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The investigation has also been complicated by the disappearance of Giovanni Ochoa, 41, a morgue technician at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner who was among the first to handle the remains. Mr. Ochoa was reported missing by his wife three days after the bones arrived at the facility. Colleagues told The Times that Mr. Ochoa had beenacting “nervous” in the days before his disappearance and had reportedly been seen speaking with an unidentified man outside the building. Police have not officially connected his disappearance to the Lazarev case, but sources familiar with the investigation say detectives are exploring whether Mr. Ochoa may have been targeted because of his access to the remains.
Former household staff, speaking on condition of anonymity, described the Lazarev marriage as marked by volatility. “There were arguments,” said one former employee who worked at the Lazarev residence from 2005 to 2007. “Loud ones. She was afraid of him toward the end.”
[See related coverage: “The Lazarev Empire: A Timeline,” Page A15]
Mr. Lazarev could not be reached for comment. His attorney, Harrison Miles, released a statement calling the accusations “baseless speculation” and vowing to “vigorously defend against any charges.”
The NYPD has issued a warrant for Mr. Lazarev’s arrest on suspicion of second-degree murder.
The newspaper crumples in my fists. I don’t realize I’m crying until the first tear splatters against the page.
There are so many reasons I can’t believe this is happening. Jillian is at least two or three of them.
My best friend, myperson, the woman I’ve told everything to…Shewrote this.
She’s been investigating him this whole time. While I was falling in love with Lukas Lazarev, she was building a case against him.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”
The voicemail makes sense now. She knew this would destroy me.
She did it anyway.
I so badly want to be furious. But the thing is…
The thing is, none of what she wrote is actuallywrong.
Elena Lazarevaisdead. Her boneswereburied in the ground. And the man I loveiswanted for her murder, on what seems to be some very compelling grounds.
It’s not like that’s news to me. For God’s sake, even if Kir hadn’t said as much, Lukas himself confessed. He told me literallythis weekthat “it felt so fucking good to watch her go.” What’s that if not damning evidence?!
The thing that’s stuck in my head like a stubborn splinter is the feeling that this is not the whole story.
Sure, it’s printed here in black and white for the whole world to read, but this isn’t all. Thiscan’tbe all. Lukas is not some domestically abusive thug who poisoned his wife and dumped her corpse in a shallow grave because he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. A man like that wouldn’t weep in my arms as he told me he’d watched the light fade from her eyes.
But maybe that’s just what I want to believe. Am I a fool? Am I too close? Am I so tangled up in him now that I can’t see straight anymore?
I don’t know. Maybe love really does make you stupid.
If so, and if it turns out I’m wrong, then I’m the stupidest girl in New York.
I sit on the grimy bodega floor until the guy behind the counter clears his throat pointedly. I look up.
“You gonna pay for that?” he grunts.
I dig through my pockets with numb fingers, find a crumpled five, and leave it on the counter without waiting for change.
Outside, the streetlights are turning on. I take stock of my situation. My phone is dead, my brother is missing, and my lover is wanted for murder. Things are going great.
With no clear destination in mind, I start walking. My feet carry me toward the nearest subway entrance. The turnstile eats my last MetroCard swipe and I descend onto the platform.
The train arrives. I get on. At first, I squint up at the map like I don’t know where I’m going.
That’s a lie, though. Suddenly, I know exactly where I’m going.
Back to the brownstone.
Back to Lukas.
