Page 40 of Hudson River Homicides
“I’m merely answering your question.”
Doyle let out a long-suffering sort of sigh but was smiling as he waved the bun in a come-hither motion.
Larkin leaned over the corner of the worktable and took a cautious bite.The still-warm, creamy, and slightly grainy filling exploded in his mouth, mixing with the fluffy texture of the bun in a sweet and salty harmonization.He wiped yellow custard from his bottom lip and licked his thumb.“You win.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s very good.”
Doyle was a little too smug as he took a bite.
Larkin returned his attention to his phone—the most recent email notification was his warrant for Marcom Refrigeration Systems, and so he forwarded it to the address that Good Ol’ Ben had supplied during their morning chat.
“I’ve been thinking about Noah.”
Larkin glanced up.
Doyle busied himself packing the empty take-out containers back into the paper bag they’d arrived in.“About him seeing the car last Sunday.”
“You and I were in Washington Square Park at the time of—”
“No, I know,” Doyle interrupted.He wiped his hands absently on a napkin before saying, “What I mean is, Noah doesn’t drive, does he?”
“He takes the subway.”
“So how did this person know what restaurant to show up at, to park outside of, if Noah commuted to Midtown underground?”
Larkin’s brows rose a little.“I admit to overlooking that detail.”
“It just seems like maybe there’s more than one person involved.”
“If this situation is the result of stalking behavior, then two individuals is highly unlikely.Stalking is an intimate, often one-on-one affair,” Larkin said.“And multiple stalkers borders on the persecutory delusion of gang-stalking.It’s more reasonable that this individual overheard him discussing weekend plans with his coworkers.”
Doyle’s lips were compressed.It was a subtle mannerism Larkin had seen time and again throughout his years as a detective—a subconscious attempt to physically restrain one’s self from saying something, not because of deception, but because of distress or discomfort centered around a topic of conversation.
Larkin set his phone aside, threaded his fingers together atop the table, and stared expectantly.“You don’t believe any of that.”
Doyle shook his head.
“Why.”
“Because you saw that car too.”
Larkin slowly pulled his hands apart, pressing them palm down on the tabletop.He could feel sweat accumulating underneath them.
“And there’s no way this isn’t related to our case—or to Adam Worth.”With that, Doyle turned his laptop at an angle so Larkin could see the screen.He’d opened two image files of the brooch and placed them side by side.The left had had its settings and colors wildly altered, bringing out subtle texture in the engraving that was all but invisible to the naked eye.The right was the same photo, but Doyle had traced the newly discovered details so that whole letters were visible.
“I know you said you were going to enhance the photographs,” Larkin began as he scooted to the edge of his stool, “but this wasn’t what I was expecting.I’m very impressed.”
“I can do a whole lot more.”
Larkin gave Doyle a sideways glance.“I have no doubt.”
A hint of a smile flirted across Doyle’s face, but then he said with all seriousness, “I’m confident that the first name is Charlotte.I thought maybe Charlotte Laura Fulton—it’s definitely ‘u’ then ‘l’—but I don’t think I have the end of the last name right.”
“Fuller,” Larkin suggested.
“Fuller.That’s a better fit.Was there a Fuller in any of the associated cases?”
