Page 46 of The Writer

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

DENISE’S WIDE EYES lock with Declan’s for the briefest of seconds, then she grabs his breakfast, dumps his food on top of her own, and stashes his plate and fork in the dishwasher. “Get in the bedroom. Go out on the terrace if you have to.”

“NYPD, Mrs. Morrow! We know you’re home. Open the door!”

Declan scrambles through the apartment to the bedroom, closes the door, then opens it again. Cordova’s sharp; he’ll expect Denise to be here alone. If Declan closes that door, his partner will pick up on it, because why close the door if you’re alone? He’s about to open the terrace door when he sees the alarm sensor in the upper left corner. He knows the alarm isn’t on, but if he opens that door, it will chirp. Cordova might pick up on that too. Looking around, he realizes there’s no place to go. If they’re executing some kind of search warrant, he’s screwed. He and Denise both are.

At the opposite end of the apartment, the alarm chirps as Denise opens the front door. Did it do that when he came in last night? He can’t remember. Declan presses his back against the wall and doesn’t make a sound.

“Detective,” Denise says in a voice so calm, Declan wonders if she’s on some medication he doesn’t know about, because who can do that? His heart is pounding so loud, it feels like it’s rattling the pictures on the walls. How the hell can she stay calm? He loves it, though. Every second.

“You remember Carmen Saffi from the ADA’s office,” Cordova says. “May we come in?”

Denise hesitates, but only for a moment. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she tells them. “Maybe I should call Geller.”

Oh, that’s good , Declan thinks. She’s good. Make them say it. As far as you know, Hoffman is still alive.

“That’s why we’re here,” Saffi says. “Geller Hoffman is dead.”

Bingo.

Declan hears a soft gasp and can picture the look on Denise’s face, a mix of surprise and horror. Maybe her hand is over her mouth. Maybe she’ll work in a swoon. Nah, she won’t oversell it. She’ll give them just enough.

“Oh my God,” she finally says with a hitch in her voice. “Yes, come in. Come in.” Then: “Do you mind if I put on some clothes?”

“Please, by all means,” Saffi tells her.

Declan hears the front door close, then Denise’s fast-approaching footsteps. In the bedroom, she partially closes the door and calls out to them, “What happened?”

That’s good too, because Police 101 says if suspects don’t ask how someone died, they already know.

Although Denise is only a few feet from Declan, she does nothing to acknowledge his presence as she strips out of his shirt and slips into a pair of jeans and a sweater she finds on a chair in the corner of the room. Declan realizes his clothes are still piled on the floor. Denise sees them too and with a swift kick sends them under the bed. She’s back out in the living room a moment later. Saffi says, “He committed suicide.”

“Suicide?” Denise repeats, her voice edged with shock.

“ Accidental suicide,” Cordova adds.

Then they tell her.

Cordova explains how he found him. In the closet. Pants down. Belt around his neck.

He doesn’t hold anything back; he tells her everything, even the parts Declan wouldn’t have shared had their roles been reversed. The fact that Cordova mentions the photographs means they don’t suspect her, and why would they? How could she possibly be responsible? Hoffman was a small guy, but Denise is small too. No way she could force someone to do something like that, right? Honestly, Declan has no idea how she did it, and he can’t wait to hear. He wishes she’d filmed it. He would have loved to watch that pretentious prick go out like that.

When Cordova and Saffi finish, Denise is crying. The tears turn into sobs. She manages to get out, “It’s finally over. Finally…” Then she’s crying again.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Saffi says.

Declan doesn’t have to see her to know that she does. When he closes his eyes, he can picture the entire scene: Denise dropping into a chair, Cordova standing there looking for a way out—he hates it when women cry. Saffi has her hand on Denise’s shoulder or maybe she’s even hugging her. Saffi is tough as nails, but she can turn on the empathy. Dangerous waters, because she also knows how to use it. More than once, she got a perp to confess simply by switching from Lawyer Saffi to Friend Saffi. Hell, she’s better at it than half the detectives Declan knows. All part of the game. When Saffi says, “Finally over? How do you mean?” Declan feels every muscle in his body tense. He has to remind himself Denise is good too. Denise is better.

Denise sniffles. “Geller Hoffman was blackmailing me.”