The Green Line (12 page)

Sarah proudly felt the dress, enjoying the compliment. “Are you having fun?”

Abby put on a big smile and lied with gusto. “Of course! Sarah, this dress—it’s so amazing. You’re just radiant. And this place—my God—are you a Rockefeller?” They both laughed.

Sarah scoped out the room and nodded toward her new groom. “Did you see Rick during the ceremony? I thought he was going to pass out! You would have thought he was standing in court waiting for a judge to determine his punishment. Hilarious!”

Abby laughed. “I’ve never seen him look so speechless.” She spotted him holding court among friends. “Clearly, he’s feeling better.”

“Yeah, we had a martini after the service. He relaxed.”

“Well, I couldn’t be happier for you guys. You make a great pair.”

“Hope so!” Sarah said, already ending the conversation. “I’ll try to find you again. I’ve got to go say hello to two hundred pseudo-friends of my parents.”

“Have fun!” Before Abby could even think, the lights dimmed, indicating time for dinner. She grabbed her table assignment card and looked over at table eight. Two young attorneys from the firm, second-years, and a few strangers were already sitting at the table.
The singles table. She looked at the exit sign again. If she was going to go, now was the time. A waiter walked by with a tray full of white wine. Abby grabbed a glass and crumpled the assignment card in her hand.

· · ·

TRIP
motioned the bartender for his check. The excursion had proved reassuring. Nothing to worry about here. In fact, maybe she’d call. He should be spending time with women like that. Smart, beautiful. Mom would love her. Enough with the whores. His mind wandered to the last woman he’d fucked. “Useless,” he muttered. He looked around the opulent lobby. This was where he belonged. He turned to leave. Abigail was heading toward him.

“Well, well!” He smiled.

She took a seat next to his. “I hope you’re not leaving.”

“No. No. Sit! Shall we have another drink?” He was already waving the bartender over.

“Yes, please.” She put down the near-empty wine glass. “I can’t drink any more wine. How about…,” she smiled and tapped her finger on those full lips, pondering the best choice. “A cosmopolitan, please.”

“You got it.” Trip turned to the bartender, now waiting for an order. “She’ll have a cosmo and I’ll have a very dry Stoli martini, straight up with three blue cheese olives.”

“Oh yum. I love blue cheese olives.”

“Make that six blue cheese olives,” Trip ordered.

Trip smiled at Abby. Things were looking better and better.

She grabbed another of his cigarettes, and relaxed. “So…”

Trip sat back too. “So.” He knew he had her.

TWELVE

SUNLIGHT
streamed through the open vertical blinds, creating stripes across the bed. A thick stripe of light across Abby’s face pulled her into the morning. Her head throbbed. Her tongue felt covered in soot. Her mind was blank. She rolled to her back and felt the sheets against her skin. She looked down at her naked body. “Fuck,” she said softly as she braced her head and tried to piece it together. She looked around the room. Her dress was in a ball on the floor. She was alone. She counted the champagnes, the wine, more wine. Out to the bar. With Trip. Trip who? Did she even get a last name? Cocktails. Many cocktails. No dinner. She remembered pulling him into the ballroom for a dance. She remembered spinning and stumbling and he caught her and they laughed. Had David witnessed this? Did she do anything else? She remembered beer. And lemon drop shots. She closed her eyes and remembered a kiss. They were in the lobby. It was passionate. She remembered touching his hair. Oh God. She couldn’t remember more. She didn’t know how she got home. Or why she was naked.

Abby put on a robe, went to the bathroom, and peeled the contacts from her eyes. She looked at her mascara-smeared face and wondered if she was alone. She went down to the kitchen, half-expecting to find Trip sitting at the table, drinking coffee. But there was no sign of him. She stood at the butcher block island and searched her brain for details. If only she had a friend she could discuss this with, who might have seen something, who would jog her memory so the whole story would come to her. But there was no one. She looked at her watch. Sarah was probably boarding the airplane right about now. And David. God, she hoped he didn’t see them together. Of course, why not? He’d moved on. He loved someone new. That beautiful Amazon. But it would hurt. She’d hurt him enough already.

Mrs. Tanor was in the courtyard grabbing her newspaper when Abby opened the front door to do the same.

The cold air shocked her system. “Morning,” Abby said, in her best attempt to be pleasant.

“Well, hello dear. How are you?”

“Oh, I’ve been better.” She went for the paper.

“How was the wedding?”

“It was fun. I’m just really tired.” Abby’s foot was already back in the door.

“You don’t look like yourself, dear. Is everything all right?”

“Of course, Mrs. Tanor. I just got in pretty late.” She turned to go inside.

“Abby, is there a new beau I should know about?” Mrs. Tanor had a devilish look.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, that handsome man.”

Oh God. She must have brought him home.

“He came here to see you yesterday. I told him you had already left for the Drake.”

What? Her head hurt and listening to Mrs. Tanor was more exhausting than usual. “I don’t know who that was, Mrs. Tanor. Don’t know too many handsome men,” she offered with a smile.

“Too bad. Well, maybe he’ll come back.”

“Maybe.” Abby shut the door.

ABBY
got to work at nine o’clock on Monday and read through the twenty new e-mails. She had put in a few hours in the office on Sunday, but was still behind. An outside line rang.

“Abigail Donovan.”

“Yeah, hi, Ms. Donovan? This is Detective Henton.”

Abby turned from the computer. “I’m sorry?”

“Detective Henton, ma’am. Ms. Donovan, I’m working on a matter related to the Reggie’s Bar homicide. I believe you were there a couple of weeks ago?”

“Oh. Are you working with Officer Reilly?”

“No. It’s kind of complicated. I’m on a different case. Is it possible for me to meet with you today? I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t understand. I told the police everything. I really can’t do anymore.” She looked around at her increasing piles of paperwork. “I want to cooperate, but I’m really swamped here.”

“Ms. Donovan, I’m sorry to bother you. But I’m calling because you called Officer Reilly on Friday with some more information about that night.”

So, perhaps someone had thought her revelation was significant. She turned her back to the desk and looked out the window. “Yes, I remembered seeing a man.”

“Right. I’d like to show you some pictures and see if you might be able to identify the man.”

“Okay. Officer Reilly didn’t seem to think too much of my description.”

“Well, I do. Would you mind if I came to your office?”

Just what she needed, another officer showing up at work. But it was better than going to the police station again. She quickly reviewed her agenda for the day. “Yes, that would be okay. How about four o’clock?”

“Great. See you then.”

IT
was nearing five o-clock when an inside line rang. Abby picked up.

“Abby, it’s Barbara. You have a visitor. A Marcus Henton?”

“Oh thanks, Barbara. I’ll be right there.”

She walked into the lobby and Barbara pointed to the waiting area by the windows. A tall black man wearing khaki pants and a black leather jacket was looking out the window at the view of the park and the lake. She was relieved he wasn’t in uniform.

She walked toward the man. “Hello? Detective?”

The man turned around. Abby’s breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded.

She couldn’t speak. She stared at his face. At the scar.

The man smiled. “You recognize me?”

Abby looked around. Attorneys were walking by; Barbara was still at the desk. She couldn’t be in danger.

He obviously sensed her fear. “Don’t worry.” He offered his hand. “I am Detective Henton. When you saw me I was working undercover.” He looked different, not scary. His clothes were straight out of Banana Republic.

Abby tentatively extended her hand in return. “I don’t understand. You chased me.”

“I realize that may be how you perceived it. But actually, I followed you because I was concerned. I wanted to find out what happened in Reggie’s. And I wanted to be sure those boys didn’t follow you.”

Abby sat in one of the lobby chairs and put her head in her hands. The detective took the chair next to hers and lowered his tone. “I’ve been working undercover in that neighborhood for about seven months. I’m getting to know the kids, the gangs, and I’ve gained some trust. I couldn’t just bust in and arrest those kids for messing with you.”

She didn’t know how to feel. Relieved? Angry?

She went with angry. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you here?”

He looked around. There were several people in the lobby now. “Can we go to your office?”

Abby tried to process this. “Could you show me some identification?”

He smiled and leaned back. “Sure.” He offered his badge and police ID card.

Abby examined the picture carefully and then looked at the man again. It was definitely him, though the picture looked old and he didn’t have a scar.

She stood up. She felt safe at the office. “Okay, come with me.”

They walked, she leading by a few paces, down the long corridor and turned right down the south hall. Her door was open and she gestured to the two guest chairs by the door. “Take a seat.” Abby went to her desk and sat. She was glad to have the desk between them and to feel the comfort of her own territory. “So, what’s going on?”

“You mentioned seeing a man leaving the scene.” The detective reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a copy of a photograph. “I was hoping you might be able to give more of a description. Does this man look familiar?” It was a blond man, wearing blue jeans and a black leather jacket, coming out of a store and talking on a cell phone. The picture was obviously taken from across the street. The man did not seem to know he was being photographed. The picture was grainy and the man’s face was partially covered by his sunglasses.

Abby took the picture and studied it. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Henton looked disappointed. “I realize it’s not very clear. Can you tell me again who you think you saw coming out of Reggie’s?”

“Well, it was dark, but like I told Officer Reilly, I feel sure it was a man, and that he was white and he had kind of wavy, light hair. Blond, dirty blond, not like white. There’s a street lamp right outside the doors and he turned up the street and I saw the blond. That’s how I knew it was a white guy. He was dressed in dark clothes so I couldn’t tell you much. I didn’t see his face.”

“But you don’t recognize this guy?” He pointed out the picture again.

She studied it again. “I couldn’t say.”

“Would you say the man was tall or short?”

“Neither. It was kind of far away.” She pointed to the picture. “Who is this?”

“This man,” he said, pointing to the picture, “had been seen with the woman who was found dead. I was hoping you might recognize him.”

Abby shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Okay. Well I appreciate your time, Ms. Donovan.” He stood to leave but then turned back. “Oh, and Ms. Donovan, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention our meeting to Officer Reilly should you speak to him again.”

Abby stood. She felt unsettled. “Why? He was the officer who brought me in to the station.”

The detective sat again. He took a moment, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Ms. Donovan, I’m working undercover. It’s important that no one knows I’m an officer.”

This just seemed strange. The hairs on the back of her neck started to tingle. “Well, if you’re actually a police officer, other officers would know you.”

“Actually, that’s not the case. I came here from New York last spring. You could say I’m on a special assignment. Officer Reilly is…well, we’ve never met. That’s why I came to you today. I have never been to his station house.”

It was a wild tale and Abby wasn’t sure she should believe it. “I’m sorry, but how do I know that you didn’t just come in here with some fake badge and identification. Maybe you’re the one I saw leaving Reggie’s. Maybe I should call Officer Reilly right now.” She knew that didn’t make any sense but now she had the creeps. She grabbed for the phone.

The man reached forward and put his hand over hers. She looked up at him.

“First of all, you said he was white. Do I look white to you?” Obviously a rhetorical question. “Listen. I’m telling you the truth. I was hired directly by Robert Duvane. He’s the assistant deputy superintendent of the Internal Affairs Division. If you are nervous about trusting me, you can call him.” He reached into his wallet and offered her a business card. “I’ll give him the heads up that you may be calling. But no one else knows about me. It’s important to keep it that way.”