Date: July 18, 2018
To: [email protected]
There’s a laptop in the boiler room of the building where you set up the camera. There’s a key taped to the top of it. The key is to 10 Rutgers, apartment 228. Once inside, go to the right bedroom closet and place the laptop underneath the stack of papers. Payment will be taped to the ceiling of the closet.
Don’t do this until I tell you to. Call me.
*************
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: One more
Date: July 22, 2018
To: [email protected]
When?
*************
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: One more
Date: August 16, 2018
To: [email protected]
Call me.
*************
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: One more
Date: August 22, 2018
To: [email protected]
Finished.
*************
“So it was Jenna. She sent him to break into her own apartment,” Astrid says.
“Brilliant,” Detective Penance says, with a hint of sarcasm.
“Diabolical would be another word,” Astrid replies. “I mean, look at the last date. He must’ve gotten the laptop right after she murdered Lennox, or right after he did, and taken it back a few days later.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble,” Officer Palino interjects.
“Yeah.” Astrid squints as she scans the email exchange again. “She must’ve been in over her head. I mean, why videotape her friends, kill one of them, then try to frame someone else?”
“The fucking company, that’s what I think,” offers Detective Penance. “What I wanna know is, where’s the letter? The one that Lennox supposedly wrote pointing to …”
Anticipating someone would ask, the intern lays a single page on top of the emails they’ve been reading.
Date: August 2, 2015
To Whom It May Concern:
My name is Lennox Holcomb, Jr. Currently I reside at 142 Henry Street, Apt 7, in New York, New York.
If you are reading this, then something has happened to me, and I’ve needed to take this precaution to point you in the direction of someone who has threatened my life, inflicted pain on my friends, and has even shared my heroin addiction with my supervisor at my workplace, which almost resulted in my termination. Though I am grateful for the wake-up call of almost being fired, I write this letter to lead you directly to this man, this terrorist, this monster.
On March 21 of 2010, I began a program of recovery. The fact that I had a heroin problem is one that I do not hide any longer, I am not ashamed of, nor has any bearing on this letter. As of this letter, I have been clean and sober for over four years.
The man’s name is Mr. Bastien Morrell. People call him Ghost. He was my heroin dealer for over four years. I was the source of much business for him, as I not only pointed high-profile clients in his direction, but I also dealt for him on occasion. When I left his growing operation to become sober, his business all but dried up. His resentment of me and my friends resulted in threats, encounters at my workplace, and the harming of two of my close friends, each stabbed several times and left for dead. Thankfully, both have recovered, although they are not the same. Neither am I.
Again, this monster’s name is Bastien Morrell. He lives at 152 Avenue D, Building C, Unit C-412, here in the city. He has a son. Whatever you do, make sure the boy’s okay.
Please make him pay for what he has done.
Respectfully,
Lennox Holcomb, Jr.
“Well, we took care of that,” Detective Penance jokes. “Hold on, look at that address! That’s where Lily was, but they didn’t have the building number. Hopefully they’ve found her. I’ll be right back.”
“My God, Bron, please keep me posted. Hopefully the boy is okay too.”
Astrid thumbs through the pages on the table in front of her and looks at the computer. The still of Micah hugging his dead husband lingers on the screen. She turns away and looks out a window. “It’s getting dark,” she says.
C h a p t e r 5 6
Darkness surrounds the Brooklyn suburban home of Shawn and Haylee Connelly. Shawn’s private investigator Allen Pinchot is on the back patio, talking on his cell phone, breathing in the brisk, late winter air. Shawn is in the guest bathroom across from the kitchen, relieving himself of the long day.
Micah is enjoying the break from talking about the civil case, relaxing on the couch while Haylee pours them all drinks. She pours a glass of water for herself. Micah notices.
Allen Pinchot comes in from the cold.
“Guys!” Allen is barely able to contain his excitement, and looks at Haylee and Micah. “And gals, sorry. Where’s Shawn?”
“Here.” Shawn comes out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Just got off the phone with my contact at the station. They just arrested Jenna for the murder of Lennox.” Allen opens his mouth as if to scream, but no words come out.
Micah stands but doesn’t move. Haylee stops handing out the shots of whiskey she’s poured.
“Jenna. Sweet Jenna. For real?” Haylee asks.
“Yes. Apparently, there was an explosion at her place today. If we’d been watching the news, I’m sure we would’ve seen it.”
“I would’ve heard it,” Micah says. “She lives just around the corner from me.”
“That’s the thing,” replies Allen. “Apparently, the laptop that recorded the videos from that fucking camera were found in her place. All those videos are still on the laptop. Jenna’s laptop.”
“No!” Shawn says.
“Ghost set the camera up. There are email exchanges back and forth from Jenna to Ghost. Jenna was the mastermind behind it all. Tried to set Ghost up, then planted a bomb to kill him. That’s their theory for now, but obviously they are still looking into it. So, Micah, you were found innocent by a jury, but now the whole city will know it for a fact.”
The room is silent. Everyone is hanging on to every word Allen is saying. Haylee continues handing out shots.
“As a result of all this malicious nonsense, I have no doubt the civil case will be dropped.” Shawn shifts his gaze to Micah.
Micah forces a smile and looks around the room.
Haylee is uncomfortable with the lack of response. “Cheers!” She offers up her water. Everyone holds up their glasses.
“Cheers!” Shawn and Allen reply.
Haylee motions for Shawn to join her on the back patio. Shawn shrugs and follows her.
They walk in silence, each taking a seat on the wire mesh chairs with the green cushions. Shawn senses something is wrong and scoots his chair closer to her.
“Does this mean you’ll be defending Jenna?” Haylee is shaking.
Shawn stands up and closes the glass patio door. Micah watches. Shawn gives him a Don’t worry, I got this wink and turns back to Haylee.
“If she asks me, I will.” Shawn returns to his chair.
“Even after all of this? What you did to her?”
“Turns out I was right.”
“Jesus, Shawn, that’s not the point.”
“I get the point, baby. She’s not going to ask, mostly because of exactly what you said … what I did to her during the trial.”
“But if she does ask, you said you’d defend her. That’s concerning.”
“You don’t think the company was behind this? Listen, Jenna didn’t do this alone.”
“Not the point.”
“I mean, come on. Jenna Ancelet, a murderer by choice?”
“You still don’t get it. Another trial like that could go on for months. And if you’re personally involved again, well, I saw what this one did to you. Now we have the baby to think about, Shawn.”
“Honey, I know I got wrapped up in this t
rial. In winning. But now? Baby. Sweetheart. Something changed in me, I can feel it. I just haven’t gotten the chance to show you. And it has everything to do with this baby we are having.” Shawn puts his hand to her face. “I love you. If I have anything to do with Jenna’s defense, I promise it’ll be different.”
Haylee looks down. She just needed reassurance, but now she’s embarrassed. She nods in agreement. “We got this.”
Allen taps on the glass and mouths, “That’s not all.”
Shawn opens the door. “Yes, Allen?”
“Just had another call from my contact. Get this. They also found many, many email exchanges between her and Ghost about setting up the camera and shit. Plus, Jenna’s emails show receipts for a wireless camera and African wooden boxes. Internet search history shows that she researched how to build a bomb, how to frame someone, everything she needed to know about stab wounds and paralysis so that someone would suffer before dying, some serious fucked-up shit. Plus, she has the same set of knives that Micah and Lennox have! They’re testing them right now. She’s been planning this for a very long time, and was pinning it all on Ghost.”
“Dear God,” Shawn says, turning to Haylee.
“Coulda snapped. Psychotic breakdown?” Haylee offers.
“And the final blow?” Allen continues. “A red gown, black overcoat, and long black gloves were found in a plastic bag in Jenna’s closet with blood all over them. They’re testing to see if the blood is Lenny’s.”
“A red gown?” Micah asks. “Maybe it was— Shit. I was wondering why she didn’t wear that one. She was supposed to wear it the night of the event. A big red oversized Halston gown with these ridiculous flared sleeves. But she didn’t wear it. I even asked her where it was. She said she couldn’t find it.”
“Dear God.” Shawn’s phone rings. “Hold on, guys, I need to take this.” He walks back outside and closes the glass door. Micah takes advantage of the interlude to pull Haylee aside.
“Congratulations,” he says.
“Congratulations?” Haylee’s voice is hushed. She pulls him away from Allen. They move to the corner of the living room while Allen walks to the kitchen and pours himself another shot.
“Don’t worry,” Micah says after a few moments of silence. “I won’t say anything. But given all this, I’m really happy for some good news.”
“Micah, this is all good news. I know you loved Jenna, but it really looks like she did this. We finally know who killed Lenny now, and your name will be cleared completely.”
“But at what cost?”
Haylee places her hand on top of Micah’s. “Thank you for the wishes. I’m more than happy to be the bearer of some good news. That is, for about seven more months.”
She laughs. Micah smiles.
The glass door opens and slams shut.
“So that was Detective Penance,” Shawn announces. “They found the letter, a digital version of the letter that Lennox wrote, which led them directly to Ghost’s place. Remember Lily, Detective Penance’s right-hand gal? She was basically crucified and left for dead right inside Ghost’s front door.”
Everyone stands aghast.
“Crucified?” Micah asks after a moment of silence, remembering how good Lily was to him that horrible night at the police station.
“Yes,” Shawn says. “Turns out she took the information I gave her and found out where he lived. Stupidly, she went there before backup arrived. Ghost surprised her, ended up putting a knife through each of her hands—she was literally pinned to the back of the door. It would’ve been too painful to move, and she was gagged so she couldn’t scream, much less warn the police when they finally arrived. The door was thick, so they had to burst through with a battering ram. She’s banged up pretty bad, lost a lot of blood and is in and out of unconscious. But she’s alive. They think she’s going to recover. Haylee, baby, the main reason for the call is that Lily told him about you seeing Ghost at the carwash, so we gotta go down and make a statement tomorrow, show them the photo you took of Ghost.”
Haylee nods.
“I don’t understand,” says Micah. “What would make Jenna do this? Put this in motion? Why would she do this to us? To Lennox?”
He looks around the room.
Shawn steps up. “Everyone’s still reeling from this convoluted mess she made. Framing you, framing Ghost, using company tactics to throw off the scent. Detective Penance still seems to think the company is behind this. In fact, they’re combing Ghost’s apartment as we speak to see if they can find that missing hard drive. Remember? The one stolen from evidence?”
Micah shrugs.
“They’re still looking for that goddamn hard drive,” Shawn says. “And I bet it’s with Ghost, or got blown to hell with Jenna’s apartment. I agree with the detective. My guess is that Jenna hired Ghost to help carry out some sort of financial cover-up for Élan, which might explain why she did all this. Why she killed Lenny. And trust me, if any of that’s true, that company will feel my wrath.” He winks at Haylee.
Shawn turns to Micah. “Buddy, nobody is forgetting about this, about Lenny. Justice is coming. Finally.”
“Cheers to Lennox!” Haylee raises her glass.
Shawn and Allen lift their glasses. “To Lennox!”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Micah places his drink on the counter and walks to the bathroom. He closes the door, muting the celebration from the other room. He can still hear them.
“Poor Micah,” Haylee says.
“This is a lot to take in. Fucking Jenna, putting Micah through all this,” Shawn says.
“Imagine losing the love of your life, going through what he went through, and now all of this,” Haylee replies.
“He made it through, though,” Allen adds.
Micah, still listening from the bathroom, puts his hands on the vanity, holds his head down and cries, his shoulders heaving. The sounds grow softer.
“Can you believe how many suspects there were?” Micah hears someone say.
“I know!” someone else adds. “We were seriously on the edge there, going who did it, who did it?”
“Not once but like five different times, we were like, ‘He did it.’”
“She did it.”
“No, they did it.”
“No, he did it.”
“Oh, no, SHE did it.”
They chuckle.
“Hey, guys, it’s over now. We know who did it.”
As the laughing from the other room fades to deafening silence, Micah takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
The affair.
The day he threatened Josh.
The fight.
The secrets he collected.
The last time he saw Lennox alive.
The knife he shoved into his husband’s back.
He rattles his head as if he’s shaking the whole disturbing, awful, exasperating experience off, pulls back his shoulders, and looks in the mirror.
“You did it.”
About The Author
“When you think back to your original passions, the ones you had when you were a child, remember those passions are the ones that are God-given. Innate. Soul-born. They fill you up, they never tear you down.”
—paraphrased from Pete Wilson,
former pastor of Crosspoint Church
Those words. I can’t tell you what they did for me. I was at a crossroads, a place where monotony met discontentment, struggling with what was next for me. About that same time, a friend of mine Kelly Oechslin released her first book. I saw the light in her eyes, the pure unadulterated joy of presenting what she’d accomplished. Evidently the universe was trying to guide me. It was like my childhood was whispering, “Hey, remember me?”
Ever since I was little, I can remember writing. I wrote my first book when I was ten. Well, “book” is a bit of an overstatement. It’s roughly 20 pages about a little girl with cancer, with the title “In Other Words, You’re Dying” in huge adolescent cursive on the front cover. I don�
�t remember what was happening at the time, but clearly I was trying to work through something. I devoured hundreds of books as a child and well into high school. Essays were always my favorite test-taking form. Creative writing courses in college led to me being fashion editor of our university newspaper. In the early nineties, I wrote a lost episode of “Friends,” thinking that somehow NBC would pick it up, and I could play Chandler’s long lost brother. I also wrote an original script about a struggling record company called “Off The Record,” a vehicle for Kirstie Alley because I couldn’t bear thinking that “Cheers” would never return.
Then it stopped. Life happened. I stopped writing. I listened to other people tell me who I was, I moved from city to city following pursuits on whims. My mom passed away. I drank. I did drugs. I did manage to start a novel in the midst of a drug binge, but I didn’t finish it. You can imagine why.
I got sober. I began coming back to myself. I moved back “home” to Nashville.
That’s when it happened. Pastor Pete. Kelly Oechslin. I dusted off the novel I began years ago during the drug binge. The memories of where I was and who I was at the time came flooding back. I wanted to give up immediately, but I noticed that the story itself had legs. I shifted the narrative to another perspective and began mapping out the new book. Character by character, chapter by chapter, the ideas started flowing. Then I took a long trip to Italy to help celebrate my two best friends and their milestone birthdays (photo on previous page was taken by my friend Ruben during the trip). It was there that I finally typed the first chapters of this novel. That was 2016. It has been a roller coaster of pure unadulterated joy ever since.
Naive Page 23