Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I spend the rest of the night in the bedroom, watching the driveway. As the hours pass, my mild hangover becomes major. When dawn breaks, I try to get a few hours of sleep, but my brain won’t let me relax.
He’s coming back.
He’s coming for me.
I text Bradley multiple times during the night, but he doesn’t reply. I wonder how he spent the night. How many fake tears did he cry? How many sympathetic stories did he hear about the woman he killed? How many stories did he have to tell before they left him alone?
It would have been an incredible performance. I’m grateful that Bradley did it, because it means there won’t be any more questions about her death from her family.
The only threat left is Jesse.
At some point, he’ll have to give up. He might go to the police, but so what? They won’t reopen an investigation based on his wild theories. It’ll be annoying for a while, maybe even scary sometimes, but he’ll move on.
We all will.
As I go into the kitchen to make coffee, my spirits rise. Bradley will be home soon, and then we can be a couple—a real couple.
I take my coffee into the living room and mentally check off everything I want to change.
Grace’s paintings and her collection of serial killer mementoes will go.
Her books can go, too. And while I’m at it, I hate these antique couches and chairs.
I hate the coffee table. I hate the color of the walls. I hate the creak in the floorboards.
Bradley said we’ll have money. Well, I’m going to use it.
I’m going to change all of it.
I end up back in the bedroom. I finish my coffee and go through her wardrobe.
I choose the brightest dress she owns, a green dress that sits just above my knees, then search through the drawers for a pair of tights.
In the top three rows, I find underwear, socks, pajamas, tops, and shorts.
In the bottom drawer, I find what I need.
A voice outside. Bradley must be home.
I pull out the black tights, but they’re caught on something. I reach inside and prick my hand on something sharp. It’s a knife. I find the handle and pull it out, then drop it in horror.
It’s my knife. The knife I inherited from Mom. The knife I dropped off the edge of the bridge. What’s it doing in Grace’s drawers?
A knock at the door. Loud. Not Bradley then.
It must be Jesse. He can wait.
I look closer at the knife. The blade is streaked with red. I remember the struggle on the bridge. I cut her shoulder, didn’t I? This is Grace’s blood.
A voice calls out from the front door. I can’t deal with that right now.
I need to think of what to do with the knife.
Bradley put it there, but why? And how? I dropped it off the bridge into the river—I’m sure I did.
I take it into the hallway and pause. It’s quiet outside.
Jesse must have given up. I carry it downstairs, deciding to walk to the river and get rid of it.
As I enter the living room, I see I was wrong. There’s another knock at the door, followed quickly by the assertive voice of Detective Gelman.
“Brie, it’s the police. We know you’re home. Open up.”
I look at the knife in my hand. If Gelman walks to the side and peers through the window, she’ll see me holding it.
“One second!” I call out, then go to the bookshelf and place it among Grace’s serial killer mementoes. As I open the door, I let out a fake yawn, as if she’d just woken me up. “Detective, I’m so sorry. I was asleep.”
“Brie MacKenzie, we have a warrant to search the premises.” She shoves a document into my hands. “As part of the investigation into the death of Grace Little.”
She’s not alone. Behind her are three police officers with gloves.
“What are you talking about? She committed suicide.”
“Let us in, please, ma’am.”
I stand in the doorway, stunned, until one of the officers pushes past with a gruff “excuse me.”
I need to contact Bradley, but he’s not answering his phone.
I have a brainwave.
“Can I get some stuff? So I’m not in your way?”
“Sure. But I have to come with you.”
I go back upstairs, ignoring Gelman trailing behind me, and enter Bradley’s office. I open the third drawer in his desk and take out his computer.
“Can I take this?”
“The warrant doesn’t cover electronics. Just let me take a photo.”
I pack the computer into my pack and then go back downstairs.
“How long will you be?” I ask.
Gelman is still following me closely, watching every move. “A few hours.”
“OK, thanks. My car’s parked up the driveway. See you in a bit.”
I feel her eyes on me as I cross the front lawn and go up the driveway. When I get to my car, I pop the hood and sigh with relief. Bradley installed the battery, as he promised. When I turn on the engine, I see that the gas I poured in weeks ago is enough to take me past empty.
I drive for a few miles before pulling over to take out the computer. My hands are unsteady, and it takes a while to type in his password.
Prelude1984.
When I finally open it, I connect my phone to the hotspot and click Find My on the computer. I quickly see Bradley’s phone among the devices listed. Two hours' drive away, in the suburbs of the city.
Looks like it’s time for me to meet Grace’s family.