Obsessed, p.14
Obsessed, page 14
Chrissy looked at me with her big blue eyes and asked, “I don’t understand what caused the Dark Ages.”
I’d been looking through her textbook to see if it included any details, but there were no real explanations. I said, “One theory is that as Rome withdrew from its outlying provinces, including Europe, organization and infrastructure broke down. Some people say there were no decent roads built for more than five hundred years after the fall of Rome.”
“Do you think that will be on the test?”
I smiled. I undoubtedly had asked the same question of my grandfather when I was Chrissy’s age. They were probably teaching history the same way they did when I was at Holy Name as a kid. “No, sweetheart, I doubt that’s anything you need to remember.”
That seemed to satisfy my youngest daughter. My two oldest daughters, Juliana and Jane, were also studying, at the other end of the long dining room table. I’d learned over the last few years that my older children were on top of their academics. I had very little to add to most of their lessons. They were far beyond me in math, enrolled in Calculus II. They certainly didn’t care about my opinions on historical questions. But I couldn’t help one kid and then ignore two others at the table.
Chrissy jumped up from the table like a prisoner just released after nine years in Attica. She darted out of the room, leaving me alone with Jane and Juliana. I moved down until I was sitting next to Jane and across from Juliana.
I smiled and said, “What are we working on?”
Jane gave me her famous flat stare and said, “I don’t know what you’re working on, but I’m working on American lit. My essay is about how none of the great writers of the early twentieth century would be published today.”
She added, “And how does that affect classics of the future? Are we, as a society, encouraging the arts? What impact would an artless society have on the future?”
Any dad will tell you he doesn’t want to look stupid in front of his kids. I feared it was unavoidable in this case. All I could do was mumble, “Okay, you sound like you have a handle on this.”
I wasn’t cracking a joke, but it made both the girls laugh. We sat and chatted for a few minutes. The younger kids were always interested in telling me about their days and their projects. The older kids were more reticent. You had to hit them at just the right time.
Jane told me about some experiments in her biology class that she found really interesting. Juliana told me about the acting class she took at City College in the evenings. Right now, they were breaking down Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night.
I loved hearing about my girls’ interests. Then Juliana turned serious and asked me, “Have you heard anything more about the investigation into Suzanne’s murder?” Her voice got weak toward the end of the sentence and I felt like she might start to cry.
I looked into my daughter’s beautiful face and realized I’d been searching everywhere for information when I had a potential source right in the apartment with me. She shared a lot of characteristics with Suzanne Morton. She might help.
I said, “Have either of you ever heard of The Girlfriend Experience?”
Juliana said, “You mean like the TV show?”
“No, I mean from your friends or anyone in real life.”
Even with ten kids, you quickly learn each of their little idiosyncratic mannerisms. In this case, I saw how Juliana’s eyes focused on the table and she folded her hands across her writing pad. Ever since she was a little kid, that was a sign that she was keeping some sort of secret.
After nibbling around the subject for a few minutes, I finally asked Juliana directly. “Juliana, sweetheart, I feel like you know something about this, but you don’t want to talk about it. This is important. It may help us find Suzanne’s killer.”
A tear leaked out of Juliana’s left eye. She lowered her head and nodded silently. After almost a full minute, she said, “I’ve heard of it a couple of times. I know The Girlfriend Experience has something to do with getting paid to pretend to be someone’s date at fancy parties or events. Someone asked Suzanne if that’s how she had so much spending money. Suzanne blew off the question and didn’t answer. But I can put it all together now. She did have a lot of extra cash and was always paying for our meals and rides. It also explains why she was never free to go out on Friday or Saturday nights.”
I nodded and made a few mental notes as my oldest daughter continued to talk.
“Suzanne used to tell me about her friend Allie, whom she worked with. I always thought that was a little odd since Suzanne had no official job.”
The mention of Allie caught my attention. “Do you have any idea where Allie lives?”
“I think it’s somewhere close to NYU. Suzanne once said she was going to get an apartment like Allie’s. She hated living in the dorm.”
My daughter had just told me which address I would look at first when I tried to find Allie Pritz.
Chapter 59
I WAS UP early the next day. Juliana had given me an idea. I snuck out of the house before most of the kids were awake. As I suspected, I found Walter Jackson already in the office.
I said, “You really are an early riser.”
The big man let out a laugh. “C’mon, this is the only time during my day that it’s quiet. No little girls begging me for ice cream. No detectives asking me to find out about old girlfriends or boyfriends. No lieutenant loaning me out to other units. I live for these two hours of undisturbed peace.”
“That I’m about to disturb.”
“That’s why I have to ask you a question about silence.”
“What’s that?”
Walter said, “Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl when he goes to the bathroom?”
I groaned and was about to ask, Why? Then at the last moment it hit me. “Because the p is silent.”
That made Walter’s day. He clapped and rolled back in his chair, laughing out loud. “I knew you’d start catching on one day.”
I told Walter about my conversation with Juliana the night before. “It seems that these girls were all involved in The Girlfriend Experience. If that’s the case, then we might be able to make a connection to the Bannings or another client.”
Walter started working his magic on the computer.
I texted Emma Schrade’s mother one simple question. I was wondering if you found out anything unusual about Emma’s finances?
Dr. Schrade called me less than a minute later. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I was surprised to find out recently that she had almost twelve thousand dollars in a checking account.”
Her mother assured me Emma hadn’t made that kind of money singing at weddings.
I texted David Morton next. He also called me right back, and I went over the same question with him.
“We found fifty-six hundred dollars in cash hidden in her closet.” There was silence on the line for a minute. Then I heard David Morton blow his nose. He came back on the line and said, “We told Detective Stanton. Didn’t he share it with you?”
“No.” I kept the answer short. There was no telling what the New Rochelle detective thought was important.
I thanked David Morton, then checked back in with Walter. I told him what I’d found out. “It gives me some specific questions to ask Allie Pritz, once we talk to her.”
Walter asked, “When do you think that will be?”
“I’m hoping in the next couple of hours.”
Chapter 60
LESS THAN TWO hours later, Terri Hernandez met me at a coffee shop near Washington Square Park. It was only a couple of blocks from the apartment where I believed Allie Pritz was living on Cornelia Street.
Terri said, “I went by NYU yesterday and talked to the registrar. The registrar tried to help, but the only solid information they had was that Suzanne Morton barely attended class and had a poor GPA as a result.”
I nodded, then said, “Why would she stop worrying about classes?”
“Because she wanted to be an actress and didn’t think she needed a degree?”
I shook my head. “Or she was making so much money with The Girlfriend Experience she didn’t need to stay in college. I know she hadn’t told her parents. They were clearly under the impression she was doing fine in school at the time she disappeared.”
We walked two blocks over to Cornelia Street. The building was a five-story walk-up with a beautiful stone facade. The fire escape was along the side of the building, landing in an alley.
It was still early enough that there was a chance we’d catch Allie Pritz snug in bed and surprised to find two New York City detectives knocking at her door. That might lead to some open discussion. That was our favorite phrase for scaring someone into talking.
Terri walked up the eight steps to the entrance. She checked the door buzzers. “I don’t see her name, but there are six slots that just have numbers and no names.”
As I was considering what we should do, the door opened. A young man dressed in a sweatshirt looked at Terri and smiled. Then he held the door open for her. She just said, “Thanks,” and stepped inside. The young man barely looked in my direction as he rushed down the steps and started to jog down the block.
A moment later, Terri opened the door and let me in. Each of the sixteen mailboxes had names on them. I saw the name PRITZ for apartment 504.
When I was a kid, Seamus used to tell me you can learn a lot about a building from the condition of its stairwell. If the stairwell is kept clean and in good order, the whole building usually is in the same shape.
This stairway had the original hardwood handrail and steps. Each stair I took made a pleasing, hollow thud that echoed in the stairwell. We took the stairs all the way to the top floor. We stepped out of the stairwell on the fifth floor into a wide corridor with an apartment on each side. Light streamed through a tall window with access to the fire escape.
Apartment 504 was the one on the right. Terri knocked and stood in front of the peephole. Everyone knows that people are more likely to answer the door if a woman is knocking.
A woman’s scratchy voice asked, “Who is it?”
Terri pulled her ID from her purse. She held the badge up to the peephole and said, “NYPD. We need to speak to you for a moment, Ms. Pritz.”
The voice replied, “Give me a second to get dressed.”
In many ways, it was going better than I expected. It could’ve been the wrong address. Allie may not have been home. It could’ve been a mail drop. Instead, we got an immediate response. So why was I still uneasy?
After about forty-five seconds, I looked at Terri.
She just shrugged and knocked on the door again. Nothing from inside. Then I heard a metallic scraping noise. I immediately recognized the sound of a fire escape brushing against the side of the building.
I rushed to the window at the end of the hall. I saw a young woman in shorts and a T-shirt, holding running shoes she hadn’t had time to put on, carefully making her way down the outside fire escape.
I unlatched the tall window and opened it. I looked out the window past the fire escape to the alley below. My fear of heights hit me like a sledgehammer. In an instant, I felt clammy sweat spring up on my face. My stomach twisted and I could taste my morning coffee in my throat. It was worse than I’d ever felt it in the past.
Somehow I managed to gasp over my shoulder to Terri, “She’s trying to climb down the fire escape.”
Terri didn’t hesitate to sprint down the hallway and blast through the door to the stairwell.
I had to suck it up and stepped out onto the fire escape with shaky legs.
Chapter 61
I GULPED A deep breath to follow Allie as she descended the fire escape. She moved quicker than I could. I could barely let go of the rungs as I tried to make my way from the fifth to the fourth floor. I should’ve felt better as I moved closer to the ground. Instead, my palms got slick with sweat. I fought nausea with every step. Why was my dislike of heights hitting me so hard this time?
Between the third and fourth floors I looked down and saw that Allie was nearly to the street level. My heart pounded as I tried to take each rung of the fire escape quickly but carefully. My foot slipped, and I had to freeze in place for a moment. Finally, I gathered my nerve, closed my eyes, and kept going.
As I cleared the second floor, I couldn’t see anyone in the alley below me. Allie Pritz had hit the ground running whether she was wearing shoes or not. I got to the end of the fire escape and dropped the few feet to the asphalt alley.
I suppressed the urge to vomit, then turned and sprinted toward Cornelia Street. I skidded to a stop as soon as I turned the corner.
Terri Hernandez was standing on the sidewalk with her arms folded in front of her and a stern look on her face. On a foot-high planter near the building’s entrance, Allie Pritz sat sheepishly, slowly putting on her Nike running shoes.
Terri took one look at me and said, “You okay?”
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded my head.
Terri said, “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I forgot about your acrophobia. I just acted on instinct and ran for the stairs.”
I waved her off. This was not exactly the first impression I wanted to make with a potential homicide witness.
I looked at Allie Pritz still sitting on the edge of the planter. From this angle she seemed incredibly young. I wondered if she knew what she had gotten herself into. I said, “Why’d you run? We only want to talk to you.”
She looked down at the sidewalk and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I just panicked.”
Terri said, “Do you know what we want to talk to you about?”
“I can guess.”
Terri said, “You’re not in any trouble. Go ahead and guess. We won’t hold it against you.”
In a weak voice, Allie said, “You want to talk about The Girlfriend Experience, right?”
That’s when I said, “Actually, we’d like to talk to you about a series of homicides.”
That immediately got all of Allie Pritz’s attention.
Chapter 62
A FEW MINUTES after our short chase, we found ourselves back in Allie Pritz’s apartment, sitting around her breakfast counter. Allie had poured us each a glass of some kind of green antioxidant drink. Apparently, the healthy Gen Z’s version of coffee.
All my vital signs had returned to approximately normal, although I knew I’d have visions of the fire escape as I was trying to fall asleep tonight. Allie had been badly shaken when we told her about the deaths of Emma Schrade, Estella Abreu, and Suzanne Morton.
We gave Allie a chance to mourn. She cried, but I wasn’t sure if it was stress or actual grief. I didn’t know how well she knew the other girls. When Allie asked to use the bathroom, Terri said she’d stand by the door and that Allie couldn’t lock it.
Technically, we didn’t have the authority to do something like that to someone who was not under arrest. But neither of us wanted to risk having to chase her down the fire escape again. Even if it seemed like Allie wanted to talk to us, there was no telling if she’d change her mind.
For her part, Allie took not locking the door in stride.
I looked at some framed photographs on the wall next to the breakfast counter. Allie with her mom at a play. With her dad at a shooting range, holding a Beretta 9mm. A photo of her playing soccer in high school, her blond hair flowing behind her as she streaked down a field.
When we were all sitting around the breakfast counter again, Allie said, “I can’t believe any of this. I’ve always been worried about my parents finding out. That’s one of the major reasons we’ve kept everything so secret. We make sure that none of the girls know one another. Well, most of them don’t know one another. We use burner phones, and all the calls come through this phone.” She held up an older Samsung. “It’s prepaid and untraceable.”
Terri said, “You didn’t hear about the homicides on the news or in the paper?”
“Who’s got time to read the paper? I might’ve heard something about a murder on TV, but I didn’t make the connection to any of our girls. Like I said, most of the girls are just trying to get through college and don’t want their parents to find out. I rarely speak to them more than once. Usually just texts. I make it a point not to track someone down if they don’t answer a text.
“I spoke with Suzanne more than most of the girls. She was always wanting to meet for lunch or a drink.” Allie thought about it for a moment, then added, “I guess she hasn’t called in at least a month.”
I chimed in. “Do you know who her clients were?”
Allie shook her head. “I’d have no way to know unless it was a first-time client who called the main, burner phone. Then all I’d have is a cell number.”
Terri asked, “How much do you make per event?”
Allie shrugged. “I’m booked almost every Friday and Saturday evening, and I usually bring home about ten to twelve thousand dollars a month.”
“And you don’t even have sex with your clients?”
She shrugged. “Some of the girls negotiate for it as an extra. Not many, but the whole idea is that we’re each responsible for ourselves.”
Now I asked the question. “Have any of the girls ever mentioned being threatened by a client?”
“No, never. If I ever hear about a problem client, we cut them off and never deal with them again. We simply block their number. Once I had to tell a guy I was calling the cops if he didn’t leave us alone. Our clients aren’t drug dealers, they’re businessmen and professionals. Since none of the clients knows where we live, we’re safe. At least, we thought we were.”
“Do the clients know you aren’t working for an agency? They know you’re all on your own?”
“That’s one of the things I tell every client before any of us will meet them. They don’t have to worry about anyone bothering them, the money has to be paid up front, and if one of the girls says no, it means no. I swear, in two years we’ve never had a problem.”
