When the train reached Seventy-ninth Street, Sara shoved her way out of the car, desperate to get a breath of fresh air. As quickly as she could, she climbed up to the street and finally breathed a sigh of relief. On the walk home, she did her best to convince herself that everything would be okay – that she just needed to calm down and stay focused. But as she turned down her block, she heard someone behind her say, “Hey, Sara. What’s going on?”

Whirling around, Sara was relieved to see that it was just her upstairs neighbor, Joel Westman. “Sorry, Joel. I thought you were someone else.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Joel said as he caught up to Sara. “Are you okay? You look sick.”

“I’m fine,” Sara said as they approached their building. “I think I’m just coming down with a cold. It’s been a rough week.”

“I know what you mean. Work can really get in the way of life,” Joel said. “Meanwhile, what happened to your briefcase?”

Looking down, Sara saw that someone had scratched the word Win into the side of her leather briefcase. Her heart skipped a beat. The threat was closer than she had known – indeed, so close it had been standing right next to her on the subway.

Chapter 12

ON THURSDAY MORNING, SARA STOOD IN FRONT OF 201 East Eighty-second Street, anxiously waiting for Conrad and Guff to arrive. It had been over a week since she had spoken to Patty Harrison, and Sara knew that if she didn’t turn up something soon, she was going to have a hard time at trial. Staring at the old but pristine brownstone with potted plants on the doorstep and elegant tall windows, she couldn’t help but compare Claire Doniger’s home with her own. If Sara and Jared’s brownstone had Upper West Side character, Doniger’s had Upper East Side polish.

A cab pulled up and Guff and Conrad got out. “So this is where Kozlow picked the original fight?” Guff asked, staring up at the house.

“Take a good look at it,” Conrad said. “Try to imagine all the events as you know them and make sure they physically could work in this location.” Following Conrad’s instructions, the three coworkers stared at the building, trying to imagine Officer McCabe dragging Kozlow to Doniger’s door and Patty Harrison peering through her peephole.

“Okay, I’m done,” Guff said within thirty seconds. “Can we go inside now?”

“Shut up,” Conrad and Sara said simultaneously.

When they were done looking at the facade of the building, Conrad and Guff climbed the steps. “Hold on a second,” Sara said. “I want to talk to Harrison first. I haven’t been able to reach her since the grand jury.” She walked across the street to Harrison’s brownstone. Conrad and Guff followed.

As Sara rang Patty Harrison’s doorbell, Conrad put his finger over the peephole in the door.

“Why’re you doing that?” Sara asked.

“If she sees us and doesn’t want to speak to us, she’ll pretend she’s not home,” he whispered. “This way, she has to ask-”

“Who’s there?” a voice called out from behind the door. Conrad smiled.

“Ms. Harrison, it’s Sara Tate,” Sara said. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“No,” Harrison shot back. “Go away.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” Sara said. “I promise.”

“I said go away. I’m through talking to you.”

Confused, Sara looked at Conrad. “Ms. Harrison, is everything okay?” she asked.

There was no answer.

Banging on the door, Conrad said, “Ms. Harrison, this is Assistant District Attorney Conrad Moore. I’m giving you two options: You can open the door now, or we can come back with a search warrant, a carload of cops, and a battering ram. Either way we’re coming inside.”

“You don’t have probable cause for a search warrant,” Sara whispered.

“She doesn’t know that,” Conrad said under his breath. Then, raising his voice, he yelled, “Ms. Harrison, you have three seconds to make up your mind. After that, we’ll make sure the whole neighborhood knows you’re refusing to cooperate with the authorities. One… two…”

The dead bolts clicked and the door opened.

As Sara walked inside the cluttered house, Harrison had her back turned, with her head in her left hand. “Is everything okay?” Sara asked, touching her shoulder.

When Harrison turned around, Sara saw a deep purple bruise under her swollen left eye. The right side of her bottom lip was gashed and another bruise marked her right cheek. Harrison’s right arm, in a fiberglass cast, hung from a sling around her neck. As soon as Sara saw her, she felt nauseous. Harrison was no longer just a witness. She was now a victim.

“Who did this to you?” Sara asked.

“Please, leave…” Harrison begged as the tears filled her eyes.

“Tell us who did this,” Sara said. “Was it Kozlow?”

“We can protect you,” Conrad added as Harrison sat on the sofa in her living room.

“She said she could protect me, and look where that got me,” Harrison said, pointing at Sara.

“But this time-”

“He broke my wrist with his hands!” Harrison shouted, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “With his bare hands!”

“Tell us who he is,” Sara said, putting her arm around Harrison.

“Get off me,” Harrison said, pulling away. “Get out of my house. Just by coming here, you’ve put me at risk. If you want to bother someone, go bother the Donigers. They’re the ones who started this.”

“Please, Ms. Harrison, let us help you.”

“I don’t want your help! I want you out of my house!” Harrison screamed, her face flushed. “Now get out! Get out of my house!”

Searching for words, Sara headed for the door.

“I was just trying to be a good citizen!” Harrison shouted after her. “That’s it – a good citizen!”

“We know that,” Conrad said as he followed Sara. “That’s why we-” The door slammed shut.

Guff looked over at Sara. “Oh, my God,” he said. “Can you believe that?”

“He used his bare hands,” Sara said. “He snapped her wrist with his bare hands. What kind of animals are we dealing with?”

“I’m not sure,” Conrad said. “But I have a few questions for Claire Doniger.” Conrad walked across the street and banged on Doniger’s door. Putting his finger over her peephole, he waited for an answer.

There was none. Conrad rang the doorbell and banged one more time.

“She probably heard you shouting,” Sara said.

“Or maybe she’s just not home,” Guff added.

“That’s bullshit,” Conrad said. “I know she’s in there.” Banging his fist against the door, he shouted, “Open up, Ms. Doniger! We know you’re in there!”

“Forget it,” Guff said, heading for the front steps. “We’ll find her later.”

When there was still no response, Conrad followed Guff down to the sidewalk. “Are you coming?” Conrad asked. Sara was still standing in front of Doniger’s door. Moments later, she walked down the steps and joined Conrad and Guff. “What was that about?” Conrad asked.

“Ms. Harrison said that we should talk to the Donigers, as if there were more than one. I checked the mailbox, and it said ‘Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Doniger.’ Apparently, Claire Doniger is married.”

“Then how come we’ve never heard of this Mr. Doniger?” Guff asked.

“You got me,” Sara said. “But it shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”

In her office, Sara called Claire Doniger. “Hello, this is Claire,” Doniger said when she answered the phone.

“Hi, Mrs. Doniger. This is Sara Tate calling. I was wondering if I could ask you a quick favor.”

“Please, we went through this yesterday,” Doniger said. “I-”

“Actually, I’d just like to speak to your husband.”

There was a short pause on the other line. Then Doniger said, “My husband is dead.”

Startled, Sara said, “I’m sorry to hear that. When did he die?”

Again, there was a short pause. “This past Friday.”