‘Detectives, make the arrest. What are you waiting for? A confession? We can’t sit around waiting for more evidence to fall into our laps. That idiot Kinnon has brought too much attention to this case as it is, and we need to wrap it up. Now.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘You’ll have a warrant by the time you get to Loch Harbor.’ McFadden picks up his phone, punching in the numbers with one finger has he shoos us out of his office with one hand. ‘Go.’
Lanner and I once again find ourselves driving through Loch Harbor, but the atmosphere has changed a great deal since the last time we traveled these roads. The sun has ducked behind a thick, dark cloud making the woods around us appear somber, ominous. The trees loom tall above us and seem to lean over the road; nature threatening to reclaim the man-made structure. The ocean below is a pale slate gray and I watch as the waves break in angry white crests; the sea is baring its teeth, reminding me of its power. There is an unusual chill in the air, and though I’m pleased to see the end of the heatwave that has been bearing down on us, I can’t help but feel a sense of malevolence whispering in the cool breeze.
Lanner pulls up to Vince Taylor’s front gate, the scrolling black ironwork towering before us. As we stand outside the imposing entryway, the first fat raindrop falls from above. I look up at the sky, a swirling pallet of gray, and another drop splashes onto my face.
Lanner looks down at his phone. ‘Chief says we have our warrant. Let’s do this.’ He presses the intercom button. Nothing. It seems to have been disconnected.
‘How are we going to get up to the house?’ I ask. I’m about to suggest that we wait in the car, when the gates before us slowly begin to slide open. I look up the driveway and see a sleek black car rumbling towards us.
‘That’s his car,’ Lanner says. ‘Perfect timing.’
We wait for Vince to pull through the gates, where he rolls to a stop next to us, sliding down a dark, tinted window.
‘Detectives, what can I do for you this morning?’ Vince says coolly. If he’s shaken by our appearance at the end of his drive, he doesn’t show it. ‘I was just on my way out.’
‘Please step out of the car,’ Lanner orders. He takes a wide stance, keeping one hand on his holster.
‘Is this … are you … arresting me?’ Vince’s eyes grow wide with shock. He looks like a trapped animal desperately assessing his means of escape.
‘I said please step out of the car, Sir.’ I’m reminded of how intimidating Lanner can be when he needs to.
Vince seems at a loss for words as he puts his car in park and fumbles to open the door. He steps out onto the road wearing a pair of deep blue jeans and a black v-neck T-shirt pulled tight across his muscular chest. It seems to be his signature look. I can hear the gritty gravel on the side of the road crunching beneath the soles of his smooth leather shoes.
Lanner gives me a nod.
‘Vincent Taylor, you are under arrest for the murder of Layla Bosch—’ I begin.
‘This is a mistake! I didn’t kill her! I need to call my attorney! I—’
‘Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law …’ I continue to recite Vince’s Miranda rights as I pull my handcuffs off of my belt. The cuffs, a bright flash of silver, only make Vince’s eyes grow rounder. I can see his chest rising and falling in rapid succession, his breath becoming jagged and desperate.
I turn him around, pressing his stomach against his expensive black car and begin to clip the cuffs around his wrists. Just as the first cuff locks into place, the sky above us opens up. It is as though the heavens have torn and a torrential rain begins to fall.
By the time I lock the second cuff onto Vince’s wrist and begin to lead him towards the back seat of our car, his hair is soaked through, hanging in stringy ropes, and water drips from the ends.
‘Please don’t do this,’ he says as I duck his head into the car. ‘I never hurt Layla. You have to believe me. She’s not who you think she is.’ His eyes lock with mine, they’re full of a pleading desperation; a look I’ve seen so many times during my career. But there is something else there too. Vince’s eyes hold a glint of something deeper, something far less common that takes me quite some time to place – sincerity.
I look in the rearview mirror to check on the now silent Vince Taylor as we drive him back to New York City where he will be charged with second degree murder. I can’t see his eyes, only the crown of his head and a shield of dripping wet hair. It strikes me how different he looks now than he did the first time I met him: the man with the easy smile, the perfect hair, bold and brazen in his corner office. The Vince I see reflected back at me now seems much smaller, his shoulders fallen, his head bowed. Gone is the affable charm, the breezy confidence.
My gut twists and I feel bile rising into my throat. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling. The look in Vince’s eyes as I pushed him into the car haunts me for the rest of the silent ride back into the city, and I suspect it will for a long time to come.
Chapter 46
Layla
BEFORE
I can’t sit here for another minute. Vince is strutting around the office like he doesn’t have a care in the world, turning that quick smile of his on everyone except me. My cheeks burn with shame as I recall the way he rejected my advances in the parking lot last night. He hasn’t even so much as glanced in my direction all day, and it’s not like I haven’t been trying to catch his attention. This dress alone should have been enough to set him drooling. It certainly set me back enough, and I’m running dangerously low on funds as it is. I wonder if I can return it. I run my hands over the smooth black fabric that hugs my hips as if it was made for me. Such a shame I can’t keep it.
‘How are you doing today, Layla?’ Brian whispers to me conspiratorially, leaning in close to my ear. I can hear the pity in his voice and it makes me want to lash out at him, grab him by the throat and tell him to stay the hell out of my business. But of course I can’t.
After he saw Vince and me in the parking lot last night, I have to keep him thinking that it was all a big misunderstanding. I can’t have him blabbering all over the office about what he saw; I wouldn’t want people figuring out the truth and spoiling everything. If Vince thinks I’ve been gossiping about what we’ve been up to, my chances with him are as good as gone.
‘I’m fine, really,’ I reply, smiling sweetly. ‘Let’s just forget it ever happened, okay?’ I touch his arm gently and he seems to light up at my touch. Loser.
‘Okay, if you’re sure. It just seems so unlike Vince to get so mad over work stuff. He’s usually so chill with everyone.’
‘I know, I really messed up an assignment he gave me. He was, like, so pissed. I’m really embarrassed that you had to see that. But I talked it out with Vince this morning and it’s all handled now. No need to worry.’
‘Alright, good, I’m glad,’ Brian replies, a slightly puzzled look on his face. You’d think he’d want me fired after that whole incident where I took credit for his app idea, but turns out Brian is a bit of a softie. No wonder it was so easy to walk all over him.
Mercifully, Brian walks away from my workspace leaving me with my thoughts. Maybe I should bring Vince a cup of coffee. Yes, he’d like that, and that way I can be sure he sees me in this dress before I have to bring it back to the store.
I make my way to the break room, teetering on stiletto heels while walking in this dress that clings to my thighs. I pour a cup of coffee, one scoop of sugar, no milk, just the way Vince likes it, and bring it to his office.
His door is, as always, open wide. I see Vince bent over his desk, looking handsome as ever. His sprawling corner office is full of soft morning light, and he’s humming something to himself while he works. Did the fact that he rejected me in a deserted parking lot last night not affect him in the slightest?
I march into his office, coffee sloshing over the side of the paper cup. It trails down my wrist and splashes o
nto the white floor. I slam the cup down on his desk, more coffee spilling over the top of the cup and spreading in a dark blot onto the papers scattering his desk.
Vince looks up at me with a look of shock on his face. He hadn’t even noticed I was standing in front of him until I spoiled his work. His eyes quickly shift from surprised to angry.
‘What are you doing?’ he hisses, looking past me towards the open door to check that no one has seen us together, the embarrassment that I am to him.
‘I thought I’d bring you some coffee,’ I reply with a scowl, gesturing at the mess spreading across his desk.
‘You need to go.’ He begins to mop up the spill. He doesn’t even bother to look at me again. I’ve been dismissed, and the message is clear. Vince Taylor runs his world and I am no longer welcome in it. I was a mistake to him, something to be swiftly swept under the rug and forgotten about.
I feel my cheeks flush with shame again and I bolt out of his office as fast as I can in this dress that is far too tight and these heels that are far too high. I quickly walk past my desk, grabbing my purse out of the bottom drawer and make my way towards the lobby.
‘Where are you off to?’ I hear Brian calling after me. But I don’t have the words to respond. I need to get out of here. I can’t stand to be in this office any longer.
I walk straight out of KitzTech’s headquarters and down the city block. The sidewalk is crowded with the lunch rush, important people in designer suits eagerly waiting their turn to hand over exorbitant amounts of money in return for a chopped salad and a kale smoothie. I don’t know why I ever thought I could fit into this world. I don’t know why I ever thought I could convince Vince to choose me.
I walk a few more blocks, my feet sweating and my shoes rubbing blisters onto my heels, feeling sorry for myself. I let myself feel the humiliation of Vince’s rejection and the panic about what I’m going to do next. I’m running out of Henderson’s money, and I can hardly afford the lifestyle I want on an intern’s measly salary. It’s not like I’m going to get a real job at KitzTech after my internship like the others. That was never the plan anyway.
I hobble to a stop. I don’t know exactly how far I’ve walked, but my feet are aching and I’m sweating through the thick fabric of my dress. So much for returning it. Everything is going to shit.
I lean against the cool stone wall of the building behind me, taking a moment to collect myself. I need a new plan. I always have a plan. But this time I don’t know where to start. I lean my head back in frustration and happen to notice the awning of the storefront I’m standing under. It’s a small stationary store called Paper Cranes. I walk over to the display window, and sitting in the corner is a black leather diary tied with a thin leather strap. A new plan is forming.
It took me nearly a week to write enough entries in my new diary to make it feel authentic. I even switched up the pens I used each time, which I thought was rather ingenious. I now have emotional, heartfelt documentation of the love story of Vince and Layla … a story that took an unexpected dark turn when Vince became jealous and possessive, forcing me to continue a sexual relationship against my will.
It’s perfect. I may not have a sex tape this time, but if Vince refuses to give me enough money to keep me comfortable and happy for a very long time, I’ll threaten to sell my story to the media. Who cares if it’s not the real story? This one is even better.
I could probably make a pretty penny if I got this diary into the right hands, but I’m a reasonable person. I’ll give Vince a chance to pay me the hush money it’s worth. The only problem is going to be getting him to agree to meet with me. He hasn’t spoken a word to me all week. I don’t want to do this at work, but he isn’t leaving me much of a choice.
I brought my finished diary to the office with me today. It’s tucked neatly in my purse just waiting for the right moment. I wait for Eric to leave his desk to pick up lunch and I slip into Vince’s office, closing the door behind me.
‘Layla, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you can’t be doing this,’ Vince warns angrily the moment he sees me.
‘We have something we need to talk about. It’s important, I—’
‘No. There is no “we”. Can’t you understand that? There is nothing to talk about. You need to leave. Now.’
‘I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I have something you’re going to want to see.’
‘Whatever it is, I can assure you that I don’t care.’
‘Oh, but you will.’
‘No, Layla it’s over. I want you out of my life.’
We’re interrupted by the sound of Eric settling back down at his desk. I was going to show him the diary, but I don’t have time now. These things can’t be rushed. I’ll have to adjust my plans.
‘You want me out of your life? Fine, Vince. Have it your way. I’ll leave KitzTech, and I’ll leave you alone for good if you will meet with me one last time in our usual suite at the Heatherly Hotel. You do that for me, and you’ll never have to see me again.’
‘Fine,’ Vince hisses, his eyes darting to the door, no doubt aware that Eric could walk in at any moment. ‘I’ll meet you at the Heatherly and we can talk. And then this is over, Layla. I mean it.’
‘Great. 8.30 p.m. Don’t be late.’
‘And after that,’ Vince says through gritted teeth, ‘don’t ever contact me again.’
Chapter 47
Layla
BEFORE
I made the arrangements to meet Vince at the Heatherly Hotel tomorrow. I sent him a message over Secret Messenger confirming the details to make sure he won’t be standing me up. I know he read it because the message disappeared, but he couldn’t even be bothered to respond. He’s making this decision so easy for me.
I think I’ll wear that red dress he loved so much the night he saw me out with Adam. There’s no harm in showing him what he missed out on, right? As I pull it out of my closet and hold it up in front of me, my phone alerts me that I have a new message on Secret Messenger from Vince. I open the message and read:
‘Change of plans. Meet me at Central Park instead. By the fountain.’
So he still thinks he’s in charge. Okay, Vince. I’ll play your little game for just a while longer. He’s about to find out that I’m in control now.
‘I’ll be there,’ I reply. The message disappears only moments after it’s sent, so I know Vince read it.
I pace up and down the jogging path that runs beside the fountain in the center of Central Park. I am, of course, wearing a pair of sexy black stilettos to complement my dress, and so meeting in a park was wildly inconvenient for me. But that won’t matter soon. Thanks to Vince, I’ll be rich enough that I won’t ever have to be inconvenienced again.
Vince is late and it’s getting dark. I’m beginning to lose patience with him. Does he think this is a game? When he sees the diary pages I brought, he’ll know I’m not playing around. I didn’t bring the whole diary, not yet, I only brought the last few pages – just enough to show him how bad things can get if he doesn’t cooperate. I’ll save the rest for leverage later, should I find he needs extra encouragement to make his payments on time.
Suddenly I hear movement on the path behind me. I turn around, ready to lace into Vince for keeping me waiting.
‘You?’
Chapter 48
Vince
DAY 13
‘Mr Taylor. Are you listening?’ the judge bellows from behind his bench. His bald head shines under the florescent lighting of the courtroom and he reminds me of the bald eagle on the crest hanging behind him. In God We Trust. I’m not so sure that’s true anymore.
I am listening. Or I’m trying to at least. But I’m in a daze. I feel disconnected from the scene around me and I’m slow to respond. This all feels so surreal, as if it’s happening to someone else. I feel like a spectator watching a movie reel of my life and at any minute the credits will roll, the lights will come up, and I’ll get on with the rest of my day.
But I won’t. Not really.
‘Vince,’ Jeff hisses in my ear. ‘You need to enter your plea. Now.’
‘I’m sorry, your Honor,’ I mumble, reawakening.
‘As I said, Mr Taylor. You have been charged with second degree murder in the death of Layla Bosch. How do you plead?’
‘Not guilty. I plead not guilty, your Honor.’
The judge bangs his gavel, the sleeve of his black robe fluttering behind it. ‘The defendant enters a plea of not guilty. Bail is set at one million dollars.’
Jeff begins to argue. Something about me being a pillar of the community and not posing a flight risk, but I’m no longer listening. I’m watching the bailiff approach, one hand on a set of handcuffs ready to cart me off to jail.
Jeff must have lost his desperate plea to send me home, because the bailiff snaps the cuffs over my wrists and abruptly grabs me by the arm, leading me out of the courtroom.
I knew this was coming, Jeff warned me it was a possibility, but I still feel shocked as the cold cuffs rub against my skin. As Jeff had suspected, the Heatherly doesn’t have CCTV cameras inside the premises. Too many guests who value discretion. And the manager didn’t remember seeing me again after I checked in for the evening. In theory, I would have had plenty of time to slip out and kill Layla after I checked in. I have no alibi. Of course I’m going to jail.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ Jeff calls out behind me. But I don’t believe him.
‘Vince!’ I recognize Nicole’s voice, and I whip my head around to see her, but the bailiff jerks me back in line.
‘Let’s go,’ he orders, tightening his grip on my arm.
I sit on the edge of my new government-issued bed, drumming my fingers atop the thin mattress. I don’t know how I’m supposed to face the day in here.
My first night in jail was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. As soon as I left the courtroom I was stripped of my suit, my shoes, even my socks, and I was issued a misshapen orange jumpsuit which looks to have been intended for someone twice my weight.
The Guilty Husband Page 24