“An answering machine recording of her sister from the morning of 9/11. After Victoria learned that she was trapped in the North Tower, she called her sister. The recording was made just before the tower collapsed.”

“Shit,” Dwight said in a disgusted tone.

“What?”

Avery heard him take a deep breath and slowly exhale it.

“You’re starting to pique my interest. Go.”

“On the recording, Victoria Ford claims to be innocent. She tells Emma there’s no way she’s capable of killing anyone, and she asks her sister to prove as much in the event Victoria doesn’t make it out of the North Tower.”

“You can get that recording?”

“I already have it.”

“You have it in your possession? With this woman’s permission to play it to millions of viewers?”

“Absolutely. Emma and I are best friends after a couple bottles of wine on her back porch. She gave me the answering machine so I could review every detail of the recording. She’ll give me all the help I need as long as I agree to help clear her sister’s name.”

“Out of all the crazy ideas you’ve come up with over the last couple of years, this one might actually have some shoulders.”

“Oh, it’s got shoulders. Big, broad, bowling ball shoulders that would make even Dwight Corey envious. And I plan to ride them all summer long until I find the truth.”

“You sound excited.”

“I’m on the road, I’m on my own, and I’m in the trenches. I’m feeling good about this one, Dwight.”

“I’ll stall Germaine for another week or two. Keep me posted.”

Avery smiled. “Always.”

CHAPTER 22 - Manhattan, NY Tuesday, June 29, 2021

CHAPTER 22

Manhattan, NY Tuesday, June 29, 2021

AVERY WALKED FROM HER HOTEL LOBBY. THE CONTRAST TO SUBURBAN Los Angeles was always startling when she returned to Manhattan. Her two-bedroom condo on the twelfth story of the Ocean Towers high-rise in Santa Monica offered forever views of the Pacific Ocean and long stretches of welcoming beach to the north and south. Everything in Santa Monica was low and spaced out. Here in Manhattan, it was all stacked high and compressed, the infrastructure designed to pack people tightly on top of each other. It was a nice change of pace while she chased her story, but not somewhere she ever wanted to live again. She’d spent her childhood in this city, but had longed to get away from the congestion ever since that first summer her parents sent her to Connie Clarkson’s sailing camp in Sister Bay, Wisconsin. Avery hadn’t expected to drift as far as the West Coast, but now that she had lived there for a number of years, she couldn’t consider setting up camp anywhere else.