On television, they make getting phone records seem difficult or, for the purposes of the plot, that it takes days or weeks. In truth, it could be done in minutes. In this case, it would take even less. Suzze, like many of MB Rep’s clients, had set up all her bill paying via MB Reps. That meant that they had her phone number, her address, her passcodes, her social security number. Esperanza was able to get the calls online as though it were her own phone.

“Her final call was to Lex’s cell, but he didn’t pick up. I think that he may have been on the plane flying back. But Lex had called her earlier in the day. Right after that—this is the morning before Suzze died—she also called an untraceable disposable mobile. My guess is, the police will believe that she was calling her drug dealer to set up a buy.”

“But that wasn’t the case?”

Esperanza shook her head. “The number matches the one ol’ Crush gave you for Kitty.”

“Whoa.”

“Yes,” Esperanza said. “And maybe that’s how Suzze got the drugs.”

“From Kitty?”

“Yep.”

Myron shook his head. “I still don’t believe it.”

“What don’t you believe?”

“Suzze. You saw her in here. She was pregnant. She was happy.”

Esperanza sat back and looked at him for several beats. “Do you remember when Suzze won the US Open?”

“Of course. What does that have to do with anything?”

“She’d cleaned up her act. She focused solely on her tennis, and bam, right away, Suzze wins a major. I never saw someone want something so badly. I can still see that final cross-court forehand to win, the look of pure undiluted joy on her face, the way she threw her racket up in the air and turned and pointed at you.”

“At us,” Myron said.

“Don’t patronize me, please. You’ve always been her agent and her friend, but you can’t be blind here. I want you to think what happened next.”

Myron tried to remember. “We had a huge party. Suzze brought the trophy with her. We drank out of it.”

“And then?”

Myron nodded, seeing where Esperanza was going. “She crashed.”

“Big-time.”

Four days after the biggest victory of her career—after appearing on the Today show, Late Show with David Letterman, and a bunch of other high-profile venues—Myron found Suzze crying, still in bed at two in the afternoon. They say that there is nothing worse than having a dream come true. Suzze had thought the US Open trophy would bring her instant happiness. She thought her breakfast would taste better in the morning, the sun would feel better on her skin, that she’d look in the mirror and see someone more attractive, smarter, more worthy of love.

She thought that winning would change her.

“Just when things were at their best for her,” Esperanza said, “she started using again.”