mr. messer, i'm detective russo.
through a sex group. her flat words hang in the air. he guiltily avoids her eyes.
does this group have a name?
mr. messer, i spoke to the desk clerk. she only recalled seeing you check in.
all right. but now you're telling me that in addition to this mystery woman, there was another individual in the room?
mr. messer, have you had - experiences like this before? taking any sort of medication?
yeah. no, i don't think it's necessary.  right. she hangs up and turns to jonathan. he looks away, barely able to contain his devastation.
if you want to file a report regarding the items she - - the items you claim were stolen.  jonathan shakes his head, crushed and exasperated.
the body came in late last night, although time of death's still unclear. she was found in a taxi: driver was in a .coffee shop on his break, came back to his cab and there she was in the back seat. the elevator shudders to a metallic stop.
her purse was recovered from a dumpster about a block away, so we've got a name. jonathan tenses as the elevator doors bang open.
simone forester. jonathan looks sick with fear.
mr messer? he tries to speak, but can hardly breathe, let alone answer.
was this the woman you were with last night? she frowns, suspicious of jonathan's hesitation. his tense eyes whip across the morgue: the two cops still idling there. they're out of earshot, but their mere presence amps tension. angle on the guns in their holsters. the handcuffs dangling --
mr. messer?
i figured it was a long shot. the only reason i called you down is she was last seen with a man in the bar of the hudson hotel.
you mentioned this group of yours meets up at various hotels. i thought it was worth a shot. russo glances up at him, trying to read him - something about his reaction not sitting right with her.
mr. messer, is there anything else you want to tell me? nervous and torn, jonathan manages to shake his head.
mr. messer, it's detective russo returning your call. jonathan freezes, tries not to sound panicked, his eyes fixed on the damning photos of himself and simone forester.
on that missing girl of yours? no, not yet.
are you sure you didn't know simone forester? the photos of simone in his hands, jonathan tenses.
i remember what you said. and you weren't at the hudson two nights ago?
turns out among credit card charges made that night, there was one with your name. the card was declined.
i see. i figured it didn't mean much - cards move quickly. it just struck me, you know.  the coincidence. jonathan can hear the suspicion in her pause.
by the way, the morgue confirmed strangulation as cause of death. he found trace fibres of kevlar in her neck wound.
it's used in certain kinds of rope and string. jonathan's eyes suddenly go wide; whip pan with his gaze to the hall closet door.
mr. messer?
thought i lost you for a second.
i was gonna call, but i was in the area. just doing some follow-up. jonathan tries to mask his uneasiness.
on that missing girl of yours. the.one whose name began with. an "s." have any luck finding her? jonathan absently tightens his grasp on his briefcase.
i see. that's too bad. she studies him a cryptic beat, then smiles flatly.
well, who knows, maybe she'll turn up yet. you have a good day, mr. messer. jonathan nods tensely, then walks off, feeling her watching him from the curb as he goes.