“We reviewed the footage,” he informs me. “The subject came into the lobby at a few minutes past eight and attended a birthday party for a photographer named Chadwick Black at the Oyster Restaurant.”
The subject.
Rachel.
“And?”
“She seems to have had a heated discussion with a man outside the restaurant. After that, she took the elevator to the ground floor.” He pauses. “Then when the elevator opened, she entered the button for the penthouse. We have the footage of her leaving your apartment early in the morning, but she went straight outside and took a taxi.”
“The man outside the restaurant—do you know who he is?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Find out everything you can. I want to know who she is. Check the guest list for the party then do a social media check.”
“Already on it.”
“Let me know when you have something.”
Later, when I’m in my study reviewing the videos the security department sent to me, I watch her argue with a dark-haired man outside the restaurant. When she walks away from him, she enters the elevator, and the footage shows her wiping tears from her cheeks. She didn’t even look at the panel when she hit the button for the penthouse, and at my floor, she seems genuinely confused as she vainly taps the buttons on the elevator panel, obviously trying to make it go back to the ground floor.
My desk phone rings. It’s Jed.
“I’m coming up.”
“Fine.”
He lets himself into the apartment and comes to meet me in the study, knocking discreetly before opening the door.
“So?” I barely look at him. I just want answers.
“We’ve been checking the names on the guest list and hoping to find her from there. We identified the man she spoke to outside the restaurant. He’s Jack Weyland, a senior editor at Gilt Traveler magazine.”
Jed looks at me then continues.
“He’s listed on the site as a contributor, along with a headshot.” He hands me a printout. “Farther down the page, we have another headshot, which seems to be the subject.”
I find it almost immediately. The gleaming hair stands out, as well as the sweet half-smile and the solo dimple. I read the text beside it: Rachel Foster, Features Associate.
I tear my eyes away from her face. “Anything else?”
Jed nods and hands me an envelope. “That’s all we found on her.”
I study the envelope for a moment before I reach for it.
“Thank you.” I dismiss him. As he leaves, I have a short moment of sanity when I ask myself why I’m bothering. So what if I slept with some girl whose last name I never bothered to ask? Why can’t I let it go and forget about her?
I extract the contents of the envelope, and I have my answer. The first sheet is a picture of her, in color, wearing a t-shirt with her hair in a ponytail. Her arm is around someone, but that part of the image has been cropped out. She’s laughing. Carefree and beautiful.
I study the picture for a long time before I go to the next page, where all her information is neatly printed.
Rachel Foster, twenty-four years old, Columbia graduate with a degree in English Literature, features associate at Gilt Traveler.
Jed has included her home and work addresses, family information, and printouts of articles she has written for Gilt. I stare at the contents of the envelope, confusion slowly giving way to anger.
Rachel Foster is going to have a lot of explaining to do.
Chapter 5