He Will Be My Ruin

by K. A. Tucker

  A guy who changes the lightbulbs doesn’t fit any of that. But . . . “If he’s doing this tech stuff, then he’s not exactly blue collar. He must be getting paid really well.” Which must be how he’d been able to afford Celine.

  “Still looking for an account to verify that, but yeah, he’d definitely be making some good dough with these gigs,” Zac says. “Thing is, he’s known for being hard to nail down. He was supposed to speak at another conference I was at and just didn’t show up. No reason. He tends to disappear off the radar for months at a time and then reappear to break something or fix something.”

  “So, not very reliable.” And, oddly enough, he’s the exact opposite when it comes to his job in the apartment building.

  “Okay,” Doug says, tapping on the whiteboard with a capped marker. “So Celine and Grady have their arrangement, and then not a couple weeks later she begins dating Jace Everett—the man she obviously wants to be with. But she doesn’t end things with Grady.”

  “And Grady gets jealous? Angry?” I can’t picture him angry.

  But I also can’t picture him paying Celine for sex.

  “Maybe. We don’t know that,” Doug says. “But Jace said that Grady wanted exclusivity and here she is dating another man.”

  “She bangin’ Everett?” Zac asks.

  “Don’t know. Do we know?” Doug frowns at me in question.

  “He never said. I never asked.” If I had to guess, I’d say yes. Jace doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to last too many dates without one of them ending with breakfast.

  “So, she’s dating Everett, getting paid to screw Grady, and then fast-forward almost two months, and with her mother’s medical bills mounting and the last-minute travel she’s booking, Celine decides to meet with an old client at a hotel to make some extra money. Everett sees her while she’s out with the client and ends it with her, that night we saw on tape. Everett screws his assistant not long after, and Celine finds out about it. Two weeks later, he finds the jump drive and blackmail note on his desk. He goes to her apartment and accuses her of it. She denies it. Assuming she’s telling the truth, then the question is, who would do that? Out of everyone in Celine’s life, only Grady has the skill to hack into her computer and her camera to watch her. And if he expected to have her all to himself, he wouldn’t have liked what he saw on that video. So he decided to blackmail Jace Everett with it.”

  I frown. “Why not blackmail Celine, though? She’s the one he’s angry at.”

  “Because she doesn’t have any money. Because he still cares about her. Because he wants to end any chance of Everett ever coming back. Plenty of reasons.”

  “But she may have already ended their arrangement, like she told Jace she would the night they broke up.”

  “If the guy’s been stalking her for the past however many months, it’s not over just because she says it is,” Zac says.

  I guess that’s true. “How would Grady even get into Jace’s office at FCM?”

  “Probably replicated a visitor pass card and got into the building security mainframe.” Zac waves it away, as if it’s all child’s play. “I’m working on the camera feed playback for FCM. It’s not as easy.”

  “Okay. Fine. But then Jace doesn’t pay up, and nothing happens.”

  “Maybe Grady has a change of heart,” Doug says. “Or maybe Celine knew enough about Grady’s computer skills by then to figure out that it was him who hacked her computer. Jace told you that he went to her apartment to confront her about the blackmail, right?”

  I think back to the night of the charity ball, the night this entire case shifted. “Yes.”

  “Maybe Celine questioned Grady about it and he panicked. Blackmail and invasion of privacy are serious offenses. He’d earn jail time if Celine went to the police. And with that, we could have our motive for killing her.”

  I scan the board again. We have a lot of solid information, but it’s trailing off in too many maybes. My eyes settle on the bottom right corner of the whiteboard, a boxed-off section that reads “vase.” It’s an outlier, with no direct connection to the other sequence of events, but with dollar signs and a large question mark above it. “So where does this vase come in?”

  “Celine bought it on November eighth, based on her records. That’s a week before she died. But there’s no mention of that bowl—the gift for Everett’s mother that you saw in his apartment—anywhere.”

  True. I chew the inside of my mouth in thought. Why wouldn’t she document it, like she had everything else? A thought strikes me. “Because her records are for her collection. That bowl was always meant to be a gift.”

  Doug pauses. “That would make sense. So she found the dragon vase, started researching it that week, got excited by what she thought she had found. Was ready to post about it on her blog. Was probably typing up the post when Jace Everett came over that night to pick up the gift.”

  “He said she was drunk and emotional.”

  “I can see why,” Zac mutters more to himself, shaking his head.

  “So if what Jace says is true, and she was fine—albeit ‘drunk and emotional,’ but alive—when he left, then Grady could have used the window to slip in.” He says he fixed that lock a week before Celine died, but maybe he didn’t fix it until after, to hide his method of access. I have to question everything Grady’s ever told me. “But there were no signs of a struggle, no screaming or fighting that anyone reported.”

  “Anyone being the two senior citizens with hearing aids?” Zac reminds us. “She’s got Ruby across the hall and Mr. Sherwood next door. Plus, she was drunk. Maybe they ‘reconciled,’ ” Zac air quotes, earning my frown.

  Doug quickly dismisses it. “Autopsy says there was no evidence of sexual intercourse that night.”

  “So Grady slipped the drugs into her drink without her knowing. And then took her phone and diary, to hide anything that might connect the two of them.”

  “They were talking, and she tells him about the vase—she would have been excited, how could she not tell somebody?—and then she passes out and he can’t help but take it.”

  “Or maybe Jace somehow smuggled it out in that box when she wasn’t paying attention, and Grady killed her out of anger and fear, and it has nothing to do with the vase.”

  Doug sighs. “Maybe.” He sets the marker down. “Or maybe no one killed her. Maybe that part happened just like the police report said it did.”

  I still refuse to believe that, even though the logical side of me says I should at least consider it. That there was much more going on in Celine’s world than I had any idea of, and in a moment of weakness, it might have felt like too much for her to bear.

  How much of what we’re conjuring is true? All of it? None of it? While these revelations about Grady make me sick, I feel like we’re getting closer than ever to the truth.

  My ringing phone cuts into the sudden quiet in the basement. I don’t want to answer it, but I could also use the distraction.

  “It’s Hans,” I mutter, looking at the screen before I answer. “Hey.”

  “I just got a call from my friend over at an auction house in the Garment District. You are not going to believe this!” He’s practically stumbling over his words, he’s talking so fast. “A man by the name of James just left a message for him on his voice mail, asking him to call him back about a vase that he would like to have appraised. He left a phone number and everything.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I stare at Doug and Zac in shock.

  This seems far too easy.

  CHAPTER 40

  Maggie

  “He doesn’t know that we know about the vase, right?” Doug’s eyebrows spike.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “What about her?” He jerks his head in the direction of the door, and Ruby beyond.

  “She knows. She’s good at keeping secrets.”

  “So then there’s no reason for him not to call up an appraiser,” Doug surmises, pacing the empty floors of Celi
ne’s apartment. He holds his phone to his ear, squinting with concentration, and I know that he’s listening to Grady’s message again. The appraiser sent over an audio recording after Doug demanded it.

  I’ve heard it twice already, and I don’t need to hear it again. Even with all the competing background noise¸ there’s no doubt that it’s Grady.

  “I thought he wouldn’t go through an appraiser if he stole the vase and has these Chinese connections of his,” I say.

  “All speculation. He’s obviously near a train station. I wish I knew which one. Zac could tap into their security feeds and . . .”

  I let Doug’s voice drift off as I try to come to terms with this turn of events. As I wallow in regret for ever trusting a guy like Grady, I can certainly see why Celine did. He may be a crazy stalker, but he wears a convincing cloak of a nice, totally normal guy. All these sickos probably do.

  And I fell for the act.

  “. . . He’ll call me as soon as he’s made the appointment with Grady.” Doug’s voice drifts backs into my consciousness. “In the meantime,” he marches over to the bathroom and begins stuffing my toiletries into my bag, “you’re packing up your things and staying at a hotel. I don’t want you in this building anymore. Plus”—he casts an arm around the vacant apartment—“it’s your dead friend’s empty apartment. It can’t be good for your mental state. I’ll do surveillance outside. He’s not leaving the building without me knowing it. Please don’t fight me, Maggie.”

  “Fine.”

  He stops. “Fine? Seriously?”

  I don’t want to be in here anymore either. “Let me just pack my things and let Ruby know.”

  His stubby finger comes up.

  “I know.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t say anything about the investigation.”

  ————

  December 18, 2015

  “What do you mean, he bolted?” I sit up in my hotel bed, frowning at my reflection. The rooms in this boutique hotel are standard New York issue—closet-sized. I guess the designer figured that putting a floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite the bed would trick patrons into thinking the three-hundred-dollar-per-night room wasn’t a jail cell.

  I hear Doug take a sip of his coffee.

  “He couldn’t have. Why bother phoning the appraiser then?” I argue.

  “Maybe the appraiser tipped him off. Someone must have.”

  It’s been three days since “James” called the appraiser. Three days of waiting for him to return the message that the appraiser—with a carefully worded script from Doug—left on his voice mail. Three days since Grady used his cell phone, according to Zac, who has been monitoring activity on that number through a hack into the phone company. Three days of Doug sitting outside Celine’s old building and not seeing a single hint of Grady.

  “But when would they have tipped him off?”

  “Had to be before I started surveillance.”

  “Or he waited until you were going to the bathroom or sleeping to slip out.”

  “I’ve got cameras angled at both the door and the fire exit, and Zac’s watching those while I step away. I haven’t missed him. This isn’t my first stakeout,” Doug snaps. “But guess who did come out about twenty minutes ago, with a plate of shortbread?” His tone is thick with accusation.

  “She called me yesterday morning, but I did not tell her you were there. I swear.”

  “I know, because Zac’s monitoring your calls. She said she saw me yesterday when she was getting her mail.”

  Part of me wants to yell at him for the invasion of privacy, but I find more satisfaction in needling him than reprimanding him. “So the eighty-one-year-old woman with Coke bottle glasses busted your cover? You sure it’s not your first stakeout?”

  He ignores my dig. “She came down to express her concern over Grady. Apparently she called him two days ago to fix her drain and he hasn’t called back or stopped by. Normally she gets an answer within three or four hours.” There’s a long pause, and then a rushed “Gotta go.”

  Anxious flutters erupt in my stomach. “Is he there? Do you see him?”

  “Nope.” The phone cuts off.

  And I’m left glaring at my reflection, trying to figure out what the hell Doug is up to now.

  Six hours later, with a phone call from Ruby, I finally find out.

  CHAPTER 41

  Maggie

  “Do you live on this floor, ma’am?”

  “No, but I—”

  “Then I’ll have to ask that you go back to your apartment and let us run our investigation.” The police officer ushers me backward, toward the stairwell. Another officer stands outside Grady’s open door, on guard. I can’t see inside, but it’s not hard to spot the yellow caution tape at the door.

  “Can you at least tell me what happened to him?”

  “Are you family?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim without thinking.

  “No, she isn’t. Maggie, don’t get in their way,” Doug’s stern voice calls out from behind me. I turn to find him and Detective Childs walking side by side down the hallway.

  Childs’s dark but kind eyes land on me. “Miss Sparkes. You’re still here.”

  “I am. And now, so are you.” Turning to Doug, I add, “But I thought we didn’t have enough evidence for the police to get involved?”

  “It’s a Missing Persons case. Of course the police have to get involved.”

  I glance back at the door with a frown. “Grady’s missing?”

  “Yeah. Several tenants were concerned about his safety, so Ruby Cummings, down on the third floor, reported it to NYPD this morning.” Doug’s wide-eyed glare stalls my tongue. I have no clue what angle he’s playing at here, but I hope it works. I guess in one way it already has.

  We’re now in his apartment.

  Well, the police are.

  “I didn’t think you were Missing Persons, Detective Childs.”

  He shrugs. “I was just finishing up on a case nearby and heard about this one. Recognized the address, so I thought I’d stop by.” His gaze drifts past me, to the open door. “Sounds like there could be some things of interest in there. If you’ll excuse me now.” He steps past me and makes his way toward the apartment door and a middle-aged white man who must have arrived from another direction. He greets him with a handshake and a “Good to see you, Detective Patterson.”

  “What is going on?” I hiss.

  “Exactly what I just said. Tenants called in reporting their super missing, and the police have to respond.”

  “By breaking in? They can do that?”

  “After checking all the local hospitals and contacting his next-of-kin without luck . . . yes. They will check a person’s place of residence and use whatever force is necessary to get in. Given the guy is the super and the owner is out of the country, this was the only way.”

  “But Grady’s not here.” At least I assume he’s not. “What happens now?”

  Doug takes a long, drawn-out sip from his coffee cup, but I can feel the excitement radiating from him. “Normally, if the person isn’t in the apartment, they’d just walk right back out and continue their search elsewhere. But if they were to find something suspicious or criminal sitting in plain sight, then they’d have to act on it. Probably launch an investigation into the individual, while trying to find him. Which means they’ll have to get a search warrant to inspect his personal belongings.”

  It finally clicks. “The marijuana plants.” I turn around to watch the officers milling about the hall. “They’re waiting for the search warrant to go back in.”

  “Should be here soon.” Doug links his arm through mine, pulling me toward the stairwell, but not before a single nod toward Childs—a silent acknowledgment that I can’t decipher but also don’t miss.

  ————

  “I know it has been under the most unpleasant of circumstances, but I’ve really enjoyed this time with you,” Ruby offers, her spoon clanging against the china. She didn’t bat an eye at my suggestion th
at I drag her kitchen chairs and TV tray over to Celine’s empty apartment, so that she could join me for a cup of tea. It was a smart idea on my part. Even thirty seconds inside her apartment caused me tunnel vision.

  I smile from my spot on the floor, with the wall acting as my backrest.

  My attention is split between the door and my phone, waiting to hear from Doug or Childs, or both. Doug’s phone rang an hour ago, and he disappeared immediately after, insisting that I stay put and not get involved because it would be a risk to the investigation. I complied, and now I’m going to go crazy.

  “Same here, Ruby. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to come to San Diego with me for the holidays?” I mentioned it to her last week, when Taryn was booking my flight home for me. I would gladly book a ticket for her, too.

  “Oh, you’re too kind. I’m sure San Diego is lovely, but I think I’ll stay. Theodore has invited me over for dinner. He has a large family.”

  “Wow. From dancing to tea to an invitation to Christmas dinner with family in, what . . . five days?”

  “You have to move fast at my age. Never know when you’re not going to wake up one morning.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll outlive all of us, Ruby.”

  She chuckles. “And besides, I don’t know that any airline would let someone my age fly across the country.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “So when are you leaving, again?”

  “I have a one-way ticket booked for the morning of the twenty-third. The charity auction is on the twenty-second.” We’ll see when I need to book a ticket back.

  “Well, won’t that be nice.” Deafening silence falls over the apartment as Ruby sips her tea, until I’m forced to my feet to pace around the old woman perched in her chair. I wonder if I could just sit in the stairwell and listen. Maybe I could catch—

  “If Doug said not to go up there, then I think you should listen to him,” Ruby warns, somehow reading my mind.

  “I’m going crazy. I need a distraction. Do you have a TV in your place?” I can’t believe I’m considering even stepping in there.