looked back over her shoulder and sighed, but she waited for me to catch up. Together we walked downhill on bustling Main Street.
“Any updates?” I asked her, as I nodded at a former client who’d bought a post-modern McMansion in an exclusive gated community. The young blonde, trophy wife of a Wall Street mogul (second or third wife, I couldn’t remember), smiled widely. Looked like she was still married to her money guy.
“Updates?” Betsy scoffed. “Maggie, upon thinking it over, I believe it’s probably best if you back out of any involvement with this case.”
“Back out? What’s up, Chief? You were begging for my help!” Maggie was feeling bru ised.
She looked me straight in the eye. For her that meant looking down—way down—and that only enhanced the chilling effect. “Maggie, this is a professional homicide investigation. You have to understand that we are now cooperating with the Westchester D.A.’s office, and they have their own real-estate specialists.”
Okay, so the D.A. was giving her grief. “But, why the D.A., Chief?” I queried. “In Manhattan you must have handled lots of homicides without outside help.”
“Yes, I did, but Hudson Hills is not Manhattan, and they, er, we haven’t had a homicide here since 1923. To be honest, it’s a whole different ballgame in these small towns; we don’t have the budget or the manpower necessary to handle homicide ourselves.”
I was miffed about being so abruptly dropped from my investigative role. “But—” A stiff breeze came in off the river and blew my hair across my eyes.
“Of course,” she said, “our P.D. is nevertheless still very much involved. It’s our murder, and it took place in our jurisdiction.”
“I do understand, Betsy.” I shoved the errant hair back behind one ear. “But surely you’re still connecting this murder to the real-estate-agent rapes, you know, the serial rapist?”
She was a diva of the exasperated sigh. “Maggie, we honestly don’t know if there’s any connection. At the same time, we haven’t ruled it out entirely—it’s simply too early to make that determination. A murder investigation takes time. Some of the test results, the DNA, for instance, won’t be ready right away.”
Betsy was brand new as our police chief, and she knew everyone—especially the D.A.—was watching to see how she carried out her duties during this crisis; I could see the strain in those beautiful blue eyes. I didn’t envy her the job one bit, but, at the same time, I was even more obsessed with this rapist/murderer. Every time I thought about what had almost happened to me when I was barely seventeen … well, I almost went ballistic. I wanted in on this investigation.
Right there, in front of the pocket park with the Washington Irving sculpture in it, the Chief stopped and gave me a level look. Then she held up a finger, like a schoolteacher instructing a recalcitrant child. “Listen, Maggie. I’ve been doing my research. Statistics from the Department of Labor tell us that every year seventy to eighty real-estate agents, both women and men, are attacked in the pursuit of their professional work—raped, robbed, and/or murdered. It’s a dangerous profession, lonely and isolated. I’m worried about you. This perp is dangerous—smart and dangerous. And he’s after brokers. He’s killed once now—a Hudson Hills agent. He’ll kill again.
“And you’re a broker. A Hudson Hills broker.” Her schoolteacher finger had turned into a cop finger. “Stay out of it! You hear me? For your own safety!”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“You hear me?”
I nodded again. “I hear you.”
“Good!” Betsy softened her tone. “By the way, Maggie, because you were first on the scene, you’ll be called into the D.A.’s office. They’re also going to call the Mullers.” She noticed my grimace. “What?”
Even I could hear the edge in my voice. “That poor couple is traumatized enough without being
“Any updates?” I asked her, as I nodded at a former client who’d bought a post-modern McMansion in an exclusive gated community. The young blonde, trophy wife of a Wall Street mogul (second or third wife, I couldn’t remember), smiled widely. Looked like she was still married to her money guy.
“Updates?” Betsy scoffed. “Maggie, upon thinking it over, I believe it’s probably best if you back out of any involvement with this case.”
“Back out? What’s up, Chief? You were begging for my help!” Maggie was feeling bru ised.
She looked me straight in the eye. For her that meant looking down—way down—and that only enhanced the chilling effect. “Maggie, this is a professional homicide investigation. You have to understand that we are now cooperating with the Westchester D.A.’s office, and they have their own real-estate specialists.”
Okay, so the D.A. was giving her grief. “But, why the D.A., Chief?” I queried. “In Manhattan you must have handled lots of homicides without outside help.”
“Yes, I did, but Hudson Hills is not Manhattan, and they, er, we haven’t had a homicide here since 1923. To be honest, it’s a whole different ballgame in these small towns; we don’t have the budget or the manpower necessary to handle homicide ourselves.”
I was miffed about being so abruptly dropped from my investigative role. “But—” A stiff breeze came in off the river and blew my hair across my eyes.
“Of course,” she said, “our P.D. is nevertheless still very much involved. It’s our murder, and it took place in our jurisdiction.”
“I do understand, Betsy.” I shoved the errant hair back behind one ear. “But surely you’re still connecting this murder to the real-estate-agent rapes, you know, the serial rapist?”
She was a diva of the exasperated sigh. “Maggie, we honestly don’t know if there’s any connection. At the same time, we haven’t ruled it out entirely—it’s simply too early to make that determination. A murder investigation takes time. Some of the test results, the DNA, for instance, won’t be ready right away.”
Betsy was brand new as our police chief, and she knew everyone—especially the D.A.—was watching to see how she carried out her duties during this crisis; I could see the strain in those beautiful blue eyes. I didn’t envy her the job one bit, but, at the same time, I was even more obsessed with this rapist/murderer. Every time I thought about what had almost happened to me when I was barely seventeen … well, I almost went ballistic. I wanted in on this investigation.
Right there, in front of the pocket park with the Washington Irving sculpture in it, the Chief stopped and gave me a level look. Then she held up a finger, like a schoolteacher instructing a recalcitrant child. “Listen, Maggie. I’ve been doing my research. Statistics from the Department of Labor tell us that every year seventy to eighty real-estate agents, both women and men, are attacked in the pursuit of their professional work—raped, robbed, and/or murdered. It’s a dangerous profession, lonely and isolated. I’m worried about you. This perp is dangerous—smart and dangerous. And he’s after brokers. He’s killed once now—a Hudson Hills agent. He’ll kill again.
“And you’re a broker. A Hudson Hills broker.” Her schoolteacher finger had turned into a cop finger. “Stay out of it! You hear me? For your own safety!”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“You hear me?”
I nodded again. “I hear you.”
“Good!” Betsy softened her tone. “By the way, Maggie, because you were first on the scene, you’ll be called into the D.A.’s office. They’re also going to call the Mullers.” She noticed my grimace. “What?”
Even I could hear the edge in my voice. “That poor couple is traumatized enough without being
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