Page 25 of Kill For Me Kill For You
The three photographs accompanying the piece were interesting. One of the school; one of the man she’d seen in the photos in Wendy’s office, again, not a great picture; and one of Rebecca.
Naomi was still Wendy in Amanda’s mind. She wanted to keep that name in her head in case she accidentally called her Naomi. That wouldn’t do. Not yet, anyway. For now, Amanda went through search after search, and found similar articles from theNew York Daily News,Metro New York, theQueens Chronicleand more. She noticed there was no mention of the story inCatholic New York. Most of the articles were much alike. There wasn’t much in the way of new information either about Naomi, Quinn or Rebecca.
The last hit she got proved interesting.
Bereaved Mother of Teen Arrested for Facebook Post.
The article from theNew York Postgave the history of what had happened with Rebecca and said that Naomi had posted on the Saint Patrick’s Facebook page, saying Quinn was a pedophile and a murderer and should be shot. She wasn’t charged by police, but agreed to refrain from making similar posts on social media. Amanda bookmarked this page and made a mental note to print it out later along with the rest. The picture of Quinn was a little clearer and in color. He had a handsome face. One that she would remember.
The time in the corner of her screen read one oh five in the afternoon. She pulled the ball cap low on her head, put on a pair of shades and looked up from her laptop.
She scanned the street. There was construction work going on at the corner, and the workers were sharing their coffee and doughnuts with a homeless man who looked as though he hadn’t eaten anything in a long time. Women in long coats and boots walked quickly by, their scarves trailing in the wind. Men in suits with umbrellas and iPads tucked beneath their arms. Steam rose from the vents in the street and yellow taxis honked their horns like they were talking to each other.
Any time now . . .
And there he was. Wallace Crone in a dark suit, black coat, AirPods in his ears, a bag over his shoulder. He exited Grand Central and used the crosswalk. Amanda watched as he entered the building directly opposite her. He was running late. He normally made it there at one ten. It was almost one twenty now. Amanda knew he came here every week, same time, same day, but so far she could only make an educated guess at what he was doing in the building. There were more than sixty tenants.
The once-a-week visits ruled out a lot of those businesses. It wasn’t work for Crone, because he sometimes arrived in his gym gear, and would go for a run afterwards. She doubted he needed to visit a medical doctor once a week. A psychiatrist’s appointment was the most likely. He came from wealth. His father was a Wall Street legend, and Crone worked in Daddy’s firm. He’d graduated from Harvard Law with honors. His criminal record was never a problem, because his father didn’t let it become a problem.
She figured the weekly session in the shrink’s chair was something that Crone’s father had insisted upon. If his son was regularly seeing a psychiatrist, it might curb his tendencies.
Amanda felt sick every time she saw Crone walking freely around the city while her daughter and husband lay in their early graves.
Amanda had loved walking these streets with Luis and Jess. The year before, in the summer, they had walked ten blocks on this very street. About a half mile. A big walk for a five-year-old in ninety-degree heat. Jess hadn’t complained, but her little face had turned red under her sun hat and she said she was thirsty. For the last two blocks, Luis had grabbed Jess by the waist, hoisted her up onto his shoulders. When they arrived at Mary Arnold’s, one of the oldest toy stores in the city, Jess drank most of her juice before they went inside.
Jess had loved Mary Arnold’s toy store. So had Luis. As Jess was pulling Amanda towards the back of the store, where they kept Silly Putty, Luis pointed out the old Fisher Price toys – too babyish for Jess then.
‘I had that phone,’ said Luis, pointing to a white rotary phone with a face and wheels on its base. It had a red receiver and eyes that wobbled when you turned the wheels.
‘I think I had that one too,’ said Amanda.
Jess tugged at Amanda’s hand.
‘The Silly Putty is this way, Mommy,’ she said.
They spent an hour in the store. Jess left with her putty, some comic books and a pair of cheap mini sunglasses for a doll that Jess hoped would fit Sparkles. Stepping back into the sunshine on the Upper East Side, shopping bags full of toys, Jess turned and looked up at them both. Then she’d wrapped her little arms round their legs and said, ‘You’re the best mommy and daddy in the whole world.’
Luis and Amanda had locked eyes. She’d never seen him so happy.
That night, as Jess slept, Amanda and Luis ate dinner in front of the TV, watched SNL in each other’s arms and went to bed tired and happy.
It was the most perfect day.
There were no more days for Jess and Luis.
And yet Crone’s days were laid out in front of him.
She could not let this go. She would never let this go.
Amanda closed the laptop, took out her phone and typed out a text to Wendy.
Want to grab coffee or a drink?
She’d had an idea. A crazy idea.
And it just might work.
11
