Lily gave the living room a narrow glance as she walked through, worked out how to set the stage so she sat with Cate on the main sofa. If her girl needed some support, she’d be right there.
She opened the door.
Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t a middle-aged woman with gray-threaded brown hair worn Judi Dench–style short and a skinny black man sporting short, neat dreads who looked barely old enough to order a legal drink.
They both wore suit jackets—his a charcoal gray with a nice clean cut, hers black and dumpy.
And they both held up badges.
“Ms. Morrow, I’m Detective Riley. This is my partner, Detective Wasserman.”
Riley, the woman, gave Lily a steady stare out of frosty blue eyes.
“Please come in. Caitlyn’s making some coffee.”
“Terrific view,” Wasserman commented while his dark eyes scanned the glass doors and beyond, the room and, Lily realized, everything in it.
“It is, isn’t it? Please, sit down.” She gestured, very deliberately to the chairs facing the sofa. “We’re both of us just sick about Noah. Caitlyn just got back from the hospital a short time ago. I hope you find who hurt that boy.”
“You know him well, personally and professionally?” Riley took out a notebook as she sat.
“I do, yes. He’s a very talented young man, and a very good young man. I’m very fond of him.”
“Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt him?”
“I don’t. I honestly don’t. He’s well liked by the company. I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about him. When Cate started seeing him, I gave him a good once-over.” She smiled as she said it. “He passed the audition.”
Wasserman rose as Cate came in carrying the coffee tray. “Let me get that for you.”
She handed it over, stood a moment. “I’m Cate.”
“Detective Riley, Ms. Sullivan. My partner, Detective Wasserman.”
“How do you take your coffee?”
“A little cream, no sugar,” Riley said.
“Cream and sugar. Thanks,” Wasserman said as Cate busied herself with the coffee.
“Noah’s roommate called me this morning. I went straight to the hospital. I don’t understand why anyone would do that to him, to anyone.” She passed out the coffee, sat beside Lily. “Noah’s sister told me what they said to him. I don’t understand that either.”
“How long have you been involved with Noah?” Riley asked.
“We started seeing each other early February.”
“Did anyone object to that?”
“Our seeing each other? No. Why would they?”
“Maybe someone you’d been dating,” Wasserman suggested, “someone Noah was involved with before you.”
“He’d dated some people, but he wasn’t seeing anyone when he asked me out.”
“And you?” Riley prompted.
“No. I hadn’t dated anyone before Noah.”
Wasserman’s eyebrows shot up. “Anyone?”
“I lived in Ireland for several years. We went out in groups. I never really dated solo. There’s no jealous ex-boyfriend in my life. I don’t know of any jealous ex-girlfriends in Noah’s. I don’t know anyone who’d do something so vicious and ugly. I’d tell you if I did, if I had even a glimmer of a thought of someone.
“You’ve seen him. You’ve seen what they did to him. They used my name when they did.” She clutched the heart at the base of her throat. “I’m sure you know what happened to me when I was ten. I know cruel people and what they’re capable of. But I don’t know who would do this to Noah.”
“Take us through Monday.”
Cate nodded at Riley. “The theater’s dark on Monday, so we spend time together. I had two classes at NYU, so I met him about one, at the coffee shop—the one where we had our first date. It’s what we do. That’s Café Café at Seventh and Forty-sixth. About one, I think. We went back to his place. His roommates have day jobs, so we could be alone. We met some friends for dinner. About eight, I think, at Footlights, that’s, ah, Broadway and Forty-eighth. A lot of the gypsies go there. The chorus people.”
She cast her mind back to what seemed like years ago, another life ago.
“Some of them were going clubbing after, but we . . . Monday night’s the only night he’s not onstage. We went back to his place. About midnight, he walked me over to Eighth to catch a cab. I had reading to do for a morning class. He always walks me to Eighth.”
When her voice broke, Lily shifted closer, took her hand.
“Always to Eighth?” Riley repeated. “Would midnight be another routine?”
“Usually, I guess. I have class on Tuesday morning. He always walks me, and waits until I’m in the cab, waits until I drive away. I can look back, see him waiting on the corner until we’re out of sight. He—”
She cut herself off, set down her coffee cup with a rattle. “It’s routine, almost every Monday night. Oh God, God, they knew he’d be there, knew he’d walk back from Eighth, right around midnight, Monday night.”
“Do you know if anyone threatened him?” To pull her attention back, Wasserman leaned forward. “If anyone made comments about him dating you specifically, or specifically a white girl?”
“No. No. He’d have told me. I’m sure he would. No one ever, ever said anything like that to me. The two people who helped Noah. Did they see the men who did this?”
Riley glanced at Wasserman, gave him the slightest nod.
“They’d just come out of a bar, and they’d had a few. When they turned the corner, they saw the attack. They shouted, started running toward Noah. The assailants ran east. The witnesses weren’t close enough to get a good look, in the dark, from half a block, and after a few beers.”
“But they stopped it,” Cate murmured. “They called the police, called an ambulance. They stopped it. Noah—his sister said he didn’t really see the ones who hurt him either.”
“We’ll talk to him again,” Riley assured her. “He may remember more. Celebrities often get mail from fans, some obsessed fans, some who develop an unhealthy and possessive fantasy.”
“If I get mail, it goes to the studio, or to my agent. I’m not really a celebrity.”
“You’ve been in four movies,” Riley pointed out. “And you’ve generated a lot of media attention. Your relationship with Noah generated quite a bit not long ago.”
“If there’s been any mail like what you’re saying . . .” She gripped Lily’s hand. “The call.”
“What call?” Riley demanded.
“In June, when the company was performing their out-of-town openings, someone called on my cell.”
She told them all of it, told them about the call over the winter in L.A.
“You no longer have the phone?”
She shook her head at Riley. “I realize that was a mistake, but I just—”
“Reacted,” Wasserman finished. “Have either of you received any other calls that felt disturbing? Or wrong numbers, hang ups?”
“No, I haven’t.”