Deadly Fall Read online

  “I found two pubic hairs that were definitely not Andrew Langan’s tangled in his,” the ME said, as she folded back the top portion of the sheet to display the back of Andrew Langan’s head and back.

  “What color?”

  “Black and belonging to a female, and that’s all I can tell you unless you have DNA for me to compare against.”

  Nick felt the muscles in his face tighten. He told himself Augusta wasn’t the only woman in the city with black hair. Augusta and Langan had been in the midst of obtaining a divorce, after all. And Langan had cheated on her in the past. However, the less logical part of his brain plagued him with images of Augusta in Langan’s arms, in the king-sized bed in the penthouse master bedroom he could see only too clearly in his mind.

  “That was fast work,” Ethan remarked. It usually took at least a week to get back test results, especially DNA test results.

  Laura shrugged. “This is a very high-profile case. My boss received a call from your boss’s boss and the DA within the same hour.”

  Ethan gave a low whistle. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head.

  “When can the body be released to the family?” Nick asked.

  “The body’s already washed and ready to go. I just need the name of the funeral parlor.”

  “I’ll find out and tell you tomorrow. Thanks, Doc.”

  “No problem.”

  Ethan added his thanks and said, “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Nick’s steps as he walked through the maze that was the Chief Medical Examiner’s building were faster and heavier than before. When they exited the building through the heavy glass doors, he withdrew a pair of sunglasses from his inside pocket and put them on. Ethan did the same.

  “At least it’s one for two now,” said Ethan. They had questioned Richmond Lamb, Andrew Langan’s executive assistant, earlier and learned nothing new. “Where to?” The logical thing to do would be to track down Augusta Langan and confront her with this new information.

  “We go back to Brooklyn and see if Charlie Medina is up to having visitors.”

  Wisely, Ethan only nodded.

  * * * * *

  “I was going to propose to her on her birthday.”

  The hand lightly stroking his hair halted in mid-motion, then continued. Augusta wanted to ask Adam whether the decision to keep his and Jana’s relationship a secret had been his idea or Jana’s. There was a tiny ache in her chest for her friend. He hadn’t wanted familial pressure to compel Jana to marry him. He only wanted her to be with him by her choice. Augusta blinked rapidly for a few seconds. She hoped to God Jana wanted to be with him.

  “When’s her birthday?”

  “In three weeks.”

  “Where were you going to do it?”

  “I planned on driving to the observatory in Rochester for the weekend and getting down on one knee beneath the stars.”

  A smile tipped at the corners of her mouth. Sweet and romantic.

  “Are you still going to?”

  Now it was his turn to hesitate. “I don’t know.”

  “You still love her.”

  “Yes.”

  She heard the lingering note. “But?”

  “I don’t want her to say yes because she’s grieving for Drew and vulnerable.”

  She paused mid-stroke again. Something about his answer didn’t ring quite true. It could’ve been the pause that was a shade too long. It could’ve been her suspicious nature working overtime. However, she didn’t call him on it. Their truce was too new, too fragile.

  “How long have you and Jana been involved?”

  “Just after you asked Drew for a divorce.”

  After Drew had cheated on her with Jana. “That’s good.”

  The head in her lap turned to look up at her. Adam’s understanding of her thoughts was in his eyes. “I love her so much I’d forgive her just about anything to be with her.”

  “I hope she can make you happy.”

  Something Augusta couldn’t quite identify flashed in Adam’s eyes and then was gone. Before she could question it, he was sitting up. He gathered the empty tumblers on the coffee table. “I think we both need refills.”

  Augusta watched him retreat figuratively and literally. The open concept of his unit allowed her to watch as he topped up their drinks in his kitchen. Once again, she kept her silence. And hushed the niggling voice in the back of her mind.

  “Are you hungry?” Adam asked, his back turned to her as he opened his fridge and studied its contents.

  “A little.”

  “Sandwich good?”

  “Great. Do you want a hand?”

  “I have it covered.”

  Needing something to do, she got up and walked over to straighten a framed charcoal sketch. She adjusted the frame and drew back her hands. It shifted again. Frowning, she lightly ran her fingers down the sides and back edge of the simple black frame, eyes focused on the curving road in the sketch. The curving road was the only thing in the sketch that was focused. The surroundings were all blurred. The picture was from the perspective of a runner. She had sketched it after the first time she ran through Central Park.

  The sketch was untitled, as all her random sketches were. However, looking at it now, the word escape came to mind.

  Her fingertips brushed something protruding from the frame. Brows drawn, Augusta moved her fingers over the back edge of the frame again. Something was definitely there. She lifted the frame up and off its hook and flipped it over to take a look at the back.

  She stared blankly at the tiny black dot roughly the size of a shirt button sticking to the back of the frame for several seconds. Then it clicked. Incredulous, she studied it more closely, still not quite believing what her logical brain was telling her.

  “Augusta?”

  It took her a moment to realize the domestic sounds of Adam preparing sandwiches for the both of them had stopped. Then she made a split-second decision. Heart pounding, she casually put the framed sketch back in its place and said, “I’m just a little dazed and confused today.” She returned to the far end of the sofa, sitting cross-legged. “It’s not even noon yet, and I feel like the day should be wrapping up already.”

  He finished slicing the club sandwiches, transferred them from the cutting board to black, square plates. Skillfully grabbing both tumblers with his one free hand, he walked over to the sofa.

  “Early morning?” he asked, setting down the plate and tumblers and seating himself next to her.

  “Yes. I’ve started painting again,” she told him, and then went into the same explanation she had given to Nick earlier that morning.

  * * * * *

  Nick and Ethan once again got inside Charlie Medina’s apartment building because the building superintendent still hadn’t replaced the busted lock on the front door. They walked up the three flights of narrow stairs because it was faster than taking the elevator.

  They saw the bright yellow police tape as soon as they were on the third floor.

  “Fuck,” Nick muttered, his scowl deepening. Ethan repeated the sentiment. “Which precinct would handle this one?”

  “Eighty-fourth,” answered Ethan. He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll get their number.”

  Nick tried the doorknob, found it locked and forced the open with his shoulder. He disappeared inside the apartment, Ethan following him. Nick heard his partner connect with someone while he inspected the cramped apartment. It didn’t take long.

  “Well?” asked Nick when Ethan disconnected.

  “Medina’s girlfriend, a Sandra Munter, reported the death. She went over Sunday afternoon and found his body. He was killed execution style—two shots to the back of the head. It wasn’t pretty. He was beaten pretty badly before he was put out of his misery. Also, there was some fancy knife work done on him. The girlfriend almost couldn’t identify him.”

  “Suspects? Arrests?”

  Ethan shook his head.

  “Any of the neighbor
s hear or see anything?”

  “No.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The window was jimmied open without a lot of finesse. Bed covered in blood, place thoroughly tossed. One guess as to what the perps were looking for.”

  “The surveillance tapes.”

  Nick nodded. “Did you get Charlie’s girlfriend’s address?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s talk to Sandra Munter.”

  * * * * *

  The apartment Sandra Munter shared with her widowed mother and younger sister was much cleaner and larger than her deceased boyfriend’s apartment. It actually boasted two enclosed bedrooms. Nick and Ethan found her alone in the apartment after she forced them both to hold up their badges in front of the peephole. Neither of them pointed out that badges could look very much like real ones, especially through peepholes.

  Sandra Munter was average. Average height, average figure, average coloring, average features. However, there was nothing average about the very real grief on her face.

  “You’re here about Charlie,” she murmured, looking about twelve years old in a pale pink tank top, faded sweat pants and stockinged feet.

  “Yes,” Ethan said softly. When she swayed on her feet, he shot out a hand to steady her. “You need to sit down.”

  Sandra nodded absently and fell down on the heavily patterned and worn, but clean loveseat. Ethan sat down on the matching armchair, facing her. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. Nick drew a chair from the tiny dining table in the corner and positioned it a foot to the right of Ethan and facing Sandra Munter.

  Ethan waited until Nick was settled before he began. “Sandra, can you start by telling us how you found Charlie?”

  “After I’d finished my shift at the diner, I came straight here. I was going to spend the night at Charlie’s because he hadn’t been feeling well because of what happened at that building he works at. And he had that bump on his head.

  “I have a key to his apartment, so I used it to open the door. I remember it was dark and quiet inside, so I thought maybe he was sleeping.” Her eyes closed at this point, as if she was back in her boyfriend’s apartment. “I turned on the lights, went to the bedroom, and all I saw was red. It was red everywhere. I didn’t even notice…what was left of Charlie on the bed until Charlie’s neighbor across the hall came over. I didn’t think the thing on the bed was Charlie.” She was shaking her head, eyes still closed. “But I saw the tattoo on his chest.”

  She was crying when she opened her eyes and accepted the tissues Ethan held out. She mopped up her tears and sniffed noisily. “Does this have anything to do with that businessman who was killed where Charlie worked?”

  Ethan looked apologetic. “We can’t say.”

  She was shaking her head again. “He wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Charlie’s not that type of person. He worked hard. Everything he had, he earned himself.”

  And he didn’t have much, Nick was thinking. Could Medina have been resentful of the wealthy people living in the building where he worked? Could a small bribe have encouraged him to look the other way and let Langan’s would-be killers into the building? After discovering Langan had been murdered, would Medina have taken the video surveillance tapes as protection for himself, or perhaps blackmail? His brutal death suggested the latter.

  “Did Charlie say or do anything in the last few days that was out of the ordinary?”

  Nick could plainly see Sandra Munter’s inner debate as she struggled with Ethan’s question.

  “We want to find the people who killed him, Sandra, and we can only do it with your help,” Ethan said, tone coaxing.

  The tears started again. “I-I don’t know.”

  “If Charlie said anything to you, you need to tell us,” Ethan said, scooting forward in the armchair. “We’re not here to prosecute you, Sandra. We just want information.”

  She stared into Ethan’s intense eyes, searching, judging. Then she nodded and rose from the loveseat. “Please, wait here,” she said, and disappeared into the far room.

  Nick and Ethan exchanged looks. They were both hoping for the same thing, but were afraid to voice it out loud. They might actually get the break they’d been praying for. Faint sounds of drawers opening and closing came from the bedroom door Sandra Munter left ajar.

  Then Nick’s cell phone broke the silence. He pulled it out and looked at his screen. The caller’s ID was blocked. He flipped open the cell.

  “Markov.”

  “Nick!” Augusta’s breathless voice brought what he had learned from the ME earlier rushing to the forefront of his mind. “I—”

  “Where are you calling from?” he demanded, deliberately cutting her off.

  There was a long pause on the other end. “I’m in my car and I’m calling you on my new cell phone.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Augusta? If this isn’t important, I’m in the middle of something,” he said curtly. Sandra Munter was returning to the tiny living room, five video tapes stacked in her hands. Finally.

  “This is important,” Augusta said. Nick caught Ethan’s eye and inclined his head before getting up and walking to the kitchen for a measure of privacy.

  “Uh, I went to see Adam today,” she began hesitantly.

  “And?”

  “Nick, what’s wrong?”

  He bit back what he wanted to say. “Long day, and I don’t see an end yet.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

  “Oh.” Her voice softened. “I take it you won’t be back in time for dinner.”

  Nick planted his feet shoulder-width apart and tipped his head back. She sounded as if she would be disappointed by his absence. “No, don’t wait up for me.” Nick forced himself to relax his tense neck muscles. He needed some serious stress relief, he thought, and immediately cursed himself when a picture of Augusta, hot and welcoming, spread out beneath him flashed in his head. He shifted his weight and tried to conjure up images to kill his desire. Now was not the time for a hard-on.

  “What were you saying before? You went to see Adam Langan?”

  “Yes. I thought he would need to talk to someone about Jana. I was adjusting one of the pictures on Adam’s wall and I think I found a bug.”

  “Bug?”

  “As in listening device.”

  “Damn.” Nick rubbed his free hand over his face and through his hair. “Are you sure?”

  “I think so. It was attached to the back of a picture frame. It was small and round, about the size of a button.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I left it there.”

  “Did you tell Langan?”

  “No. I thought I should tell you first.”

  “Good. Don’t tell him.”

  There was a moment of dead silence on the other end.

  “Nick, Adam can’t be involved. He wouldn’t have anything to do with Drew’s death.”

  The vulnerability in her voice very effectively sliced through the barrier he had been trying to erect against her. Augusta was determined—stubborn, more like—and strong, but when it came to these two men she considered her family, her loyalty made her blind. It frustrated him—hell, he could admit it, it made him jealous—but it also made him wish he could hold her and reassure her that everything would turn out fine. However, he couldn’t lie to her. Nick squeezed his eyes shut tight. God. He wished she could do the same for him.

  “Augusta, listen to me. I want you to call Joe Doyle and have him meet you at your house as soon as possible. Tell him you need to have your house swept for any listening or surveillance devices. He’ll know what to do.”

  More silence.

  “I don’t have his number with me,” she said, her voice soft, strained. Defeated.

  “Write this down,” he ordered, and gave her the security consultant’s number. “And give me your cell number. Try to use that for all your calls now. Don’t use any of the telephones in your house
. I’ll try to make it back as soon as I can wrap things up.”

  “All right.”

  “I met with the ME today. Langan’s body can be released to you anytime you want it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Augusta?”

  “Yes?”

  “We’ll get through this.”

  At first he thought she hadn’t heard him, then she draw a deep breath. “I know. Bye.”