The Thin Wall (Corona Heights Book 1)

by E. M. Parker

  Olivia seemed to be gone for only a few seconds before she tip-toed back into the bedroom.

  Fiona waited impatiently for a status update. When Olivia didn’t offer one, she took the chance and whispered. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Silence.

  “Olivia, what are you doing? Answer me.”

  The floor creaked as light footsteps drew closer to the closet door. When they stopped, Fiona held her breath.

  She heard a hand touch the doorknob a few seconds before she heard it turn. It gave her time to slink back into the closet as far as she could. Just as she hit the wall, the closet door opened. Only a crack.

  Natalie.

  Fiona could no longer hold her breath, so she covered her mouth to mute the noise of her heavy breathing.

  The door hung open, allowing the darkness of the bedroom to spill inside the closet. The void expanded until she could no longer tell where she ended and it began. Not only had she become part of the void, she now was the void. When she mouthed Olivia’s name, she could almost see the word leaving her body like a fine white mist that evaporated particle by particle until it no longer existed.

  Fiona jumped as the door opened a little more. The floor buckled. Then she heard a voice.

  “Why are you trying to take her away?”

  The voice was soft, young, like Olivia’s.

  “She can’t leave.”

  But it was not Olivia’s.

  “I won’t let her leave.”

  The door opened more.

  “You can’t take her.”

  Fiona should have felt fear at that moment, but she didn’t. She instead felt an inexplicable sadness.

  “I’m trying to help her.” She didn’t remember forming the words, or even thinking them. They were simply there.

  “I need her to help me.”

  The voice was Hannah’s. There was no way that she should have logically known that, but much like the words she spoke before it, the thought was simply there.

  “Help you do what?”

  “Get him.”

  “Who?”

  “The other one who hurt me. He’s close.”

  “It’s not safe here. Olivia has to leave, and so do I.” Fiona attempted to say more, but the lump in her throat would not allow it.

  The voice that she prayed was only in her mind suddenly went silent.

  Then she heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. Olivia was coming back.

  Before Fiona could make her first move out of the closet, she heard a heavy hand take hold of the doorknob.

  The last thing she heard before being rocked by the sound of the closet door slamming shut was the word, “No!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ARTHUR FINLEY’S APARTMENT WAS LOCATED on the first floor, directly across from the laundry room. Among the many complaints that he expressed to Sullivan and Greer about his Corona Heights experience, his apartment’s high visibility was easily the number one gripe. He argued that when tenants were reminded of his whereabouts every time they washed their clothes, it made it much easier to call on him to unclog that minor backup in the sink, or change the lightbulb that flickered every time they opened and closed the refrigerator. Sullivan now wondered if his unreasonable desire to keep a low profile was based on something else entirely.

  Greer volunteered to knock on the door before she could even ask. In her experience, the vast majority of people who avoided answering their doors did so because they were convinced that the person on the other side was either trying to sell them something, or cure them of the original sin of being born with flesh and blood and wanton lust. Greer’s heavy hand was enough to beckon even the most sinful of souls out of their dark hiding places, so it wouldn’t be easy for Arthur to dismiss him as just another lazy tenant who wanted to recruit him for yet another menial task. He would know that the person at his door meant business. And if he got a bit of the piss scared out of him in the process, Sullivan knew that would be okay too.

  Let ‘er rip big fella, she said to herself as Greer raised his arm.

  As usual, he did not disappoint.

  After the last echo bounced through the narrow corridor and faded away, Greer turned to her with a sheepish grin. “Do you think I overdid it that time?”

  “Under the circumstances, my friend, I’d say it was just right.”

  Arthur Finley was visibly flustered as he answered the door. “Hello detectives,” he said as he struggled to corral the bow tie dangling loosely from his neck. His formal eveningwear was a startling departure from the standard handyman attire that Sullivan had grown accustomed to seeing.

  “I’ve never tied one of these in my life. Damn foolish of me to wait until now.” He attempted a smile, but his frustration would not allow him to wear it for long. “Can I help you guys with something?”

  “We’d like to ask a few questions if you have a moment,” Greer answered coldly.

  “I’m afraid it’s not the best time. My son’s wedding is this evening and I need to get to the church beforehand for family pictures. I’m sure my ex-wife is already there, impatient as ever. I’m not too keen on getting the death-eyes from her any more than I already do.”

  “We’ll try to be as brief as possible, Mr. Finley, but we can’t promise that you’ll make it there on time,” Sullivan said, matching Greer’s tone frosty beat for frosty beat.

  “Didn’t I tell you to call me Art?” he responded with a nervous smile. “What’s this all about anyway?”

  “May we come in?”

  Arthur looked like he wanted to say no. “Sure, if you don’t mind me running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I took my cufflinks out of the box this morning and I haven’t been able to find them anywhere. I sure hope Derek makes this marriage thing a one-time deal. I couldn’t possibly go through this nonsense again.” His nervous smile returned. When Sullivan and Greer said nothing as they entered the apartment, the smile went away.

  Sullivan stood in the middle of the living room to address Arthur while Greer lingered in the kitchen, casing the apartment for anything that could raise even the most minor warning flag. There wasn’t much to see aside from a few pictures with the young man that was presumably his son, various pieces of hockey memorabilia from some bygone era, and a tall bookshelf lined top to bottom with police procedurals and true crime books. On the surface, it was probably not enough to pique Greer’s interest even a little bit. But as Sullivan now knew all-too-well, the most interesting parts of Corona Heights existed far below surface view.

  Arthur attempted another pass with the bow tie. “So, what is it I can help you guys with?”

  “We were hoping you could shed some light on the friendships that Donald Tisdale may have had with anyone in the building aside from you,” Sullivan began.

  “I already told you, he didn’t have any friendships. Not real ones anyway. He got along with people just fine, but it never seemed to progress beyond the casual acquaintance stage.”

  “Why do you think that was?” Greer asked.

  “Because he didn’t trust people.”

  “And why did he have issues trusting people?”

  “The truth is I don’t really know why he had trouble forming close friendships. All I know is that he and I got on well enough.”

  “It sure seems that way,” Greer said, pacing the kitchen.

  “Look, I’m happy to cooperate with you guys in any way that I can. But I’m not sure why we need to cover this ground again. Donald was a private man who liked to keep to himself. It never bothered anyone that he didn’t invite them over for coffee or engage in the latest building gossip. Frankly, he didn’t have much interest in that stuff. He lived his life exactly as he wanted to, and if you ask me, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “There isn’t anything wrong with a man pursuing his solitary interests,” Greer concurred. “Hell, I wish I had some hobby that allowed me to disconnect from the world every once in a while.”

  “W
ell, it’s never too late to try something new, detective.”

  Greer nodded and began pacing the kitchen again.

  “It’s funny you should bring up Tisdale’s solitary interests,” Sullivan said to Greer before turning back to Arthur. “That’s actually why we’re here.”

  Arthur stopped fiddling with his tie. “Go on.”

  “You mentioned to us in passing once that Mr. Tisdale possibly had some art work stashed away in his apartment.”

  “Right. I mean, I can’t be a hundred percent sure of that, I just figured–”

  “We found it.”

  “In a trap door inside his closet,” Greer added.

  Arthur suddenly started in on his tie again, this time with visibly nervous fingers. “Strange place for it.”

  “We thought so too,” Sullivan said. “Until we saw his sketches. Then it didn’t seem strange at all.”

  Arthur kept is energy on the tie that he had no chance in hell of tying.

  “Are you familiar with them?” Greer asked.

  “I don’t recall ever seeing any sketches.” His answer was less than convincing. “I’ve only seen his oil paintings.”

  Greer reached inside the messenger bag that he’d carried on his shoulder. He pulled out the two sketchbooks. “Maybe we can refresh your memory.” He gave the sketchbooks to Sullivan while he kept the photo envelope.

  Sullivan flipped to the first sketch of Tisdale’s living room. “Looks similar to the way we found his apartment when we first came in, right down to the knot pattern of the noose. What do you make of that?”

  Arthur tried to speak, but his voice failed him.

  Sullivan then flipped through the rest of the book, ending with the sketch of the menacing shadow. “Pretty creepy stuff if you ask me.”

  “Seriously creepy,” Greer echoed.

  “Do you have any thoughts on what could have inspired this?”

  “Absolutely not,” a wide-eyed Arthur replied. “He never mentioned having drawings like that, and he damn sure never showed me any of them.”

  Sullivan opened the second sketchbook. “What about these?”

  The color instantly drained from Arthur’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” Greer asked in an unfeeling tone.

  Arthur fought hard to compose himself. “Nothing. It’s just strange seeing these, knowing that my friend drew them and he’s not here anymore.”

  The sentiment didn’t move Sullivan one millimeter. She’d had enough of the back and forth. It was time to ask the question. “Do you know who the girl in the drawings is?”

  The moment Arthur lifted his chin and stuck out his chest, Sullivan knew he was preparing to lie.

  “Can’t say I recognize her.” He looked at something to the right of Sullivan as he said the words. Further proof in her mind that he wasn’t telling the truth. Though she hated it at the time, the two-week body language seminar she took in the academy had become an invaluable weapon in her investigative arsenal.

  Greer reached into the envelope and pulled out the first photo of the girl and Tisdale. “What about her?”

  Arthur stared at it for less than a second. “Sorry, but no.”

  “Take a closer look,” Greer said as he held the photo up.

  “I don’t recognize her,” Arthur answered, his irritation slowly mounting.

  Sullivan motioned for Greer to hand her the envelope, eager to take the kill-shot herself. She took a deep breath before showing him the photo. Everything was about to change, and she had to make sure she was ready.

  The sense of calm that came over her as she exhaled told her that she was.

  “Then what’s your explanation for this?” Sullivan walked over to Arthur and handed him the photo. “Take a good look.”

  Arthur studied it for a long time without saying anything.

  “Mr. Finley?”

  He looked up at Sullivan with eyes that had suddenly turned red. “Where did you find this?”

  “The same place we found the sketches.”

  Arthur turned it face down before giving it back. “I know what you might be thinking about that, but–”

  “What are we thinking about it?” Greer interrupted.

  “That it looks… I assure you, it’s nothing.”

  Sullivan was quickly losing patience. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Hannah. Hannah Shelby.”

  “Natalie Shelby’s daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “The same daughter who Natalie’s boyfriend didn’t want around Tisdale?”

  Arthur nodded. “But Noah completely overreacted.”

  “Did he?” Greer said. “From the looks of those pictures, he may not have reacted strongly enough.”

  “There is nothing to those pictures, detective. Hannah was simply a friend.”

  “Then why did you feel the need to lie to us about her?” Sullivan said.

  Arthur stammered before finally coming up with an answer. “I didn’t mean to lie, I… I knew the issues that it caused with Noah and Hannah’s mother, and I just…” He paused to collect his thoughts. “She was a really sweet child who was fun to be around. Not like most of the adults here.”

  “What do you mean was a really sweet child?” Sullivan asked.

  “I didn’t mean anything by that. Look, the picture was nothing more than the three of us clowning around. If you’re here to suggest that there was any more to it than that…”

  “We’re not suggesting anything, Mr. Finley,” Greer said. “But when you lie about something so important, you can imagine how that would raise some suspicion.”

  “Well, I can assure you that your suspicion is not justified.”

  “Thank you for the reassurance, but if it’s all the same, we’d like to decide that for ourselves,” Sullivan chided.

  Arthur’s cheeks flushed. “Fine. Have your suspicions. But I need to get to my son’s wedding, so…”

  “We understand Mr. Finley, and we’ll get out of your hair for now. We just want to make sure that there isn’t anything else you want to tell us about Donald Tisdale’s relationship with Hannah, or anyone else for that matter, before we leave. This might be your last chance.”

  Arthur’s irritation finally boiled over. “I’ve told you everything I know, Detective Sullivan. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to leave now before I’m late.”

  Sullivan looked at Greer. “Do you have anything else?”

  Greer shook his head. They both knew that without a smoking gun in the drawings or photos, there wasn’t much else they could do with Arthur Finley until they talked to the girl.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Finley. Depending on what Hannah Shelby tells us, we may need to call on you again.”

  Arthur walked to his door and opened it, clearing the path for Sullivan and Greer to leave. “I understand, and as always, I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

  “We’re counting on that,” Greer said as he and Sullivan made their way out the door.

  “Enjoy your son’s wedding,” Sullivan said, taking care to sound as insincere as possible.

  Arthur didn’t even bother to fake a smile as he closed the door on them.

  Greer did the smiling for him. “Dead to rights?” he asked Sullivan with a pat on her back.

  “Let’s make sure the girl doesn’t corroborate his story before we call the judge,” Sullivan warned.

  “He’s guilty of something.”

  “Whatever that something may be, what does it have to do with Tisdale’s death?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Whatever the answer, I feel like we’re close to figuring it out.”

  As they entered the elevator for their short trip to the sixth floor, something made Sullivan tremble.

  “What’s the matter?” Greer asked. “The cold still getting to you?”

  The chill that permeated Tisdale’s apartment was nonexistent down here. When Sullivan trembled again, she realized that the reaction had nothing to do with
a change in the temperature.

  “You’re right about one thing, Marcus.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re definitely getting close.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “FIONA, WHY DID YOU CLOSE THE DOOR so hard?” Olivia asked with a frantic whisper as she pointed her flashlight in the closet. “You’re gonna wake my mom up.”

  Fiona scrambled to her feet. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

  “I know, but you have to be quiet. My mom is asleep now, but she wakes up really easy. So when you follow me out, don’t make a sound. Walk on your tip-toes if you need to.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In her bedroom. But it’s right by the front door. If you bump into anything, she’ll hear. If you turn the doorknob too hard, she’ll hear. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Olivia took Fiona by the hand and slowly led her out of the bedroom. The floor creaked with each agonizing step that she took. When they made it into the living room, Fiona was nearly knocked off her feet by the smell of marijuana wafting in from Natalie’s bedroom.

  “Just plug your nose,” Olivia suggested. “That way it won’t make your head feel funny.”

  At that moment, Fiona almost wished that Natalie would wake up so she would have an excuse to beat the living crap out of her. Olivia squeezed her hand and the thought went away.

  She released Fiona’s hand when they reached the front door. Olivia looked at her with nervous eyes as she brought her index finger up to her mouth. One last reminder to keep it together until they got out safely. Fiona was doing her best to comply.

  After Olivia unlocked the door, she reached for the doorknob and gave it a gentle turn. It wouldn’t open. She gave it another turn, this time with more force. It still wouldn’t budge.

  “Did you unlock it?” Fiona asked in a soft whisper.