He Will Be My Ruin

by K. A. Tucker

  “What were the cases? Can you tell me?” I debate whether I have it in me to tackle the fridge that I haven’t opened since the night I arrived here. No doubt there’s a putrid stench of spoiled cheese and rotten fruit waiting to assault my nostrils.

  “Cheating husband, an old man who was poisoning the neighborhood cats, and a club owner who was embezzling money from his partner. The usual. Thank God for a world of sinners. I’ll never be out of work.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve maintained a positive attitude through it all.” I lean against the kitchen’s entryway and watch him pass a small, rectangular box with a short antenna sticking out from one end along the bottom edges of the couch. He hasn’t sat down on it since coming here. I’m guessing that’s because of the bright splotches of bodily fluid that his high-powered UV light illuminated. Some of them he assures me are most likely from Jace, based on what he saw of the video that I still refuse to watch. And the others . . . I’m just hoping this couch was a secondhand purchase for Celine.

  Either way, I’m never sitting on it again. I don’t even feel right giving it to charity.

  “Any update on the prints?”

  “All partials, and most of them are smudged. I can’t call in a favor with NYPD on a partial.” I can hear the frustration in his voice, and that’s rare. Normally, Doug speaks and carries himself like there’s no answer that he can’t find.

  “I wouldn’t have thought getting a fingerprint from a guy who lives in this building would be so difficult.” Doug skulked around the building at two a.m. last night, lifting any mark he could find from the fire escape, Grady’s mailbox, the door leading to the roof. Unfortunately, Grady’s front door handle—the best place to lift his prints—is too grooved and rough.

  “It’s not as easy as they make it look on TV, is it . . . ?”

  I study the big forensics case Doug arrived with this afternoon, sitting open on the floor, full of all kinds of technical things I can’t even identify. It’s making me realize that I don’t know anything about Doug, except that he works nonstop. “Did you learn how to do all that on the police force?”

  “Some of it. I specialized in crime scenes so I learned how to do things like fingerprint dusting, photographing, casting. All kinds of evidence collection.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “For the exact reason that I’m here now.” Doug pulls the old wooden folding chair to the corner and climbs on it to test the vent. “Because I needed to be able to follow my hunches, and sometimes those don’t match what the preliminary evidence might suggest.”

  “So you were going rogue, is what you’re saying.”

  He chuckles. “My superiors sure didn’t like it when they’d catch me investigating a case that was already closed. Said that I was insubordinate and argumentative, and unable to follow directions.”

  I mock-gasp. “No way.”

  He shoots a smirk my way. “What are you complaining about? You always get what you want from me.”

  “Because I keep writing you checks,” I mutter, grabbing a trash bag and making my way over to the bedroom.

  “It’s a good thing you have a never-ending supply of money then, isn’t it?”

  “I knew you were trying to hose me.” In reality, I don’t think he is. I have no explanation for that belief, it’s just my gut instinct, which is usually pretty good. “So, are you and that secretary of yours together?”

  “Who, Donna?” He snorts. “Are you kidding me?”

  I guess they’re not. “Have you ever been married?”

  “Once, in my twenties. Biggest mistake of my life.” He joins me in the bedroom in time to see me roll my eyes. “You need to keep all of her clothes and other things.” He gestures to the dresser drawers. He knows what’s in there. There isn’t a cupboard or drawer that he hasn’t poked his head into at some point. “There could be evidence on them. Nothing that would stand up in court on its own, but maybe it’ll help build a case.”

  “I guess I can put it all in the storage locker for now.”

  “Yes. The couch will need to go into storage, too.”

  The telltale three knocks sound on the door, saving me from going through Celine’s black lace and rubber.

  Doug mouths, “Who is it?”

  “Ruby. I said she could come over for tea.”

  “Get rid of her,” Doug hisses as I pass him. “Senior citizens talk too much. They’re a hazard to investigations.”

  I ignore him and open the door. Ruby’s wide grin meets me, bringing with it a moment of comfort.

  “Good afternoon, dear. Ready for a break?”

  I take the tea set from her shaking grasp, noting the three cups.

  “I thought I heard your detective arrive.” She steps inside the apartment. “Oh, yes! There you are. Good. I brought some fresh homemade shortbread for us all to share.”

  He shoots me a warning glare as he passes, but has no issue snatching a cookie from the tray.

  “So? What are you up to?” Ruby murmurs, dragging the folding chair over to the table, eying Doug’s case. “Oh, looks like you’re collecting evidence?”

  When Doug doesn’t answer, I pipe in. “We’re doing a background check on Grady. I know it sounds crazy, but we need to rule him out.”

  “Yes, that’s probably a good idea. Ease your conscience.” The lid of the teapot rattles against its base ever so slightly as Ruby pours three cups of tea. She drops her customary three sugar cubes into hers. “Of course you mean James Grady.”

  Doug stops with whatever he’s fumbling with in his case and glares at me. “What part of ‘keep it to yourself’ did you not understand?”

  “She didn’t tell me anything.” Ruby slowly swirls the silver spoon around her cup and very simply says, “I asked him.”

  I think Doug’s eyes are about to pop out of his head. “See? The elderly and investigations cannot coexist!”

  If Ruby’s insulted, her tiny smile doesn’t let on. “Silly me . . . When I went down this morning to pick up my mail, the key somehow snapped in the lock. Imagine that. It must have been getting weak. So, I called Grady and asked him to see if he could fix it. He came down and fiddled with it for a bit, but couldn’t get it to open. Said we’d need to call a locksmith in to replace it.” She takes a sip of her tea. “My mailbox just happens to be nine over from his, and I just happened to notice that his says ‘J. Grady.’ So I asked what the ‘J’ stands for. He told me ‘James.’ And then I asked why he doesn’t use it, and he said that it’s because his father’s name is also James.” She shrugs. “I had never even noticed it before. I’m so daft in my old age.”

  Though she plays the role well, Ruby is anything but daft.

  I shoot a grin Doug’s way, making a mental note to pay for her new lock, because I’m sure it’s not cheap. Doug’s already on his phone, no doubt texting Zac with the new information about Grady sharing his father’s name.

  “So, I’m guessing his fingerprints would be helpful, too?” Ruby says.

  “A full set would be, yes. Doug hasn’t had any luck finding one, though. I’m going to have to meet up with him for coffee, or something. Get his cup.” My stomach tightens at the suggestion. I don’t know that I can face Grady and pretend everything’s okay.

  “What about the garden on the roof?”

  The roof. That beautiful, peaceful oasis that I found some shred of happiness in, with him, throughout all of this. Now I cringe picturing it. “He has a camera up there.” I used to think it was simply a security measure, but now I’m wondering if there’s more to it. “It’s better that he doesn’t know we’re on to him.”

  “You know, Grady stopped by yesterday and returned a cookie tin. The surface is metal and smooth. It probably has a full print or two on it.”

  “Where is it?” Doug demands, marching toward the door. “Do you still have it?”

  “I believe it’s still sitting on my kitchen counter where . . .”

  He’s gone, out the d
oor, across the hall, and into her apartment before she can finish the sentence.

  “What was that he was saying, about the elderly not being very helpful in investigations?” she muses, a small, glib smile hiding behind her teacup.

  “I’m sorry. Doug doesn’t have the best bedside manner.” I add a sugar cube into my cup. I’m going to miss this when I’m gone, I realize, as I lift the delicate china to my lips.

  My eyes meet Grady’s, and I nearly choke on my tea.

  He’s standing in my open doorway with a young woman next to him. With her long, dark hair, deep olive complexion, and healthy curves, she could almost pass for . . . Celine.

  “Hey, Maggie.” Unlike me, Grady is all smiles. “This is Jemma. She’s here to see the apartment.”

  “Oh my God. It’s Monday.” With everything going on, I completely forgot.

  “I just live a few blocks away.” Jemma gives me a wide smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Grady steps in before I can tell him that this is not a good time. “I can’t believe how bare it is in here.” His gaze drifts over the emptiness, landing on Doug’s forensic case.

  “You weren’t lying. There are a lot of shelves,” Jemma exclaims with a giggle, her big brown eyes skating over the room as she steps around a box full of books, the hems of her light blue jeans dragging. She doesn’t seem to have picked up on the tension in the room yet. “I don’t own enough to fill them.” She smiles up at Grady and deep dimples form in her cheeks.

  Jemma is pretty. Very pretty.

  “I’ll help you take those ones down.” He waves a hand to the left. “They were all added in. The former tenant needed it for her art collection.”

  Jemma looks at me, and then at Grady, and I see the question in her eyes. No, I’m not the former tenant.

  “And this is the bedroom over here.” She follows Grady, his arm stretched out behind her, his fingers so close to grazing the small of her back as they stand in the entranceway. “It’s small but full of character.”

  “And bright.” She quietly admires the length of the window.

  Suddenly, I’m hit with an image of Grady slipping through that window to have sex with another pretty girl in this apartment.

  And maybe killing her.

  I can’t help myself. “I’m the old tenant’s friend. I’m just cleaning up. She died right over there.” I point to the bedroom. “The police say it was a suicide, but I’m honestly not convinced.”

  I’m too busy watching the shock on Grady’s face to pay attention to hers, which I’m sure is classic. She’ll thank me later.

  “My name is Ruby. I live next door.” Ruby eases out of her chair and offers her hand to Jemma, who takes it, though she looks like someone just slapped her across the face. “It’s a wonderful building. Would you like some shortbread?” Ruby holds out the plate, her sweet smile helping lessen the unsettling mood that I just created in the room.

  “Sure.” Jemma takes a cookie, nibbling the edge like a dainty little mouse.

  Doug’s heavy boots stomp across the hallway. “I think I should be able to pull a good print—” Doug stops dead still, the royal-blue round metal tin balancing precariously between his hands.

  Grady’s eyes narrow on it slightly.

  “Hi.” Doug shoots a glare my way—as if this is my fault, which I guess it is because I’m the one who forgot that Grady was coming by today with the new tenant—and then sets the tin down on one of the empty shelves. “We met a few days ago.”

  “Right.” Grady gives Doug a tight smile. “Jemma, let me give you a quick tour of the kitchen and bathroom, and then we can get out of their hair. Looks like they’re busy.” He leads her across the living room, his wary gaze touching mine for a split second.

  The quick tour is literally that—sixty of the most awkward seconds of Doug, Ruby, and me passing unintelligible warning glares at one another while Grady leads the new tenant through the apartment.

  Finally, they’re at the front door again.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Jemma offers, eying me cautiously. She doesn’t know what to think of me, I’m sure.

  “Thanks for letting us in, Maggie.” Grady ducks out behind her without giving me another glance, shutting the door behind him.

  “And I thought senior citizens were the dangerous ones,” Ruby murmurs with a wry smile, taking a seat with her cup. “I’d say that between the expressions on the two of you, Grady knows all he needs to know now.”

  “Did you know he was coming?” Doug barks.

  “I forgot!” I snap back, but then lower my voice, warning him, “These walls are thin.”

  Doug’s narrow gaze darts from the door to the evidence kit to the tin. “He looked worried. He knows that we’re investigating him now, and he’s worried about what we might find.”

  “And did you see that girl? Did you see how he was acting around her? All smiley and touchy-feely.” I begin pacing circles around Ruby now. “He’s going to crawl through that window for her, the same way he did with Celine. And then God knows what’s going to happen. I had to warn her.”

  “Warn her?”

  “Yeah. I told her that the previous tenant killed herself.”

  Doug heaves a sigh. “Okay. That’s fine.”

  “It was quite uncomfortable, actually,” Ruby surmises. “I’ve never seen Maggie so emotional before.”

  “Emotional.” I watch Doug’s analyzing gaze study the window for a long moment, and then my unmade bed, the sheets rumpled in a heap. “So when exactly did you and Grady start . . .” His brows jump. “You know.”

  My cheeks burn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t forget that I have a forensics kit over there that will tell me anything I need to know,” he warns.

  Dammit. Knowing him, he’ll make me stand here and watch him run that UV light over sheets I haven’t washed since Grady was over. How mortifying would that be?

  From the corner of my eye, I catch the grin that stretches Ruby’s many wrinkles. It’s like she’s forgotten why we’re investigating Grady in the first place. That, or maybe it’s just a thickening plot that excites her.

  Still, I’m not paying Doug to investigate me. “Can we please just focus on the important stuff here?” Sadness and anger and disappointment erupt inside me. “Like, who the hell is Grady, what exactly happened between him and Celine, and is he the one who stole that vase?”

  And could he have killed her?

  ————

  A soft knock against my window sounds, echoing through the almost empty apartment. It doesn’t wake me. I haven’t been able to fall asleep, instead staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling above me.

  He came to my door an hour ago and knocked, but I didn’t answer then, either.

  Though I know I could just confront Grady again, that’s probably not the smartest thing to do. The fact that he’s already lied to my face once makes possibly antagonizing him now a supremely stupid thing to do.

  It could be nothing.

  It could be everything.

  I hope it’s nothing.

  I need to know more about James Grady and I need to know right away.

  A second soft knock sounds, followed by a “Maggie? I need to talk to you.”

  I lie still, staring at the thirteen oversized garbage bags that consume every square inch of bedroom floor space, like giant black marshmallows. More fill the living room. Five bags’ worth went straight to the Dumpster—all the things I can’t donate. Others, I need to store and save for any possible future investigation.

  I could let him in, let him tell me what he wants to tell me. But I know myself. I won’t believe him. And what if it’s not simply a conversation he has in mind?

  What if he wants to hurt me?

  Maybe like he hurt Celine?

  Would he be stupid enough to do that, with Doug on my payroll?

  Doug’s warning stays my voice and my body. Never underestimate anyone.


  “Whatever you think I did . . . you’re wrong,” he says.

  I’ve never really been good at listening to myself.

  Scrambling out of bed, I pull the curtain open. He’s standing on the landing again, in a T-shirt and jeans, shivering. Just as he was before.

  Only this time I have no urge to slide open the window.

  This time, I have no reason to invite him in.

  My chest aches. Whatever we had vanished so quickly.

  “And what exactly is it I think you did that I’m so wrong about?” I snap, folding my arms over my chest, both to ward off the draft and his gaze.

  His jaw tenses. “Can you just let me in so we can talk about this?”

  A bitter laugh escapes me. “So you can hurt me, too? Maybe make it look like an accident this time, instead of suicide? Not a chance in hell.”

  He frowns. “Maggie, I would never—”

  “I’m not going to believe anything you have to say. You looked into my eyes and you lied.” I lean in to the glass, to get a close look at his face as I say, “I know you were one of Celine’s clients. I know you were paying her for sex, and you were coming in through this window, just like you did with me the other night.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs with his hard swallow.

  But he doesn’t deny it.

  My eyes begin to burn. I can’t believe I’m about to cry in front of this asshole. I’m not going to cry in front of this asshole. “I’m sure that’s not the end of it, either. I’m sure I’m going to discover all kinds of other disgusting things about you. Stay the hell away from me.” I pull the curtain closed before the first tear slips, burning hot against my cool skin.

  I hear the subtle creaks of the fire escape as James Grady climbs back up without another word.

  CHAPTER 37

  Maggie

  December 15, 2015

  “More my style,” Zac notes, eying the track pants and sweatshirt I threw on this morning before the donation truck came to collect Celine’s things. Aside from the antiques, the couch, and potential evidence going into storage, and a box of Celine’s personal items—her old diaries, the lockbox, pictures that I want to keep—the apartment is ready to be rented.