by Chris Mooney
The closet was long and narrow, packed with seemingly endless rows of clothes and shoes meticulously arranged in professionally crafted organizers made of polished oak. The jewellery boxes were actually four small cabinet drawers lined with red velvet.
In the second drawer Darby discovered an empty space between two stunning diamond necklaces. She flipped to the page in the murder book, found the listing for the contents of the jewellery box. The antique locket and chain was listed between a gold diamond necklace and another necklace with a platinum chain. The necklaces were here; the locket and chain were missing.
Still, she wanted to see the pictures CSU had taken of the jewellery boxes.
Darby called Coop. He was still at the lab. She explained what had happened and what she needed. Coop offered to wait at the lab until someone from ID came to unlock the office and retrieve the pictures. He promised to deliver them to the Hale building.
Tim Bryson didn't answer his phone. Darby left a message about the missing necklace, hung up and then went to work on the spare bedroom where the intruder escaped. The door was locked, so she had to crawl up the fire escape to enter the bedroom. There was no sign of forced entry on the window. She searched around the floor and through the snow for any evidence the intruder might have dropped.
13
Walter Smith carried Hannah down the cellar steps. When he reached the door to her room, he switched Hannah to his shoulder.
The key card was tucked in his front jean pocket. Walter stepped up next to the card reader. It beeped. He punched in the four numbers. The electronic locks clicked back. He opened the door and gently set Hannah down on her new bed.
Walter turned on the small lamp on the nightstand. Hannah's nose had stopped bleeding but blood had stained the front of her wool jacket. He took off her hat, jacket and gloves and folded them on top of the washing machine down the hall. Then he went upstairs.
His first stop was the garage. He opened up the trunk and removed the extra blankets Mary had told him to pack. His Blessed Mother said that if he ever got stopped by the police, they would search the trunk. If the police find blood, Walter, they'll take you away and you'll never see me again. Walter threw the blankets into a garbage bag.
The bathroom was on the second floor. Walter opened the medicine cabinet. He heard a car engine racing down the street.
Was it the police? Had they found him? Panicked, he turned off the bathroom light and looked out the tiny window.
A big truck was ploughing its way through the snow. It came to a stop at the end of his street, and in the street light he saw the words 'AJ Movers' printed on the side of the truck. The big engine coughed as it turned right and headed up the steep hill, stopping in front of a grey clapboard ranch that had been vacant for well over two years. Someone was moving into the Peterson home.
Walter relaxed. He grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a roll of toilet paper and headed back to the basement.
For the next half hour he cleaned the blood from Hannah's face. Her nose was swollen but it wasn't broken. Good. He didn't want her disfigured in any way.
Walter made one more trip upstairs, to the kitchen. He filled a large Ziploc bag with crushed ice and placed it on Hannah's nose. Her clothes were wet and smelled of fried food. Her sweatshirt was rolled up; he could see her stomach. She had a small, strawberry-coloured birthmark on her waist. He touched it. Her skin was warm and smooth.
Walter rubbed his hand across her stomach. He realized what he was doing and yanked his hand away, disgusted with himself.
'I'm sorry, Hannah. That was wrong.'
Hannah didn't stir, didn't move.
'I'm sorry I hurt you. It was an accident.' Walter hoped she could hear him.
The ice had melted. He took off Hannah's boots and socks. She had pretty feet.
Walter shut off the light, about to head upstairs, when he thought of Hannah's wet clothes. He wanted her to be comfortable.
In the dark, with his eyes shut, Walter slipped off her jeans then worked the sweatshirt and T-shirt over her head. Walter opened his eyes when he reached the hallway. Mary would be proud of his self-control.
He put the wet clothes in the washing machine. When he came back into the bedroom, he saw the outline of Hannah's body in the soft light from the hallway. She wore nice cotton underwear – the simple kind good girls wore, not the sinful stuff he saw in magazines and on TV. Emma had worn that kind of underwear – expensive, promiscuous. Hannah wasn't like that. Mary said Hannah was a good girl, with a good heart.
Hannah's breasts swelled beneath her bra. Walter stared at her chest, wanting to touch her again. The time would come for that later, after they got to know each other, after he showed Hannah how much he loved her and how happy she would be here with him.
His Blessed Mother was trying to speak to him. Mary's voice sounded far away. He closed his eyes and concentrated.
It's okay, Mary said.
Walter didn't move. His skin felt hot, the scars covering his face and body throbbing with heat.
Here, let me help you.
Walter felt his Blessed Mother working through him. Mary unbuttoned his shirt. Mary pulled off his T-shirt and unbuckled his belt. Then she gently guided him to the opposite side of the bed and moved back the sheets. Mary didn't have to tell him what to do next.
Walter climbed on top of Hannah and laid his head against her chest. He could hear the soft beating of her heart. He closed his eyes, knowing he could stay here forever, just like this, pressed up against her skin. He buried his face in her soft hair.
'I love you, Hannah. I love you so much.' Walter kissed Hannah's cheek and, unable to contain his joy any longer, started to cry.
14
Darby stood inside Emma Hale's closet, holding the photograph ID had taken of the second jewellery box. An antique locket with a platinum chain lay on the red felt between the two diamond necklaces. She handed the photo to Bryson.
'I checked everything against the photographs and the inventory list. Everything's here except the antique locket. There's no question Emma's killer came back for it.'
Bryson stared at the photograph for a long moment, his expression clearly pained.
'Marsh pulled tonight's security tapes,' Darby said. 'I've already got them bagged. They only keep a month's worth of tapes here. The rest are stored in Hale's security office in Newton. Hale's supposed to be home sometime over the weekend, but I don't want to wait that long. Hale's personal assistant is a woman named Abigail. I want to talk to her and see if we can get inside the office first thing tomorrow morning.'
Bryson placed the photograph back inside the small evidence box sitting on top of a leather ottoman. 'Patrol's still sweeping the area for the intruder, but I'm sure he's long gone,' he said. 'Darby, this man you met, you said his eyes were entirely black.'
'It was like I was looking at a Halloween mask.' Thinking about it again, even in the light, made her shiver.
'The power was out,' Bryson said. 'It was dark, so maybe you saw -'
'The man's eyes were black, Tim. No colour whatsoever – no pupil, no iris, nothing, just black. Everything he wore was black – his coat and shoes, his pants, shirt and gloves. He's between six one and six three. His face was very pale and his black hair was cut short. I could pick him out of a lineup.'
'Do you know him?'
'No. Why?'
'He knew your name, he saw you at your parents' gravesite,' Bryson said. 'I got the feeling he knew you.'
'I have no idea who he is or what he was doing here.'
'Did he seem familiar in any way?'
'I definitely would have remembered meeting someone like that.'
Darby felt cold all over. Her palms were damp. She shoved them in her jean pockets.
'I talked to Marsh,' she said. 'He swears he doesn't know anyone matching that description.'
'You think he's telling the truth?'
'My gut instinct says yes. Still, it wouldn't hurt to hold his feet to
the fire.'
'I agree. For the moment, let's assume Mr Marsh is telling the truth. If that's the case, then the intruder didn't walk through the front door, he found another way in. You said he left by the fire escape.'
'I already checked the window,' Darby said. 'There's no sign of forced entry. He found another way in – maybe the same way Emma's killer found. I doubt either of them walked through the front door.'
Bryson turned his attention to the electrical box. 'You must have surprised him coming up the stairs. He probably shut off the power hoping the darkness would make you leave – at the very least it would give him enough cover to slip away. Then he moved behind the door and waited in the bathroom. Problem was you had already spotted him. He heard you call the police and realized he was trapped.'
'That's the way I see it,' Darby said. 'Has Jonathan Hale hired anyone to look into his daughter's death?'
'Not to my knowledge. You don't think this man you met is working for Hale, do you?'
'I'm trying to find a reason as to what he was doing here.'
'If this man is, in fact, working for Hale, why didn't he tell you? Why go through all this drama and subterfuge?'
'That's a good question,' Darby said. 'Either he's working for Hale or he's working independently for reasons we don't understand.'
'How are you doing?'
'I'm fine.'
'You look a little shaky.'
'I'm coming off the adrenaline high. I'm going to get to work.'
'Hold on.' Bryson eased the closet door shut. 'I think we got off on the wrong foot back at the morgue.'
'Forget about it.'
'No, I want to clear the air.' Bryson scratched his chin. 'Look, I was a bit of an asshole. Am I pissed about how this whole thing went down? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. But what you said about me wanting the credit, that's bullshit. I'm not looking for the limelight. The press is up my ass, putting my name and picture in the papers. I can't control that. If you can help me find this guy, that's all that matters.'
'Good, then we're on the same page.'
'You said Hale has a personal assistant.'
'Marsh did. He said the woman's name is Abigail. I'll get the number.'
'I can do it.'
'Actually, I want to go and take a look at the security system.'
Bryson opened the door. 'Nice work on the necklace,' he said.
The master bedroom held modern-type bureaus and a beautiful canape bed. Like the spare bedroom, the floor-to-ceiling window overlooked Arlington Street and part of the Public Garden. Darby imagined what it might have felt like to go to bed every night with this stunning view of the city. She wondered if Emma Hale took the time to appreciate the view and her good fortune. Like many rich kids, the young woman probably took it for granted.
Darby knew she harboured a grudge against the rich. The truth was she didn't know Emma Hale. Maybe the young woman did appreciate her good fortune. Darby suspected her anger had something to do with a comment the intruder made about her mother being a coupon-clipping housewife. After Big Red died, Sheila McCormick worked double shifts at her nursing job and managed not only to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, but had saved every extra penny to help Darby pay her way through college.
Coop stood in the hallway, working a wad of chewing gum between his front teeth while someone from ID photographed the handgun, a Beretta.
'The serial number is still on it,' Coop said to her. 'Hopefully the trace will lead somewhere good. You happen to check out the ammo?'
'No.'
'Armour piercing,' Coop said. 'You're lucky the son of a bitch didn't try and shoot.'
'I need to go downstairs. When I come back, I want to process the closet first. Then I want to check the CSU inventory list to see if our boy took anything else besides the necklace.'
'I'll come with you.'
Darby saw the look of concern in Coop's eyes. She had an idea what was coming.
Coop waited until they were alone in the hallway.
'I'm staying with you tonight,' he said. 'Please, no arguments.'
'I'll be fine.' Darby pressed the elevator button. 'There's no reason for you to -'
'Look, Wonder Woman, why don't you hang up the cape and give it a rest, okay?'
'Wonder Woman doesn't wear a cape. Besides, I'm sure you'd like to get back to Row-day-oh. Maybe you can sleep in and then watch another one of those uplifting cowboy-in-love movies.'
Coop blew a bubble, popped it.
'I know men look at you as some, I don't know, some wonderfully delicate, fragile bird that needs protection,' he said. 'I don't look at you that way. I've worked out with you. I've seen you spar in the boxing ring and work the speed bag. Half of them don't know you could kick their ass sideways over the course of a weekend and not break a sweat. I'm not debating your superhero status. I want to stay over because I'll sleep better knowing you're safe.'
Once again, Coop had managed to scale her protective walls and see into her true feelings. She was glad he made the offer. She didn't want to be alone.
'This is the part where you graciously thank me,' Coop said.
'I don't have an extra bed.'
'But you do have a queen-size bed.'
'Forget it.'
'I was going to suggest you take the couch. Why are you always thinking about sex? It's very disturbing.'
15
Jimmy Marsh was seated behind the front desk, giving his statement to Tim Bryson's partner, Detective Cliff Watts.
Darby looked to the monitors set up behind the desk. 'Tell me about the security cameras,' she said.
'The two above the front door cover the door and the street,' Marsh said. 'There's another camera for the delivery area, and the other two watch the garage – one for the garage door, the other for the parking lot. We see everyone who comes and goes inside this building.'
'But you don't have a security camera on the alley.'
'No. I know where you're heading. This person you met, whoever he is, he might have left by the fire escape but he couldn't have gained access that way. You can't stand on top of the dumpster and reach the ladder. It's too high.'
'Let me ask you this. If you wanted to get inside the building without being seen, how would you go about doing it?'
'You can't.'
'How do you gain access to the parking garage?'
'You need a garage door opener.'
'So if I had one and drove up to the door, I could open it.'
'Well, yeah, in theory,' Marsh said.
'And if I have a garage door opener and entered the garage, you wouldn't see me.'
'No, but I'd see your car on the monitor.'
'Do you know the make and model of every car?'
'You have to register your car at the front desk.'
'Do you know the make and model of every car?'
'I've got a pretty good idea. Twenty-two people live inside the building. About half of them have cars.'
Darby looked at the security monitor aimed at the garage door. 'That camera is pointed at a passenger's side window,' she said. 'If a car pulled up to the garage, you wouldn't be able to see who is behind the wheel.'
Marsh didn't answer.
Darby turned to him. The man was staring at the monitor, rubbing his tongue over his teeth.
'Mr Marsh?'
'You're right,' he said. 'I couldn't see who was behind the wheel.'
'Can you hear the garage door open?'
'I watch those monitors very carefully, Miss McCormick.'
'I'm not questioning your dedication to your job or your abilities. Every security system has a flaw, and the person who entered Emma's penthouse tonight found it. Now, can you hear the garage door open?'
'No.'
'Do you have someone posted inside the garage checking people as they come in?'
'No.'
'And if you were occupied with something else, like a delivery or a phone call, you wouldn't necessarily see someone who ente
red through the parking garage.'
'I guess it's possible.'
'And if I didn't have a garage door opener and was, say, hanging out around the corner of the building, I could sneak inside once the garage door went up, correct?'
'I suppose,' he said.
'Does the security camera inside the garage record what goes on in there?'
'Yes, it does.'
'Okay. Now if I was a resident, after I parked my car, how would I get to my unit? Do I have to come back out and come through the front door?'
'There's a private elevator inside the garage which takes you up to your floor.'
'That would be the delivery elevator I saw at the end of Emma's hallway.'
'Yes.'
'Is there a camera installed inside the elevator?'
'No.'
'What about on the individual floors?'
'We just monitor the outside of the building.' 'That's what I thought,' Darby said. 'Thank you for your help, Mr Marsh.'
16
Walter Smith woke during the early hours of Saturday morning trembling with anticipation. So much to do, so much to do; he threw off the covers and raced out of his room.
The spare bedroom, stacked with barbells and weight benches, was dark. The shades were always drawn to block out the sunlight. He didn't turn on the lights. He could see well enough.
For the next hour he worked out in the dark with the heavy weights slowly, feeling the muscles burn. Despite the scarring and multiple corrective surgeries, he had achieved decent definition in his chest, arms and shoulders. He thought his legs had improved dramatically.
Sweating and fatigued, he stepped into the dark bathroom and took a long shower. He dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his waist and stood on the damp bathmat.
This was the part he hated. Looking in the mirror always upset him.
Walter summoned his courage and turned on the light.
Ropes and mats of brown and maroon-coloured scars covered his entire chest. Scars did not have any elasticity; they had halted his best efforts at building significant muscle definition.
