He Will be My Ruin
Page 79
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“Are you kidding me?” I stare at Doug and Zac in shock.
This seems far too easy.
CHAPTER 40
Maggie
“He doesn’t know that we know about the vase, right?” Doug’s eyebrows spike.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“What about her?” He jerks his head in the direction of the door, and Ruby beyond.
“She knows. She’s good at keeping secrets.”
“So then there’s no reason for him not to call up an appraiser,” Doug surmises, pacing the empty floors of Celine’s apartment. He holds his phone to his ear, squinting with concentration, and I know that he’s listening to Grady’s message again. The appraiser sent over an audio recording after Doug demanded it.
I’ve heard it twice already, and I don’t need to hear it again. Even with all the competing background noise¸ there’s no doubt that it’s Grady.
“I thought he wouldn’t go through an appraiser if he stole the vase and has these Chinese connections of his,” I say.
“All speculation. He’s obviously near a train station. I wish I knew which one. Zac could tap into their security feeds and . . .”
I let Doug’s voice drift off as I try to come to terms with this turn of events. As I wallow in regret for ever trusting a guy like Grady, I can certainly see why Celine did. He may be a crazy stalker, but he wears a convincing cloak of a nice, totally normal guy. All these sickos probably do.
And I fell for the act.
“. . . He’ll call me as soon as he’s made the appointment with Grady.” Doug’s voice drifts backs into my consciousness. “In the meantime,” he marches over to the bathroom and begins stuffing my toiletries into my bag, “you’re packing up your things and staying at a hotel. I don’t want you in this building anymore. Plus”—he casts an arm around the vacant apartment—“it’s your dead friend’s empty apartment. It can’t be good for your mental state. I’ll do surveillance outside. He’s not leaving the building without me knowing it. Please don’t fight me, Maggie.”
“Fine.”
He stops. “Fine? Seriously?”
I don’t want to be in here anymore either. “Let me just pack my things and let Ruby know.”
His stubby finger comes up.
“I know.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t say anything about the investigation.”
————
December 18, 2015
“What do you mean, he bolted?” I sit up in my hotel bed, frowning at my reflection. The rooms in this boutique hotel are standard New York issue—closet-sized. I guess the designer figured that putting a floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite the bed would trick patrons into thinking the three-hundred-dollar-per-night room wasn’t a jail cell.
I hear Doug take a sip of his coffee.
“He couldn’t have. Why bother phoning the appraiser then?” I argue.
“Maybe the appraiser tipped him off. Someone must have.”
It’s been three days since “James” called the appraiser. Three days of waiting for him to return the message that the appraiser—with a carefully worded script from Doug—left on his voice mail. Three days since Grady used his cell phone, according to Zac, who has been monitoring activity on that number through a hack into the phone company. Three days of Doug sitting outside Celine’s old building and not seeing a single hint of Grady.
“But when would they have tipped him off?”
“Had to be before I started surveillance.”
“Or he waited until you were going to the bathroom or sleeping to slip out.”
“I’ve got cameras angled at both the door and the fire exit, and Zac’s watching those while I step away. I haven’t missed him. This isn’t my first stakeout,” Doug snaps. “But guess who did come out about twenty minutes ago, with a plate of shortbread?” His tone is thick with accusation.
“She called me yesterday morning, but I did not tell her you were there. I swear.”
“I know, because Zac’s monitoring your calls. She said she saw me yesterday when she was getting her mail.”
Part of me wants to yell at him for the invasion of privacy, but I find more satisfaction in needling him than reprimanding him. “So the eighty-one-year-old woman with Coke bottle glasses busted your cover? You sure it’s not your first stakeout?”
He ignores my dig. “She came down to express her concern over Grady. Apparently she called him two days ago to fix her drain and he hasn’t called back or stopped by. Normally she gets an answer within three or four hours.” There’s a long pause, and then a rushed “Gotta go.”
Anxious flutters erupt in my stomach. “Is he there? Do you see him?”
“Nope.” The phone cuts off.
And I’m left glaring at my reflection, trying to figure out what the hell Doug is up to now.
Six hours later, with a phone call from Ruby, I finally find out.
CHAPTER 41
Maggie
“Do you live on this floor, ma’am?”
“No, but I—”
“Then I’ll have to ask that you go back to your apartment and let us run our investigation.” The police officer ushers me backward, toward the stairwell. Another officer stands outside Grady’s open door, on guard. I can’t see inside, but it’s not hard to spot the yellow caution tape at the door.
“Can you at least tell me what happened to him?”
“Are you family?”
“Yes!” I exclaim without thinking.
“No, she isn’t. Maggie, don’t get in their way,” Doug’s stern voice calls out from behind me. I turn to find him and Detective Childs walking side by side down the hallway.
Childs’s dark but kind eyes land on me. “Miss Sparkes. You’re still here.”
“I am. And now, so are you.” Turning to Doug, I add, “But I thought we didn’t have enough evidence for the police to get involved?”
“It’s a Missing Persons case. Of course the police have to get involved.”
I glance back at the door with a frown. “Grady’s missing?”
“Yeah. Several tenants were concerned about his safety, so Ruby Cummings, down on the third floor, reported it to NYPD this morning.” Doug’s wide-eyed glare stalls my tongue. I have no clue what angle he’s playing at here, but I hope it works. I guess in one way it already has.
This seems far too easy.
CHAPTER 40
Maggie
“He doesn’t know that we know about the vase, right?” Doug’s eyebrows spike.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“What about her?” He jerks his head in the direction of the door, and Ruby beyond.
“She knows. She’s good at keeping secrets.”
“So then there’s no reason for him not to call up an appraiser,” Doug surmises, pacing the empty floors of Celine’s apartment. He holds his phone to his ear, squinting with concentration, and I know that he’s listening to Grady’s message again. The appraiser sent over an audio recording after Doug demanded it.
I’ve heard it twice already, and I don’t need to hear it again. Even with all the competing background noise¸ there’s no doubt that it’s Grady.
“I thought he wouldn’t go through an appraiser if he stole the vase and has these Chinese connections of his,” I say.
“All speculation. He’s obviously near a train station. I wish I knew which one. Zac could tap into their security feeds and . . .”
I let Doug’s voice drift off as I try to come to terms with this turn of events. As I wallow in regret for ever trusting a guy like Grady, I can certainly see why Celine did. He may be a crazy stalker, but he wears a convincing cloak of a nice, totally normal guy. All these sickos probably do.
And I fell for the act.
“. . . He’ll call me as soon as he’s made the appointment with Grady.” Doug’s voice drifts backs into my consciousness. “In the meantime,” he marches over to the bathroom and begins stuffing my toiletries into my bag, “you’re packing up your things and staying at a hotel. I don’t want you in this building anymore. Plus”—he casts an arm around the vacant apartment—“it’s your dead friend’s empty apartment. It can’t be good for your mental state. I’ll do surveillance outside. He’s not leaving the building without me knowing it. Please don’t fight me, Maggie.”
“Fine.”
He stops. “Fine? Seriously?”
I don’t want to be in here anymore either. “Let me just pack my things and let Ruby know.”
His stubby finger comes up.
“I know.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t say anything about the investigation.”
————
December 18, 2015
“What do you mean, he bolted?” I sit up in my hotel bed, frowning at my reflection. The rooms in this boutique hotel are standard New York issue—closet-sized. I guess the designer figured that putting a floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite the bed would trick patrons into thinking the three-hundred-dollar-per-night room wasn’t a jail cell.
I hear Doug take a sip of his coffee.
“He couldn’t have. Why bother phoning the appraiser then?” I argue.
“Maybe the appraiser tipped him off. Someone must have.”
It’s been three days since “James” called the appraiser. Three days of waiting for him to return the message that the appraiser—with a carefully worded script from Doug—left on his voice mail. Three days since Grady used his cell phone, according to Zac, who has been monitoring activity on that number through a hack into the phone company. Three days of Doug sitting outside Celine’s old building and not seeing a single hint of Grady.
“But when would they have tipped him off?”
“Had to be before I started surveillance.”
“Or he waited until you were going to the bathroom or sleeping to slip out.”
“I’ve got cameras angled at both the door and the fire exit, and Zac’s watching those while I step away. I haven’t missed him. This isn’t my first stakeout,” Doug snaps. “But guess who did come out about twenty minutes ago, with a plate of shortbread?” His tone is thick with accusation.
“She called me yesterday morning, but I did not tell her you were there. I swear.”
“I know, because Zac’s monitoring your calls. She said she saw me yesterday when she was getting her mail.”
Part of me wants to yell at him for the invasion of privacy, but I find more satisfaction in needling him than reprimanding him. “So the eighty-one-year-old woman with Coke bottle glasses busted your cover? You sure it’s not your first stakeout?”
He ignores my dig. “She came down to express her concern over Grady. Apparently she called him two days ago to fix her drain and he hasn’t called back or stopped by. Normally she gets an answer within three or four hours.” There’s a long pause, and then a rushed “Gotta go.”
Anxious flutters erupt in my stomach. “Is he there? Do you see him?”
“Nope.” The phone cuts off.
And I’m left glaring at my reflection, trying to figure out what the hell Doug is up to now.
Six hours later, with a phone call from Ruby, I finally find out.
CHAPTER 41
Maggie
“Do you live on this floor, ma’am?”
“No, but I—”
“Then I’ll have to ask that you go back to your apartment and let us run our investigation.” The police officer ushers me backward, toward the stairwell. Another officer stands outside Grady’s open door, on guard. I can’t see inside, but it’s not hard to spot the yellow caution tape at the door.
“Can you at least tell me what happened to him?”
“Are you family?”
“Yes!” I exclaim without thinking.
“No, she isn’t. Maggie, don’t get in their way,” Doug’s stern voice calls out from behind me. I turn to find him and Detective Childs walking side by side down the hallway.
Childs’s dark but kind eyes land on me. “Miss Sparkes. You’re still here.”
“I am. And now, so are you.” Turning to Doug, I add, “But I thought we didn’t have enough evidence for the police to get involved?”
“It’s a Missing Persons case. Of course the police have to get involved.”
I glance back at the door with a frown. “Grady’s missing?”
“Yeah. Several tenants were concerned about his safety, so Ruby Cummings, down on the third floor, reported it to NYPD this morning.” Doug’s wide-eyed glare stalls my tongue. I have no clue what angle he’s playing at here, but I hope it works. I guess in one way it already has.
