As she leafed through the pages, the words safe room jumped out at her. She did a double take, then turned back to the gridded rendering of his floor plan. Sure enough, between the two bedrooms was a room marked SR.
Of course he’d have a safe room, she thought. He had good reason to be paranoid. And he was a secretive person—that was the defining characteristic of his personality. The safe room was probably where he’d keep his computer.
She turned back to the page of descriptions. And there it was: “How to open SR.” The room was behind a wall of bookshelves in the master bedroom. The button that made the wall swing open was hidden behind the molding around the bookcase. It was located on the bottom shelf near the fireplace. The note cautioned that anyone entering the room had to stand back because the bookcase swung outward when it opened. It gave instructions for securing the safe room from inside, so no one else could enter. It also noted that the walls were reinforced with half-inch steel and were bullet proof.
She read the rest of the inventory and instructions for the house’s many features: the garbage compactor (this stopped her for a moment while she considered whether people really used trash compactors in this era of recycling), controls for the home theater, and the password and instructions for the security system. But the safe room was what interested her. If her theory was right, and the computer was in the safe room, neither the police nor the killer could have found it without these instructions.
Originally, her plan had been to drive up to Robert’s cabin and see if his computer was there. But now she realized it might be a lot easier than that. If the computer was in his safe room, all she had to do was go up to his house. She could check it out, copy his computer files, and be back in a single day. More than a week had passed since Robert’s murder, and she was fairly certain his house would no longer be taped off as a crime scene. Even if it was, it wouldn’t be guarded at this point. She had the key, and besides she was—while not quite the owner—heir to it. She’d hardly be trespassing.
First she had to figure out a way to get into the house without attracting notice. She couldn’t enter by the front door because someone might see her. She remembered the broken surveillance camera. Had the police fixed it? Were they keeping an eye on the house? She got out her iPad and opened a map in “earth view” to get a look at the streets surrounding Robert’s house. It appeared that the property could be reached through an empty lot on the street below. She studied the map. There was no indication of how steep the hill might be. She figured it would be possible—though perhaps a bit of a hike, given the area’s hilly terrain—to climb up to Robert’s rear fence. She was fairly certain she’d noticed a gate in that fence the day she went to his house and found his body. She also had to assume that one of the house keys in the envelope would open the gate, which was certain to be locked.
Before she did anything, she had to make herself not just unrecognizable but able to fade into the background, so ordinary-looking that no one would notice her or remember she was there. Putting on Sue’s floppy black hat and sunglasses, she glanced in the mirror. The hat and glasses were completely over the top, certain to draw attention. The disguise Sue had rigged up made her look like a celebrity trying—not very hard—to avoid the paparazzi or at least prevent them from catching her without makeup.
She went down to the parking area, got her car, and drove less than a half mile to a discount store to find a more appropriate outfit. She picked out a long silk scarf, a pair of jeans, and tennis shoes. Then, in the men’s department she found a T-shirt and a beige windbreaker, both large enough to pretty much hide her figure. Finally, she chose a backpack and a gray baseball cap. She made sure the cap was adjustable. In the hardware department, she picked up a small but powerful flashlight with an adjustable beam.
This accomplished, Nicole returned to her car and drove two blocks to a big-box discount store. She bought a couple of flash drives so she’d be able to copy Robert’s files if she did find his computer. Along with these, she chose a connector that would allow her to use the flashdrives on her iPad, since she didn’t have access to a computer. She also bought another disposable phone like the one she’d gotten for Sue and herself.
She arranged for the store to send it—same-day delivery—to Stephanie, checking the box on the delivery form requiring a signature. She didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands. She enclosed a gift card, with her disposable phone’s number, explaining to Stephanie that she’d be gone a couple of days, that the phone was for emergencies only, and no one else should know about it. She paid cash for everything.
By now it was 1:00 p.m. She hadn’t eaten lunch, and she was hungry. But she couldn’t possibly make an appearance in one of the area’s casual eateries in her celebrity headgear. She headed back to the motel to change. Her first step was to wrap the long silk scarf she’d bought around her chest to flatten her figure. Then she put on her new jeans, T-shirt and the windbreaker. As a final touch, she tucked her hair into the baseball cap.
She found a full-length mirror on the back of the closet door and was so surprised by her reflection that she laughed out loud. She looked like a teenage boy, except that she was wearing lipstick. She went into the bathroom and used a washcloth to scrub it off.
She took the pouch with the diamond ring out of Robert’s envelope and put it, along with the cash Sue had given her and her cell phone, in an almost hidden, zippered compartment inside the backpack. Next, she put in her disposable phone, the flashlight, Sue’s gun, her iPad, and Robert’s envelope with the information about his houses. On top of everything else, she put the newly purchased flash drives, and other essentials she carried in her purse. No sense leaving this stuff in a motel room. Then she went down to her car and once more drove a few blocks to a strip mall with several fast-food restaurants. She chose Mexican and ordered fajitas and a Coke. It was 2:00 p.m. by the time she was on her way to Robert’s house.
Thirteen
Nicole was confident that no one would recognize her or the Rent-a-Wreck car. Even so, she kept a careful watch to be sure she wasn’t being followed. Traffic was light, and she reached the street below Robert’s in twenty minutes. There was no activity, no one in sight but a couple of gardeners tending a house on the corner. She parked at the empty lot below Robert’s and got out. The gardeners, intent on their work, weren’t looking in her direction. The hill was fairly steep, covered with tall, dry grass. She started up the hill and was soon sweating with the effort. Although she was fit from her morning runs, she wasn’t used to negotiating this much of an incline. It wasn’t long before the backs of her thighs ached with every step.
By the time she reached the fence behind Robert’s yard, her hair was drenched under her cap, sweat running down her face. She walked over to the gate and stared at it. There was no latch on the outside, but it did have a keyhole. She got out the keys and tried them. The third one fit; she turned it and heard the lock click open. She pulled, then pushed the gate, but nothing happened. She pressed her face to the bars of the fence to get a look at what was on the other side. There was a simple latch holding the gate closed, but it was almost at the top of the gate, perhaps six feet from the ground. She stepped up on the horizontal bar at the bottom of the fence and stretched out her arm. She still couldn’t reach it. She got down, foraged through her backpack, and pulled out the flashlight. After a few tries, she was able to use it to push the latch up until it disengaged, and the gate swung open.
Nicole found herself on a path leading around the reinforced terrace that supported the swimming pool. She used the house key to get in the back door. Finding herself in the laundry room, she stopped when she saw the kitchen. Pots, pans, broken dishes, and glassware were scattered all over the floor. As she made her way through, she had to be careful not to step on broken shards of china and glass.
Beneath the mess, she could see that the kitchen was beautifully designed, the floor and backsplashes in tiny turquoise tiles. There were white marble countert
ops and light wood cabinets with frosted glass panes. The Sub-Zero appliances included a refrigerator that looked big enough to walk around in. She opened the door, and the smell hit her. Food, spilled from containers, was rotting on the bottom of the refrigerator. The killer had overlooked nothing in his search. She quickly closed the door.
She continued through the house, picking her way through discarded objects and overturned furniture. Sometimes she had to stop and clear a path. But the mess couldn’t hide the fact that the house was truly gorgeous. The living room was gigantic, and the side of the house with a view had floor-to-ceiling windows. Wrapped around the exterior was a redwood deck. The late afternoon light, streaming in from the west, made the house seem to float above the city.
Just past the living room, she found the hall leading to Robert’s bedroom. Here, as in the rest of the house, everything had been turned upside down and tossed on the floor. Nicole immediately spotted the fireplace and bookcase he’d described in his notes. She went over and cleared furniture and books from the floor near the bookcase.
She got the envelope out of her backpack and reread the instructions for opening the safe room. She located the button behind the molding at the bottom of the bookcase, then pressed it and stepped back. Silently, the bookcase moved toward her, providing entry to the dark space beyond. She went in: The safe room was warm and smelled musty.
She felt around on the wall for a light switch but couldn’t locate it. Stepping back into the bedroom, she picked up her backpack and pulled out the flashlight. She waved the beam around the safe room until she located the light switch and turned it on. Once the light was on, the room was a disappointment: an ordinary twelve-by-twelve office with a couch, a desk and chair, some cabinets, and bookshelves. But, yes, here was Robert’s missing computer. It looked new. Next to it was a CCTV console that showed eight different views of the house fed by security cameras inside and out. One of the screens was blank, and she realized it must be connected to the camera on the carport, the broken one she’d seen when she first came looking for Robert.
With a start, she noticed the pictures on the wall. They were large, perhaps four-by-six feet, printed on canvas and framed, and they were of her. Five photos in all. There she was in her wedding dress, beaming with happiness. Brad, her ex, had been in that photo, but all traces of him were now gone. Another showed her in her late teens, looking down from the branches of a tree that stood in her parents’ backyard. It was where she used to go when she wanted to get away from the noise of her parents’ house, always overflowing with extended family and friends. That photo was in her high-school scrapbook, which she now kept in a box in the closet of her spare bedroom. Her wedding pictures were there, too. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw them away.
The next two pictures were more recent, and these were unfamiliar. One was of her sitting at her desk; another of her outside, walking near the office. When her gaze fell on the last one, she recoiled. It showed her standing at her bedroom mirror, trying on the filmy nightgown she’d bought for her trip to Majorca with Reinhardt, the very gown Robert had stolen. The photo was taken from behind, so it showed the back view of her, as well as the front, reflected in the mirror. She might as well have been naked.
Her face burning with outrage, she yanked it from the wall, threw it face down on the floor and stamped on it. Along with everything else, he was a peeping tom. Wait, she thought, how on earth had he taken this picture? Her condo was on the second floor, and her bedroom wasn’t positioned near the wall the paparazzi had climbed to get a view of her bathroom. Had Robert hidden a camera in her bedroom? Had he actually been there? Hiding in her closet, watching? The thought of it made her feel sick. She grabbed the remaining pictures and threw them on the floor face down.
All at once she was aware of noise outside. She went back into the living room and looked out the window. The sound was just a neighbor coming home, but it made her realize how vulnerable she was. She consulted Robert’s directions again.
She got her backpack and took it into the safe room. Then she closed and secured the door by turning three deadbolt locks, evenly spaced up the edge of the moving wall. She noticed there were four brackets on the moving wall—one on either side of the opening and two in the center—for a locking bar. She found the bar leaning against the wall. It was heavy, but she managed to lift it into place.
Consulting the instructions again, she went to the control panel next to the light switch and disabled the mechanism that opened the door. Then she turned on the air conditioner and took a look around. Aside from the other furniture, the room held a water cooler, and, on top of a small cabinet next to it, a bowl with a large assortment of energy bars.
Sitting in one corner was a square, white piece of furniture she couldn’t identify. She went over to take a closer look. It was sealed in its original plastic wrapper and bore a label reading, “Porta Potti Portable Toilet.” Clearly Robert had prepared this room in case he had to hole up in here a while.
Next, Nicole went through the desk drawers. They were empty except for the center top drawer, where she found another Swiss Army knife. He did like those, didn’t he? There were the usual office supplies: pencils, paper clips, rubber bands, a few pens. She turned on the computer and plugged in one of her flash drives. The computer asked for a password. She took another look at Robert’s instructions. He’d told her to delete his files, but hadn’t given her the password to log on to the computer. It occurred to her that perhaps he’d made it easy, something he knew she’d figure out. After a moment’s thought, she typed in Nicole. She had to enter it twice because he’d used all lowercase letters, no capital N. The computer instantly logged her in. When it was fully loaded, she could see he had quite a few files in his documents folder. She began copying them onto one of the flash drives. She didn’t bother reading them. Her goal was to copy everything, get out as quickly as possible, and read them later.
Nicole was so intent on what she was doing that she jumped when she heard a noise. It sounded like someone was walking around inside the house. She couldn’t tell because the sound was muffled by the safe room’s thick walls. Heart thumping wildly, she went to the CCTV console. One camera view showed two figures moving around. They must have closed the blinds because the room they were in was almost dark, and it was hard to make out their faces. After studying the view for a moment, she realized they were in the master bedroom, the room she’d just gone through to get into the safe room.
She looked more closely at the console itself. There was a knob under each monitor that looked like the kind used to adjust sound on old-fashioned TV sets. She turned the knob under the bedroom view. There was a click, and all at once she could hear their voices. She quickly lowered the volume. “Where do you think it is?” said a man. With a shock, she recognized the voice: It was Rick Sargosian.
A second voice, this one unfamiliar, answered, “According to the floor plan, there were originally three bedrooms. Now there are only two, so we figure he converted one of them into a safe room. It should be on the other side of this wall.”
She held her breath as they started pounding on the wall. She could hear the noise from the security console as well as the muffled sound through the wall itself.
“Does that sound hollow to you?” the second man said. “Not really,” Sargosian said. “They would have used a pretty thick wall, and a good safe room is usually reinforced with steel. I doubt it would sound hollow.
“Listen,” he went on, “about Nicole. I don’t think she knows anything. It was stupid trying to intimidate her and planting those stories about her.”
“Well, guess what?” said the other man. “He doesn’t want to take any chances. He’s put out a hit on her.”
“Holy Christ,” said Sargosian. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. The paparazzi are riveted by this story. Nicole has become a celebrity. What do you think would happen if she got murdered, too?”
“It’s not going to l
ook like murder,” the other man said. “It’ll be arranged to look like an accident.”
“An accident? Who’s going to believe that? It’s too much of a coincidence. Think of the conspiracy theories it’ll inspire. Not just the cops, but every journalist in America will be looking into this case. Leave her alone; she’s harmless.”
“Why? You got a thing for her? It doesn’t matter. It’s all been arranged.”
“When we’re done with this,” Sargosian said, “I’m going to call Rice. I can’t believe he’d be party to this. I’m telling you—it would be a terrible mistake if anything happened to her. In fact, he should hire a bodyguard to protect her.”
“Very funny,” the other guy said. “I doubt you’re going to change his mind. The chief assigned it to one of his buddies—those guys who smoke cigars with him in the special yard he had fenced off behind headquarters. It’s probably too late already.”
Inside the safe room, Nicole had begun pacing around. Hearing them discuss the hit on her made her knees go weak, but she was too jittery to sit down. If only they’d leave, she could sneak away. But what if they somehow managed to get into the safe room? She couldn’t bring herself to imagine what would happen.
“Just tell me this,” the man was saying. “Why are you here? Things would have been a lot easier if I’d just brought my partner.”
“Because my boss doesn’t want another screw-up,” Rick said. “The media coverage of Blair’s murder is getting the firm a lot of negative publicity. And the big guy is worried it might stick to him. It was really stupid to make Robert’s death look like a mob hit. That’s what set everything off. If anyone had been thinking, they would have made that killing look like an accident. Whose idea was it?”
The Bequest Page 13
