A Friend in the Glass (An Auden & O’Callaghan Mystery #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Rufus had been stuck between a rock and a hard place.

After having been caught red-handed at Shareed’s crime scene by Erik—his ass still hurting from the chewing out that’d followed (metaphorically, of course)—Rufus wasn’t in a rush to call the detective about a second dead body, hardly more than twenty-four hours later. But if he didn’t, and word got out that a local CI was last spotted a few dozen feet from the dead and mangled body of a woman like Evangeline Ridgeway, who’d had an important job and impressive title and undoubtedly lots of connections and money…. Well, Rufus had seen far better people than himself get thrown under the bus in these kinds of situations. Calling Erik was, unfortunately, the safest option.

And after a bit of chest-thumping and rather inventive cussing, Erik had said he was on his way.

“We heard a scream,” Rufus explained. He stood slouched against the glass wall of the concourse, arms crossed, staring at Erik’s handsome face and thinking that he really could have been Ryan Gosling’s younger brother. “Sam saw her fall from the escalator, hit the railing, then hit the floor.” He added with a grimace, “The crunch echoed.”

“And you saw somebody push her?” Erik asked Sam.

Sam shook his head.

“But you don’t think this was suicide?”

Sam glanced at Rufus.

Rufus said, “According to my therapist, I have suicide ideation. But I can tell you this, I surely wouldn’t chuck myself off an escalator if I were looking to get the job done.”

“Right,” Erik muttered.

“She’s the one you asked about,” Sam said. “What was the connection to Shareed Baker?”

“Baker called her from that hotel.” Erik drew a deep breath. “What the fuck kind of trouble are you kicking up for me this time?”

Rufus held his hands up in defense. “Why do you always assume the worst of me? I’ve been taking in the sights with my beau and we came across this interesting convention. Give me a break.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bullshit, he says.” Rufus dropped his hands. “Don’t you think it’s pretty suspish that Evangeline is dead a day after Shareed? And after you asked about her just last night?”

“All right.” Erik stretched his back. “You know something about this. What the fuck is going on? All of it.”

“If I knew what was going on, I surely fucking wouldn’t be hanging out here for my health,” Rufus said. “Shareed called Sam yesterday morning out of the blue. We had no idea who she was or how she got his number. She wanted to meet up and exchange some information, but instead she wound up dead. Now someone else is dead. I don’t want Sam to be next.”

“And you didn’t think this was important to tell me when you called me out to see her dead body? A crime scene, by the way, that you two fucked to hell by trampling all over it.”

“When you yell at me, Erik, I don’t always want to phone a friend.”

“You want to say something?” Erik asked Sam.

“I don’t know what she had,” Sam said. “But it’s worth something to somebody. They killed her for it. And now they killed Evangeline.”

“Why? Why her? What was her part in all of this?”

Rufus glanced at Sam before unbuttoning his jean jacket in order to produce the folded paper from Evangeline’s hotel room. “We think Shareed was blackmailing Evangeline. I found this in her hotel room this morning. It’s an old press release for something that never happened.” He flipped it over. “And that’s someone’s banking info.”

Snatching the paper, Erik made a disbelieving noise. He shook his head as he studied the page. Then he said, “This is mine now, understand? This is evidence. I don’t want to know how you got into that hotel room. I don’t want to know what else you’ve been doing. I want both of you to drop this. Right now.” When Rufus opened his mouth, Erik spoke over him. “You don’t want Sam to be next? Fine. Go play house and stay the fuck away from this. That’s how you keep Sam from taking a tumble like this lady.”

“It’s not that simple,” Sam said. “The people behind this, they’ve already got me in their sights. Rufus too, I imagine.”

“What is this? Some sort of Jack Ryan fucking TV special? Does one of you dumbfucks want to actually give me the whole story, or am I supposed to pick it up in between commercial breaks?”

“I wish Jack Ryan was involved,” Rufus began. “John Krasinski got all bulked up for that show and he’s pretty hot now.” At the look on Erik’s face, Rufus dropped the commentary. “We can’t tell you everything that’s going on, because we don’t know everything that’s going on. You name-dropped Evangeline and we traced her to here. Whatever’s happening, it’s multilayered and scary. Are you sure you can’t tell us anything more about Shareed?”

Hands on hips, Erik studied them for what felt like a long moment. “She flew in Monday. Late. Came in on a plane from Atlanta. You already know where she was staying because you shat all over my crime scene. She called that Ridgeway woman. She called a hotel just around the block. She went there—we’ve got her on camera on the eighteenth floor.” Erik blew out a breath. “Of course, the dumbfucks only put cameras in the elevator, so we don’t know which room she went to.”

Rufus made a face and glanced at Sam. “Eighteenth floor?” he repeated.

“What?” Erik asked.

“Just making sure,” Sam said.

“Well, there you go. Nothing that screams conspiracy. She made some phone calls. She got some phone calls—”

“She got some phone calls?” Sam asked.

“Paranoia explains Cyber 44,” Rufus mumbled.

Erik ignored that. “—she bought something to shoot up with. She went to a hotel. I could write it off as an OD with what I’ve got.”

Rufus pointed discreetly to the escalators roped off with yellow crime scene tape. “Sure hope you don’t write that off as an OD.”

Erik flipped him the bird. “I’ve got work to do. Unless you’ve got something useful for me?”

Rufus shook his head and buttoned his jacket. “I got nada.” He took Sam’s hand and walked away from Erik, hugging the glass wall until they reached the front doors, where a uniformed officer let them exit without a parting glance. Once they’d put about a block of distance between them and the Javits, Rufus said, “Evangeline wasn’t staying on the eighteenth floor.”

“Nope,” Sam said.

Rufus hunched his shoulders against the wind. “You think Erik could have been referring to Del’s room?”

“Has to be. He was waiting in the lobby.”

“If we could get in his room,” Rufus started, “maybe we’d be able to prove he was full of shit about not knowing Shareed.”

“He freaked out pretty good when you showed him that press release.” Sam paused. “That could have had something to do with you accusing him of murder, I guess.”

“Shareed OD’ing seems pretty unlikely now. At least, if she did, I think she might have had help from someone. Maybe not Del, but something about him definitely isn’t kosher. Plus, I didn’t mention it before, but he thought I was trying to cruise him. Gross.”

The grin only lasted an instant. “What now?”

Rufus answered, “I think we should check out the eighteenth floor of the Savoy and see who might be home.”