Doyle leaned back in his chair with a teasing smile on his face.He threaded his fingers together to rest on the back of his head and absently swiveled left and right.“No matter how much planning goes into it—murder is messy.Even the most methodical killers sometimes have to adapt under pressure.”
“I know.”
“So maybe this mourning setwasa trophy to Wagner.Maybe she took it as a one-off to see how she felt about it.”
“She had just set you up to be murdered after offing her own husband, but spent precious seconds collecting the mourning jewelry from its hiding place before going on the lam.It meant too much to her to have been a mere experiment.”
“She might’ve started with jewelry as her trophy-of-choice,” Doyle suggested.“It could have held sentimental meaning.”
Larkin considered this.“But not all women wear jewelry, so it wouldn’t have been a dependable choice in the long term.”
“Certainly not with sex workers,” Doyle agreed.“Back then, the smart ones avoided wearing anything that could be torn out or used to choke them.”
“One of Wagner’s very early kills,” Larkin concluded.“I suspect she murdered at least three patients at the New York Infirmary—when she was still learning how to kill with digoxin.”
“Find the right victim and we’ll find the owner of this jewelry, which’ll potentially lead us to the cold case connection.”Doyle puffed his cheeks as he let out a loud breath.“Piece of cake.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Larkin was no stranger to calling all sorts of different establishments in his never-ending quest for information as a Cold Case detective.He’d phoned golf clubs and strip clubs—which had an interesting amount of crossover he felt should be studied—repair shops and pawn shops, airlines, museums, every local and state government acronym to exist east of the Appalachian Mountains, and even a zoo, so Larkin considered an inquiry to a hospital to be rather mundane.But the folks at the New York Infirmary seemed to think the opposite, and after being punted to what felt like every single extension, voicemail, and unfriendly recipient on staff, Larkin was finally informed that the three individuals in question had each suffered a heart attack while in the care of the New York Infirmary and tragedies happen, detective, there was never anything suspicious about these deaths at the time of their occurrence.
Larkin lowered the cell from his ear, tapped End, and opened his mouth while turning toward the worktable.But as he took in Doyle—seated at one of the stools, hunched over an open laptop and digital tablet, stylus in hand and earbuds in—Larkin found that he’d completely blanked on what it was he’d wanted to say.Competence in the workplace would always be an attractive trait, but Doyle in his element took sexy to a whole other level.And while staring unabashedly, Larkin was struck with a sense of astonishment—that even fifty-one days into their romantic entanglement, the solace he found in Doyle wasn’t abating, wasn’t normalizing.It was still a wonder, like a tiny star going supernova in his chest.
Larkin’s cell rang in his hand and he jumped a little in surprise.
Noah Rider.
He accepted the call.“Do you have the dates.”
Noah made a sound of annoyance under his breath, and Larkin knew that if the circumstances had been different, his ex-husband would have commented on the lack of small talk, the lack of a polite greeting.“I wrote down what I could remember.”
“Tell me.”
“I saw the car three times before today.There might’ve been other instances… I’m sure there was… but I only started noticing about two weeks ago.The first was Monday, June 29, at seven in the morning.I was leaving to go to school.Summer programs were starting.”
—“Speaking of unnecessary overhead,” Doyle was saying as he stood from the kitchen table.“Craig’s been into these weekly morning meetings and I’m about to be late.”He collected his suit coat, portfolio bag, and then leaned down to kiss Larkin goodbye—
“And the next,” Larkin prompted.
“I can’t remember the specific day.Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday kinda blur together, you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
Noah made a sound under his breath that almost indicated amusement.“I think it might have been Thursday the second.I do know it was 3:30 because I was actually leaving work on time for once.”
—“Detective Doyle.”
“Hi.It’s me—Everett.”
A smoky chuckle.“Hey.”
“I’m sorry to bother you at the office with something so trivial, but I thought you might be familiar with a music venue called OK Astor.I’d ask Miyamoto, but she’s not in the office.”
“Oh wow, the OK A on Astor Place?”
“Yes.Your tone of recollection suggests familiarity.When did they go out of business.”
“I want to say 1999, but I’ll be honest, I was a freshman in college and there was a lot of drinking back then.Why?”
