looked at Charlie but didn’t see him. I saw Cami put her hands to her mouth.
She’d been wearing gloves.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up. There had to be an explanation. There was an explanation.
Why? I didn’t know her. I’d never met her until last fall. Who would do that to me? How could I not see it?
A knock on the door startled me.
“Peter, come on out.”
I washed my face with cold water and came back to the table.
“Do you have a picture of Cami?”
I slid over my cell phone. “The only pictures I have are on my phone.”
Charlie started scrolling through my phone. He frowned and said, “Your SIM card is missing.”
I took the phone and looked. The card was gone.
Cami had used my phone earlier, before I went to class.
“She planned it.”
“We’ll find a picture of her. On Facebook maybe?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have any social media. I hate the Internet. I don’t even have a television. I had an e-mail account once, and a reporter found me and wanted to interview me. So I deleted the account. I have an e-mail account through the university because I had to get something for my classes.”
“You shouldn’t go back to your apartment. Do you have someplace to stay?”
I shook my head. “I need to disappear.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I’d never thought about killing myself. Maybe in passing, but then I’d think of Grams and knew she’d be heartbroken. She was dead, but sometimes I felt her. I lived for those moments.
“Don’t run, Peter. Someone had been stalking you since high school. They’re escalating. Only you know who it is.”
“But I don’t! It was all a lie. Cami was a lie. But I swear, she was not at my high school.”
“Let me do a little research on her. Maybe something will come up. You can work with a sketch artist; we’ll get a good picture of her.”
Charlie Mead really wanted to help me.
“I’ll try.”
“Stay with me tonight,” Charlie said. “I’ll find a safe place for you tomorrow.”
One night turned into two years. I lost a sister when I was nine, but I found a brother when I was nineteen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
New York City
Jimmy Bartz was picked up late Saturday night by uniformed officers in Queens. Suzanne and Joe decided to let him stew the rest of the night, and Suzanne arrived at DeLucca’s precinct at eight Sunday morning.
“We could have come in together,” Joe said.
“No, we couldn’t,” Suzanne said. Joe had wanted to go home with her last night, but she had put her foot down and after one beer had left alone. The worst thing was that she had wanted to give in, but reason vetoed her heart. Heart? Who was she fooling? It was her body that craved Joe. She didn’t want to fall back into bed with him because then her heart would be at risk and it would only end badly. Just like last time. Because she would not give him any ultimatum that affected his relationship with his son, nor did she want to play the role of mistress with a man who was hiding her from his ex-wife.
“Has he talked?” Suzanne switched the subject back to the case at hand.
“No.” Joe checked in with the desk sergeant. “Can you bring Bartz to interview?”
“Room one,” the sergeant said. He got on the phone.
Joe led Suzanne through the bullpen to his desk. It was a quiet Sunday morning. Joe sat down at his tidy desk. Suzanne glanced around at the stacks of paper on everyone else’s desk. “You have the cleanest crib in town.”
“Just in this neighborhood,” Joe said. He quickly checked his e-mail, then brought up Bartz’s rap sheet. Joe turned his monitor so both he and Suzanne could read it.
“Worst thing is assault—no weapons charges.”
“The guys who know him said he never carries a weapon, and it’s served him well. Three arrests, all bumped down to misdemeanors, one time-served, and a three-month, then six-month stint in county. No hard-jail time.”
“And he then kills a woman for a ring?”
“Could have been hired.”
They both shook their heads at the same time.
“Let’s play with him a bit. He’s a two-bit thief. Money drives him.”
The on-call detective said, “Hey, DeLucca, you need to pressure Bartz? Drop his buddy’s name—Franks. His stats are in the rap sheet. They’re friendly rivals.”
“Thanks, Parker.”
He turned to Suzanne. “Let’s see what this guy has to say.”
Jimmy Bartz was a scrappy forty-year-old who didn’t look strong enough to snap