Page 15 of Find Me

“Basically they want me to believe that some random person who cut themselves in that house in East Hampton also randomly left some blood in a house in Kansas twenty-three years ago. And that none of it has anything to do with Hope, or with this serial killer.”

He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “It is possible.”

“Or... there’s a connection.” Her focus returned to her laptop.

She found herself stopping on a quote from Ellie Hatcher about her father’s death.I’m telling you, I knew my father at a fundamental level. He wasn’t perfect, but he understood that my brother and I needed him. He wouldn’t have left us voluntarily. And he was also a homicide detective to the core. I am not exaggerating when I say that he was haunted by the College Hill Strangler case. He believed he had a solemn duty to the victims to find their killer. Even if he wouldn’t stay alive for us, he would have stuck it out to see that promise kept.

Maybe Lindsay didn’t know Hope’s background up to fifteen years ago, but for fifteen years, she had known Hope at a fundamental level. And she knew Hope would not shut her out unless she was in serious danger.

She was going to find her friend.

12

Monday, June 21, 8:52 a.m.

NYPD detective Ellie Hatcher entered the Thirteenth Precinct to the sound of raised voices and the sight of her partner, J.J. Rogan, waving his palms, demanding that the couple in front of him “get control over yourselves.”

The man was broad-shouldered, with wisps of curly salt-and-pepper hair escaping from the edges of a baseball cap. The woman was hunched, her hands in the pockets of a cardigan sweater, even though it was warm outside. They looked old, even from behind.

“I just need you to reinforce a few rules with my wife.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” the woman yelled. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Salt and Pepper Man flinched as the woman raised her right hand to smack him. With a clear look at their faces, Ellie recognized the couple. For the seven years that Ellie had lived alone in a sublet near the precinct, Hank and Edna had lived in the complex next door.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rogan said. He was dressed impeccably as usual—Canali or Zegna, most likely, more Wall Street than police station. “You can’t be laying hands on each other. We’ve got mandatoryarrest for domestic violence in New York. Every one of us in here is obligated to hook you both up if you start getting physical.”

As Ellie quickened her pace in their direction, Hank removed his cap and smoothed his hair, expressing his gratitude at the sight of a familiar face.

The first time Hank spoke to Ellie at the coffee shop around the corner, his wife had apologized, explaining that her husband was “a born flirt.” Ellie had assured her that he’d said nothing to offend. “Maybe not aloud,” Edna had said, “but I can read the man’s mind, and trust me—you don’t want to know. I suppose I should be flattered, though. I used to look a lot like you in my day.”

“Don’t scare the nice woman,” Hank had joked, and they had both laughed, pleased with their comedic timing.

That was probably six years before, and over time, Ellie had noticed the changes. Hank’s ears and nose grew bigger. Edna had shrunk. But age was not imposing on them equally. Hank had slowed physically, grimacing noticeably when he sat and rose from his favorite corner table at the coffee shop. Still, he remained a constant flirt and a fierce intellect, reading both theTimesand theWall Street Journalevery morning, leading the discussion group among any of the regulars interested in chiming in. It was clear even to Ellie, a casual neighbor, that Edna’s mind wasn’t faring as well.

“Edna,” she asked, “what did Hank do this time? Together we’ll set him straight.”

The older woman’s face brightened momentarily, but she quickly grew confused.

“You remember Ellie, don’t you?” Hank’s voice had changed, as if he were talking to a child. “The detective. She’s from Kansas. You call her Dorothy.”

Ellie was having a hard time processing how much Edna had changed. Her blond hair was brown with grease. Her lips were slightly parted as she stared vacantly, revealing black gaps between her remaining teeth.

“I know you,” Edna finally said. It was hard to tell whether some part of her actually recalled Ellie, or if she had learned how to fake it in response to cues.

“What brought you in today?” Ellie asked, focusing the question on Hank.

“Shedid,” Hank declared. “I went to the CVS, gone maybe fifteen minutes, tops. I told her, we’ll get breakfast when I get home. But I do a double take as I pass our bank. She’s in there with the teller, and I see there’s a problem. She’s upset.” Hank mimicked the body language, waving his arms around animatedly. “I go in, and apparently she tried to withdraw twenty thousand dollars, which we don’t exactly have sitting around like jellybeans. Then she asked the teller, ‘Well, how muchdowe have?’ and says, fine, she’ll take that instead. When I got there, they were explaining she needed permission from the other person on the account—namely, me.”

Edna was still glaring at them, arms crossed. “You’re not my boss,” she pronounced.

“As you can see, she’s not a happy camper. She marched straight here, saying she was going to have me arrested for stealing her money and kidnapping her in the apartment. I figured she’d calm down and forget the whole thing by the time we got here. But no.Thisshe can focus on.”

Ellie placed an arm gently around Edna’s shoulder. “You don’t really think Hank is stealing anything from you, right? Or kidnapping?”

“But he won’t let me go where I want. I’m a grown woman.”

Hank lowered his voice. “Early on, when things were—clearer—we talked about her wishes. She wants to stay in the apartment, with me, as long as possible. I shouldn’t have gone to the pharmacy alone.”

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