by L. T. Ryan
He stopped at the backdoor and listened to the sound of the wind whooshing through the field. The grasses bent and swayed. The chill had returned to the air. The sky overhead had gone gray, with the furthest edges turning black. Big storm coming. Again.
Molly saw him at the door and crossed the room. With a click, the latch pulled back and he entered, nodding at his house servant before pushing past her.
“Coffee, sir?” she asked.
“That’d be fine.” He emptied his pockets and placed the contents on a dish on top of a sofa table. “Anything happen while I was gone?”
“No, sir.” Her scent washed over him as she passed. Natural, no deodorant or scented soaps and shampoos. The way he liked it. “Would you like your computer?”
Nodding, he seated himself at the table and waited for her to deliver his laptop, which was adorned with stickers one of his previous houseguest’s child had placed on it. At least they were outdoors themed and not some fucking kids' show like My Little Pony.
He pulled up the websites for CNN and Fox News and perused the countering opinions presented. Determining there wasn’t much going on that concerned him, he closed his browser and pulled up a program linked to the security cameras placed throughout the compound. Section by section, he reviewed the current situation. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he reviewed flagged footage from the past six hours. Even though there was a security team monitoring twenty-four-seven, the compound consisted of over twelve structures on one-hundred-seventy-five acres. Sometimes, things were missed.
Molly set a full coffee mug to the left of his computer. The steam wafted in front of the screen and looked like fog in front of the security footage. He lifted the mug to his nose and inhaled the acrid dark roast.
“Anything else, sir?” she asked.
He shook his head and waved her off with his free hand while taking a sip from the mug. It burned his tongue and throat, only slightly though. Enough to warm him up from his walk home.
“They are coming to see you in ninety minutes,” she said.
“They?” He swiveled on the stool to face her. “Which they?”
She cast her gaze down to the floor and offered a squeak, but no further information.
“Why don’t you want to use her name?” he asked.
She refused to look up at him.
He set the mug down and slid off the stool. His boots thunked against the floor as he moved toward her. Reaching up to brush the hair out of her face, he repeated the question. “Why don’t you want to use her name?”
Tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheek, like a fresh stream of water trying to find a path to cut in the dry desert. His large hand wrapped around the back of her head. His thumb hooked in under her chin. He forced her to look up at him. She blinked hard, forcing the remaining tears to join the streams running down her face.
He leaned in and placed his lips on her exposed ear. “Shhhh. Don’t worry, Molly. I’ve got time for you now.”
8
The sun peeked over the top of the mountains to the west. Every few seconds, it felt as though the temperature dropped another degree or two. The sidewalk was slick with packed snow from the last storm. Looking off in the distance, it appeared another snowfall was on the way. Perfect timing.
Bridget and I didn’t get any further with Detective Braxton. He pulled the original missing person report, filed the afternoon of the Mercedes purchase. That was an eyebrow arching revelation, and one Braxton said he was following up on soon. They wanted to watch Lavelle for a bit; monitor his movements. In the report, it was stated that his wife had gone missing forty-eight hours prior. When pressed by the responding officer, Lavelle used his time as an investigator as an excuse. He knew that most of the time these things resolved themselves, as they had in the past with his wife. Apparently, she had taken off unannounced a few times in the past. And the guy knew what had led up to his wife leaving this time.
To his credit, Braxton had inherited the case after the initial detective had questioned Lavelle. Braxton should’ve known, though. He should’ve studied the file inside out. And if I ran that desk, every detective in the department would know my thoughts on this gaff.
One thing was clear, we weren’t getting any more access to Lavelle today. Bridget made a few calls after we left the precinct and came up with an address for Liliana Marin, the mistress. We were surveilling the block before going into the apartment building. Judging by the folks hanging out front, it would not be as hospitable as the local Four Seasons.
Bridget stopped at the corner and attempted to act casual by leaning against the building. “Where’re you staying?”
“Hadn’t thought of it yet.” I spotted two guys walking toward each other on the opposite side of the street. They reached out to shake. One guy used two hands. Then they nodded without looking at each other and continued on their way. “Might find a steal out here, though.”
Bridget laughed. “These guys would eat you up, Tanner.”
“Ever been to Philly?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was there with you not too long ago. Remember?”
“Wiped the entire experience from my memory.”
“Smart man.” Her eyes narrowed as she took me in. “Teach me your ways?”
I shook my head. “Impossible, Bridge. I’m the guy you’ll never be able to forget about.”
She covered her mouth to muff her burst of laughter, but it slipped through her fingers like water. After she composed herself, she said, “Really overselling yourself there, Mitch. Didn’t anyone tell you to undersell?”
“And overdeliver. Yeah, I got it.”
“Let’s be real. In your case, it’s still underdelivering.”
“Been working on it. Hard to do when you got all this going on.” I gestured in front of myself like I was Vanna White, then showed off my muscles.
Movement down the block stole the attention away from my mock strongman pose, taking the wind out of our casual conversation.
“That our building?” I asked.
“Yup.” She had her phone in hand, acting as though she were texting. The camera zoomed in to a ridiculous level where we could see the men clearer than with our naked eyes. “Don’t recognize any of them.”
“Were you expecting to?”
“Not really, but you never know. I haven’t been here that long, but I’ve found a handful of confidential informants.”
The men stood and spoke for a few more minutes before dispersing. Two left down the walk. The big one went back into the building. Maybe he was the doorman? Guard? Hired muscle?
“Any CIs in this part of town?” I asked.
“Not quite.” She tucked her phone away. “Let’s go find our mistress.”
“What do we know about this woman?”
“Not a lot. She doesn’t have a record. Never even been booked. Social media is almost non-existent except for an Instagram profile that hasn’t been touched in over a year and was mostly used to post pictures of a pet turtle.”
“Do we have a picture of her?”
“The turtle? I can pull one up.” A smile crept up on her face.
“Not the time,” I said.
“Not a good one.” She slung her bag under her arm and opened it to retrieve a tablet. A few seconds later, she had the screen on and found a picture of the woman. Dark, curly hair obscured half her face. Her eyes were dark, too. She looked Italian, maybe Latina.
I committed the image to memory. “Not much to go on.”
“That’s what makes the job interesting. Anyway, let’s go see what this place has in store for us.”
“Want to scope it out? Walk past on the other side of the street?”
Bridget was walking toward the entrance. “We’ve spent enough time on that. Come on.”
When we reached the double doors leading to the building’s lobby, we found it deserted. The large man who had been outside must’ve been seeing his friends off before returning to his apartment.
<
br /> I pulled the door open and felt heat escape as Bridget entered. Her right arm was tight to her side, ready to draw if necessary. I remained unarmed, a fact that left me uneasy.
The spartan lobby offered nothing for us to go on. There were three doors and two sets of elevators. One of the doors led to the stairwell, the other to a closet full of cleaning supplies. Lots of bleach and ammonia. Together. In an unlocked closet. What could go wrong?
The third door, though, led to the mail room. Dozens of five by eight panels with a few larger ones on the bottom for packages, half of which had keys dangling from the lock, indicating the resident had already claimed their delivery. Most panels had a strip of tape torn unevenly with the resident’s name scribbled in blue sharpie. Bridget started on one end, and I took the other. We met in the middle.
L. Marin - Apartment 408
“Let’s take the stairs.” Bridget had the door open and one foot out when she froze. She took a step back and eased the door shut.
“What is it?”
“Big guy’s back.” She let go of the handle and took another step away. “Maybe he is muscle for someone here.”
“Maybe he’s waiting on a friend.”
“For what? I’m not buying that, Mitch. Something’s going on here. I can feel it.”
My hackles were on end, too. Something felt off. The building was too sterile, considering the part of town we were in. On our reconnaissance mission, I had glanced into the storefront windows and apartment lobbies as we passed. I wouldn’t call things well-maintained here. Not dilapidated by any stretch of the imagination. But there’s a difference where there’s money and where there isn’t. And this section of town didn’t have much money.
“All right,” I said. “Not planning on staying in a mailroom all day, so step aside and let me out.”
Bridget tensed as she looked up at me, her hand reaching for the handle at the same time as mine. She got there a second before me and I ended up wrapping my fingers around hers.
“The two of us got this,” I said.
The right side of her mouth twitched. “Takes two of us to open a door?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay, let’s go see what this is about.” Her hand moved under mine. The latch clicked, and the door opened a few inches. She pulled it back, and I stepped into the lobby, finding it empty.
“He’s gone already,” I said.
Bridget was shaking her head, pointing toward the windows. “No, he’s across the street. Come on, let’s hit the stairs before he comes back in.”
“We might still have to deal with him on the way out.”
“That’s fine.” Bridget stood in the stairwell, waiting for me to catch up. “As long as we find what we need first.”
She dashed up the stairs, reaching the second floor landing before I had even started. We met on the fourth floor.
“408,” she said. “No hero stuff, Tanner.” Bridget was all business now. She led the way into the hall, but we didn’t take three steps before we knew something was wrong.
Light flooded the hallway in front of apartment 408. The door stood wide open. I braced myself to find Liliana Marin strewn on the floor, her blood pooling under her lifeless body. But the small studio apartment had no such surprises. In fact, it contained little at all. A couple of fold up chairs. A futon stretched open as a bed, unadorned with covers or pillows. A small chest of drawers next to the futon had all of its drawers pulled open, empty. And the narrow closet had a handful of barren hangers. A magnet pinned a single photo to the fridge. A twenty-something woman, who I presumed was Liliana, with her arm around an older man, her father, maybe. There were no personal effects other than the photo, not that it was unusual in a transient apartment building.
“Looks like someone got out of here in a hurry,” Bridget said.
“And recently,” I said.
“I should call Braxton in on this. Never know what might be hidden in here.”
“Or who might show up to find it.”
Bridget nodded as she fired off a message to Braxton. A few seconds later, he responded. She held up her phone. “He’s on it.”
We both jumped at the sound of someone knocking on the door. The big man from the lobby occupied the opening.
9
He placed his hands on the door frame above his head as though he were the only thing holding the building up. As tough as he looked, there was an innocence to him. His youth on display, perhaps.
“Are you two here to help Miss Lilly?”
I watched him for a moment. The concern he expressed appeared genuine. His eyes were wide and lightly misted over. His lips slightly parted.
“What do you know about her?” I asked.
He dropped his arms to his side, slumped, and shrugged. “I only knew her a little bit since she moved in here.”
“How long ago was that?” Bridget asked.
“Coupla months, I guess.”
“Did you see her often?” Bridget moved closer to him, careful not to disturb any items on the floor. “Can you tell us if she had people over recently?”
He chewed on his bottom lip and glanced sideways. He was unsure whether he could trust us. Couldn’t blame him. But it reinforced that the tough guy act was for show. Put this kid in a situation where he couldn’t use his muscle to determine the outcome and he had no clue what to do.
“We just want to help,” she offered.
He sucked in a large gulp of air and nodded as he forcefully exhaled it. One glance was all it took to see he decided to trust us. “I saw her most days, coming or going. I live a few doors down. She was very friendly. Offered to make dinner for me and my little sisters a few times a week. Made sure they had, uh, lady hygiene stuff. It was easier when they was little. For me, I mean, dealing with what they needed. But now, I sure wish my mom and big sis were still alive.”
Bridget now stood a few feet in front of him and had his full attention. “Maybe we can get someone to help. What’s your name?”
He took a step back and stood just outside the doorway.
“Mine’s Bridget. Bridget Dinapoli.”
“You a cop?”
“No, I’m not. I’m a Special Agent with the FBI.”
He glanced toward the stairwell and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.
“You’re not in trouble,” she said. “But Lilly might be, so it is very important you tell us everything you can.”
Time was running out. The kid looked like he was ready to run, and even if he didn’t, Braxton would have an officer here to secure the scene any minute now.
“Son, you can believe her.” I positioned myself next to Bridget, ready to pounce if he darted. He kept glancing toward the door. Was he going for it? Or waiting for it to open? Was I misreading his inexperience? Did he have something to do with Liliana’s disappearance?
“Manny Delgado,” he said, and then he gave Bridget his phone number, email, and apartment number. “Look, someone might show up here soon, and I can’t be seen if they do. Understand? Can you call me later?”
Bridget had finished creating his contact in her phone and looked up at him. “You’re gonna answer, right? Because if you don’t, I have ways of finding you.”
He nodded and then jogged to his apartment after Bridget waved him off. The door opened and the sound of music filled the hallway temporarily.
“What do you make of that?” I asked.
But Bridget didn’t respond. The stairwell door opened and thudded into the wall. Two uniformed officers entered the hallway. The taller of the two initiated contact and told us Braxton had sent them to secure the scene. After Bridget had confirmed with Braxton, we took off for her place.
The final embers of the sun’s fading light flickered through the woods behind Bridget’s house. I stood on her back deck, inhaling the cold air in-between sips of hot decaf. I dropped my head back and stared up at the darkening sky. Thin, low clouds raced past as the thicker stuff gathered above. Th
e storm would start soon. Bridget had said it would be a big one.
I kinda laughed it off. They were ready for heavy weather out here, even if it came a little earlier than normal.
The back door slid open, and Bridget stepped out with a shawl draped over her shoulders. She held a mug in one hand, a bottle of vodka in the other.
“Already?” I smiled.
“Gives the decaf a little kick.”
I stretched out my arm. “Well, in that case, pour me an ounce or two.” After she had, I took a sip, and enjoyed the extra burn from the vodka.
“What do you make of all this?” She leaned against the railing, facing me. “Wife is reported missing after a large purchase, but it’s stated she left two days before. Husband’s former military law enforcement, current high-end security contractor. Mystery mistress up and left out of nowhere.”
“Maybe Braxton wasn’t telling us everything about Miss Lilly.”
“Think that’s why she fled? He was bringing the heat down on her?”
“Not outside the realm of possibility, is it?”
Shaking her head, she blew into her mug and steam spread over her face. “I don’t have solid relationships established within the police departments here. You know how it is. The tendency to withhold or restrict information is strong. You do it. I do it. We did it to each other.”
“We did?”
“Shut up, Tanner.”
I forced a chuckle and angled my body to face hers. “Okay, let’s say Braxton already questioned Liliana. Why would he hold that back?”
Bridget shrugged. “Could be plenty of reasons.”
“Such as?”
“She had information that didn’t mesh with Lavelle’s statement, so Braxton felt he needed to dig in a bit more.”