Over Her Dead Body (37 page)

At one point, I strolled over to the book giveaway table again, in order to check out Nash’s office. He was punching at his computer, apparently editing copy. Just looking at him was disconcerting.

Shortly after two it began to thunder and rain, casting even more of a pall over the place. People traipsed in from lunch, their clothes soaked through. I felt not only wiped out from my nearly sleepless night, but also morose. Mona was dead, Ryan was dead. A tall, skinny man with a bald head was apparently stalking me, and though I could watch out for
him,
I couldn’t watch out for whoever had hired him—because I had no freakin’ idea who it was!

I also felt glum about Beau. I’d left the coffee shop so triumphant, so convinced that I had been the victor. Beau was sorry he’d embarrassed me, and he was apparently eager to see me again. Yet here was the problem: He’d never once explained the circumstances of being with the fashionista or volunteered that he wasn’t going to be spending another minute in her company. I’d been with the guy only twice, so I could hardly expect him to ask me to go steady. But deep down I knew what I had wanted him to say: “Bailey, I did have a date with that woman, and until I met you I had every intention of playing the field; but after being with you this week, I realize I don’t want to be with anyone else.” Yeah, right.

As I ruminated about Beau, I recalled what he had said about the need to step back, to be sure of the continuity. I flipped open my notebook and thumbed back to the page where I’d jotted down Ryan’s remarks the day he’d had the lightbulb go off. What I had wasn’t verbatim because I’d scribbled the comments
after
our testy conversation in the kitchenette. But I was pretty sure I had the gist right. I’d asked him if he’d seen anyone. He’d said that he’d spoken to Mona and then walked down the corridor. He’d passed Katya on her way toward the bullpen. He’d said that as far as he could see there was no one else around, that the place was empty. Then he had started to say something else, and at that moment he’d had a revelation.

With my expectations low, I stood up from my desk and headed toward the corridor that led to the back door to
Track.
I walked slowly, letting my mind loose. Had Ryan seen something after he’d passed Katya, something that he later realized was significant? Had one of the editors with an office in the back still been around when he’d walked by? By the time I reached the door to
Track,
no lightbulbs had gone off for me.

I had my eyes cast down in thought as I returned to the pod, and it was a second before I realized that Nash was standing outside his office, signaling for me to hightail it over there. He flicked his hand open and closed a couple of times, as though he were trying to help me back into a parking space. Oh boy.

“Got your message last night, of course,” Nash said, closing the door behind me. “About Ryan. And the police intimated as much when I spoke to them this morning.”

“So what do you think?” I asked.

“About the fact that he was probably murdered?”

“And the fact that someone here might have done it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked brusquely.

“Well, that Ryan, you know, kept a supply of drugs here . . . at work,” I said haltingly. “I mean, I assume he did since the police found a plastic bag in his drawer. So my guess would be that someone who knew he did drugs substituted the pure heroin Monday night—or thereabouts—counting on it to kill him.”

He studied me, his face hard. “Because they didn’t like the way he wrote a lead?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, because he knew he or she had killed Mona.”

“Wow, that’s quite a theory,” he said after wiping his open palm down along his face. “I suppose my next question should be, do you have any suspects in mind?”

“No, no, I don’t,” I said quietly. “What about you? Any guesses?”

I cocked my head like an eager beaver, trying to look like a devoted employee anxious to hear her boss’s wisdom. But really I was holding my breath, watching his reaction with trepidation.

“No, not at the moment. But what about your theory that Mona was killed by an outsider? Earlier you were all charged up thinking it was tied to Eva Anderson somehow.”

“I know. I know. There’s some evidence pointing in that direction, and it’s quite possible there’s still a connection—and that someone from the outside gained access to Ryan’s desk.”

He wagged his head in frustration. “Well, I’d suggest you think this latest theory through before you go off half-cocked on this. We’re certainly not going to run anything in the magazine stating that Ryan’s death is linked to Mona’s—unless we have absolute proof.”

My cheeks reddened from the slight. “Of course,” I said. “Well, if that’s all, I better get back to work.”

“There’s one more thing,” he said. He sounded stern. “Hilary told me you’ve been asking a lot of questions about blind items. I thought we’d agreed that we were going to keep that stuff under our hat.”

That little brat. I wondered what else she had told him. Had she mentioned that she’d shared the news about the blind item concerning
him
? But that would only backfire on her, right?

“I never told her anything about Eva,” I said. “If she’s implying that, then she’s just trolling, trying to figure out what we know that she doesn’t.”

I was nearly squirming at this point and was relieved when he shrugged and turned back to his table, indicating that our little chat was over.

I’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse, but it just had.

Back at my desk I rooted around in my purse for a bag of M&Ms, a stash I keep for days like this one, and tore it open. I was just about to pop a handful of them in my mouth when the phone rang.

“Bailey Weggins,” I announced.

“This is Katya,” a voice said.

I fought off a gasp in my throat.

“Yes, Katya, hello,” I said nearly in a whisper. “How can I help you?”

“I would like to talk to you. If you still would like.”

“Of course. Are you all right? You sound frightened.”

I lifted my eyes and glanced around the room, just to be certain no one was watching me.

“Yes, very frightened,” she admitted. “You were right. There is one thing I have not told you.”

My breathing quickened. “But what about the police? If there’s something important, we’ll need to let them know.”

“No, no,” she said, her voice suddenly desperate. “There is a reason that I cannot speak to them. You will understand when I tell you.”

“All right,” I said hesitantly. “When shall we meet? Are you in the building now?”

“No, I have not yet arrived. Nine o’clock. That is when I can meet.”

“
Nine?
I thought you arrived at four. Can’t you do it then?”

“No,” she said. “I must start some of my other floors. I cannot take any chance with my job. At ten we have a break, but I am able to meet you sooner if I am very quick about it.”

“Where shall we meet?”

“There is a room in the basement for the cleaning persons. We can speak alone there. The others do not come for their break until ten.”

“Um, okay,” I said. “The room is just down the hall from where I saw you?”

“Yes, just down the hall. And you must promise me you will tell no one.”

“Of course.”

“Please. My life—it is in danger already. And yours may be, too.”

I set down the phone, and let my hands drop to the desk. I felt chilled by her words. Out of the corner of my eye I became aware of Jessie, poised, watching me.

“
What?
” she asked, rolling toward me. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m going to be getting some information that may tell me everything. I can’t believe it may all be coming to a head.”

“Who just called you? Was it news about the waiter?”

“No, it was the cleaning lady. But you can’t breathe a word to anyone, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

For the next few hours, I tried to concentrate on my work, but it was hard. I downloaded information from the Internet on erotomania, but my eyes found little traction on the words. At six-thirty, seeing that the rain had finally stopped, I ran out to a touristy Italian restaurant in the neighborhood and asked for a table, where I ordered chicken piccata in a sauce the consistency of mud. But at least it was a diversion.

The office was still packed when I returned. From overhearing Leo all day, I had a clue that the tentative cover story this week was on Britney Spears. In focus groups, people apparently claimed that they’d sooner buy a magazine with Sandra Day O’Connor on the cover than one featuring Britney, but when we slapped her on the front, the issue invariably flew off the stands. Jessie called it train wreck journalism.

By eight-thirty, things were quieting down. Jessie’s desk light was still on, but she was nowhere in sight and I wondered if she’d gone for the night without bidding farewell. Some of the junior people in the pod were still toiling away, though it was dark in most of the offices rimming the open area. Nash was holed up in
his
office. And at one point I saw Hilary stick her head in his door and say something. She’d probably popped in to tell him that she suspected me of stealing all the shoes from the fashion closet.

At eight forty-five, I slipped out of my seat and headed for the freight elevator. Before I pushed the button, I glanced up and down the hall, making certain no one saw me, and I did that again as I waited. The empty elevator finally arrived with a groan, and as I stepped inside, it felt as if my heart were in my mouth.

The elevator made no stops, but it moved very slowly. Finally it reached the basement level, rocking slightly as it settled in place. The door slid open. There was no one in sight, just rows of canvas Dumpsters and a huge pile of discarded furniture that had appeared since my previous visit.

I set off toward the small room for the cleaning crew. This time I heard no music, just the loud, discordant hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and a motor sound—perhaps a generator—far off in another part of the basement. I rounded one corner and passed the small room where I’d seen the maintenance men the other day. It was empty now except for the fan, which swiveled back and forth in a futile attempt to cool the air.

I reached the corner where I’d encountered Katya. I glanced once behind me, then turned in the direction of the room for the cleaning crew. Everything down here seemed to be in a time warp. The rotary fans, the fluorescent lights. There were even red metal buckets hanging on nails along the walls, each of them emblazoned with the word
FIRE
—and filled with sand.

A doorway came into view, up on the left. As I stepped inside the room, I saw that there was a table, a row of ancient-looking gray metal lockers similar to the ones I’d seen in the other room, and a small mirror hung lopsidedly on the wall.

It was a moment before I spotted Katya. She was standing at the far end of the room, at the edge of the table. Her shoulders sagged in her blue uniform, and I could see, even from the doorway, that there were still dark half-moons under her eyes.

“Hello,” she said somberly.

“I’m glad you called,” I said. “I was hoping you’d get in touch with me.” My pulse quickened as I crossed the room to her. I knew that what she was about to reveal might point me toward the person who’d killed both Mona and Ryan.

“Well, you asked me to, is that not correct?” she said snappishly.

“Yes,” I said. “I had a feeling there was something you might want to tell me.”

“Tell you?”

Why the curt tone and the skittishness? I wondered. Were they just a reflection of the fear she was experiencing?

“About the murder,” I said.

“So you didn’t believe me the other evening when I told you I saw nothing?”

Gosh, this was maddening. She’d called me down here because she supposedly had information to divulge, and now she was being cagey again. I decided my only strategy was to urge her on by letting her think I knew more than I did.

“Katya, I know what’s going on,” I said evenly. “Ryan and I worked together, and we exchanged information regularly. I know he spoke to you. Now, please, tell me in your own words. I can help you if you’ll only tell me.”

She took a deep breath, straightening her body, and her lips parted, as if she were about to speak. But instead her mouth formed into a snarl. Rows of goose bumps raced up my arms. I didn’t like the way she was acting.

“So you know, do you?” she asked, her voice filled suddenly with confidence and disdain. “You are what they call a smarty pants, then. And so why should I not kill you just like I killed your lady boss?”

CHAPTER 21

I
stared at her dumbly, trying to grasp what she’d said with the difficulty of someone grabbing on to a doorknob slathered in grease. I played her words back in my head. She had just confessed to killing Mona. And she had wrongfully assumed that I had come to the basement knowing the truth.

“Why?” I asked weakly. “Why would you do that to her?”

I caught a glimmer in her eyes. She had just realized her mistake, probably because of the stupefied expression on my face.

“So,” she said, smiling ruefully. “You trick me. You did
not
know, but you talk to me to find out what you can. Everyone at your
Buzz
magazine is just alike.”

I reached back slowly with my hand and gripped the edge of the table for support. With one ear I listened for sounds emanating from the rest of the basement. I was in big trouble, and my whole body was pulsing with fear.

“Katya, I didn’t try to trick you, really,” I said as gently as possible. “I approached you because I thought you were afraid, that something was troubling you.”

She snickered again. “Oh, something was troubling me, that is true. I don’t want to go to one of your American prisons.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Your boss was an evil woman, a witch. She wanted to take my job away.”

“Your job—
why
?”

She snorted with disdain. “She didn’t like the way I dust in her office. And she say that I don’t remove the drinking glasses from her table and they cause rings on her tabletop. She had the woman who worked for her call my boss.”

“And so you hit her out of anger?”

“Is that what you think? No, I was
protecting
myself. She attacked me first.”

I flashed back to the wound on Katya’s head.

“Why?”

“I saw her come down the hallway—from that party, I think. I went to talk to her, to ask her not to make trouble for me. I thought she would be a kind person and listen, but she said she did not want me on her floor anymore—even in the building. I give her push, just a little push, but not to harm her. When I turned around, she hit me—on the head with that trophy of hers. I picked up the trophy and I hit her back. It was what you call self-defense.”

Hardly self-defense. Whereas Katya’s wound hadn’t appeared life-threatening, Mona had taken a brutal pounding. It seemed more than likely that Katya had worked herself into a rage that night, had pushed Mona, and then had snapped when Mona struck her. In fact, I was being given a glimpse of that mercurial, unstable side of her personality now. But I knew I had to do my best to appear sympathetic and find a way to escape.

“The police will understand,” I told her. “They understand about self-defense.”

She rolled her eyes incredulously and then, shifting moods again, smiled at me. “You know, you helped me so much that night.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. But I knew what she was about to say. It was about how I had played into the whole charade.

“You asked me about my attacker,” Katya said. “That gave me the idea. And then I just play along with it, for you and the police. I even give that one special detail about the long-sleeve shirt. I don’t want to come back to work here, but André say that I have to or it would look funny.”

“How did Ryan learn the truth?” I asked, my thoughts now rushing ahead.

She shook her head dismissively. “He called my company. He found out that there had been a complaint by your boss. So then he calls me and tells me to come to his floor and asks lots of questions, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong—just like you.”

“But how did he suspect you in the first place?”

“He saw me in the big office.”

“He saw you hit Mona?”

“No, no,” she said in frustration. “He said he saw me earlier, emptying the wastebasket in her office. And he knew that there was no reason why I should be back there later.”

So that had been Ryan’s revelation, the lightbulb that had gone off when I questioned him. He had been describing Katya coming down the hall. He knew from the press reports that Katya had been attacked outside Mona’s office, but why would she be there if, as he’d witnessed, she’d already cleaned that part of the floor? He must have realized that Katya had been following Mona back to the office.

“Had you seen the drugs in his drawer? Is that how you knew he used them?”

“I look in all your drawers,” she said, her lips curled. “And I know your secrets.”

“And so you substituted the pure heroin. Is that something André obtained for you?”

She smiled proudly. “Let’s just say we have our connections. I call André after this man talks to me and he brings the drugs. I did not think the man would return that night, but he did. He was doing drugs a long time. He would have died soon anyway.”

“You had me followed from your apartment that night, didn’t you. But it wasn’t André—he was too tall.”

“That is André’s cousin. A very good man. He paid you a visit at your building one night, too.”

“And in the sauna. How did he manage to work at the party?”

“That wasn’t hard. I have connections on other floors. I am getting tired of your questions. You ask too many.”

“Katya,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “the police are closing in on you. You need to come upstairs now so we can call them.”

She laughed harshly. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “I think you are like the man Ryan. You keep it all to yourself so you can write a big story. Besides, I have nothing to worry about. The police have no proof.”

That might be the case, but it was clear she wasn’t going to be taking any chances. I had to get out of there and get out fast. From somewhere off in the basement, I thought I heard the sound of footsteps. This was the time to go. I jumped back from the table, spun around, and sprang across the room.

I felt her reach for me, try to grab my arm, but I was too quick. She didn’t attempt to come after me, though. I reached the door and threw myself out and to the right. Ten feet away, André was standing in the corridor with another man—the tall, skinny waiter with the shaved head whom I’d seen in the kitchen at Dicker’s.

I backed up, fear gushing through me.

“Stop her,” Katya called out, aware obviously from my retreating steps that I’d spotted André. From the pocket of his black leather jacket, André drew something silver and held it toward me. For a second I stared at it stupidly, as if he were holding out a tool of some kind, expecting me to take it. And then I saw that it was really a knife. A short, fat one that gleamed momentarily as he cocked his hand to the right.

I turned and heaved myself in the opposite direction, running as fast as I could in my slingbacks.

“Help!” I called as I plunged down the hall, hiking up my skirt with one hand. My cry emerged with all the force of someone summoning a waiter. I tried again, and this time it was louder, but there was no response from any direction.

About fifty feet ahead of me the corridor dead-ended, but it looked as if it branched off to both the left and the right. All of a sudden the lights went out, and I was running in total darkness. One of the men must have flicked a switch. Disoriented, I stumbled, reached out for support, and felt my purse slip off my shoulder. Before I could catch myself, I slammed into the wall with the right side of my body and fell to the ground.

I could hear the men panting as they ran behind me and the sound of someone’s hand skimming along the wall as he moved. Frantically I struggled to my feet, picturing the knife in André’s hands, and started to run again. The two men were nearly on top of me now, and an arm suddenly swept the air, just grazing my body. It felt massive and I sensed it must be André’s. I jumped away, but the arm swiped again and this time he managed to grab the back of my stretchy black top. In one swift movement, he knotted his hand around the fabric and used it as a pivot to ram me hard into the wall. The first thing that hit was my head, and I groaned from the blow. I reached out for something to hold on to so I wouldn’t fall again, and my hands found a hard metal object protruding from the wall. I realized, even in the darkness, that it was one of the red buckets I’d seen earlier, the ones filled with sand that said
FIRE
on them. I moved both hands up to the rim and yanked so that the bucket came off the nail. I aimed without seeing and flung the bucket as hard as I could. It hit someone in the face, I thought, making a sound that was a cross between a clang and a crunch. He growled and spat out a few words in what must have been Russian as the bucket bounced several times on the cement floor.

With my palm against the wall, I began to run again. Farther up, I could see light bleeding into the corridor—the lights were clearly on someplace up ahead. I ran faster. The corridor ended, but there were two others, both lit, branching off to the right and the left. I chose the one to the right, because instinct told me that it led back in the general direction of the elevator. After a short distance, the corridor opened onto another wide expanse of basement, this area filled with dozens of huge cardboard boxes and a few dollies leaning against the wall. I hadn’t a clue where the elevator was or even a stairwell, for that matter—and I could hear footsteps behind me.

I took off in the direction that I sensed must be north, hoping that I was running parallel to the corridor I’d originally come down and that I’d wind up back near the elevator. Suddenly, on one of the support posts, I spotted a fire alarm and an extinguisher just below it. I pulled down hard on the alarm, and instantly the clanging began. I looked behind me. No sign of the men. I yanked the extinguisher off the post, and with it tucked beneath my arm I began to run again.

Within a minute, I found myself in territory that seemed familiar—the herd of Dumpsters and the stacks of office furniture. I knew that the elevator was just ahead. I raced in that direction, and when I reached it I jammed the button with my finger—but I could see by the pointer above that the elevator was on the twelfth floor. Over the clanging I could hear shouts, in Russian. André and his cousin would be here any second. Just down the hall was the room where I’d seen the maintenance men that day. I raced down there, ducked into the room, and almost without thinking flung open the door of one of the metal lockers. Quickly I climbed inside.

There were several slits in the door, nearly at my eye level; as I gripped the extinguisher in my hands, I peered out into the room. No sign of anyone, though they couldn’t be far behind. The only sound I could hear was the deafening clanging of the alarm, only slightly muffled inside the locker.

And then the cousin burst into the room. My body felt liquefied by fear. I commanded my fingers to locate the little pin on the extinguisher. It was too dark and I was too crammed in to be able to see if I’d found it, but I was pretty sure I had.

After glancing up and down the length of the room, the cousin turned to go. But then he lurched to a stop in the doorway, and I could almost see his mind working.
Go, go, go!
I wanted to scream. He spun around, took one long stride, and flung open the locker closest to him.

After he found it empty, he kept going, one locker after another. He flung open each door so hard that the whole unit shook. As he drew closer to mine, he entered a blind spot in my peripheral vision and I could no longer see him. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I gripped the extinguisher tightly, my foot poised to kick in case he tried to close the door once he saw what I had in my arms.

Finally my time was up. The locker door flung open, light filled my eyes, and I pulled out the pin then squeezed the trigger. A huge explosion of white spray spewed forth directly into the cousin’s eyes. He shouted, first in surprise and then in pain, and stumbled backward into a crouch. I tried to jump past him, but as one of his hands sought his eyes, the other reached for me. He grabbed my ankle and yanked. In one swift motion I belly-flopped onto the floor with a smack. The fire extinguisher went sailing across the room.

The fall knocked the wind out of me, and for a second all I could do was kick feebly in the cousin’s direction. I craned my head around. He clawed with both hands at his eyes now. I struggled to my feet and lumbered out into the hall, in the direction of the elevator. The elevator must have come and gone since I was first in the corridor because the dial indicated that it was now on six. For the first time I noticed, farther down the hall, an
EXIT
sign. That must be the damn stairwell, I realized. As I took a step toward it, a movement caught my eye and I turned to the left. André and Katya were standing just behind me.

They lunged toward me, each grabbing hold of me. I felt André reach into his pocket, and I knew he was going for the knife.

Above the clanging, I could suddenly hear clattering. The stairwell door burst open and Tate and two patrol cops charged through. One of the patrol cops had his gun drawn.

André released me and took off. Before Katya could do the same, I kicked her as hard as I could in the knee. Her legs buckled and I slid out of her grasp.

One of the two cops took off after André. Tate and the other hurried over to Katya and me.

“She killed Mona,” I said, out of breath. “There’s another guy, down there, in that room to the right. I squirted a fire extinguisher at him.”

Tate reached under the back of his sports jacket and yanked out a set of handcuffs. As he cuffed Katya, he told the patrol cop to check out the room.

“You have no proof,” Katya spat at him. “I do nothing wrong.”

The stairwell door sprang open again and this time there were not only four cops, but also three New York City firefighters. Tate, with Katya in tow, conferred quickly with them, pointing as he talked. One cop headed down toward the room with the lockers, two took off through the basement, and the last escorted Katya through the stairwell. Around this time, someone finally turned off the goddamn alarm. Silence seemed to sweep through the basement like a wave of water.

“Sit there for a minute,” Tate said, gesturing toward a box. “You’re bleeding and you need to see someone. And I need to talk to you.”