Chapter 14
The police are waiting in the hallway.
I step through the stairwell door into the top-floor corridor and stop so abruptly that Paul walks into me from behind.
Three figures wait in front of Eleanor's apartment door.
Two uniformed officers and the homicide detective from Paul's video. I vaguely remember that his name is Detective Reyes. As usual, he looks haunted and sleep-deprived, but I can tell those probing eyes don’t miss a thing.
His gaze moves over me.
Beside me Paul says, very quietly, "Shit."
"Miss Shaw." Reyes' voice is measured, unhurried. "Rough night?"
"What's going on?"
"Your neighbor was murdered last night. We’d like to ask you a few questions."
Paul and I exchange a look. Then I nod and lead everyone inside.
I take a seat on the couch while Reyes reclines in the armchair across from me. Paul and the other officers take up positions near the windows, mute observers of what comes next. One of the cops takes in the edgy art on the walls and makes a visible effort to maintain his aloof expression.
"Quite a place," Reyes says.
"Thank you."
"You've only been in the city a few days?"
"Since Monday."
"Spend much time with your neighbor?”
"Marian came to introduce herself the day I arrived. That was about it."
Reyes nods, his eyes searching my face. Perhaps looking for something that would indicate guilt or deeper knowledge of what might have happened to Marian.
"Three bodies," he says. "All of them connected to your grandmother. All within a week of each other. That concerns me."
"You're saying I'm in danger."
"I'm saying the pattern concerns me. Feels like the killer is working through a list. Taking care of loose ends."
"I'm not a loose end. I wasn't in the city when my grandmother was murdered."
"True." He looks at me steadily. "But we don't know what's driving this person. What logic they're operating on. I could station an officer outside your apartment?—"
"That won't be necessary."
Reyes nods but looks a little surprised. Me refusing his help is changing his read of me. His eyes drift past me to Eleanor's desk.
The leather-bound book is still open where I left it. The grotesque illustration faces up, medieval ink darkened with age. I wonder if Reyes has noticed it yet.
"Your grandmother and I crossed paths a few times over the years," Reyes finally says.
"What does that mean?"
"This building has a history. More tragedy than you'd statistically expect from a single address. Murders. Suicides. Disappearances that were never officially classified as anything." He says it evenly, without drama. "I knocked on Eleanor Shaw's door more than once."
"Isn’t that life in the big city?”
The line lands strangely. For a moment I don’t even sound like myself.
He looks at me for a long time, recalibrating, something clicking into place behind his eyes.
“Now that is something Mrs. Shaw would say. She had a gift for making people ignore what was right in front of them. Very persuasive woman.”
Something loaded underneath his words. Then:
“Get some rest. Call me if you notice anything unusual.”
With these words, he gets up, as if the conversation reached its natural conclusion rather than a wall. He hands me a card with his name and direct line. His eyes go to Paul on his way to the door and there is a flicker of recognition.
"You look familiar,” he says to Paul.
Paul's disarming smile arrives without hesitation.
“I guess I have one of those faces."
Reyes holds the look for one beat longer than comfortable. Then he nods once, to both of us, and leads his officers out. The heavy oak door closes behind them.
The apartment settles into silence.
I look at the card in my hand. Then at Paul.
“Looks like he’s seen some of your videos,” I say.
"The clips went viral. Probably only a matter of time before he figures out I’ve been filming the crime scenes.”
Paul finally looks at me. "How's your head?"
“I’m okay,” I say.
It’s a lie.