Page 102 of Stay Awake
“So that nobody can see what’s written on them,” Lavelle said, picking up a loose piece of paper lying on the floor. It was a photograph of Marco Reggio. Tape on the corners of the page indicated it had originally been stuck to a wall.
Halliday found a pile of unused blister packs of NoDoz tablets on the coffee table. The British social worker hadn’t been kidding when she said Liv Reese did anything she could to stop herself from falling asleep.
Halliday went into the galley kitchen and closed a partly open window with a loud thud. A bag of garbage slumped in the corner of the kitchen was filled with empty cans of caffeine drinks and a few used blister packs of medication to prevent sleep. On the fridge, the wordsSTAY AWAKEwere spelled out with colorful preschool letter magnets.
She swung open the fridge door. If trash was a window into a soul, as Lavelle had claimed, then refrigerators were equally revealing. Halliday had once found a packet of diamonds stuffed in a cabbage in a vegetable drawer, and an Uzi submachine gun in aluminum wrap under a frozen turkey in a freezer. She whistled in shock when she saw the contents of this fridge.
“Jack, take a look at this.”
There was no food inside the fridge. It contained shelves of unopened caffeine drinks and cans of espresso coffee.
“She must be permanently wired if she’s drinking this much caffeine all the time,” Lavelle said. “No wonder she can’t remember anything.”
Halliday didn’t respond. She was examining a stack of burned paper piled up in the kitchen sink. Among the scorched documents was the hard cover of a book embossed with the word “Journal.” The social worker had told her that Liv Reese’s journal was her lifeline. It appeared that lifeline was now a pile of ash.
“I’ll get the crime scene team to come and process this place,” Lavelle said, once they’d looked around properly. “Go home and get some sleep, Darcy.”
“It’s okay. I need to be up in case Liv Reese calls again,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“You need to sleep. We both do. I’ll head home as soon as the crime scene team arrives. Keep your phone on.”
“I suppose she won’t go far without any memory,” Halliday said, making no effort to leave.
“She can’t. The whole of NYPD is looking for her.”
Patrol cars near the bus and train terminals were told to be on alert in case Liv Reese tried to skip town. There was also a car staking out her old apartment, and one outside theCulturaoffice building.
“We’re waiting for a warrant to track her phone signal. It will be signed by a judge first thing in the morning. Once we have that, it should be easy to find her. Now go home and get some shut-eye, Darcy. In fact, take the car.” Lavelle tossed Halliday the keys. “I’ll take a cab home.”
Chapter
Fifty-Eight
Twenty-Four Hours Earlier
The stippled glass doors of the bar swing open as a couple drunkenly stumbles out. I step into the warmth, glad to be out of the cold. Loud music vibrates through my body as I push through crowds of drinkers, some bopping to music as they watch a live band perform a Lady Gaga cover.
Everything has passed in a haze since I was woken by a phone call from a stranger telling me that Amy was in trouble and needed me to meet her here. I came right away. I’d walk over burning coals for Amy.
Amy always sticks out in a crowd, but I don’t see her anywhere. My eyes settle on a blond woman watching the band. She turns to talk to the man next to her. I see her face and rule her out. She’s definitely not Amy. Behind the bar, a bartender with a dark goatee in a white shirt rolled to his elbows pours a tray full of beers. I head over to ask if he’s seen Amy. She lights up rooms. Everyone notices her.
“How are you, Liv?” the bartender asks when he sees me.
I do a double take. I don’t know how he knows my name since I’m pretty sure that I’ve never been here before. Amy and I have barhoppedtogether plenty of times, but not here. This place is memorable with its distinctive atmospheric decor; it’s both modern and vintage, with the triple-paneled art deco mirror behind the bar that harkens back to the prohibition era.
“What can I get you?”
“I’m looking for my friend Amy.” I describe her. “Have you seen her?”
He hesitates uncertainly and then sadly shakes his head.
“Did she leave already?”
“Not exactly,” he says awkwardly. “Er, does Ted know you’re here?”
I ignore his question, assuming he’s mixed me up with someone else. Instead I twist around to look for Amy, scrambling off the barstool when I notice another tall blond woman in the crowd listening to the band. “Actually, I think I see her.”
I push through the crowd looking for the woman, who seems to have disappeared. I move in and out of knots of people dancing to the music until I’m dizzy from looking at so many faces. The room begins to spin. Afraid I might faint, I head into the restroom, its walls painted midnight blue. I put my phone on a ledge above a sink and splash my face with water to revive myself.
