the circus unless they’re scared about going to jail.’
‘I checked in with his firm. Everything’s in order with Mike’s files. He wasn’t about to get sued, he was already divorced, and as far as anyone in the firm knew he wasn’t seeing someone new. He just disappeared. It stinks, Harry.’
‘Seems to be a lot of people involved with the Avellino sisters end up dead. Their mother, their stepmother, now Frank. Maybe Alexandra killed Modine too?’
‘You still think Sofia is innocent?’ I said.
Harry stood, attached Clarence’s lead to his collar and made a few grumbling sounds as he straightened up. Harry wasn’t getting any younger.
‘I had my doubts in the beginning, but I trust your judgment. The more time I spend with her, the more I think she’s just a mixed-up kid from a bad family. She needs help. She needed her father. I can’t visualize Sofia hurting anyone. Alexandra – I can picture it more easily,’ said Harry.
‘Why?’
‘Whoever did this must’ve known they’d get caught. You don’t kill your father with another witness in the house. No one does that. Even if you’re in a blind rage – it would be stupid as hell unless you killed the witness too. I don’t get why both women are still alive. One of them is a liar and a killer. Sofia is volatile, but Alexandra gives me the impression of someone who can be calculated in their actions. There’s a lot about this case doesn’t make sense, unless there’s a whole other side to it that we can’t see. Anyway, I’m not going to see much more tonight. Adios. Me and my amigo are hitting the sack.’
Harry and Clarence left the office just after eleven. I looked over the trial bundle again, then when I raised my head and checked my watch I saw it was coming up on midnight. I should sleep.
The thought of lying down in that cot in the back – I couldn’t face it. Not tonight. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Harper’s face. It was beyond grief now. It had become something else. I had cried for her, for weeks. It felt like bleeding. That some part of me had been hurt, and it was only making me sicker and sicker and I didn’t know how to fix it. The pain of losing her had given way to guilt. No way to know when that happened, but I felt it all the same. I’d already lost or pushed away one family for fear of them getting hurt. Three years ago Amy had been taken by the Russian mob. If it hadn’t been for Jimmy the Hat I would never have gotten her back. That changed things in my marriage. The biggest threat to Christine and Amy was my work, and the bad people who came along with it. Part of me had cut off my family, for their own safety. Now I was paying the price. I was a weekend dad, with all of the troubles and worry that came with it.
Did Harper’s death have something to do with me, too? Would she still be alive if she hadn’t met me?
That was a question I wanted to ask myself, but I was afraid of the answer.
I played the video again, for the fifth time that day.
It was us. Harry, Harper and me in Frank Avellino’s house. Taking pictures. Whispering theories so the sound guy wouldn’t pick it up on the recording. This was one of the last things Harper ever did. These were the last images of her.
I cracked open the Scotch, poured a glass way too big and settled back in my seat to watch, my laptop perched on the desk in front of me. I studied every movement she made. I’d never noticed how graceful she was. I knew she was beautiful, but this was something else. She moved like she wasn’t human, and yet was more human than any of us. Her heart was right there in her smile.
Cops thought Harper’s murder was a robbery gone bad. There had been a spate of home invasions, but then again, there were always home invasions. It was part of the turf. Maybe it was my guilt, maybe it was grief, but I couldn’t shake the feeling this was down to me. Every time I felt this I tried to rationalize. Tell myself what I wanted to hear. That it couldn’t really be connected to the Avellino case. There was no reason to target her. If someone had killed Harper because of this case, I couldn’t figure out why. Why target Harper? Why not me?