by Jana DeLeon
Jason frowned. “Your friend wants to know where I keep the spare keys?”
“My friend wants to be certain that the number of people with access to her home is limited. In other words, are the keys lying around somewhere in this mess or are they secured somewhere safe that a stranger couldn’t access?”
“Got it. Yeah, they’re in a safe in the back room. It’s one of those digital ones. Me and the manager have combinations, and it knows which one was used. I have to keep a log of every time I go into the safe and for which key and why.”
“So you would be the one to let in contractors and repairmen if the unit is unoccupied or no one is home?”
“Yes, ma’am, but they only get into the occupied units if the owner cleared them with me or if it’s an emergency.”
“And you never give them the key and let them go up on their own?”
Jason’s eyes widened. “No way! My grandma lives in a high-rise. I’d be mad as heck if someone handed out a key to her apartment to just anybody with a business card with a contractor logo. If residents want contractors to have their own way in, then they can get copies of the keys made and hand them out themselves.”
“So the only way someone can access a unit is through you, the owner, or a Realtor through the lockbox system.”
“Yes, ma’am. The building might not have a bunch of fancy security cameras and stuff, but it’s not like people can just walk inside a residence. I think your friend would be fine here. It’s a good neighborhood. Lots of shops and restaurants but far enough away from the craziness of Bourbon Street.”
“Is there anyone here at night? In case something breaks?”
He shook his head. “There’s a number they call and if it’s an emergency, the service calls me.”
“And you’re here during the week until five?”
“Six usually. Supposed to be five but there’s so much to be done, I never get out on time. Could stay here twenty-four hours a day if they’d approve the overtime and still wouldn’t be caught up.”
“Were you working late Friday night?”
“No. Actually got out of here by five thirty.” He smiled. “Beer and pizza night.”
“Well, I hope they get you some help soon. Thanks for the information.”
“No problem.”
Shaye left the makeshift office and headed back toward the lobby. Jason seemed sincere enough, but the reality was he could also be the perpetrator. He had access to the apartment and intimate knowledge of when it would be empty. He could have easily set up a dolly and crate in the apartment or hallway beforehand and used it to transport the body out of the building. If someone happened to leave their unit that late, they wouldn’t think anything of the maintenance person moving a large item.
It was risky to do such things at your place of employment, but the kind of people who did these things usually fancied themselves smarter than everyone else. They never thought they’d get caught. Although he was definitely uncomfortable talking to her. That could be shyness or something else entirely.
She paused in the lobby and considered going upstairs to question the other residents, but it was likely most of them were at work and besides, she had that appointment with the Realtor at one thirty. She’d just make a quick pass through the parking lot and see if it yielded anything of interest, then head to her next appointment.
A breezeway led from the building to the detached parking, and when she saw the management company sign on the wall of the structure, she realized it was managed by a different company than the building. She saw a booth at the exit and headed that direction, excited when she saw someone moving inside. An attended booth might mean information.
She stepped up to the window and took note that the young man inside the booth fit Madison’s description. She smiled at him and he gave her an uneasy look.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Hi, my name is Shaye Archer. I’m a private detective working on a case and wondered if you could help me.”
“Oh, I’m Danny Suarez. But, uh, I’m just the parking attendant. If you need to speak to a manager, he won’t be here until this afternoon.”
“That’s good to know, but I’d still like to ask you some questions, if that’s all right.”
“Okay.”
“How does the parking garage work? Does everyone pay daily or do some have a pass?”
Danny looked somewhat relieved that her question concerned the parking. “You can buy a monthly or yearly pass. People who live in the building in front of it get a discount. A bigger one for the yearly pass. People who work in the office building across the street get a discount too, but they usually buy the monthly one. Probably smarter since you never know when you might be out of a job.”
“That’s true enough. Have you worked here long?” His response had contained just enough disappointment that she figured Danny had been on the receiving end of the job loss game before.
“Only a couple of weeks. I worked at a restaurant before, but I wasn’t too good at it. All those orders and people were always complaining. This doesn’t pay so great, but it’s a lot less stress.”
“I imagine restaurant work would be taxing. So if someone went into the garage just for the day, but never came out, would anyone know?”
“Yes, ma’am. When we do shift change in the afternoon, our hours overlap by forty-five minutes. One of us does a sweep of the parking garage and makes sure all the day passes are for that day.”
“And what happens if they’re not?”
“Then we call the towing company and they come get the car.”
“Great. Have you had any cars towed recently?”
Danny nodded. “Had a truck towed last week. Guy came down here two days after yelling up a storm. I haven’t heard that much cussing since I had that restaurant gig.”
“Any others that you can think of?”
“Not that I know of, but I don’t work every day.”
“I understand. Which towing company do you use?”
“Mitchell’s Towing. I don’t have a card or anything but I can give you the phone number.”
“That’s okay. I can look them up. Thanks for your help, Danny.”
“Sure,” he said, still looking slightly confused.
Funny, Shaye thought as she walked away. Danny hadn’t asked what kind of case she was working on. He didn’t strike her as the most confident or competent of employees, and given that he hadn’t been on the job long, that could have been the reason for his discomfort. Or he could have recognized her from the evening news and that might have put him on edge as well.
Either way, she’d do a quick check on Danny Suarez when she got home.
He looked up at the windows that encompassed the penthouse suite, wondering if she was in there, looking out at the city. He’d taken to his computer to see what he could find out about her, expecting to find little. Most people were exceedingly average and aside from the usual nonsensical social media pages, the Internet didn’t yield anything of relevance for the vast majority.
But this time was different.
The Internet revealed quite a lot about Madison Avery. Her rich, privileged upbringing among the elite of Baton Rouge. Her trust fund left to her by her maternal grandfather and her graduation from the university with a computer science degree. But two things had been the most interesting. One was the article that covered the strange malady that affected Madison. The other was the pictures of Madison with her family, in which she was always slightly set apart from her parents and sister.
The one who didn’t fit in.
The damaged one.
He understood not fitting in. And he understood damage in a way that most people never would. But Madison’s problem was both fascinating and thrilling. Fascinating because he couldn’t imagine not recognizing someone he’d met. His mind recorded every detail about people and he could recall those details even years later.
Thrilling because she was the perfect prey.
You can’t hide forever. And it might be forever.
Her mind was solid on the subject, but fear was a strong opponent to logic. Madison knew that Shaye might not find anything. That the police might never know a crime had occurred. That she’d have to spend the rest of her life wondering if the man she was standing next to on the street corner was the man who’d run a knife across that poor woman’s neck without so much as a pause.
But behind that fear was an even scarier emotion—the feeling of being trapped.
The day she’d moved out of her parents’ home and into her tiny apartment across from the college campus, a huge weight had lifted from her. She’d felt free for the first time in her life. Free to wear what she wanted, do what she wanted…never asked to perform for her father’s associates. And always failing those performances by not being able to tell one black suit from another.
She’d been trapped then. Held in a gilded cage, provided with the very best of everything. But much to her parents’ dismay, no amount of money could fix what was broken. As soon as Madison’s younger sister, Janine, had grown old enough to cling to daddy’s arm, making the perfect family picture, Madison had been relegated to her bedroom during parties. Given “permission” to skip the events since her parents knew she didn’t really enjoy them.
That much was true, but it wasn’t the reason she’d been allowed to skip. The real reason was because her parents didn’t want her downstairs embarrassing them. Now that Janine was older and trained, like a dutiful daughter, it was no longer necessary to push Madison at people and cover for her social issues. So she’d stayed in her five-hundred-square-foot suite, with everything a girl could want, and she’d wished she were anywhere but inside those four walls.
Now she was placing the same restraints on herself.
This is ridiculous.
She jumped up from her desk and went into her closet, yanking sweats and hoodie from hangers before grabbing her tennis shoes and heading back into her bedroom to change. She refused to be held captive again. She’d change clothes and go out to lunch. Nothing fancy, given her choice of wardrobe, but a shrimp po’boy could be had almost every block and plenty of the restaurants were mom-and-pop shops where everyone was dressed down. She’d blend right in.
Ten minutes later, she exited the building and headed up the street where she saw the biggest crowd of people. None of the streets were empty, but if she stayed around clumps of shopping women, it left little opportunity for the wrong person to accost her. She fell in step behind a group of young women, probably college age, who were Christmas shopping and talking about boys. She felt a tug at the excited conversation and wondered what it would have been like to have a normal existence. To date someone and actually recognize him on the second date.
She’d tried a few times, but the last had ended with a frat boy playing a bad joke on her and substituting his roommate on their second date just to see if she’d notice. The fact that she’d had a crush on the boy forever and had practically memorized every hair on his head meant she’d caught on to the prank as soon as the roommate tried to pass himself off as her date. She’d run from the fraternity house, crying, and had refused all attempts by the guy to contact her. The flowers he’d sent to apologize went right into the Dumpster behind her apartment.
After that, she’d given up altogether. What was the point? Even if she met someone who could understand her condition, would he want to cope with it every day? Something as simple as changing his haircut might guarantee that the woman he shared his bed with could potentially pass him on the sidewalk without so much as a flicker of recognition. And she didn’t even want to think about the difficulties children could present. When she was in school, girls were always swapping clothes. All it would take was one time of trying to leave the schoolyard with the wrong kid and everyone would brand her a freak, or even worse, a child abductor.
Logic told her that those situations were not overly possible and even if something like them happened, they could easily be explained, but she didn’t have the energy to run the risk. So for now, she’d have to settle for romantic comedies on cable and listening to college girls lament their love lives.
It wasn’t great, but it was a better life than the woman who’d been killed.
At the end of the second block was a sandwich shop that Madison had been in once before. It was no surprise that she didn’t recognize any of the staff, but she did remember that the shrimp po’boy had been excellent. So she parted ways with the college girls and stepped inside. An older man behind the counter told her to take any empty seat and a minute later, a harried-looking middle-aged woman came over to take her order.
She glanced around the shop, checking out the other patrons, and her gaze locked onto a young man in a back booth. He was the right height, the right build. His hair color and cut matched that of the attacker.
Calm down. He looks like every other average white guy in that age group.
Then he lifted his sandwich…with his left hand.
7
Madison sucked in a breath and reached for her water, frustrated that her hand shook as she brought the glass up to her lips. The guy looked up from his sandwich and caught her gaze. He smiled, and she swung her head around so quickly, she dropped the glass. It crashed onto the floor and splintered into pieces. Madison jumped up from her chair, already apologizing to the waitress as she ran over with a rag.
“Did you cut yourself?” the waitress asked.
“No. I’m fine. It just slipped. It’s my fault. Let me pay for it.”
“It’s no biggie, honey. Just a glass. Do you want to move to another table so I can sweep this up?”
Madison shook her head, her anxiety shooting into space. “I’ll just take my order to go. I’m so sorry.”
She hurried up to the counter, where the man behind it was wrapping her sandwich. He handed it to her along with a punch card.
“Fifth sandwich is on us,” he said. “But you look like you’re having a bad day, so I punched you out early.”
“Oh, but I can’t—”
“No arguing,” he interrupted. “It’s my business. If I want to give you a sandwich, ain’t nobody telling me I can’t. Merry Christmas, miss.”
The desire to pay the man for the sandwich warred with the desire to flee back to the safety of her condo. It only took a second for fear to win out, and she thanked the man profusely before hurrying out.
Even though she knew it was calling attention to her, she practically jogged back to her building, bumping into people and apologizing as she went. By the time she reached the lobby of her building, she was flushed and winded, and the sandwich gripped in her hand had been squeezed so hard in the middle that it now resembled a dumbbell.
“Are you all right?” the security guard called out.
Madison looked over and was relieved to see Wanda walking toward her. Wanda was a retired firefighter and a baker of pies. She also had long wavy hair that was bright red. There was absolutely no way she was the killer.
“I’m fine, Wanda,” Madison said. “Thanks. I think I just outdid my fitness level.”
Wanda scrunched her brow and looked closely at Madison’s face. “You sure that’s all? You look awfully flushed and your hands are shaking.”
“I think some guy tried to steal m
y wallet on the corner.” Madison made up the first lie she could think of that would explain her anxiety.
“Did you get a good look at him?” Wanda asked. “You want me to call the police?”
“No. He disappeared into the crowd before I got a look.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “And now that I think about it, he could have bumped against me accidentally. I think all this talk about pickpockets and burglaries this time of year has me on edge.”
“You need to stop watching the news. It can give you a nervous breakdown. I stopped about five years ago and haven’t had to take my blood pressure medicine ever since.”
“That’s good advice. Thank you for checking on me. I’m going to head upstairs and have my lunch.”
Wanda patted her on the shoulder. “You take care now.”
Madison forced herself to walk calmly to the elevator but as soon as she was inside, she hit the button for her floor several times, counting the seconds until the door closed on the lobby floor and reopened at the penthouse level. Since there was no one to see or judge her panic, she ran down the hall to her door. She punched in the entry code and practically tackled the door open before running inside and whirling around to slam it shut and pull the dead bolt.
She turned once more, her back against the door, and slid down onto the floor, wondering if she’d ever feel safe again.
Trenton Cooper was everything Monique had described him to be. From the first moment Shaye set sights on the Realtor, she knew he was going to be difficult and she wasn’t going to like him. He stepped out of his office and into the reception area the moment she entered the real estate office, completely bypassing his administrative assistant and rushing to introduce himself. He then directed the assistant to bring in refreshments and ushered Shaye into a plush office, complete with antique furniture that Shaye knew had cost a fortune.
Trenton Cooper was making lots of money and wanted everyone to know it.
“I was so pleased to get your call, Ms. Archer,” he said as he took a seat across the desk from her. “I hope I’ll be able to help you. Are you looking for something in the city—a penthouse, perhaps? Or maybe a plantation so you can escape to the country. I’ve just purchased a small one myself and on the rare occasions that I can leave my business for a day, I have to admit that I’m enjoying fishing.”
