Page 10 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Kate

Denise had taken the call and transferred it straight through to Kate Brooks.

The offices of Flynn and Brooks, attorneys at law, had been quiet that morning.

Harry Ford was reviewing files while he listened to a Rolling Stones album that played softly throughout the office.

His dog, Clarence, lay peacefully at his feet.

The phones had been mostly silent, and Kate had sat in her office working cases and dictating letters and motions for Denise to type.

This was modern legal practice. Except, it felt just like the old legal practice.

Kate told the sergeant that Eddie was out, but she would see the prisoner. When she asked about the case, she wasn’t expecting to hear that their firm had been requested.

‘She told me she wanted Eddie Flynn. So I’m calling Eddie Flynn,’ he said.

‘I’ll call Eddie, but in the meantime I’ll be right over. What’s the client’s name?’

‘Elly Parker. She’s some kind of famous YouTuber.’

Kate knew the name. She’d seen the viral videos of Elly Parker catching her husband and best friend in bed together. Tens of millions of people all over the world had watched it too.

‘You mean the famous TikToker,’ said Kate.

‘Whatever, she’s gonna be charged with double homicide. Soon she’ll be the famous murderer.’

‘Who are the alleged victims?’

‘Her husband and some chick he was banging on the side . . . ’

She closed her eyes, tried to swallow her anger, said, ‘Chick? Is that official NYPD terminology for female murder victims?’

‘Maybe I should just give this one to another lawyer.’

‘Didn’t you just say she requested our firm?’

‘Do I still get my fifty bucks?’

Kate sighed, said, ‘I’ll talk with Eddie. I’ll be right over to consult with Ms. Parker. Make sure she’s looked after until I get there.’

‘I’ll give her the best cell we got,’ he said, and hung up.

On the way out of her office, Kate grabbed her backpack, which held her pens, laptop and charger, business cards, legal pads, retainer agreements, nicotine gum and bottles of water for the clients. Her police precinct bag. Everything she needed for a jail visit.

Harry closed a file on his desk, nudged his reading glasses onto his forehead, pinched and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘You want to come with me to the 27 th Precinct? I think this could be a big case. Celebrity TikToker accused of a double murder.’

‘What’s a Tikky Tokker?’

‘Someone who posts videos on TikTok?’

‘Is that a dating website?’

‘Nope, it’s where people share videos about all kinds of things – pets, their lives, book reviews, cruise-ship travel – you name it.’

Clarence looked up at Kate, then looked at Harry before rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.

Harry stood up from his desk, shuffled around it.

He had been seriously injured a few months ago and wasn’t yet back to full health.

A little unsteady on his feet from time to time, and he tired easily, but his mind was still sharper than a cutthroat razor.

Harry put on his jacket. Clarence barked.

At first, Harry ignored him. Clarence barked again, more insistent this time.

Harry turned, picked up his walking cane, said to Clarence, ‘Alright, goddamn it. I’ve got the cane. You happy?’

Clarence settled back to sleep. Harry had been known to leave the cane in restaurants, or at home, mostly on purpose, but Clarence wouldn’t let him go anywhere without it.

Clarence was a good dog.

‘You drive,’ said Harry, taking his cell phone from his jacket pocket. ‘I want to look at TikkyTok.’

‘TikTok, like a clock,’ said Kate.

‘I prefer TikkyTok,’ said Harry.

An hour later, they both sat across a steel table in an interview room in the precinct, waiting for their new client. Kate had her legal pad on the table, retainer agreement, a blue and red pen at the ready. She had a system for taking notes. She had a system for most things.

Harry took his cell phone from his jacket and opened the TikTok app.

‘You’re supposed to put your cell phone in the locker before you come in here,’ said Kate.

‘Yeah, that young officer asked to take mine. I told him I didn’t want to.’

‘What did he say to that?’

Harry gave Kate a warm look, dipped his chin, said, ‘He didn’t say anything. I used to be a senior judge in this city. That still carries some respect, even from the NYPD.’

He turned his attention back to the phone, quickly found Elly Parker’s account and scrolled through the first few videos until he found one he hadn’t seen yet.

The door opposite opened and a police officer led in a young woman in handcuffs and gray jail sweatshirt and pants – the outfit given to detainees who either have their clothes taken for examination or don’t have anything warm to wear when they are arrested.

She was shorter than Kate. Her head down.

Hair stuck to her cheek with sweat or tears.

Tears, probably, thought Kate, judging by the inflammation around both eyes.

Her skin was the same color as porcelain, making her eyes and her lips stand out.

It wasn’t lipstick making them red – they looked sore and cracked.

Kate noticed Harry doing a double-take, looking first at the profile photo of Elly Parker on her TikTok and then again at the young woman shuffling toward them.

She looked as if she had been hollowed out. Whatever life had animated the Elly who lived in the virtual world had left her in this one. She looked as if she was recovering from a terrible illness.

Elly took a seat at the table opposite Kate and Harry. The cop left and closed the door behind him.

‘Elly, my name is Kate Brooks, from Flynn and Brooks, attorneys. This is Harry Ford. He’s a consultant with the firm. We work with Eddie Flynn. Whatever you tell us is confidential. We’re here to help you.’

‘I didn’t kill James and Harriet,’ said Elly, leaning across the table, her eyes wide and desperate, her voice hoarse and raspy. ‘I’ve been in hospital. Someone tried to kill me four days ago. The police don’t believe me.’

There was a look on her face, a furtive speed to her eye movements and a tremor in her ruined voice – utter fear and desperation.

‘Someone tried to kill you?’

‘I told all of this to the police. They don’t believe me.

His name is Logan, but that might not be his real name.

I can tell you where he lives. He tricked me into coming to his apartment.

I drank some water. It must’ve been laced with something bad.

I almost died. You can find him. He has a scar on his chin, just below his lip.

He had a broken leg. Crutches. He’s the man on the subway. The man with the yellow suitcase.’