He Will be My Ruin
Page 72
Soon, all traces of my best friend will be gone.
While that saddens me, I also need something to occupy my hands—and my mind—while I wait for Zac to come back with information on Grady.
“They all wrapped up last week. Lucky for you, I might add, seeing as you’re now monopolizing all of my time,” Doug says from the living room.
I wonder when Doug will be saying that this case is “wrapped up.” Will it ever truly be “wrapped up,” with answers that bring me closure?
“What were the cases? Can you tell me?” I debate whether I have it in me to tackle the fridge that I haven’t opened since the night I arrived here. No doubt there’s a putrid stench of spoiled cheese and rotten fruit waiting to assault my nostrils.
“Cheating husband, an old man who was poisoning the neighborhood cats, and a club owner who was embezzling money from his partner. The usual. Thank God for a world of sinners. I’ll never be out of work.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve maintained a positive attitude through it all.” I lean against the kitchen’s entryway and watch him pass a small, rectangular box with a short antenna sticking out from one end along the bottom edges of the couch. He hasn’t sat down on it since coming here. I’m guessing that’s because of the bright splotches of bodily fluid that his high-powered UV light illuminated. Some of them he assures me are most likely from Jace, based on what he saw of the video that I still refuse to watch. And the others . . . I’m just hoping this couch was a secondhand purchase for Celine.
Either way, I’m never sitting on it again. I don’t even feel right giving it to charity.
“Any update on the prints?”
“All partials, and most of them are smudged. I can’t call in a favor with NYPD on a partial.” I can hear the frustration in his voice, and that’s rare. Normally, Doug speaks and carries himself like there’s no answer that he can’t find.
“I wouldn’t have thought getting a fingerprint from a guy who lives in this building would be so difficult.” Doug skulked around the building at two a.m. last night, lifting any mark he could find from the fire escape, Grady’s mailbox, the door leading to the roof. Unfortunately, Grady’s front door handle—the best place to lift his prints—is too grooved and rough.
“It’s not as easy as they make it look on TV, is it . . . ?”
I study the big forensics case Doug arrived with this afternoon, sitting open on the floor, full of all kinds of technical things I can’t even identify. It’s making me realize that I don’t know anything about Doug, except that he works nonstop. “Did you learn how to do all that on the police force?”
“Some of it. I specialized in crime scenes so I learned how to do things like fingerprint dusting, photographing, casting. All kinds of evidence collection.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“For the exact reason that I’m here now.” Doug pulls the old wooden folding chair to the corner and climbs on it to test the vent. “Because I needed to be able to follow my hunches, and sometimes those don’t match what the preliminary evidence might suggest.”
“So you were going rogue, is what you’re saying.”
He chuckles. “My superiors sure didn’t like it when they’d catch me investigating a case that was already closed. Said that I was insubordinate and argumentative, and unable to follow directions.”
I mock-gasp. “No way.”
He shoots a smirk my way. “What are you complaining about? You always get what you want from me.”
“Because I keep writing you checks,” I mutter, grabbing a trash bag and making my way over to the bedroom.
“It’s a good thing you have a never-ending supply of money then, isn’t it?”
“I knew you were trying to hose me.” In reality, I don’t think he is. I have no explanation for that belief, it’s just my gut instinct, which is usually pretty good. “So, are you and that secretary of yours together?”
“Who, Donna?” He snorts. “Are you kidding me?”
I guess they’re not. “Have you ever been married?”
“Once, in my twenties. Biggest mistake of my life.” He joins me in the bedroom in time to see me roll my eyes. “You need to keep all of her clothes and other things.” He gestures to the dresser drawers. He knows what’s in there. There isn’t a cupboard or drawer that he hasn’t poked his head into at some point. “There could be evidence on them. Nothing that would stand up in court on its own, but maybe it’ll help build a case.”
“I guess I can put it all in the storage locker for now.”
“Yes. The couch will need to go into storage, too.”
The telltale three knocks sound on the door, saving me from going through Celine’s black lace and rubber.
Doug mouths, “Who is it?”
“Ruby. I said she could come over for tea.”
“Get rid of her,” Doug hisses as I pass him. “Senior citizens talk too much. They’re a hazard to investigations.”
I ignore him and open the door. Ruby’s wide grin meets me, bringing with it a moment of comfort.
“Good afternoon, dear. Ready for a break?”
I take the tea set from her shaking grasp, noting the three cups.
“I thought I heard your detective arrive.” She steps inside the apartment. “Oh, yes! There you are. Good. I brought some fresh homemade shortbread for us all to share.”
He shoots me a warning glare as he passes, but has no issue snatching a cookie from the tray.
“So? What are you up to?” Ruby murmurs, dragging the folding chair over to the table, eying Doug’s case. “Oh, looks like you’re collecting evidence?”
When Doug doesn’t answer, I pipe in. “We’re doing a background check on Grady. I know it sounds crazy, but we need to rule him out.”
“Yes, that’s probably a good idea. Ease your conscience.” The lid of the teapot rattles against its base ever so slightly as Ruby pours three cups of tea. She drops her customary three sugar cubes into hers. “Of course you mean James Grady.”
Doug stops with whatever he’s fumbling with in his case and glares at me. “What part of ‘keep it to yourself’ did you not understand?”
While that saddens me, I also need something to occupy my hands—and my mind—while I wait for Zac to come back with information on Grady.
“They all wrapped up last week. Lucky for you, I might add, seeing as you’re now monopolizing all of my time,” Doug says from the living room.
I wonder when Doug will be saying that this case is “wrapped up.” Will it ever truly be “wrapped up,” with answers that bring me closure?
“What were the cases? Can you tell me?” I debate whether I have it in me to tackle the fridge that I haven’t opened since the night I arrived here. No doubt there’s a putrid stench of spoiled cheese and rotten fruit waiting to assault my nostrils.
“Cheating husband, an old man who was poisoning the neighborhood cats, and a club owner who was embezzling money from his partner. The usual. Thank God for a world of sinners. I’ll never be out of work.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve maintained a positive attitude through it all.” I lean against the kitchen’s entryway and watch him pass a small, rectangular box with a short antenna sticking out from one end along the bottom edges of the couch. He hasn’t sat down on it since coming here. I’m guessing that’s because of the bright splotches of bodily fluid that his high-powered UV light illuminated. Some of them he assures me are most likely from Jace, based on what he saw of the video that I still refuse to watch. And the others . . . I’m just hoping this couch was a secondhand purchase for Celine.
Either way, I’m never sitting on it again. I don’t even feel right giving it to charity.
“Any update on the prints?”
“All partials, and most of them are smudged. I can’t call in a favor with NYPD on a partial.” I can hear the frustration in his voice, and that’s rare. Normally, Doug speaks and carries himself like there’s no answer that he can’t find.
“I wouldn’t have thought getting a fingerprint from a guy who lives in this building would be so difficult.” Doug skulked around the building at two a.m. last night, lifting any mark he could find from the fire escape, Grady’s mailbox, the door leading to the roof. Unfortunately, Grady’s front door handle—the best place to lift his prints—is too grooved and rough.
“It’s not as easy as they make it look on TV, is it . . . ?”
I study the big forensics case Doug arrived with this afternoon, sitting open on the floor, full of all kinds of technical things I can’t even identify. It’s making me realize that I don’t know anything about Doug, except that he works nonstop. “Did you learn how to do all that on the police force?”
“Some of it. I specialized in crime scenes so I learned how to do things like fingerprint dusting, photographing, casting. All kinds of evidence collection.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“For the exact reason that I’m here now.” Doug pulls the old wooden folding chair to the corner and climbs on it to test the vent. “Because I needed to be able to follow my hunches, and sometimes those don’t match what the preliminary evidence might suggest.”
“So you were going rogue, is what you’re saying.”
He chuckles. “My superiors sure didn’t like it when they’d catch me investigating a case that was already closed. Said that I was insubordinate and argumentative, and unable to follow directions.”
I mock-gasp. “No way.”
He shoots a smirk my way. “What are you complaining about? You always get what you want from me.”
“Because I keep writing you checks,” I mutter, grabbing a trash bag and making my way over to the bedroom.
“It’s a good thing you have a never-ending supply of money then, isn’t it?”
“I knew you were trying to hose me.” In reality, I don’t think he is. I have no explanation for that belief, it’s just my gut instinct, which is usually pretty good. “So, are you and that secretary of yours together?”
“Who, Donna?” He snorts. “Are you kidding me?”
I guess they’re not. “Have you ever been married?”
“Once, in my twenties. Biggest mistake of my life.” He joins me in the bedroom in time to see me roll my eyes. “You need to keep all of her clothes and other things.” He gestures to the dresser drawers. He knows what’s in there. There isn’t a cupboard or drawer that he hasn’t poked his head into at some point. “There could be evidence on them. Nothing that would stand up in court on its own, but maybe it’ll help build a case.”
“I guess I can put it all in the storage locker for now.”
“Yes. The couch will need to go into storage, too.”
The telltale three knocks sound on the door, saving me from going through Celine’s black lace and rubber.
Doug mouths, “Who is it?”
“Ruby. I said she could come over for tea.”
“Get rid of her,” Doug hisses as I pass him. “Senior citizens talk too much. They’re a hazard to investigations.”
I ignore him and open the door. Ruby’s wide grin meets me, bringing with it a moment of comfort.
“Good afternoon, dear. Ready for a break?”
I take the tea set from her shaking grasp, noting the three cups.
“I thought I heard your detective arrive.” She steps inside the apartment. “Oh, yes! There you are. Good. I brought some fresh homemade shortbread for us all to share.”
He shoots me a warning glare as he passes, but has no issue snatching a cookie from the tray.
“So? What are you up to?” Ruby murmurs, dragging the folding chair over to the table, eying Doug’s case. “Oh, looks like you’re collecting evidence?”
When Doug doesn’t answer, I pipe in. “We’re doing a background check on Grady. I know it sounds crazy, but we need to rule him out.”
“Yes, that’s probably a good idea. Ease your conscience.” The lid of the teapot rattles against its base ever so slightly as Ruby pours three cups of tea. She drops her customary three sugar cubes into hers. “Of course you mean James Grady.”
Doug stops with whatever he’s fumbling with in his case and glares at me. “What part of ‘keep it to yourself’ did you not understand?”
