Page 14 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Logan

While he pretended to look at his phone, Logan admired his butterfly.

She had long blond hair in tight curls and wore a floral-print dress and a bright green cardigan.

She’d worn that cardigan last week. It suited her.

Large, coke-bottle glasses. A line of freckles crossed her nose, from cheek to cheek.

A backpack with a fake sunflower pinned to it sat in her lap, and in her hands a romance novel with a thick, transparent plastic sleeve on the cover, obviously borrowed from the library.

She must’ve finished the book he’d seen her reading last week, the one with the crown on the cover.

This one had a woman wrapped in a shawl watching the sunset on the prairie.

He couldn’t read the title or the name of the author because of her thin fingers wrapped round the book.

A pink butterfly tattoo wrapped its wing round her right wrist.

He tried to think whether he had noticed this detail before. He thought he must have, and had not given it any further thought. It was, after all, an innocuous detail, but perhaps that tattoo was what had reminded him of that butterfly summer, and had prompted him to give her that nickname.

Her legs were crossed, and Logan could see a hole had worn almost the entire way through the sole of her Converse sneaker.

Logan thought she was very beautiful, in a strange and perhaps sad way.

He’d first seen her a couple of months ago.

He still remembered that day. He’d taken her picture, performed an image search. Even an enhanced search using AI.

She wasn’t online, far as he could tell.

No photos anyway. He wondered why, considering she was so stunningly beautiful.

Perhaps she had ventured onto social media, and her looks brought the wrong kind of attention.

Logan had noted which train she had ridden, and when, and had looked for her the next day.

Sometimes he got on the right train, sometimes not.

Sometimes, like today, he would catch the right train but not the right car.

He would see her getting off at 42 nd Street.

Headed back to her apartment, or to her part-time job waiting tables in a steak house.

Sometimes extraordinary people caught Logan’s attention.

Not long afterwards, they ended up dead.

Logan was buzzing from the meeting he’d just aced with Hartfield’s. And today was the first time he had sat opposite her. He had never gotten this close.

Her face was so full of life it made him wonder what she would look like dead.

He had done the same thing that magic summer, when he was seven and his parents had gone on vacation.

Logan had managed to trap one of those beautiful butterflies from his garden.

He’d taken it in his hand, and slowly crushed it.

He noticed her eyes would occasionally flick away from the pages of her book, down and to her left, toward the bag of groceries on the floor of the train.

The bag sat in between the feet of a middle-aged woman in jeans and a thick brown waterproof coat.

A ring of dirt and grime surrounded the cuffs on the woman’s coat.

She was huddled into it for warmth, and she was dozing.

Then Logan realized what had distracted the young woman from her book, and why she kept looking down at the bag of groceries.

With the motion of the subway car, a packet of noodles had wiggled its way to the top of the grocery bag and with every sway of the train, it got closer to falling on the floor.

A squeal of brakes sounded in the carriage as the young woman leaned down, grabbed the noodles before they fell and then tucked them deep into the grocery bag.

The older woman with the bag at her feet didn’t open her eyes.

Before his butterfly went back to her book, she looked straight at Logan. Perhaps she had felt his eyes upon her.

She smiled, but it was not merely a polite acknowledgement. Logan knew that he had a handsome face, and he liked to dress well.

‘That was kind of you,’ said Logan.

‘I’m sorry, what . . . Oh,’ she said, glancing down at the groceries next to her. ‘I wouldn’t want to lose my noodles on the train . . . so . . . no big deal. It’s just noodles.’

Her accent wasn’t New York. There was a hint of the south in her voice. And the smile she gave him, which carried a hint of embarrassment and self-consciousness, sent a quiver of excitement fluttering in his stomach.

‘You didn’t tell that lady that her shopping was spilling, you just acted. You helped her, and she’ll never know. No one would know. That’s a real act of kindness,’ said Logan.

She smiled back, let out a nervous giggle and swept some of her curls behind her ear.

‘Well, you saw me, but I didn’t know anyone was looking.’

‘Exactly my point. My name’s Logan,’ he said.

‘Grace,’ said the young woman, still smiling. A good name for a butterfly.

The older woman beside her opened one eye as the train slowed for the next station, then closed it again.

The act of kindness came with selflessness.

Different to what he thought of Elly. Logan had never known kindness.

It was alien. Something else to be studied, understood.

He found himself wanting to get to know this woman.

She seemed so rare to Logan, like fine gold dust running through the torrent of a dirty river.

‘It’s rare to meet genuinely kind people in this city. Maybe I could repay your kindness and buy you a cup of coffee?’ said Logan.

Grace closed her book, stood and said, ‘I can’t right now. My shift starts in ten minutes,’ she said, beaming a perfect smile.

Logan nodded and smiled back, said, ‘That’s okay. Maybe another time?’

‘Have we met before?’ asked Grace.

This time it was Logan trying to quell the self-consciousness that threatened to burn his cheeks. He said, ‘I get this train sometimes. Maybe you’ve seen me before?’

‘Maybe . . . ’ she pondered, then said, ‘Sorry, this is my stop.’

‘Sure. Maybe I’ll see you again. Next time I’ll bring noodles.’

She laughed.

‘Or I could get your number, and we could meet for a drink. Or coffee?’ he asked.

The train slowed. Logan looked once again at Grace’s face. Her skin was pale and perfect, even her cute brown freckles. He wondered again, just for a second, what her face would look like dead.

Still smiling, Grace took her phone from her backpack, held it out toward Logan’s as she got up to exit the train.

Air Drop Request – Accept Grace’s contact information?

He looked up, Grace had her phone pointed at his.

‘I’m free tomorrow?’ she said, but her intonation was that of a question.

The train stopped and the doors opened.

Logan hit the accept prompt.

‘See you tomorrow, Good Samaritan,’ said Logan.

Grace smiled again and got off the train.

The doors closed and the train pulled away from the platform.

With Elly surviving the attack, he had some things to take care of. Someone once said that a killer makes fifty mistakes with each murder they commit, and if you can predict half of them you are a genius.

Logan didn’t make mistakes. Elly had been given the correct dose. And it had taken Logan longer than he had anticipated to break the cast off his leg in the bedroom. If he had gotten to her sooner, he would have made sure that she never left that apartment.

He had contingency plans for multiple scenarios. Some of those plans would need to go into operation.

First, he needed to make sure the NYPD were convinced Elly was the killer.

Second, no loose ends.

The homeless man who had given assistance to Elly while she lay on the street. He had seen Logan with Elly while she carried the suitcase. She had given him five dollars. And he had looked around while Elly was lying on the street. He had seen Logan watching the scene unfold.

One person accused of murder telling an extraordinary story of how she was almost killed – police will not believe that.

But an independent witness corroborating some of Elly’s story?

That was different. Logan had already cleaned out and left that apartment, rented under a false identity, and with no security cameras in the building to record his movements.

Even if the police checked out that place, they would find nothing.

Logan had studied the NYPD. He knew them, just as good poker players know their opponents.

Now, he needed to learn about the new players in Elly Parker’s life.

He continued scanning the news articles on his phone.

. . . the Post understands that Kate Brooks, of Flynn and Brooks, is acting for Elly Parker.

Eddie Flynn and Brooks are a formidable legal team with a string of high-profile victories in criminal trials.

We have reached out to Mr. Flynn and Ms. Brooks for comment.

If Elly Parker’s fans are hoping for a miracle to save their idol, Flynn and Brooks are their best chance yet . . .

Logan flicked his thumb to the left, bringing him back to his search page. With both thumbs he typed into the search bar . . .

Eddie Flynn Kate Brooks

Hit search.

And began to read.