by Andrew Grant
“I’m on it.” Garretty pulled out his phone. “Why don’t you ask Anton about access. You might have more luck. He didn’t seem to warm to me.”
—
Out in the corridor Anton was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs pulled in to his chest, arms wrapped around ankles, chin resting on knees, eyes half-closed. Devereaux sat down next to him.
“How long has the apartment been vacant, Anton?”
“Since last Monday. Just over a week.”
“Who does it belong to? Do you know?”
“A company owns it. They have four in this building. Maybe fifty altogether, spread out across the city.”
“Does anyone from the company ever come and check up on the place?”
“Maybe once in the fifteen years I’ve worked here.” Anton scratched his forehead. “A new tenant moved in. Complained the apartment hadn’t been left clean enough. He kicked up a real hullaballoo. Eventually a woman from their office came to see for herself. She was inside all of three minutes, and she didn’t even bring a key. I had to let her in myself.”
“What about the tenant who just vacated? Or was it a couple?”
“Just the one guy. A German dude. He was here six months. He works for a company that had invented some new kind of laser, he said. The university bought one, for one of the labs. The guy was here to help them get it set up, train them, that kind of thing. He was a nice guy. Very quiet.”
“If I wanted to rent the apartment, what would I have to do?”
“There’s an agent who handles all that. You call her and arrange a viewing. If you like it, you fill out a bunch of forms. And pay your security deposit.”
“Have there been any viewings since the German dude left?”
“One, I think. Yesterday.”
“So if I wanted it, how would I know it’s on the market? There are no notices anywhere.”
“The building doesn’t allow notices. You’d have to look on the agency’s website, or use one of those real estate search things online. Or if you know anyone who already lives here, they might tell you. All the available units are posted on the building’s Facebook page.”
“That’s good. Thank you. Now, I need to talk to the agent you mentioned. Do you have her details?”
“Oh, well, that’s just great.” Anton heaved himself up off the ground. “Remind me to thank your buddy for not mentioning that before. I have a bunch of her cards, but they’re all in my office. Wait here. I’ll be back.”
—
Amy Jarvis, the real estate agent who was handling the apartment rental, answered her phone on the first ring.
“Sure.” Her voice was loud and confident. “I remember showing a guy that place. It was only yesterday, Detective. He had a Scottish-sounding name. Alex McLeish. That’s it. I have his address in my notebook. I’ll text it to you when we’re done talking.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He seemed like a nice enough guy. Talked a lot. Didn’t ask too many questions, but he already seemed to know a lot about the building. I’d say he was serious. He’s going through a divorce and wants a place for six months, maybe a year, while he figures out what to do next with his life. He spent quite a while looking around inside, checking that everything worked. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls back today, wanting to go ahead.”
“I meant, can you describe him physically.”
“Oh. Yes. He was pretty average, I guess. Around six feet tall. Not fat. Not thin. Didn’t wear glasses. Dark hair. Kind of ruffled.”
“I’m going to send you a picture, so hang up and call me back when you’ve got it. Tell me if it’s the guy you’re talking about.”
Devereaux messaged a copy of Lucas Paltrow’s driver’s license photograph to Jarvis.
“Nope.” Jarvis called back a moment later. “This guy’s not totally dissimilar, but he’s not Alex McLeish.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I have a great memory for faces. I can’t always remember names, but if I’ve seen someone before, even years ago, I always recognize them. It freaks people out sometimes.”
“I bet. So, Amy, one final question. Did McLeish ask you about any other apartments?”
“No. I offered to show him some others, but he said he wasn’t interested. It seemed like his choice was between the apartment he saw—which he liked—or leaving town. I don’t see him leaving town, though, honestly. He has two kids. Twin girls. He’ll want to stay close.”
“OK. Well, thanks for your help. If you can send me McLeish’s address, that’ll be great. And if you hear from him again, do me one other favor. Don’t agree to meet him. Call me first.”
—
Jarvis sent McLeish’s address thirty seconds later, and Devereaux called Dispatch to get his full background.
“Are you sure we’re not missing a trick here, Cooper?” Garretty looked concerned. “All this tells us is that McLeish knew the apartment was empty. Well, so what? The thing we really need to know is who had access to it. I say we should talk to the super again. Lean on him a little. See if he’s been supplementing his income by selling copies of his master key.”
Devereaux’s phone rang again. It was the duty officer at Dispatch. “Detective, are you sure the address you gave me is correct?”
“As far as I know it is. Why?”
“Because it doesn’t exist. It’s bogus.”
“All right.” Garretty nodded when Devereaux gave him the news. “Let’s find Anton. Follow up on the key idea. And we should get Amy Jarvis down to the precinct. Set her up with a sketch artist. Try to get a likeness of this McLeish guy to circulate, if that’s even his real name.”
“Yes to the sketch artist.” Devereaux closed his eyes for a moment. “But before we lean on the super, I want him to let us in the apartment again. There’s something I want to take another look at.”
—
The detectives had Anton wait outside in the corridor again, which did little to improve his mood. Particularly when they closed the door on him.
“That’s what I thought.” Devereaux pointed to the lock. “You can open it from the inside without needing a key.”
“But how do you get…” Garretty turned and looked at the patio door. “Damn, Cooper. You’re thinking the guy didn’t just leave through the back. He came in that way, too.”
“Right.” Devereaux stepped back. “He set up the appointment to view the apartment yesterday afternoon. He moved the wood and undid the latch while the agent wasn’t looking. She said he really took his time, poking around the place. Then he gave the address to Emma’s service. He sneaked in through the patio door, so he was inside waiting when she arrived. He didn’t need a key to open the door. And he reduced the chances of anyone seeing him coming or going, all in one move.”
“He’s a smart cookie.” Garretty took out his phone. “I’m going to put a rush on that sketch. I’ll get a unit to pick up Amy Jarvis and bring her in. We need to get his description out there, and fast.”
Devereaux moved over to the window and stared outside while Garretty was on the phone. Then he turned back to face his partner. “There’s something else about the way this was set up. Whoever the guy is, for his plan to work, he needed a place with the right kind of sliding door at the back and the right kind of lock at the front. He only asked to see one place, and it had both those things. That’s not chance. It’s not coincidence.”
“He must know the building.”
“Right. Like Dean Sullivan. He lives here. And he’s already lied once to cover for Lucas Paltrow.”
Tuesday. Afternoon.
Dean Sullivan was still in his pajamas when he opened his door.
“Sick again, Dean?” Devereaux stepped past him into the apartment.
“No.” Sullivan moved sideways to make room for Garretty. “I mean, yes, I’m still sick. Obviously. That’s why I can’t work. But that’s not why I’m still in my pajamas, if that’s what you mean. The paj
amas aren’t my fault. Hayley, my girlfriend, was supposed to wake me up this morning. But instead, she just went out. She can be so inconsiderate. She’s gone to see her mother and that always puts her on edge, and there are the pregnancy hormones to think about, so I guess I should cut her some slack. And hopefully she’ll be back soon. Anyway, who’s this?”
“My partner, Detective Garretty.” Devereaux started toward the window. “He was in the hospital when I was here before. Today we were in the building working on another case, so we thought we’d stop by so he could say hello.”
Garretty crossed to the couch and picked up a stack of papers Sullivan had been working on. “You didn’t tell me Dean was a poet, Detective.” Garretty cleared his throat and held the papers out in front of him.
Don’t go far off, not even for a day,
Because I don’t know how to say it—a day is long
And I will be waiting for you, as in
An empty station when the trains are
Parked off somewhere else, asleep.
“OK. That doesn’t suck. Did you write it yourself?”
“Yes.” Sullivan folded his arms tightly across his chest. “I did. It’s for Hayley. I like to surprise her with something nice every now and again. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Not at all.” Garretty winked.
“Safer than flowers,” Devereaux added.
“And look!” Garretty shuffled through the pages. “A letter to your mom. The start of one, anyway. You’re quite the renaissance man, aren’t you, Dean?”
“Give those back!” Sullivan snatched the papers out of Garretty’s hands and sat back down on the couch. “Now tell me. Why are you really here?”
“Just to talk. There’s nothing to worry about.” Devereaux tugged on the balcony door and it slid effortlessly aside. “Wait. You don’t keep this locked?”
“Why would I keep it locked, Detective? We’re twelve floors up. What’s an intruder going to do? Scale the side of the building like Spider-Man?”
“Good point.” Devereaux slid the door closed again. “Up here, you probably don’t need to worry. But if you move to the first floor, that’ll be a whole different story. You’ll definitely need to use the lock down there. And the lock might not even be enough. You might need to get a piece of wood and fit it into the track at the bottom of the door. That’ll stop anyone from forcing it open. You know about that little trick, don’t you, Dean? It’s low-tech, but effective.”
“What are you talking about?” Red dots appeared on Sullivan’s neck and spread up to his cheeks. “I’m not moving anywhere.”
“Really?” Devereaux stepped away from the window. “Amy Jarvis will be so disappointed. She thought you were serious. And she really liked you. She went on for ages about what a great conversationalist you are.”
“Amy who?” Sullivan’s gaze shifted to the floor.
“Bad memory for names, huh?” Devereaux sat at the far end of the couch. “Amy Jarvis. The agent who showed you the apartment, right here in the building, on the first floor. Yesterday lunchtime. You can’t have forgotten going down there? You made quite an impression on her, you know.”
“No.” Sullivan shook his head. “That’s not ringing any bells.”
“Dean.” Garretty sat down on the other side of Sullivan, penning him in. “We showed her your driver’s license photograph. She recognized you.”
“Oh, well I looked at that apartment, sure.” Tiny beads of sweat broke out on Sullivan’s forehead. “But that doesn’t mean I’m moving there. I mean, I thought of moving there, or I wouldn’t have wasted her time, and mine, going to look. I decided against the idea, though. I’m staying here. I like this apartment.”
“Why did you think of moving, then, if you like this place so much?”
“Well, the baby’s coming. She’ll be arriving very soon. And when you have a baby, you need more space. This is a nice apartment but it’s not the biggest in the world, so I thought maybe a bigger one would be better. For all three of us. But in the end I didn’t like it. I decided we should all just stay here.”
“How could the first-floor apartment be any bigger? It’s directly below this one. Its footprint is exactly the same.”
“So?”
“So what do you think? The laws of physics don’t apply in this building?”
“Well, no. It’s not that. It’s not so much having extra space for the baby. It’s more that, if I’m totally honest with you, things aren’t going too well between me and Hayley. I figure there’s a chance I might have to move out. And with a new baby, I won’t want to be too far away. I want to be totally involved in her life. Changing diapers. Midnight feedings. Sign me up. The whole enchilada. I’m in. No one will ever be able to say that Dean Sullivan shirks his responsibilities when it comes to his family.”
“All right, stop it now.” Devereaux shook his head. “Your story changes every two seconds. It makes absolutely no sense. None. Which is a major problem. And I think you know why. A young woman was lured to that apartment downstairs last night. She was tortured. And murdered. The killer got in through the patio door, which had been unlocked by the only person who had prior access to the place.”
“Dean, we know that person was you,” Garretty said.
“The way we see it, things could have gone one of two ways,” Devereaux said. “One, you opened the door for someone else, and he did the actual killing. Or two, you murdered the woman yourself.”
“If it’s the second one, and you murdered her, then screw you, Dean,” Garretty said. “We’re going to see to it that you get the needle. I’m just putting that out there, so you know where you stand.”
“If it’s the first option, and you only opened the door, you’ve got to be realistic,” Devereaux said. “You’re still in a whole heap of trouble. Accessory before the fact, the DA will call it. You’re looking at life without, at the minimum. The needle’s not even out of the question.”
“Unless you work with us.”
“Tell us the truth this time.”
“Get out in front of this thing, before it gets any worse.”
“If you help us catch the guy before he hurts anyone else, that’ll be huge for you.”
“We’ll go to bat for you with the DA. Tell her how you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into at first. How remorseful you were when you figured it out. How we couldn’t have broken the case without you.”
“And you know, that’s the kind of thing the press pick up on. They’d be wanting to interview you. Write profile pieces about you. Maybe even a book. There could be a miniseries. A movie…”
“All right!” Sullivan leaned forward. “Yes. I’ll help you. It was Lucas. He made me do it.”
“Lucas Paltrow?” Devereaux asked.
“Yes. My so-called friend. He tricked me.”
“Lucas Paltrow killed that woman?” Devereaux said.
“Wait, no.” Sullivan held up his hands. “I can’t believe Lucas would go that far. That’s not what I’m saying at all. All I’m telling you is that he tricked me into leaving the apartment door open. I don’t know anything about what happened after that.”
“How did he trick you?”
“Let me explain. You see, one thing you should know about Lucas is he has a thing for prostitutes. He just loves sleeping with them. There’s no need for dinner, movies, anything like that. They just get straight down to business, which is Lucas all over. He’s a very direct kind of guy. Anyway, recently, he’s been seeing more and more of them. It’s been costing him a fortune. So he came up with a plan. Or so he said. He told me, if he could find an empty apartment to use for his—what’s the word?—assignations, he could refuse to pay the girl and her pimp wouldn’t know where to find him. He tried that at his own place once, years ago, and he had all kinds of problems with lunatics showing up and threatening him. Which is why he told me to leave that door open. So that he could get set up ahead of time and meet the hooker there.”
“Dean—are you lying to us again?”
“No. I swear. This is the truth.”
“OK.” Devereaux shook his head. “Now here’s my problem. You have a major credibility issue, given all the bullshit you’ve fed me in the short time we’ve known each other. So to fully convince me, I want you to think back and tell me if there was anything you said in our first conversation that wasn’t absolutely true.”
“OK.” Sullivan covered his eyes for a moment, then looked up. “Yes. I’m not proud of this, but I wasn’t completely honest about one other thing. Remember I told you I went to the movies with Lucas? Well, I didn’t. We were supposed to go. He even bought the tickets. But at the last minute, he bailed. And he said to me, if anyone asks, to tell them we did go. He was very insistent about that.”
“Why did he bail?” Devereaux asked.
“He didn’t say.”
“Didn’t you ask?”
“Of course not. You don’t question Lucas when he’s made a decision. Not unless you’re crazy. That guy’s got a temper on him like a shot-at rat. I can’t even count the number of times he’s threatened to strangle me over the tiniest of things. And I’m his oldest friend!”
“All right.” Devereaux took out the pen he’d taken from the Petite Maison and offered it to Sullivan. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to write down everything you just told us and sign it. Then we’re going to stay with you until we get word from the detectives who are watching Lucas’s place that they have him safely in custody. We wouldn’t want him getting any mysterious phone calls, warning him to run.”
“OK. I can write a statement. No problem. I definitely won’t try to warn him. And after that, I won’t be in any trouble, right? I’m helping. I’m overflowing with remorse. I didn’t know what Lucas was going to do, if he even did anything. And I’m going to be a father soon. A kid needs its parents, right? You can’t punish an innocent newborn baby for something her father did without even meaning to.”