Chapter Fifty-Five Maya

Chapter Fifty-Five

Maya

July 2023

On Tuesday, when I get back from Kai’s bachelorette, I reach out to Margaret for Sara’s number—they know each other from Legacy Foundation events—and she puts me in touch with Sara’s assistant, who tells me she has a meeting in the city this morning. When I press her, she accidentally lets slip that it’s with the producer behind her latest show.

I look up his company and go to the address near Union Square. As I wait outside, pretending to sip my coffee, my mind spins from what Cecily told me: Sara was acting strange the weekend before my sister died. She’d accused Matthew of having an affair with one of his students, said he’d lost his temper…What if he did the same thing to Naomi that he’d done to Lila?

By nine-thirty, my coffee is cold, and I’m about to leave for work when I see Sara walk out the revolving door talking to a man in a suit and take off up Park Avenue. I follow them, staying a good fifty feet behind, until she breaks off from the man and walks to the nearest subway station on 28th Street. Heart racing, I hurry down the stairs after her. When I’m close enough for her to hear, I call out her name, but she doesn’t turn around, and she disappears around a corner a few seconds later.

I make it to the platform as the train is about to leave. Morning commuters jockey for space as I shove my way past, trying to get to her, but the flow of people is going in the opposite direction. I panic as I lose sight of her again, but then I see a flash of blond hair as she slips into the last car. Running for her car, I arrive as the train is about to leave, reach from the platform into the subway car and grab her sleeve. “Sara!”

She looks at me like I’m human-sized vermin and yanks her sleeve out of my grasp as the doors slam shut. Her eyes lock on mine as the train pulls away, and I watch it grow smaller and smaller as it slips from the station, taking Sara with it.

—

By noon, I’ve had two large coffees to make up for the lack of sleep and am so jittery I don’t think I’ll make it through the day. When I get a free moment, I step outside the gallery and dial Sara’s direct number, which Margaret found for me later. It rings and goes to voicemail, so I text her instead: Hi Sara, this is Maya Banks. Please give me a call—it’s important.

I sigh and lean my head against the wall. I’m exhausted, and the longer this search for answers goes on, the more I think I might lose it completely.

A moment later, my phone rings. I pick it up right away. “Sara?” I cringe at my desperation.

I can hear someone on the other end of the line. Then Sara’s voice—impatient. “Yes…”

“Hi—it’s Maya Banks. I have to ask you something—did my sister and Matthew have a falling-out that you know of?”

A pause. “No, why?” I can sense the tension in her voice.

“Did she ever try to get in touch with you?” I inhale, wait.

She doesn’t respond. Her breathing is slow and steady, the awkwardness of the conversation seeping through the phone.

I wonder how she’d respond if I’d come right out and asked: Did you think she and your fiancé were having an affair? Maybe she does, and that’s why she’s being so cold. Or maybe that’s just how she is.

When she speaks again, her tone is derisive. “We’re private people, Maya, and in the past month, the police have come by our house multiple times, thanks to you.” She pauses, and I’m too shocked to reply. “You and your sister have caused us enough problems. I’m sorry for your loss, but please, leave us alone.” And she hangs up the line.

—

When I get home from work that evening, I expect Dani to run up and hug my waist like she usually does, but instead she is standing at the window holding her stuffed rabbit and staring down at the road as if in a trance. “Dani?” My first thought is that she’s sick again—something’s going around her summer school.

I set my purse down and clear a few stray toys off the ground before making my way to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” All we have is frozen peas and chicken nuggets and I’m reminded of how I’m failing as a mother.

“I’m not that hungry, I had candy after school.”

I look up. She’s still at the window, staring down at the street with a blank expression. Dani is at that age where she can’t stop asking questions. Why don’t dogs have families? and How come we can’t have pancakes for dinner? She hasn’t been this quiet in months and the sight is a bit unnerving. “Dani? Where did you get—”

“Mama,” she interrupts. “Why is that man waiting outside?”

A bolt of fear cuts straight to my heart.

“What man?” I make my way to her side, and that’s when I see what she’s staring at: on the street, directly outside our building, is a black SUV. From this distance, and the way the sun is reflecting off the glass, it’s impossible to make out the driver’s face—panic twists my insides, and my legs feel weak. “Dani, honey…” My jaw is tight as I force my voice to remain calm. “Get away from the window.”

But instead of backing away, my daughter raises a hand to the glass and smiles.

I watch in horror for a moment before instinct takes hold and I sweep her into my arms and away from the window. “You listen to me when I tell you to do something.”

Dani squirms in my arms. “Stop it—what are you doing? It’s the gummy bear man!”

I freeze. Set her down, as slowly, the realization hits me. I had candy after school. “Dani…who is that man?”

“He said he’s your friend. He said you’d be mad if we didn’t give you some too.” From her pocket she reveals another small pack of gummy bears with a folded piece of paper taped to the side. My hands shake as I unfold it to reveal a typed note: Stay away from my family and I will stay away from yours.

My stomach plummets. I grab my phone to dial the police, but by the time I return to the window to write down the license plate, the car is gone.

—

I hardly sleep that night and can barely function the next morning. At work, all I can think about is the man outside our window: I didn’t get a good look at him, but it had to have been Matthew…or someone he sent to intimidate us.

Last night, when I called the station, the detective took my statement over the phone and had me file a report. I was so panicked it was hard to remember what he looked like, and all Dani could recall was that he was “tall” and had “whitish skin.” I have an appointment to speak with them in person tomorrow.

After supervising the construction on a new section of the gallery, I don’t leave work until after dark, and on the train home, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m conjuring up the image of the man outside our window, trying to picture his face, when the rattling of the seat makes me jerk upright. There’s no one else in the car. Outside, I read the sign for Broadway Junction— shoot, I must have fallen asleep and missed my stop.

As I exit the train, I remember the article I’d read about this station being one to avoid at night, and the unfamiliar surroundings make me nervous. I’m crossing over to the opposite platform, which is dark and empty, to wait for the next train when I hear someone behind me, but when I glance over my shoulder, no one is there.

I pull my keys from my purse to hold between my knuckles as I walk quickly to the other platform. I’ve only seen one other person out here, and he didn’t look like someone I wanted to talk to.

As I’m trying to calculate the amount of time it’ll take to get home, movement in my periphery draws my attention. I turn, but the platform is empty, an abandoned newspaper floating by—maybe that’s all it was.

But then, a noise: footsteps, approaching fast. And what happens next happens too fast for me to react: a heavy weight hits my shoulders, a body tight against mine, arms straitjacketing me, squeezing the air from my lungs. Matthew.

My blood spikes with adrenaline as I fight him, twisting around, but he’s too strong.

Matthew curses under his breath and grabs both of my shoulders. “ What is wrong with you? ”

I firm my jaw. Look him in the eye. “I’m going to tell them.” His fingers dig into my skin. I can’t move. “I’m going to tell them what you did.” I inhale sharply. “I already told Sara, the other day, when I saw her on my way to work.” It’s a lie, but by the way his expression falters, it looks like it had the desired effect.

His voice lowers. “Stay the hell away from her.”

He points at my face and instinctively I reach up and shove his hand away.

He lunges forward in response, and I shrink back. He’s forcing me toward the edge of the platform. Panic floods my system. “What are you—”

Two lights in the distance. The platform shakes with an incoming train. It feels like the whole world is rattling. My body. The inside of my skull.

“ Stop! ” I yell, struggling to tear away, but he doesn’t let go. “ Help! ” But I don’t have enough air in my lungs to shout.

“ Shut up, ” he commands. But I fight harder, shoving him with all my strength.

I slip from his grasp and stumble back, look down as my foot slips off the edge of the platform.

“ This is your fault, ” he hisses, and before I know what is happening, he grabs me. His hands wrap around me, fingers digging into my throat and, suddenly, I can’t. Breathe.

Falling forward, I tear at his hands, and as I resist, my vision swims, but there, in my hand, are my keys. The lights of the train grow brighter, brighter. The brakes are shrieking, wind tunneling around me, when with the last of my strength, I stab the key into his thigh and run for the exit as the screech of the train muffles his scream.

—

Somehow I’ve lost my phone in the struggle, so once I get to the police station, a couple of blocks away, I call Nate to let him know I’m okay. After assuring him I’ll be home as soon as I give a statement, I get called into a back room to meet with the detective.

“I’m Detective Gary.” Detective Gary sits across from me, a tall white man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes with gray, sagging skin beneath them, the gruff, macho kind of guy. “I’ve spoken to Detective Simmons about your case.”

I manage a nod. My heart is thudding fast, a giant moth trapped behind my rib cage.

“I’ll be recording this conversation.” Gary takes out a notepad and flips to a clean page. “Can you tell me what happened tonight?”

I force myself to meet the detective’s eyes. They’re not exactly kind. “A man named Matthew DuPont followed me in the train station and tried to push me onto the tracks.” It’s hard to keep my voice even.

Gary writes this down. “And, according to our records, this was the same person you reported yesterday?”

I nod. “Yes. That was around seven p.m. last night. I’d just gotten home from work, and there was a black SUV waiting outside our building. I’m pretty sure it was him.”

“Pretty sure…Did you get a good look at him?”

“No—but my daughter did— my five-year-old girl —and she said he gave her candy at school.” I hand him the note Dani gave me. “Matthew was threatening my daughter, and now he’s tried to kill me.”

Gary studies the note, then passes it to another officer who is standing by the door. “How do you know it was him outside your house?”

“After what happened tonight, who else would it have been? I want to press charges.”

“I understand.” Gary runs a hand over his chin. “We’re reviewing the CCTV footage.”

“Then you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

“Tell me, Ms. Banks.” Gary flips the page on his notebook. “What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. DuPont?”

I look at him strangely. What is he getting at? “He was my economics professor…My sister had a class with him too, and I think he found out that she was looking into a crime he was involved with.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I gave Detective Simmons her notebook, she had written about him.” Heat rushes to my face. Hadn’t she told him about it? “Naomi was working with a reporter at the Times. They were writing an article about him, trying to expose him, and he must have found out. He’s threatening us because I know it was him. He killed my sister.” I’m breathing hard as Gary writes this down. He attacked me. I have evidence. We’ve got him.

Gary exchanges a glance with the officer, then turns his attention back to me. “Ms. Banks…Ms. Vail and Mr. DuPont came into the station this morning. Ms. Vail claimed you were acting erratically, harassed her over the phone, followed her Tuesday morning and assaulted her in the 28th Street station. Does she have any basis for thinking this?”

My mouth feels dry. I swallow. Shake my head.

Gary sighs. “We’ll give you a call once we’ve reviewed the CCTV footage, but Ms. Banks, in the meantime, it is in your best interest to stay away from them. For your own sake.”