Most important, besides the complex’s appearance, the needle on the compass of his intuition was vibrating as if he stood smack dab on magnetic north.
Her apartment number was five-seventeen. He followed the signs to building five hundred, and found it located squarely in the middle of the community. Unit five-seventeen was on the third floor, and knowing his wife, likely faced the parking lot so she could look through the window and see who was coming and going.
A handful of late-model cars were parked in front. When he and his wife had lived in downtown Chicago, he hadn’t allowed her to own a car; he believed that a pretty woman with her own set of wheels was destined to get into trouble. But she had once expressed interest in an Acura sedan, a silver one, and he was sure that she had purchased the vehicle when she’d relocated. Her way of celebrating her liberation from him and all of that feminist bullshit.
There were no Acuras parked nearby. He didn’t expect to find one, because he was increasingly certain that she no longer lived in the community.
He parked in front of the building, glanced at his face in the sun visor mirror. Satisfied with what he saw, he got out of the car and climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Apartment five-seventeen, as he’d suspected, was an end unit that overlooked the parking lot. A couple of phone books were stacked on the doorstep, and a tri-fold menu for a Chinese restaurant bristled between the knob and door jamb.
He rang the bell a couple of times, but predictably, no one answered. The apartment was vacant.
He ought to drop a pointed note to Omega Search. Their database was out of date. How long ago had his wife moved out?
He considered kicking in the door, but there would be little point. Whenever a tenant left, the apartment manager most likely dispatched housekeepers to clean these units from top to bottom. He doubted there would be anything inside that might tell him where she had moved on to.
He turned around, looked at the doors surrounding him.
But she’d had neighbors, hadn’t she?
He approached the unit directly across the corridor from five-seventeen. He placed his ear against the cold door.
He heard a television broadcasting the news, and a woman talking loudly, probably on the phone. She sounded young, which was good. An impressionable young woman would be pliable to his purposes.
He smoothed the edges of his mustache and straightened his jacket, grateful that he had cleaned up that morning and changed clothes. It was time to turn on the charm.
He rang the doorbell.
The volume of the television dropped. A few seconds later, he felt the woman looking at him through the peephole.
He kept his expression relaxed, pleasant.
“Who’s there?” she asked from behind the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you this evening,” he said, using his crisp, lawyerly voice. “I was wondering if you knew Rachel Hall? She lived in five-seventeen. I’m her cousin Brian, from Chicago.”
A pause. Then: “Hold on.”
He heard a security chain pop free. The door opened.
He found himself looking at a black woman in her mid-twenties. She was about five-seven, mocha-skinned, with shoulder-length dark hair. She had soft, almond-shaped brown eyes that would believe anything a brother with half-decent game would tell her.
She wore a green v-neck sweater that showed off a mound of luscious cleavage, and black slacks that hugged long, shapely legs. She was barefoot, her pedicured toes nestled in the carpet. Her ring finger was bare, and when he glanced over her shoulder, he didn’t see anyone straining to find out who had rung the doorbell.
“Hi.” He gave her his best, disarming smile.
Automatically, she smiled back at him, showing pretty dimples, and he knew she would give him anything he wanted.
“Hey,” she said. “You said you’re Rachel’s cousin?”
“Yes, I flew in from Chicago this morning for a business trip, and thought I’d drop by to visit Ray-Ray. I haven’t talked to her in a couple of years—“
“Sweetheart, you’re kinda late.” She had a syrupy sweet Southern accent. “Rachel moved out like six months ago.”
“Are you serious? I asked Aunt Nita a hundred times if this was the correct address. I think she’s going senile in her old age, God bless her.”
“Uh huh.” The girl giggled. “Rachel moved out when she got married.”
Dexter blinked. That single phrase—when she got married—almost destroyed his act. Married? Was she telling the fucking truth? The bitch had gotten him thrown into prison, come down here, and gotten married?
He had a sudden, violent impulse to grab this young woman by the throat and throttle her, to choke her as if she were his wife, his cheating, no-good wife—
But he caught himself so quickly that the girl didn’t appear to notice his temporary lapse.
“And you know, I asked Aunt Nita about that, too,” he said. “I said, ‘Aunt Nita, are you sure Ray-Ray didn’t move after she got married?’ She said no.” He shrugged. “But it’s not as though I was invited to the wedding.”
“Chile, who you tellin’?” She rolled her eyes. “I lived next door to her for a year, and I didn’t get an invitation. Plus, I was going to her salon, too. Ungrateful.”
Her off-hand mention of the salon clinched the deal. Ever since he’d known his wife, she’d been a hair stylist. Although she had relocated, changed her name, and supposedly gotten married, she was plying the same trade—probably because she couldn’t do anything else.
“Is that so? Ray-Ray could be a trip sometimes.” He sighed, glanced at the parking lot for dramatic effect, and then turned back to her. “Where’s her salon? I’ll try to catch her there.”
“It’s over in East Point, like ten minutes from here. Hold on a minute. I think I have her card somewhere.”
She disappeared inside. Dexter waited in the hallway. Looping the revelation through his mind.
She got married . . .
His balled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms and leaving red marks like stigmata.
She got married . . .
He blew out a breath, relaxed his hands. He could not allow himself to contemplate this new knowledge, not yet. It would drive him to an unprecedented degree of fury, and he had to contain his rage—like a snake handler trapping a black mamba in a burlap sack.
A few minutes later, the woman came back to the door. She had brushed her hair and applied a fresh coat of burgundy-colored lipstick. He thought he picked up a whiff of perfume, too.
She handed a business card to him. Their fingers touched, briefly.
“I’m Shakira, by the way.” She was smiling hard, displaying those dimples.
“Nice to meet you, Shakira.” He studied the card. It was printed on thick, glossy red stock, with embossed white lettering. The name of the salon was Belle Coiffure. It listed the master stylists and owners as Tanisha Banks and Rachel Hall. “You’ve been to this place?”
She nodded. “It’s real nice. I haven’t been in a minute, though. It’s kinda hard to get an appointment.”
“Ray-Ray always could do some hair, you know.” He tapped the card against his wrist. “Thanks for this, Shakira. I appreciate it. I’m going to visit the salon right now—I’ll be sure to tell Rachel you said hello.”
“You do that.” Leaning against the doorway, arms folded across her bosom to lift her perky breasts higher, Shakira batted her eyelashes. “How long you gonna be in town, Brian?”
“That depends on how long my business keeps me here.”
“ ‘Cause I was gonna say, if you need someone to like, show you the city . . . I’m a native. A luscious Georgia peach.” Her gaze was direct.
He wasn’t surprised by her flirting, but he was surprised by his lack of interest. Back in the day, if a sista as fine as her had come on to him, he would’ve had her legs in the air before she knew what had happened.
But that evening, a harem of Halle Berry look-alikes c
ould not have tempted him away from his mission.
“I’m flattered.” Dexter raised his ring finger, showing her the platinum band. “But I’m a married man.”
“I saw that. So? Your wife isn’t in town with you, is she?”
“Listen, I take commitment seriously.” His voice was so taut it almost crackled. “The holy vows. For better or worse. Till death do us part. That’s important to me. More important to me than anything.”
She shrugged. “Well, you’re a good man. Not too many brothers could turn this down.” She swept her hand across her body as if showing off a new car.
“You’ll never meet another brother like me,” he said, turning to leave.
She stared at him, stunned at his rejection, and then she huffed and slammed the door.
He hurried to the car and roared out of the apartment complex, tires squealing, in his haste almost running down a woman walking her toy poodle. He’d been struggling to keep a lid on his rage, but it was steaming out of him, uncontainable, like lava erupting from a volcano.
She got married . . .
He clenched the steering wheel, feeling as though he could snap it in half like a pretzel.
She got married . . .
He was going to murder his wife for her betrayal.
After he killed her husband.
Chapter 32
Upon receiving a text message from Eddie stating that he had cracked the pass codes for Rachel’s computer and cell phone, Joshua drove to his friend’s house.
He had the revolver, stored in its case, in his satchel, and he’d stuffed the bag deep in the Explorer’s cargo area. He’d done Internet research on the handgun, but there was a big difference between reading about how to handle a gun, and having someone demonstrate its proper use. He was hoping that Eddie would be familiar with firearms. Eddie seemed to know a little bit about everything.
In the meantime, without a permit for the gun, he opted to hide it. He didn’t want to get pulled over by a cop and be charged with unlawful possession of a firearm.
Eddie and his wife, Ariel, lived in Candler Park, an old Atlanta neighborhood about five minutes east of downtown. Candler Park was an eclectic community of indie shops, funky art galleries and boutiques, trendy cafes and bars, and old houses, the value of which had soared into the stratosphere as intown living trumped buying a house in the suburbs.
Their sage-green, renovated Victorian stood on a knoll, a narrow paved lane leading to the detached garage. A web of white holiday lights were spun across the shrubbery, and a trio of illuminated plastic snowmen twinkled in the front yard.
“Hey, sweetie,” Ariel said at the door. “Come on in.”
Joshua came inside and gave Ariel a hug, which was awkward since she was only five feet tall. Dressed in a white sweater and jeans, she was a petite woman with an endearing smile, bright eyes, and a short natural. A former elementary school teacher, she’d become, like Eddie, her own boss: she owned and operated a thriving pre-school center in Buckhead.
Although both Eddie and Ariel were thrifty people, they didn’t have any compunction about spending money on their house. They had bought the place almost ten years ago as a fixer-upper, and had plowed enormous amounts of time, energy, and resources into renovations. With its gleaming hardwood floors, artfully selected earth tone colors, imaginative lighting, and period furniture, it looked like a home out of a magazine.
“Eddie told me what happened,” Ariel said.
“Oh, he did.” Joshua had asked Eddie not to tell anyone. He’d forgotten that “anyone” excluded Eddie’s wife.
“It’s such a terrible thing. But I’m sure you and Rachel will work it out. The love you two have for each other is real. Whatever she’s running from, you’ll overcome.”
“Yeah. I hope so.”
“Don’t hope so, sweetie. Know so. Positive thinking.”
“All right, Master Yoda.”
“Sorry, I dropped into teacher mode.” Ariel smiled self-consciously. “But you get my point. Your mental energy is the key to the outcome. Focus on the resolution that you desire.”
“That’s enough teaching for tonight.” Eddie waddled out of the kitchen and into the hallway with their toddler, Gavin, in his arms. When the kid saw Joshua, his eyes brightened. Eddie brought him to Joshua. “Say hi to Uncle Josh, Gav.”
“How’s it going, little man?” Joshua swung aside his satchel and hefted Gavin onto his hip. The child gazed at him, babbling and grinning. Joshua thought about last night’s dream of walking the beach with Rachel and their child, and an almost crippling anguish clenched his heart.
He might never have that life, the family Eddie enjoyed. He’d been on the track to achieving it, but Fate had conspired to rob him of his reward for being a regular, nice guy.
His eyes moist, he handed Gavin to Ariel, who had opened her arms to take him.
“Let’s go talk,” Eddie said.
* * *
Eddie’s office was located in a large space in the basement. It looked like a junkyard of computer hardware. Computers, keyboards, monitors, modems, printers, scanners, disks, hard drives, memory boards, and other spare electronic parts were stacked and scattered everywhere, and mountains of boxes held other equipment.
“Every time I come down here, I wonder why Ariel lets you get away with keeping it in this condition,” Joshua said.
“Upstairs is hers, downstairs is mine. Works for us.”
Exposed fluorescent bulbs showered them with harsh white light. The main work area was in the midst of the chaos: a couple of tattered swivel chairs, and a long, chipped wooden table on which sat three computers, one of which Joshua recognized as Rachel’s laptop.
Eddie sat in one of the chairs. “Pull up a seat and check out what the maestro has done for you, man.”
Sitting, Joshua scooted closer to the desk. Eddie flipped open the lid of Rachel’s laptop and angled the machine toward Joshua.
“Turn it on,” Eddie said.
Joshua hit the Power button. The computer beeped, and launched into the boot-up cycle.
“So what’s the password?” Joshua asked.
“We’re not there yet. Keep watching.”
Joshua expected to see the Windows log-on screen. But the computer bypassed it altogether and began to populate the display with familiar program icons: Internet Explorer, Microsoft Word, Excel, and so on.
“Wow,” Joshua said.
Eddie grinned. “That’s right—no password necessary any more, dawg. Am I the man, or what?”
“How’d you do that?”
Eddie winked. “A magician never reveals how he does his tricks.”
“You worked the same magic on her cell phone?”
Eddie dug into the front pocket of his hoodie and removed Rachel’s flip phone. He handed it to Joshua. “Try it.”
Joshua turned on the phone. The small color screen flashed the logo of the cellular provider, and then, instead of prompting him for a pass code, depicted a screen saver of one of Rachel’s favorite beach photos. Icons for the Menu and Phone Book filled the bottom of the screen.
“You’re a genius,” Joshua said. “I owe you big time.”
Eddie bowed theatrically, nodded at the laptop. “The only files I accessed on the hard drive were the ones I needed to modify in order to get in. Everything else, I’ve left to you.”
“Tonight, I’m going to go over the computer and this phone with a fine-tooth comb.” Joshua turned off both devices, slid them into his bag. Then he removed the gun case and placed it on the table. “I was hoping you could help me with this, too.”
“What is it?”
Joshua disengaged the pad lock and raised the lid.
Eddie gawked at the revolver. “Oh, shit. Where’d you get this from, dawg?”
“Rachel gave it to me, via Tanisha. I picked it up from the salon this afternoon.”
“Are you serious?”
“When she left me the letter, she left this key, too,” Joshua said, hol
ding the key between his thumb and forefinger. “She said it would open something she had a strong feeling I would need. This box.”
“Why’d she leave you a gun? That’s crazy, man.”
“She thinks I’m going to need it. She’s always had a sixth sense for things, Eddie. I think she’s right about this, too.”
“She thinks you’re gonna have to shoot somebody?” Eddie’s gaze was incredulous.
“I guess so. Maybe.”
“And why would she have a piece in the first place?” Eddie asked.
Joshua shrugged. “Wish I knew.”
“Damn.” Eddie dragged his hand down his face, regarded the gun warily. “Well, the only guns I’ve used have been on Nintendo, X-Box, and Playstation. I wouldn’t even know how to load that bad boy.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Joshua shut the box. “Thanks anyway.”
“Hold up. Ariel would know.”
“Ariel?”
“Yeah, man. Let me call her down here.” He spun around in the chair, picked up a walkie-talkie from a cluttered side table, and radioed his wife upstairs. The family walkie-talkies were typical Eddie. He and Ariel used them to coordinate their shopping when they made their once-a-month trips to the supermarket, alerting each other to bargains they discovered on their hunts through the store.
Ariel radioed back that she was putting Gavin to bed and would be down in a minute.
Setting aside the walkie-talkie, Eddie glanced at the gun case. “Did Rachel include a permit for that?”
“No. If there’s any documentation on it, she’s probably hidden it somewhere.”
Eddie was shaking his head. “She’s full of secrets, isn’t she? It’s like peeling away layers of an onion. Makes you wonder what’s in the center of it all.”
“Something that gives a reasonable explanation for all of this, I hope.”
Ariel came into the basement. She swept her gaze around, frowned, but declined to comment on the disorder around them. “Gav’s finally asleep. What’s up, guys?”
The Darkness To Come Page 16
