Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “What’s bugging you about this matter?”

  “I don’t know. But I heard you and Bill through the walls. I know he specifically mentioned the empty spot being where her suitcase was. And when I found one in the garbage it just felt odd.” I sighed. “I had it in my mind that she was dead.”

  “And you still do, despite my interviewing her.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m doubting you. If you talked to her, you talked to her.”

  “Look, maybe this case deserves a follow-up. I’ll go back and talk to Kenna again. She doesn’t have a cell phone, but I’ll let her use mine and we’ll do a FaceTime call with you. That way, you can see for yourself that everything is fine. In the meantime, I’ll come over to your place and pick up the suitcase and put it into evidence until you’re completely satisfied.”

  “I’m already at the police station, in the parking lot.” I checked the backseat and Adam was engrossed in his tablet, hardly excited about the parking lot or my being on the phone. “I was afraid if you came to collect the suitcase and Bill saw me handing it off to you, he’d kill me.”

  “Why would Bill kill you, even if the luggage is Kenna’s?”

  “He doesn’t like me being nosey. He’s already threatened me twice. Once he choked me and pushed me to the floor. The other time was this morning when he threatened to make me disappear from life itself.”

  “What! Have you filed assault charges … and why didn’t you mention either of these incidents earlier today?”

  “I would’ve told you earlier today, but my brain froze when you said you’d interviewed Kenna. It just came as such a shock to find out she was alive.”

  “Why don’t you come inside? I’ll take possession of the case and we’ll fill out an incident report.”

  “I’ll bring the case in, but I’m not reporting anything because I’m scared of him. I’m going to move as soon as possible and that will be the end of it.”

  He sighed deeply through the phone line. “On second thought, I’ll come out and collect the luggage. The less you handle it, the better. I’ll be out in a moment.”

  My eyes were peeled on the front entrance, watching for his exit. As soon as he emerged, he checked the traffic and crossed the street. Softly tooting my horn, he did a little wave in acknowledgment and headed my direction.

  Rolling my window down, I called out, “The suitcase is on the passenger seat.”

  He circled around the trunk of the car and came up the other side. I unlocked the door and he opened it. With gloved hands, he deposited the luggage into a large brown bag. Once the task was completed, he leaned in from his side of the car and said, “Just so you know, I’m not going to test this for anything. If I can get Kenna on the phone with you, I don’t see the point.”

  I nodded my head. “Yes, I understand. I apologize for even having brought this in. I’m a little embarrassed at this point.”

  “It’s because you’re afraid. Bill may not have harmed Kenna, but he has you thinking irrationally. Will you please reconsider coming inside and filing charges against him?”

  I shook my head. “No, if I filed a complaint against him, he’d most likely get out on bond and then he’d sure enough kill me. It’s best that this ends here. I just need to move and get as far away from him as possible.”

  He nodded in understanding. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”

  “Thank you,” I said in parting. He took a few steps back while I backed out of the parking space. We waved to each other, and I took off.

  “Who was that man?” Adam asked once we were back on the road.

  “That was Detective Tanner Sutton. He’s a police officer with the Tarrant County Police Department.”

  “He was a policeman?” Adam gave me a quizzical look. “How come he wasn’t wearing a uniform?”

  “He works in a different department. He solves crimes … like mysteries,” I explained because I wasn’t sure if Adam understood crimes, but I knew from his puzzle games he comprehended mysteries.

  “Oh, like whose suitcase that is?”

  “Exactly,” I told my son.

  As we headed back to the interstate, I evaluated Adam’s remark. Who was the owner of the suitcase? Was it a mystery needing to be solved, or had I gone off my rocker? A detective had investigated my report, he’d gone all the way to Hillsboro and interviewed Kenna. He’d taken a stain-soaked piece of luggage into evidence that most likely didn’t even belong to Kenna, and he’d agreed to make a second trip – all to satisfy my own concerns. What the heck was wrong with me? I sighed, realizing my priorities had been completely caught up in my neighbor’s safety, even to the point I was crawling into the trash and digging through raw sewage. Thank goodness the detective came to my car, and I hadn’t gone inside with my house shoes on. My current footwear was a sure sign I wasn’t thinking straight.

  Sarah was right. I needed to take a step back and direct my attention to my own problems. But if I moved out of my apartment, did I try to patch things up with Ryan, or search for another place? A decision needed to be made. My issues with Ryan should be paramount. I needed to focus on my own life and forget about Kenna and Bill.

  With my head on straight, I turned right off Summit Avenue and headed down Lancaster, crossing over the Trinity River bridge. Pausing for a light change at a multi-intersection, I waited my turn before proceeding down Camp Bowie and working my over to Ashland Avenue.

  “Are we going home?” Adam asked after recognizing our street.

  “I thought we’d surprise Daddy. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” he screeched in his little-boy, high-pitched voice.

  But as I neared our house, I noticed Ryan’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

  “Daddy’s not home,” Adam pouted.

  “No, he sure as heck is not,” I said with an aggravated tone in my voice.

  One thing was for sure … Ryan was not where he was supposed to be.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ryan

  Ryan was feeling optimistic about his and Hailey’s relationship. She had called to thank him for the roses, she was grateful for the spa gift card, and she had accepted his date to The Terrace. Yep, things were finally going his way. In no time at all, he’d have his wife and child back home where they both belonged.

  But there would always be the matter of Shannon. Though Ryan loved Hailey dearly, she was a bit of a pistol, and you never knew when she was going to fire. She wouldn’t easily – or ever for that matter – forget about Shannon Lowry. He imagined every future argument from now into eternity would have Shannon thrown back in his face. He pictured Hailey – hands on her hips which was her normal argumentative stance – would somehow use Shannon as leverage to get Ryan to cave on every issue imaginable. His wife would never let it go. She just wasn’t the type. He had to prove his innocence. There was no doubt about it.

  When Ryan left his workplace that Thursday evening, he took the first step in clearing his name. Literally retracing his steps, he left through the front door of the Engineering Building and marched straight for the Bottles Up Distillery, the location of his boss’s birthday party. He strolled the same side of the street and crossed over exactly where he had last time. Inside the restaurant, he bellied up to the bar and ordered a drink, just like he did that fateful Friday while the workers arranged the tables.

  As he sat on a swiveling, four-legged stool and surveyed the noisy, crowd-filled room, he attempted to relive his experience, detail by detail. He gazed across the room to where his group had sat. The tables weren’t currently meshed, but he remembered Jeff was to his right and Jason Patterson was on his left, which seemed odd to him in hindsight, considering Jason was up against him for the promotion. Did that mean anything? He guessed it probably didn’t, but still it was a niggling thought, so much so, he wondered if there were recordings available from that night.

  He finished off his beer. When the bartender asked if he’d like another, he shoo
k his head. “No, but thanks,” he said over the loud music. “Do you know if this place has a security camera system?”

  The bartender, a tall, thin, late-twenty-something guy nodded, pointing in several directions at virtually hidden devices situated around the room. “State of the art, according to my boss,” he responded, going back to polishing the water spots off a goblet.

  “Can I look at the recordings?” Ryan asked hopefully.

  The bartender frowned. “I wouldn’t be allowed to do that. You should talk to Martin Haskell, the shift manager. He’s in his office.” He pointed in the direction, indicating the back of the establishment.

  “Thanks, man,” Ryan said, leaving a hefty tip. Sliding off his stool, he worked his way through the crowd toward the rear of the restaurant, weaving between the tables as he went. The noise picked up the further he walked toward the back, as did the singles who were looking to score for the night. It was a scene Ryan never wanted to be a part of again, causing him to want Hailey back so much more.

  He pushed on a door leading to the bathrooms and kept going down a narrow hallway, past a janitorial closet and a supply closet until he ended at a closed door with a plaque reading: Manager.

  He rapped on the door and waited.

  “Come in,” a male voice responded, presumably Martin Haskell.

  He entered a small room, no more than twelve by twelve, made even smaller by a large metal desk, several file cabinets and a giant copy machine.

  “Hello … excuse me. My name is Ryan Sinclair.” Ryan approached, introducing himself as he neared the desk.

  “Martin Haskell,” the thin-haired, round-faced man said, standing to shake Ryan’s hand. “What can I help you with?”

  “I know this is a crazy request,” began Ryan, “but Friday, two weeks ago, I attended a birthday party here for my boss. Some weird things happened to me during that night. Certain things I can remember clearly, others are hazy, and some can’t be recalled at all.” Ryan paused when Martin gestured to the only available place to sit, a cheap metal chair with a faux wooden seat and faux wooden back that resembled a student’s chair during his high school years. “Thanks,” Ryan said before continuing. “I wondered if there was any way of viewing the recordings from that night. Please, sir, it might help me get out of hot water with my wife. I would genuinely appreciate it.” Ryan put on his begging face and waited for Martin’s response.

  Martin lifted a brow. “Are you saying you might have been slipped a roofie?”

  “Yeah, exactly … the date rape drug.”

  “Were you robbed?” Martin asked, jumping to the most logical conclusion for a man being drugged.

  “Possibly,” Ryan answered, reflecting on Jason Patterson ending up with his presentation. “But I may have also been raped,” Ryan embarrassingly admitted, causing Martin’s expression to turn deadly serious. “I woke up naked in a bed next to a nude woman. And I don’t remember a thing. Then the girl sent a text of us having sex, which my wife intercepted. So, you see … hot water with the wife.” Ryan gulped back a hard swallow. “Please, Mr. Haskell, can I look at the footage to see if I can find any answers?”

  Martin considered his request for a long moment, evaluating the consequences of what the footage might possibly reveal. He knew, because the Texas Dram Shop Act, a licensed alcohol provider could be sued for over-serving a patron. But he didn’t see how the restaurant could be held responsible for someone slipping someone a drug, provided such event occurred outside the knowledge of the business establishment and didn’t involve one of their own employees. Still, he was the cautious type and wanted to make sure Mr. Ryan Sinclair wasn’t looking to sue the restaurant for some sort of negligent act.

  “Will you sign a waiver acknowledging any information you find will not be used to file a lawsuit against this establishment?”

  Ryan bunched his eyebrows, shocked by even the insinuation. “I just want to know what happened to me. I’m not the litigious type.” Then Ryan thought better of his statement. “Unless it was one of your employees who was behind whatever happened to me.”

  Martin leaned back in his chair and considered Ryan’s counter proposal. “Alright then, I’ll agree to those terms.” Then Martin thought better of his statement. “You haven’t gone through the proper channels, and you don’t have a warrant. What’s this information worth to you?”

  Ryan frowned, realizing it was going to take money. “Fifty dollars,” Ryan responded.

  Martin laughed. “That’s lukewarm water with the wife.”

  After extensive negotiations, eventually Ryan was out three hundred bucks, but he received a free burger, free fries and one free beer. Ryan considered it money well spent if he and Hailey reconciled.

  Martin’s computer system was the only available on-site medium for viewing the coverage. After showing Ryan how to switch between cameras, speed forward, reverse and replay events, he spun his screen around so Ryan could monitor the recordings from the guest side of Martin’s desk. While Ryan watched, Martin surfed the Internet via his phone.

  Ryan was only concerned with his movements. So, as he changed locations from the bar to the table, he switched cameras. He shifted them once again when he went off to the restroom. But then he replayed the group while he was gone to see if anything suspicious might have happened while he was away. But no one slipped anything into his drink, and his phone remained in his jacket pocket which was draped across the back of his chair.

  Ryan found it hard to resist hitting the fast forward button but was concerned he might miss something. So, in real time, he diligently watched a boring party that was made even more boring the second time around.

  He kept a vigilant eye on Jason Patterson who was suspiciously seated next to him. And now that Ryan was paying more attention, he noticed Shannon was seated directly across from Jason. The two were in odd proximity to him, considering there were more than fifty employees at the party. He and Jeff had jockeyed to be seated next to one another. Could it have been happenstance that the girl he supposedly slept with was seated cattycorner to him on his left side, and the guy who surpassed him on the promotion was right beside him? He didn’t think so. Not one bit.

  He was leaned forward in his chair, watching the two like a hawk. If something happened, it wasn’t getting past him. For the most part, Ryan had been in discussions with Jeff, to his immediate right, and Trent Young, who was seated directly across from Jeff. He remembered it was small talk … weather, sports, even a bit of politics. There was talk about kids, vacations and a bit of trash-talk about their in-laws, though Ryan was certain he hadn’t said anything bad about Hailey’s parents. They were good as gold. Well, he might have said something about them spoiling Adam, especially with trains and puzzles, because they did. Still, it wasn’t anything egregious.

  Ryan paid close attention when the servers delivered the food and additional drinks. Another hour rocked by without anything happening. It was monotonous and the night was wearing on, just as it had when he originally attended. He wished now he would’ve skipped. But with his interview scheduled for Monday, he was afraid of being passed over simply because he didn’t make his presence known and wish old man Campbell a happy birthday. Ironically, he was still passed over and not only did he lose the promotion, but he also lost his wife. He should’ve just gone home.

  Suddenly the video showed Jason Patterson tapping Ryan on the shoulder and starting a conversation with him. Ryan watched the interaction between them, wishing the recording included audio. But now that Ryan saw it, he remembered what was being said.

  “Hey, guess what happened to me,” Jason had said with a sad face.

  “What?” Ryan asked, reluctantly engaging with Jason, a guy Ryan had never liked much or fully trusted for that matter, and now with good reason considering Jason’s rise within the company had come at Ryan’s expense. Jason had dark, beady eyes that seemed to always exude a shiftiness and the rumor was that Jason was only up for the promotion because old man Ca
mpbell’s wife was distantly related to Jason. At the time, Ryan hadn’t thought much of the blood relations because he knew his boss considered Jason a weasel and was only placating his wife to begin with. Yet somehow, Jason had ended up with the promotion.

  “My blueprints for the Luxury Towers accidentally fell in the pool. There’s no way I’ll have time to reconstruct them before Monday’s interview.”

  “You’ve got the whole weekend. And it’s not like you’d be starting from scratch. Surely you can pull something together,” Ryan had encouraged.

  “I don’t think so. I’ll probably be fired if I can’t come up with something great.”

  “No, no way. Just tell Mr. Campbell what happened. Shit happens. Besides, that project isn’t due anyway. You’ll be fine, even if you present a preliminary workup.”

  At this point, the video showed Ryan turning away from Jason and returning his attention to Jeff and Trent who were now discussing hockey, according to Ryan’s recollection.

  The night slowly dragged on and on and on. At least it seemed that way. There was a slight delay in the cake arriving. Happy birthday was sung, candles were blown out and a champagne toast was made. Ryan wolfed down his cake and waited for the first person to leave, which turned out to be Trent Young who was seated across the table. At the same time, Jeff and Ryan stood to leave, pausing briefly to wish Mr. Campbell a happy birthday.

  When he walked back around the table, he realized he had left his coat on the back of his vacated chair. Ryan retrieved the jacket, slinging it over his shoulders and sticking his arms in. He was just about to walk out with Jeff when Jason called out to him, motioning for Ryan to lean down. “Hey, I just had an idea,” Jason had whispered, shooting a nervous look toward Mr. Campbell, then back at Ryan. “Why don’t you cover for me? I’ll use your project for the Clark Anders Development Center as my own. And you can present the Beldon Hotel workup for your interview. In exchange, over the next few weeks, I’ll redo the Luxury Towers and give you the credit. Fair enough?”