Angel's Tip Read Online Free PDF Page B

desk officers, the precinct briefing room, and two wire holding cages, up the narrow staircase to the third-floor homicide squad. Their head start on the day was over. Detectives bustled throughout the squad room, crowded to capacity with desks, chairs, file cabinets, and random boxes of evidence waiting to be cataloged. Jack Chen, one of the younger civilian aides, sat perched at the front desk.
    Rogan asked Chen to get two coffees and Danishes, then handed him a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. Ellie flashed three fingers over Rogan’s shoulder and threw Chen a wink.
    Detouring around their desks, Rogan headed for the back corner of the squad room, then down a hallway leading to three interrogation rooms. He skipped the first two doors and held the final oneopen for Stefanie, Jordan, and Ellie. Because it was at the end of the hall, interview room 3 was the least used, and therefore the most presentable, of their interrogation rooms.
    There were only three chairs surrounding the small laminate table in the center of the room. Two on the left. A single on the right. Two detectives. One suspect. That’s how the room was arranged.
    The girls stood awkwardly until Ellie gestured toward the chairs. Jordan and Stefanie sat together, side by side.
    They started with names and dates of birth. Stefanie Hyder was the worried brunette with the ponytail and headband. Jordan McLaughlin was the girl with the dark pixie hair and a tattoo on her lower back. And Chelsea Hart was their missing friend.
    Ellie jotted down all three names, in that order, in a spiral reporter’s notebook. She circled the last one. All the girls were nineteen years old.
    Rogan let her take the lead on questioning. “I heard you mention at the hotel that you’re here in New York on spring break?”
    “Right,” Stefanie said. “We got here Tuesday. We were supposed to fly out this morning. Chelsea didn’t come back to the hotel last night, and she wasn’t there when we were ready to leave for the airport.”
    Jordan shifted in her seat. She was clearly still fixated on that flight home.
    “When was the last time you saw Chelsea?” Ellie asked.
    “Last night. Or I guess this morning. We were out late.”
    “Doing what?”
    The girls stared at the table. Stefanie studied her pearly red fingernails. Jordan chewed her lower lip.
    “You can’t find your friend. I think we can look past a little barhopping.”
    “We went clubbing. We left around two thirty.” Stefanie paused and dropped her head. “Chelsea stayed.”
    Ellie scribbled “2:30 a.m.” in her notebook.
    “Stayed where? Was she at a specific club?”
    “Yeah. It’s called Pulse.”
    Ellie was pretty sure she’d heard of the place, one of the newest, hippest Manhattan hot spots among the many new, hip Manhattan hot spots that were several notches too cool for her to frequent. “In the Meatpacking District, right?”
    The girls nodded.
    “What other clubs did you hit?”
    “None.” Stefanie shook her head. “That’s it.”
    “You sure? No quick pop-ins somewhere you might have forgotten about?”
    The girls shook their heads. It was just the one club.
    “You went straight from your hotel to the club?” she asked.
    The girls started to speak at once, then Jordan deferred again to Stefanie.
    “No, we went to dinner first. Some place in Little Italy. Wait. I’ve got the name.” Stefanie slipped her fingers inside a small black purse and pulled out a wrinkled piece of yellow carbon paper. She smoothed it out. “Luna.”
    Ellie wanted to nail down a basic timeline while the girls were still relatively calm, before she had to deliver the news. She walked them through the activities of the previous day. Brunch at Norma’s at 10:30 a.m. At the Museum of Modern Art by twelve thirty. One drink at the hotel bar at five o’clock. Back to their rooms at six to get ready. Taxi to SoHo at seven fifteen. At the Luna bar by eight. Seated at eight thirty. Ate between nine and ten. Left