SABLE: Yes, I’m denying it. Bernstein wishes he were on my payroll—he’d do a lot better than what the city gives him. No, I like Mickey because I was pals with his old man, and yeah, I might throw him some tickets now and again, but I throw a lot of tickets around. See, there you go again. Connecting dots that aren’t even on the same page.

  LAMB: (Pause) I really have this all twisted around, don’t I?

  SABLE: That’s the first smart thing you’ve said today.

  LAMB: Well, thanks for setting me straight, Harold. You’re actually saving me a lot of time.

  SABLE: Tell you what, Lamb. Just to show you what an outstanding guy I am, I want you to be my guest this Sunday at the game.

  LAMB: You think I can be bought with a ticket to the game everybody in the world wants to see?

  SABLE: I’m not trying to buy anything. I’m just a generous guy by nature.

  LAMB: In that case, can you spare three tickets so I can bring the kids?

  SABLE: Like I said before, you’re unbelievable.

  Chapter 78

  12:25 p.m.

  THE TRAFFIC on Third Street just above Market was slower than usual up to Arch Street. Something was off; Veena had an uneasy feeling. She looked up at the skyline for black smoke or news choppers or both but saw nothing out of place. That made her worry all the more.

  “Driver, please pull over,” Veena said. “We’ll get out here.”

  Their rideshare driver seemed stunned by the very suggestion. “But I’m supposed to take you to Second and Arch.”

  “Charge us for the whole trip, and I’ll add an obscene tip,” Veena said. “Come on, Janie. We’re walking the rest of the way.”

  “You got it, V.”

  They hurried east on Market. The brutal winter winds chilled by the nearby Delaware River blasted their bodies as if trying to push them away.

  “Why did we get out here? What’s going on?”

  “Hopefully nothing, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Traffic is never this slow. To me, that means police activity.”

  “And Roz Cline lives nearby…”

  They hurried down Market Street, fighting the cold wind. At the far end of the block, near the ramp leading to Penn’s Landing, there were two police vans blocking traffic, and street cops were steering pedestrians away. As they closed the distance, even more police cars arrived, lights flashing, along with an EMT truck that squawked and squeezed through the blockade, forcing its way up Second Street in the wrong direction.

  “This is such a huge response,” Janie said. “What the hell is going on?”

  “There are no fire engines,” said Veena. “Just police and EMTs.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “You still have your old press pass, right?”

  “Five years out of date.”

  “They probably won’t pay too much attention. We should head up the walk to Church Street. Maybe we can sneak past the police along Christ Church.”

  Veena was right; nobody paid them much mind as they wound their way through the police vehicles toward Roz’s condo. A crowd had gathered outside. Veena could hear snippets of conversation that chilled her blood even more than the January cold:

  “Can you see anything from here?”

  “Trust you me, you don’t want to look.”

  “I need to get back to my apartment. This totally sucks.”

  “Anybody actually see her jump?”

  Chapter 79

  Transcript of conversation between Janie Hall and Stephanie Weddle, captured using an ambient recording app on Hall’s personal phone

  JANIE HALL: Oh my God. I can’t believe this. We were just with her yesterday…

  VEENA LION: Before we let our imaginations run wild, let’s find out for sure.

  HALL: Hang on. Oh, I know that cop over by the condo entrance. Let me see if she can tell us what’s going on. (Pause) Hey, Steph! It’s me, Janie Hall.

  OFFICER STEPHANIE WEDDLE: Huh? Oh, hey, Janie. I didn’t know you were still on the beat. Thought you’d retired a few years ago when that rag of yours folded.

  HALL: Wasn’t my rag, thankfully. I just gave them words in exchange for money. And yeah, I’m still at it. Hey, what happened here? I was trying to make my way up Third when everything just ground to a halt.

  WEDDLE: You don’t wanna know.

  HALL: Come on, Steph. Of course I want to know.

  WEDDLE: Heh-heh. Off the record?

  HALL: As always.

  WEDDLE: What about your friend over there, the elegant-looking lady you walked up with?

  HALL: That’s Veena. She’s a lawyer, so we have that confidentiality thing going.

  WEDDLE: Is that right?

  HALL: That’s right.

  WEDDLE: Okay, well…we don’t know if this is a suicide or something else. A resident on the top floor tumbled off the balcony and landed in the alley.

  HALL: Oh God.

  WEDDLE: Yeah, it’s a mess. And I mean that literally. The poor man who found her is having a real hard time of it.

  HALL: Who is it?

  WEDDLE: The man who found her?

  HALL: No, the victim.

  WEDDLE: I don’t know if I should tell you that. Even off the record—you understand.

  HALL: Of course, Steph, I totally get it. But the thing is, we were headed over here, to this building, to visit a friend of Veena’s. She wasn’t feeling too good, and we were worried about her.

  WEDDLE: I don’t know, Janie. I’d better ask someone…

  HALL: Just give me a first name so my heart stops racing. Please?

  WEDDLE: Damn it, Janie. (Lengthy pause) Okay, her first name is Rosalind. But the building super says everyone calls her Roz. Please tell me that’s not your friend’s friend.

  HALL: Thank you, Steph. I really appreciate it. You’ve just put my mind at ease.

  Chapter 80

  “IT’S HER.”

  “Uh-huh,” Veena said, staring off into the distance.

  Janie Hall blinked. “Did you hear me, V.? It’s her. Roz Cline. I just got confirmation from my cop friend. They found her body on the sidewalk. I pretended I didn’t know her to get information from Steph, but it’s looking like—”

  “I already knew it was Roz.”

  “—she either jumped or was…wait, how did you know it was Roz?”

  Veena wasn’t looking at Janie. She was focused on the alley next to the building. Janie followed her gaze and saw burly guys in suits stepping out of the side entrance. She recognized most of them from her police-beat days. They were homicide.

  Veena said, “I knew because of him.”

  Among the murder cops: Mickey Bernstein. He seemed to be running the show, instructing his colleagues on the next moves.

  “This freakin’ guy is everywhere,” Janie murmured.

  “And he shouldn’t be anywhere near this.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because he’s currently my number one suspect in the murder of Archie Hughes. And who was our most promising lead? The woman who was just shoved from her balcony.”

  “We don’t know for sure that’s what happened, V.”

  “She sounded like she was in love, not suicidal. Either way, Bernstein is the last person who should be investigating Roz Cline’s murder, because he’s probably the one who did it.”

  “Come on, V. I know he’s a scumbag, but that’s a huge line to cross.”

  The two of them took in the bustling crime scene together. Janie tried to absorb the details like a newspaper reporter. That meant looking for the telling details—the small things that would bring this scene to life for a reader later. The body language of the police (upset, blasé, confused). The behavior of the lookie-loos gathered on the sidewalk (rowdy, sad, suspicious).

  And, of course, anything striking about the murder victim herself—anything to bring her to life for a few more seconds. Janie was no longer a reporter, but she still found the technique useful, especially when Veena asked for her take. And her boss always asked.

  Veena Lion, however, took in crime scenes in a different way. Instead of using her eyes and ears like recording devices, she analyzed the scene like it was a life-size board game. Who were the key players? What did this recent move mean strategically? Who had been in the best position to make that move?

  And sometimes, Veena just stepped right onto the game board and started playing along.

  Chapter 81

  Transcript of conversation between Veena Lion and Detective Michael Bernstein, captured using an ambient recording app on her phone

  VEENA LION: Detective Bernstein! You got a minute?

  MICHAEL BERNSTEIN: Not really, Veena.

  LION: Fine. You don’t want to talk to me, I’ll find people who will.

  BERNSTEIN: Hey! Wait up and listen to me for a sec. You’re gonna want to stay away from this one. I’m not saying that as a threat. I’m saying it as your friend. Just be patient. You and the DA are going to get the outcome you want.

  LION: All I want is the truth, Bernstein.

  BERNSTEIN: Oh, you’ll get the whole story. Don’t worry.

  LION: I’m not so sure. Are you going to tell your superior officers about the connection between this murder and the Archie Hughes murder?

  BERNSTEIN: Who said this was a murder? And what does one have to do with the other?

  LION: Thought as much. See you soon, Detective.

  BERNSTEIN: What do you mean, soon?

  Transcript of interview with James Papaleo, doorman at the Villas at Elfreth’s Alley, conducted by Veena Lion and Janie Hall

  VEENA LION: Excuse me, are you the employee who found the body?

  JAMES PAPALEO: God, I wish I hadn’t. You have no idea. There are some things you can never erase from your brain.

  JANIE HALL: I’m so sorry, Mr. Papaleo. I know how hard this is. But we’re just trying to figure out what happened here.

  PAPALEO: Like I told the other cops, I just heard it. I didn’t know what I was hearing, but it sounded like a ton of produce fell off the back of a truck, you know? A loud, wet…cracking sound.

  LION: Did you know Roz Cline pretty well?

  PAPALEO: Yeah, I did. Everybody did. She was the life of this place. Really nice girl, very popular. I don’t understand this, I really don’t.

  HALL: When you say popular, what do you mean exactly? Did she entertain a lot of friends?

  PAPALEO: Nah, not a lot. She wasn’t a partyer like that. Really classy lady, real discreet. And the people she—what did you say, entertained? Well, they were classy people too.

  LION: People like Archie Hughes?

  PAPALEO: No offense, Detectives, but I think I should be discreet too. I mean, Archie obviously had nothing to do with what happened to poor Roz here.

  LION: But Archie did visit often, right? Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. I have all the sign-in logs from the management company.

  PAPALEO: Don’t know what good that’ll do you.

  HALL: What do you mean?

  PAPALEO: People like Archie Hughes pay a visit, their names don’t go into the sign-in logs. Too many crazy Eagles fans out there. Somebody sees his name on the log one day, and before you know it, you’ve got a crowd camped outside. The poor guy didn’t want to be bothered.

  LION: Or caught.

  PAPALEO: What was that?

  LION: Never mind. I’m guessing their friend Maya Rain wouldn’t be on the visitor logs either.

  PAPALEO: I don’t know any Maya Rain. Who’s that?

  HALL: What about Roz’s other friend…ah, sorry, I’m blanking here. What’s her name…(Snaps fingers) Super-pretty, in her twenties…

  PAPALEO: You probably mean Vanessa. Yeah, she and Roz were really close. Really sweet ladies…oh no. You’re asking because you have to break the bad news to Vanessa, right?

  LION: I have a feeling she already knows.

  Chapter 82

  Transcript of encrypted message exchange between Cooper Lamb and Veena Lion

  VEENA LION: What’s the latest?

  COOPER LAMB: Oh, nothing, just a leisurely day avoiding the police, sparring with a nanny, and trying to wrestle information out of an obese multimillionaire. Right now I’m waiting for the young ones to finish their pricey Quaker education for the day so I can feed them sugar and regale them with tales of violence before dropping them off at their mother’s place.

  LION: Roz Cline is dead.

  LAMB: You’ve gotta be s------- me! Okay, you have me beat. What happened…oh, wait. Was Roz the Old City jumper? It’s all over KYW.

  LION: I’m down here right now. Guess who else is here?

  LAMB: Bernstein.

  LION: Yep.

  LAMB: Thank God.

  LION: ?

  LAMB: If he’s there, that means he’s not stalking me and looking for an opportunity to have me arrested or shot.

  LION: ??????

  LAMB: Long story. But wait, why is he there?

  LION: We have a dead NFL superstar, a dead celebrity chef, and a dead Atlantic City hostess. The first two are murders, and I’m pretty sure the third is one too.

  LAMB: And Mickey Bernstein just happens to be there in record time for every killing. You should ask him why that is.

  LION: Tried that already. He told me I should steer clear of this for my own good. He said he was telling me because we’re old friends.

  LAMB: I didn’t know you two were close.

  LION: I didn’t either. I’d be tempted to ask him out if it weren’t for that triple-homicide thing.

  LAMB: Seriously? You think Bernstein killed all three of them? I mean, Mickey had a head start on Archie’s murder, but I don’t think he pulled the trigger himself. Victor tracked his movements.

  LION: Even detectives have partners.

  LAMB: So now it’s a conspiracy?

  LION: It already was, by definition.

  LAMB: Touché. But we have nothing solid tying Mickey to any of these killings. If anyone has a reason to show up at a murder scene, it’s a freakin’ murder cop.

  LION: So you think Bernstein is innocent?

  LAMB: Hell no. He practically has a neon GUILTY sign over his head. But we need to prove it.

  LION: Two potential witnesses have been killed. Who else is left to squeeze?

  LAMB: We make the rounds again. And this time, we squeeze harder.

  Saturday, January 29

  Chapter 83

  CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENT FROM JANIE HALL TO VEENA LION, FOUND ON AN ENCRYPTED SERVER

  Okay, V., consider this file extremely private and incredibly confidential. This is why I’m not texting you this information. If you have a place where you keep supersecret information—stuff so secret you don’t even tell me about it—put the contents of this entire folder in there. RIGHT NOW.

  This is because I’m about to admit to a crime.

  First, my justification for the crime, then the crime itself.

  I went home yesterday thinking a lot about Roz Cline. The woman who was about to become my new best friend. Her sudden death…her murder…hit home in a way I wasn’t expecting. I didn’t want it to be for nothing. She deserves better than that.

  But the truth is, she’s just a bit player in the murder of the century. And the people on the other side—whoever they may be—aren’t playing fair. So why should we? This, then, is the motive for my crime. (Crimes, actually.)

  Now to the means and opportunity for said crime(s).

  I know you like to tease me about my tortured dating life. And it is tortured. But it used to be tortured with a purpose. Since I’m in a confessing mood, and since this document will never see the light of day (right, V.?), I’ll admit that when I was a tabloid reporter, I preferred to date useful individuals.

  “Useful” meaning in a lowly position yet connected to the halls of power. (It didn’t hurt if they were a little hot too.)

  A few years ago, before I came to work for you, one of my useful dates was a guy named Prentiss Walsh. A bit of a smacked ass, to be honest, but ambitious. He’ll probably be mayor someday. And he just so happens to be the executive assistant of Charles Castrina, divorce attorney to the Philadelphia stars.

  Well, last night I called Prentiss. He was very happy to hear from me. He suggested I go to his place. I told him I was a little tipsy and happened to be at a bar right around the corner from his office. He told me he’d be right over. I told him I’d have another drink while I waited. He told me to have two. I had nothing stronger than a club soda with lime.

  Well, hellos led to flirtations, which led to more drinks (whiskey for him; club soda masquerading as gin and tonic for me), which led to my bold suggestion that we raid his boss’s high-end liquor cabinet. I mean, it was just around the corner, and I knew Prentiss had the pass card and keys…

  I know what you’re going to say, and believe me, I already said those things to myself. But remember what I told you about the other side not playing fair?

  Anyway, this wasn’t a long shot; I know a few things about Prentiss. For one, he has a larcenous streak, so the idea of getting hammered on Chuck Castrina’s expensive scotch while possibly making out with a former reporter on Castrina’s ten-thousand-dollar Chesterfield leather sofa…well, this would be too great a temptation to resist. And the other thing about Prentiss? He’s pretty much a lightweight. We made it to the sofa…and that was it before he passed out.

  I helped myself to the file cabinet. The keys were on Prentiss’s ring.

  I found Francine Hughes’s file.

  And V., let me tell you, I wish I’d had a few drinks before opening that folder of horrors.

  I scanned everything and dropped it into this folder. Take a look for yourself. Just be warned—it is entirely awful.

  Chapter 84

  REPORT TO C. LAMB BY V. SUAREZ

  Saturday, January 29

  (Sent with encryption and red-flagged, with delivery confirmation)