Chapter 2 - The Woman in Window 2B
The police wanted everybody to remain in the ballroom.
Nobody listened.
People with money behaved strangely during emergencies. Half demanded private cars. Others demanded hotel management. Several demanded lawyers before anyone had even accused them of anything.
Priya demanded answers.
She cornered me near the service hallway while officers interviewed guests.
“You sat down beside one attractive terrifying stranger, and twelve minutes later the lights went out.”
“That sequence of events does sound bad.”
“Bad? Maggie, two men came after you.”
“One technically delivered an envelope.”
“He grabbed you.”
“He attempted to.”
“That is not better.”
I glanced toward Matteo.
He stood twenty feet away speaking with a detective.
People gave him space even during a police investigation.
Especially during a police investigation.
“I think this started before tonight.”
Priya folded her arms.
“The warehouse?”
“Yes.”
“Your warehouse?”
“It wasn’t my warehouse.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
Six months earlier, Mercury Shield had assigned me what appeared to be a straightforward commercial fire claim.
Archer Medical Storage claimed flames had destroyed imported diagnostic equipment worth nearly nine million dollars.
My job had been to determine whether the reported inventory existed.
It probably hadn’t.
Invoices were duplicated.
Serial numbers were missing.
Several suppliers were shell corporations.
Mercury Shield denied most of the claim.
I wrote the final report.
Case closed.
Except apparently a missing woman had been standing inside the building while I photographed it.
I opened the image again.
Elena Ruiz’s face was little more than a pale shape behind dirty glass.
Once I knew where to look, however, there was no question.
Someone had been watching me.
“Why didn’t you see her then?” Priya asked.
“Because I was photographing structural damage. I wasn’t searching windows for kidnapped women.”
The final word came out before I could stop it.
Kidnapped.
Priya’s face changed.
“You think that’s what happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Matteo approached.
“Yes,” he said.
I looked at him.
“You have an annoying habit of entering conversations at dramatic moments.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Were you listening?”
“You weren’t whispering.”
Priya looked him over.
“So you’re Matteo Kane.”
“I am.”
“My friend almost got assaulted because she sat beside you.”
Matteo considered that.
“Technically, they approached because of her investigation.”
Priya pointed at him.
“I already dislike how technically correct you are.”
“I get that often.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then a detective called Priya away for another statement.
That left Matteo and me alone.
He glanced at my phone.
“Send me the photograph.”
“No.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“That wasn’t the response I expected.”
“I investigate fraud for a living. I don’t transfer potential evidence to mysterious men five minutes after learning their identities.”
“You know my identity.”
“I know your company.”
“Same difference.”
“Absolutely not.”
That almost-smile appeared again.
Then vanished.
“Fair.”
I studied him.
“Why were you at Archer?”
“My team traced several charitable grants into companies connected to the storage facility.”
“What grants?”
“Money intended for housing programs.”
My stomach tightened.
“Harbor House?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Priya’s organization?”
“I said I don’t know.”
That was the first time I heard something close to frustration in his voice.
Not because I had challenged him.
Because he didn’t have the answer.
Interesting.
I had assumed men like Matteo Kane hated questions.
Maybe he hated unanswered ones more.
“Who is Hollis?” I asked.
“Hollis Bennett. Chairman of the Wexler Foundation.”
My eyes widened.
Tonight’s host.
Half the ballroom had probably donated because of him.
“And Archer Medical Storage?”
“Owned through four holding companies. One eventually traces back to a Bennett family trust.”
I stared toward Hollis.
He sat between two detectives, looking suddenly much older than he had an hour earlier.
“You think he burned his own warehouse?”
“I think he knows who did.”
“And Elena?”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“My analysts encountered her name two years ago.”
“Where?”
“She was a compliance accountant for Wexler Urban Renewal.”
I knew that company too.
Wexler Urban Renewal purchased distressed properties throughout Chicago, converted some to affordable housing, and received enormous tax incentives.
On paper, they were civic heroes.
“What happened?”
“She reported irregular transfers.”
“And disappeared?”
“Eventually.”
I crossed my arms.
“That seems like a detail your company should have mentioned to police.”
“We did.”
That stopped me.
Matteo continued.
“Chicago police investigated her disappearance. No connection to our audit was established.”
“Until my photograph.”
“Correct.”
Detective Alvarez, the officer leading the ballroom investigation, approached us.
She looked exhausted already.
“Ms. Doyle.”
“Yes?”
“You’ll need to come downtown tomorrow and provide the original file.”
“Of course.”
She looked toward Matteo.
“You too.”
“I’ll be there.”
Her expression suggested she had expected resistance.
Then she lowered her voice.
“The two men who approached your table weren’t hotel guests.”
“We noticed,” I said.
“The badges they used were counterfeit.”
Matteo asked, “Names?”
“Probably fake.”
“But?”
Alvarez hesitated.
“The red-haired one is Dennis Rourke.”
I knew the name.
“Property management representative.”
“Former police officer,” Alvarez said. “Left the department twelve years ago after an internal affairs investigation.”
That explained the confidence.
“And the other?” Matteo asked.
“Unknown.”
“Where’s Rourke?”
The detective’s face hardened.
“Gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“We detained him near the ballroom. During the evacuation from the east corridor, somebody pulled the fire alarm. By the time officers restored order, he had disappeared.”
I stared at her.
“You lost him?”
Alvarez didn’t appreciate the question.
“We are actively searching.”
Matteo asked, “Hollis?”
“Still here.”
“Good.”
Alvarez looked between us.
“Neither of you should investigate this yourselves.”
I said, “Absolutely.”
Matteo said nothing.
Alvarez pointed at him.
“That silence is exactly what concerns me.”
After midnight, Priya insisted I stay at her apartment.
I refused.
Not because I was fearless.
Because my entire life was at home.
Laptop.
Case backups.
Original notes.
If someone believed I had accidentally preserved evidence, I needed to know what it was before they found it first.
Matteo stood outside the hotel as valets brought cars around.
“I’ll have someone drive you.”
“No.”
“Maggie.”
“That is not my favorite tone.”
“What tone?”
“The one that implies I work for you.”
“You don’t.”
“Excellent.”
“A man involved in your investigation approached you tonight.”
“I remember.”
“One escaped police custody.”
“Also memorable.”
“You shouldn’t go home alone.”
I knew he was right.
I hated that he was right.
“I’ll take Priya.”
Priya immediately shook her head.
“I love you. But I am not useful in violent conspiracies.”
“Traitor.”
“I run transitional housing. I do not fight corrupt former cops.”
Matteo’s driver brought around a black sedan.
Of course it was black.
I looked at Matteo.
“You own anything cheerful?”
“A blue bicycle.”
I stared.
He remained perfectly serious.
“Are you joking?”
“Yes.”
I laughed despite everything.
That seemed to surprise both of us.
Twenty minutes later, I sat beside him in the back seat.
Chicago passed outside in ribbons of wet light.
For a while neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, “Why is everyone afraid of you?”
“They aren’t.”
“Four empty chairs.”
“Some people prefer distance.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a reputation for finding things people want hidden.”
“That sounds rehearsed.”
“It’s accurate.”
“What did Hollis want hidden?”
Matteo looked through the window.
“I intend to find out.”
My apartment building was quiet.
Too quiet.
I knew that was irrational before I even thought it.
Buildings were supposed to be quiet at one in the morning.
Still, something felt wrong.
My front door confirmed it.
The lock wasn’t broken.
The door was simply open.
Two inches.
I stopped.
Matteo stopped with me.
“Did you leave it like that?”
“No.”
He moved in front of me.
“Call the police.”
“I am the one with the evidence.”
“And the person who opened that door may still be inside.”
I called Alvarez.
Police arrived within six minutes.
Nobody was inside.
But somebody had searched everything.
Drawers pulled out.
Mattress lifted.
Closet emptied.
Books opened.
Kitchen cabinets searched.
My television remained untouched.
So did jewelry.
So did cash in the desk drawer.
They weren’t burglars.
They wanted information.
My laptop was gone.
“Cloud backup?” Alvarez asked.
“Yes.”
“Passwords?”
“Encrypted.”
“Could they access your work network?”
“No. Separate authentication.”
Matteo walked into my small home office.
He stopped beside an overturned filing cabinet.
“What?”
I followed his gaze.
A folder lay on the floor.
ARCHER MEDICAL STORAGE.
Empty.
“They took the hard copy.”
Alvarez swore quietly.
I knelt beside the cabinet.
Something white protruded from underneath.
A photograph.
I pulled it free.
It wasn’t mine.
It showed Elena Ruiz.
She stood beside a dark sedan outside a brick building.
The photograph had been taken recently.
I knew because a movie poster visible behind her had been released only last month.
Elena was alive.
On the back, somebody had written an address.
1847 West Cullerton Street.
And another message.
ASK HER WHAT HOLLIS DID.
Matteo crouched beside me.
“Someone wants you to find her.”
“Or wants me to walk into a trap.”
“Yes.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number again.
Matteo looked at the screen.
“Speaker.”
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then I heard breathing.
A woman.
“Hello?”
A whisper.
“Ms. Doyle?”
My heart stopped.
“Yes.”
“You took the photograph.”
“Elena?”
Silence.
Then:
“They’re watching Hollis.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
“I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I trusted someone.”
“Who?”
The line crackled.
Then Elena said four words that turned Matteo completely still.
“I trusted Matteo Kane.”
The call ended.
I stared at him.
For the first time since meeting him, Matteo looked shaken.
Not offended.
Not angry.
Shaken.
“What did she mean?”
He didn’t answer.
“Matteo.”
His gray eyes met mine.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Elena didn’t simply work for a company I audited.”
He took a slow breath.
“She worked for me.”
And suddenly, the most frightening possibility wasn’t that Matteo Kane had enemies.
May you like
It was that Elena Ruiz believed he was one of them.
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