Jonathan Freedland

The 3rd Woman


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       Tragic news about @maddywebbnews’s sister. Thoughts and prayers are with her family.

      And then:

       What a senseless waste of precious life. Hearts go out to @maddywebbnews #tragedy

      That came with a link to an LA Times story:

      Abigail Webb, 22, an elementary school teacher from North Hollywood, was found dead early Monday in what police now believe was a likely homicide. An LAPD spokesperson would give few details, but sources indicate the cause of death was a heroin overdose. Despite an initial examination of the dead woman’s apartment which could find no confirmed signs of forced entry, detectives say a later probe of the scene found damage suggesting a break-in. Ms Webb is the younger sister of the award-winning LA Times reporter, Madison Webb.

      Leo read the words several times over, believing it less and less each time. He and Madison had been together for just short of a year, but he had seen Abigail at least a dozen times. She was the first member of her family Madison had let him meet. He liked her: she had all the fizzing energy of Madison and none of the taidu, the attitude. Perhaps a bit too wide-eyed for his tastes, but her enthusiasm was contagious. He and Maddy had been to see a show at the Hollywood Bowl on a double date with Abigail and a short-lived boyfriend, dropped soon afterwards. But once those two were up and dancing, Maddy and even Leo – usually too shy and world-weary for such things – had felt compelled to follow.

      Now he thought about it, Madison was different around Abigail. The cynicism receded; she was gentle. She smiled more. In their moments together, the older looking out for the younger, he realized he had caught a glimpse of the mother Maddy might one day be – a thought which he had never articulated at the time and whose tenderness shocked him.

      He read the weibs again. He was scrolling further down, as if he might see a message voiding the others, announcing a mistake. He kept scrolling.

      ‘Leo, you better shut that down. Take-off.’

      He said nothing, but turned off the phone all the same and stared right ahead.

      They were fully airborne, the plane straightened, before the mayor spoke. ‘You mind telling me what this is about? You look like shit.’ Getting no answer, he pushed on. ‘You’ve seen some numbers and you don’t know how to break it to me, is that it? This that Santa Ana focus group? I’m not worried. Wait till we’re on the air in—’

      ‘It’s nothing to do with the campaign.’

      ‘You don’t care about anything but the campaign, so tell me: what’s the problem?’

      Leo turned his face to look at his boss for the first time. ‘There’s been a murder. Woman, early twenties, found dead in her apartment in North Hollywood. Suspected heroin overdose.’

      Berger hesitated, letting his eye linger, as if he were assessing a job applicant rather than his most trusted advisor. ‘OK.’

      ‘We need to get out ahead of this one, Mr Mayor. We have to make sure that this is investigated with the utmost thoroughness.’ His own voice sounded strange to him, too formal.

      ‘We always do that, Leo.’

      He tried to steady himself, took a sip from the water glass on the tray in front of him, which appeared to have arrived by magic: he had no memory of anyone giving it to him. He told himself to get a grip. Focus.

      ‘LAPD are only calling it a “likely” homicide. Which means they’ve got some doubts. But the victim’s sister’s a journalist. She’s going to be demanding answers. High-profile, award-winner, big following on Weibo. That means this case is going to be noticed. People are going to be watching the Department, the DA, to see how they handle it.’

      ‘Sure.’

      ‘And they’ll be watching you. You don’t want to be going into the summer with a big, unsolved murder on the books.’

      ‘So what’s your advice?’

      ‘I think that when we land your first call should be to the Chief of Police, ensure this case is a priority.’

      ‘As soon as we land, huh? That urgent.’

      ‘I think so, yes.’

      ‘Anything else you want to tell me?’

      Leo turned back towards the window, the city below now little more than a blur. He pictured Abigail and then he pictured Madison. He shook his head.

      ‘Anything else you ought to tell me, Leo?’

      ‘No.’ He paused. ‘Like what?’

      ‘You sure you don’t have a conflict of interest here?’

      Leo hesitated, so Berger spoke again. ‘I know who the victim of this murder is, Leo. The police department of this city – sorry, of the area – do still talk to me. I know her sister is your ex, so there’s no need to bullshit me, OK?’ His gaze lingered into a stare until eventually he looked away, towards the window, watching the earth below swallowed up by clouds. When he turned back, he was wearing an expression Leo had not seen before, one that unnerved him. ‘As it happens, I agree with your advice,’ the mayor said. ‘We need to get out in front on this one. In fact, I’d go further. You need to make this story go away. And, most important of all, you need to keep me out of it.’

       Chapter 8

      The phone had been buzzing all day and was buzzing again now, vibrating its way across her desk. Maddy glanced down at the screen and decided she would treat this the same way as the rest, that she would not pick up.

      She had ignored Weibo altogether, or rather she had avoided the continuous flow of messages directed at her. She did not want to read words of condolence, no matter how touching or heartfelt. She had, however, taken a look at Abigail’s timeline: so far it consisted of tributes and declarations of shock – many of them addressed to Abigail herself. She skimmed her sister’s Facebook page too, filling up with messages in a similar vein. But for herself, she wanted none of it.

      She had made two exceptions. The first was a call from Katharine, saying that Enrica was on her way over with a vat of soup and that she would not take no for an answer. At that moment, Enrica had grabbed the phone, proving she was not in fact on the way, and said, ‘Darling, don’t even talk to me. Just let me into the kitchen. I’ll be silent, I’ll be invisible. But you have to eat.’ Maddy had conceded, but just hearing her bereaved friend’s voice had apparently proved too much for Enrica. She sent something like a howl down the phone, which brought Katharine back on. ‘She loves you so much, that’s all.’

      The second call was from Quincy. Maddy had stared at the phone for at least six rings before finally deciding to pick up.

      She offered no pleasantries, but asked straightaway about the conversation between Quincy and their mother. ‘How was it?’

      ‘Well, it’s done.’

      ‘Did she understand?’

      ‘I think so. She asked after you.’

      ‘After me?’

      ‘First thing she said. “Is Madison OK? She’ll know what to do.”’

      ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’

      ‘I’m not so sure, you know. With her, I’m not so sure.’

      ‘Do you think it was right to tell her? Maybe we should have spared her. Or maybe we should have asked Dr Glazer first.’

      ‘If you felt that way, Maddy, you should have told me. Or come with me. Otherwise you don’t get to have an opinion.’

      ‘I’m not … I’m not arguing with you.’ Madison sighed,