From my earlier visits, I know Grace likely has no incriminating notes on her laptop. So I’m not stupid enough to do something like try to delete folders in hope of getting rid of stray files. After one more turn around the apartment, and verifying the nitrile gloves and slip of paper with dates on it are in my pockets, I move to the front door and pull out my personal cell phone. I’ve recorded our parting every time I leave, and use one from three visits ago, carefully edited.
Opening the door, I lock the knob and then step out and turn around. I hold the door mostly closed, like she’s standing right behind it, with my head still through the gap as if I’m talking to her behind the door. I play the good-bye recording, then pull the door shut, turn, and casually head down the hall toward the elevator.
Nowmy pulse spikes, the adrenaline dump really hitting me. Because I can’t fuck this up when I’msooodamned close.
While waiting for the elevator, I’m careful to hold my phone so the security camera can’t see the screen as I delete and purge the sound file. The hardest part of this is forcing myself to remain calm, keep my movements casual.
I cannot act weird, jumpy, nervous. Likewise, I can’t look unusually casual, either.
Because these videoswillbe reviewed by the police, I’m certain. I have to appear exactly like I did every other time I’ve left her apartment, so they can compare them, if it gets that far.
I wait until I’m a block away from her building, where I already know there’s not a surveillance camera right on top of me, to pull out the burner.
“Hey, Alexa. Text Jordan Walsh…”
On foot, I hurry toward Leo’s apartment, texting a series of messages to my personal phone, which I reply to.
Grace:Can you please come back later and spend the night with me?
Me:No. I told you, I’m not coming back. Especially while you’re drunk and high.
Grace:Please just give me a chance to show you how I feel.
Me:Sorry, I’m not coming back tonight. We’ve talked about this.
Grace:I’m going to drink some more if you don’t come back. And other stuff. Come save me from myself.
Me:That’s your decision. You’re an adult. I really think you need help and should call that program you’ve been talking about. I’m not responding to you again tonight. If you need to talk to someone, call that program. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when you’re sober. Please stop texting me.
I factory wipe the burner and power it off before I duck into an open coffeeshop to buy myself a latte with my credit card. While I’m waiting for it, I use their restroom. I pull on the nitrile gloves, pop the battery out of the burner phone, and remove the SIM card. After wiping down the battery, phone, and SIM card, I run water over them, and bend the SIM card back and forth to crack it under the stream of water. I make sure the moisture indicators on the battery have changed color and then toss it in the garbage. Then I dry the phone and SIM card, wrap them in paper towels, and pocket them. The nitrile gloves go into the garbage.
Retrieving my coffee from the barista, I walk out and head the wrong way for a block, dropping the SIM card wadded in paper towels in a public trash can as I pass.
It’s easy to pretend I’m a little out of it, like maybe I’m drunk. I look around, like I’ve just realized I’m heading the wrong direction. Then I change course and walk to Leo’s.
He’d be pissed at me if he knew how many times I’ve walked around the city alone, at night, but it can’t be helped. Hopefully, he’ll never need to know.
I dump the phone itself in another garbage can after I slip it into the nearly full latte cup a couple of blocks before. I use a napkin to remove the zip-top baggie from my pocket, and wad it up, dumping it in yet another garbage can.
It has to be good enough.
I’m hoping the police won’t dig too deeply. I’ve left them a clear trail to follow, and I won’t act evasive. If I don’t trigger their suspicions, chances are they won’t hunt down CCTV footage of me once I’ve left Grace’s apartment building. Especially when I present the receipt from the coffeeshop, and can have Leo hand over alarm logs for his apartment.
Please, let it be good enough.
* * * *
A brief moment of panic hits me when I arrive at Leo’s and realize he’s home. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought he’d be gone until later.
Now my hands are shaking so badly I can barely function.
Thankfully, he’s in the shower. After three tries, I finally manage to get the combination right and open the safe so I can replace the gun. Pulling his clothes back into position and fluffing them a little, I realize…
I think I’ve done it. Time will tell.
Only then do I stick my head into the bathroom. “Hello, Daddy.”
“Hey!” Leo’s smiling as his head pops around the shower curtain, his eyes darkly glittering. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
