Knowing that the gloves would confound the investigation, he stuffed them into Kozlow’s back pocket, grabbed Kozlow by the hand, and dragged him, facedown, toward the other side of the kitchen. Lifting the back of Kozlow’s jacket, Rafferty found Kozlow’s handgun. He took the gun from the back of Kozlow’s pants. He then used his own gun to shoot Kozlow two more times in the back and once in the leg. When he was done, he placed his gun in Elliott’s hand and shoved Kozlow’s gun in his own pocket. “Now it looks like an argument,” he said. “As Kozlow was leaving, Elliott shot him in the back. That’s it. That’s what makes sense.” Rafferty looked over at Claire, who was still leaning into the sink. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“No, I’m not okay!” she cried. “You just put a hole in his head! You killed two people! What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t say that, Claire! What was I supposed to do? Let them run around, hoping they don’t ruin me?”

“We’re already ruined. You think Sara Tate’s going to-”

“Shut up!” Rafferty shouted. “I don’t want to hear it! It’ll work!”

Light-headed and still trembling, Claire looked like she was going to pass out. “Get me out of here.”

“Shut up,” Rafferty said, pulling her by the arm toward the door. “I need to make one more stop.”

“I’m sorry about the delay,” the Hoboken police officer said to Sara as they strode toward Elliott’s building.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sara said, buzzing apartment eight.

When there was no answer after a few buzzes, the Hoboken cop rammed his shoulder into the door, which flew wide open.

When the group got to the top floor, they knocked on Elliott’s door. Again, there was no answer. “Elliott, are you there?” Sara called out. “Conrad?” Trying the doorknob, she found it unlocked and pushed the door open. “Oh, God,” she said.

“You know these people?” the New Jersey cop asked.

Sara didn’t answer. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bloody scene. This wasn’t like the autopsy – she knew these people. And as much as she feared them, no one should die like this. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Why would they… how the hell could he do this?”

Turning to the New York police officer, Guff said, “Hope the paperwork was worth it.”

“Don’t blame this on me,” the cop shot back.

“Looks like a robbery,” the New Jersey cop added as he examined the scene. “The guy in the leather jacket shoots the skinny guy, but as he’s about to leave, the skinny guy sits up and shoots the leather guy in the back of the head.”

“Are you kidding?” Sara asked. “Look at the streaks of blood on the floor. Someone obviously moved Kozlow’s body.”

“Or he was trying to crawl to the door,” the Jersey cop pointed out.

“Oh, no,” Guff said from the living room, his voice shaking. “Sara! Sara, get in here!”

Racing into the living room, Sara saw Guff down on both knees. And Conrad’s broken body lying in the corner. “Oh, no! Not him! Please, not him!” she screamed. She dropped down next to Guff and grabbed Conrad’s head in her hands. “Somebody get an ambulance! We need an ambulance!” She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. She put her head to Conrad’s chest and listened for a heartbeat. Nothing. “C’mon,” she said, lightly slapping his cheek. “I know you’re still in there. Don’t give up!” Still nothing. She pounded his chest. “You heard me! You’re not giving up! I’m not going to let you!” Again, she hit him. And again. But he still didn’t move. As she squeezed his blood-soaked shirt, her hands were shaking and she started to hyperventilate. “Please, Conrad, don’t do this. Please, don’t leave. Please. Please, don’t leave me. Not again.” As the tears finally came, Sara wanted to shake him awake. She wanted to keep pounding his chest. She wanted to hear that pulse. But when it came right down to it, all she really wanted was to get him back.

When she turned around, Guff was still weeping. “C’mere,” she said, opening her arms. Guff fell right in. For a minute, the two of them sat there, on their knees, silently consoling each other. “I’m sorry,” Sara finally said, rubbing his back. “I’m so sorry.”

“He was my friend,” Guff cried.

As Sara listened to the rise and fall of Guff’s sobs, she wondered how this had happened. Conrad hadn’t just been caught unprepared. He was ambushed. And the only way that was possible was if someone had known he was coming. Climbing to her feet, Sara wiped her eyes with her sleeve. He’d warned her, but she hadn’t listened. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Call the precinct and see if they picked up Jared,” she said to the New York cop.

As the officer started dialing, Sara helped Guff up from the floor.

“You really think it’s him?” Guff asked.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. All I know is-”

“What?” the officer blurted into his cell phone. “When?” Silent for a minute, he answered. “She’s with me. No, I got it. I’ll bring her right in.” He shut the phone and looked with shock at Sara.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“They just got a 911 call from Wayne and Portnoy. The officer who went over there – he’s been shot.”

Chapter 20

THE CROWD OUTSIDE THE OFFICES OF WAYNE & PORTNOY was much calmer than Sara had expected, but it was still tenacious. Refusing to disperse, the evacuated workers gathered around the door, angling and elbowing for the best view of the action.

“Damn city turns every disaster into a spectator sport,” the officer grumbled as the police car slowly made its way through the ever-growing crowd.

Even before the car came to a complete stop, the officer had his door open. When they were as close as they were going to get, about half a block from the building, he let it fly wide and jumped out of the car. Guff quickly followed. Sara didn’t move.

Turning around, Guff stopped. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“But what if he-”

“Sara, you have to face it sooner or later. It’s the only way to find out.”

Nodding, she knew that Guff was right. As Sara got out of the car, Guff took off after the police officer, who was making his way toward the building. Following in the direction of her assistant, Sara fought her way through the tightly packed crowd. Within seconds, though, she lost Guff, who was too short to stand out. “Guff, wait!” she called out. It was too late. He was gone. Jumping up to get a better view, Sara caught sight of the police officer. He was holding his badge in the air and was almost at the front entrance of the building. But just as she moved toward him, she caught a glimpse of someone rushing away from the building and in the opposite direction from the crowd, approximately a hundred feet to her left. She could only see him from behind, but his athletic gait was unmistakable. Sara stopped dead in her tracks. “Jared?” she called out.

If the man heard her, he wasn’t stopping. Craning her neck, Sara struggled to get a better look, but the crowd was too thick. “Jared!” she shouted again. He still didn’t stop. Pushing through the crowd, Sara followed the figure. Forget about it, she told herself. It’s not him. But as she watched his perfectly combed brown hair disappear in the sea of bystanders, she couldn’t ignore the resemblance. At the top of her lungs, she let out one more scream. “JARED, IT’S ME!”

Suddenly, the man turned around and Sara’s mouth went dry. Their eyes locked for an instant. That was all it took. It was him. Without a doubt, it was her husband. Before Sara could even register a response, Jared turned and ran. “Jared, wait!” she shouted as the crowd seemed to envelop him.

Using her outstretched arms to wade through the masses of people, she fought to catch up with him. He was weaving in every direction, seeming to use the confusion to his advantage. “Jared!” she shouted, barely able to see him. “Please don’t do this!” But Jared still didn’t stop. And as Sara frantically collided with bystander after bystander, she realized she was starting to lose him. Between the endless crowd and the advantage of Jared’s own speed, he was slipping away.