Chapter Twenty-Two
Sin
Dark Side
After a week of uncertainty, I’m finally ready to execute my plan to retrieve Violet’s belongings and get some concrete information on her mystery former employer.
I was almost certain Oz wasn’t in town, but I had no idea who else might be in his apartment.
To give myself the best chance of getting in and out without running into an unexpected cleaner, secretary, or girlfriend, I’d gone back to the basics of sleuthing.
I was going to pull the fire alarm.
I waited until late morning so that anyone who wasn’t out of town would have left for the office or be on their way out to lunch.
After I’m done here, I’m headed to my parents for the long weekend and want to have plenty of time to beat them home. I want to look through the boxes of research I’m storing there without rousing their interest.
I pause to check my reflection in the mirrored glass that lines the street-level windows of The Wizard’s building.
I was striving for unremarkable. My hair, which would be a dead giveaway, is stuffed under a beanie.
My black turtleneck and loose-fitting dark blue jeans are as nondescript as clothes can be.
I smile at my reflection and savor a thrill of excitement I haven’t felt in a long time. This story was supposed to be my career maker.
I thought it was dead. I thought that dream was behind me. Now that I can see again, I’m reminded that when I was a little girl dreaming of being a journalist, this was all I wanted.
This story of stolen art being returned to its rightful owner is a sign of the times. I’m going to fight for it.
I take a deep breath and step through the revolving door into the opulent lobby of his apartment building.
The soaring ceiling is adorned with sleek moldings and dotted by a row of glittering crystal chandeliers that reflect on the black marble floor and gives me the sense of walking on a field of stars as I cross the lobby.
In the center of the space, an atrium serves as sanctuary for a vibrant arrangement of glossy-leafed ficus trees ringed by an explosion of lush seasonal blooms.
The air is infused with a subtle fragrance, perhaps a hint of jasmine or sandalwood, that’s meant to enhance the feeling of tranquility. Soft music plays in the background, creating a serene ambiance as a trickle of residents pass through.
Plush seating areas are thoughtfully arranged, featuring sumptuous couches and armchairs upholstered in luxurious fabrics. Low coffee tables are adorned with fresh flowers and aesthetically pleasing stacks of coffee table books with luxury brand names on the spines.
I can imagine this place full of people in the evenings relaxing after work, safely ensconced from the real world and enjoying the fruits of their labor with their fellow uber-rich neighbors.
How the other half live.
I pass the sleek reception desk, manned by a concierge in gold-trimmed black livery. I smile at him like it’s something I’ve done a hundred times. He smiles back and doesn’t give me a second glance.
I make my way toward the elevators and duck into the mailroom.
A woman is rooting around in her postbox and wrangling a leash attached to the collar of a hyper little dog that’s straining to be free.
“They cram so much crap in here, right? Who’s still paying to mail out coupons?” she says over her shoulder at me.
“I know, right?” I smile and nod and pretend to rifle around my purse, my head down until I hear the clink of her mailbox closing.
“Come on, Mr. T.” She scoops the dog up. I step out of their way as they pass. She smiles at me. “What perfume are you wearing? You smell divine.”
I adjust my sunglasses before I look in her direction with a generic smile plastered on.
“I grabbed it off my mother’s dresser. I couldn’t tell you.
” I’ve worn the same perfume for five years, and normally I’m apt to share, but I’ve already been here longer than I intended and the last thing I need is for someone to remember me well enough to give a description.
“Ah well, that’s a pity. Have a nice day.” She walks past me and the dog and I make eye contact.
He growls at me like he knows I’m up to no good.
She chuckles. “He’s the meanest little dog ever.”
She puts him on her shoulder and pats his back like she’s burping a baby. “Say bye to the nice-smelling lady.”
He bares his teeth at me as they walk away and I flick the judgy canine the bird. I may be up to no good, but I’m on the side of right.
As soon as they’re out of sight, and I’m sure no one else is headed this way, I step into the front right-hand corner of the room, keeping my eyes on the door and feel the wall until I find what I'm looking for. I hook two fingers on the red fire alarm’s wall switch and pull it down.
I pull my baseball cap down to cover my forehead and then step out into the hallway, positioning myself diagonally from the door to the stairwell.
I’ve never laid eyes on The Wizard before, but I know it’s him as soon as I lay eyes on him. Dark, bald, smooth shaven, taller than average, slim but broad and draped in a black ankle-length tunic and black leather slippers. He looks like a villain.
He’s on the phone, head down tilted down, and most interestingly, holding hands with a woman who is so stunning I forget about him for a moment.
Dressed head to toe in expensive but subdued black, she looks like she could be one of the lifestyle influencers I follow on Instagram.
She’s not.
I’d remember if I’d seen this face before.
Flawless warm brown skin and high cheekbones that give her otherwise delicate face a feline quality.
Her eyes are narrow and thick lashed. Her lips might have filler, but it’s so well done, only she and her doctor will know.
She’s got the bluntest, fullest, most immaculate chin-length bob I’ve seen in my real life.
It’s got to be wig or a sew-in because no one can possibly have strands of hair this immaculate and uniform.
Once upon a time, I aspired to this kind of “effortless” perfection. It’s expensive. A man who smuggles priceless artifacts could certainly afford it. If this is his lifestyle, I can understand how he drew a young woman like Violet in.
I watch him now, nuzzling the woman’s neck and wonder if she knows how he makes his money.
I take as many pictures of her as I do of him so I can run a reverse image search on her later.
I wait for them to reach the exit before I head into the stairwell.
I run up the four flights of stairs on pure adrenaline.
There’s no one in the hallway when I reach his floor, and his is one of only two units on this level.
The key card works without a hitch and I slip inside in seconds.
I found the floor plan for this unit on the property management website and make my way to the small staff suite in the back. I wish I could take my time, because no matter who it belongs to, I love exploring other people’s houses. Especially when it’s someone like him.
The bedroom that is supposed to be hers appears to be unoccupied. The mattress is bare and there’s nothing in the closet or any of the drawers. If Violet’s things were here when she left, they’re not now.
I walk into the living room and turn in a small circle to see what I can rifle through without leaving any sign I’d been there.
There’s a stack of papers and mail strewn haphazardly on the dining table.
It’s a stack of pictures printed on legal paper.
Stapled together in pairs of two. I pick them up and freeze.
The picture on top is of an ivory bangle I would recognize anywhere.
It’s one of the artifacts that was stolen while I was still in New York.
This, along with the photo that matches the one in their files, should be enough.
Behind it is a picture of woman I don’t recognize wearing the same bangle. Her arm is held up, her expression blank—it looks like a high-end mug shot.
There’s an eight-digit code and date on the back.
I pull out my phone and take pictures of everything in the pile. I browse through the stack of mail on the table.
The name Ozwald Annan is on everything.
Oz.
I laugh at the lack of creativity in choosing his villain name. Maybe he’s not as clever as his ability to evade the authorities suggests.
I flip over a heavy card-stock envelope on top.
The Museum of African Art’s logo is stamped on the back.
I open it and pull out the card inside. It’s an invitation to an event this week.
I can’t believe my luck. I take a picture of it and put it back exactly as I found it. Then I get the hell out of there.
On my way down the stairs, I text Leon to tell him I think his hunch was right.
Then, I text Violet to let her know I didn’t find anything. I hate that I’m walking away with something for myself and nothing for her but as I review the photos I took, I’m nearly overwhelmed with excitement. I need to verify these pictures are indeed what they appear to be.
The fire department is just starting the building sweep when I come out of the stairwell in the lobby.
I fall into step with the flow of people exiting the building. I blend in seamlessly, moving slowly but purposefully until I’m past the throng of anxious residents clustered near the entrance.
The breath I’m holding bursts out of me in a laugh. I’d forgotten how exhilarating this part of my job was. How much I loved being one step ahead and downwind from the scent of my prey. I’ve got a lot of work to do but maybe this story has legs again.
I slip my phone into my back pocket and sprint toward the crosswalk to catch the last six seconds on the walk signal.
I’m almost there when I hear it. “Sin?”
Like a deer who hears the click of the rifle’s hammer, I freeze.
It sounds like Kwame.
I must be hearing things.
I hear my name again.
This time, the voice is louder, closer, and unmistakably Kwame’s.
My stomach lurches and my heart stops, but I keep walking, picking up my pace.
Why, of all people and places, did it have to be here? I race across the street just as the countdown to cross reaches one and the lights turn green.
Only then, with DC’s strict jaywalking laws keeping me safe from Kwame’s pursuit, do I look behind me. As I anticipated, he’s trapped on the other side of the street. His eyes are locked on me and when our gazes meet, he mouths, “Wait.”
I shake my head. His gaze darts to the traffic like he’s searching for an opening so he can cross before the signal changes. Nothing good would come of letting him catch up with me right now. I don’t want to explain what I’m doing there or talk about what happened on Sunday.
When he looks back at me, I wave and shake my head. “Sorry, I’m late for a meeting. I can’t stop,” I shout across the street. “I’ll message you later.”
His uncertain smile disappears and his eyes narrow with something that doesn’t sit well with me.
I can’t do this now.
I don’t wait for him to respond before I turn around and speed walk. I can feel his eyes on my back as I approach the corner.
The look on his face flashes in my mind’s eye. It was hurt.
He hurt me too, but not intentionally. I showed up at his house without an invitation or warning.
My step falters.
I turn around.
He’s still standing there waiting for the walk signal. He’s dressed in dark blue. His suit and shirt are the same shade. His shirt is open at the collar and the thin gold chain he always wears is visible.
He’s got the sexiest neck.
I shake my head and take a step back.
What am I even going to say? “I wish I’d been the one with your dick in my mouth?”
Why is that the first thing on my mind and not questions about the mansion he lives in?
Because it’s possible he’s your sexual soul mate.
Who has a lover already.
I spin on my heel and continue to my car.
My steps are quick and sure now. I can’t avoid him forever, but now is not the time.
My goal is close enough to taste.
Kwame, my curiosity, and my coochie will just have to wait.