Chapter Thirty-two
When I emerge from the shower, my hair wrapped in a towel, the apartment is quiet – and clean. Liam has left the kitchen spotless, except for my purse guts, but the daylight streaming in does highlight how dirty the rest of the place is.
One day, I will deep clean this place. That day is not today.
The shower, alas, did not provide any eureka moments about where to head next with the investigation, so we’ll have to do it the hard way.
Scouring the internet again in the hopes of finding a lead.
I’m kicking myself for not squeezing more out of Liam about his lead.
At least I won’t have to wait long to hear more.
There’s one thought I haven’t allowed myself to really face yet, but as I settle into the couch, I finally let it take up real estate in my brain. It’s what Liam was getting at earlier – that if Brooke is the latest victim, she could still be alive.
I didn’t find Zoe fast enough. But maybe I could find Brooke.
I settle in the living room and open my laptop.
For a while, I scroll through articles about Brooke Walsh, but like Liam said, nothing stands out as important.
I do some searches for Zoe and Brooke, and Brooke in combination with the other victims’ names, to see if any of them are connected to her, but find nothing.
Around lunch time, just as I’m losing feeling in my left foot, which has been wedged under my butt, an email notification pops up. Oh my God, Big Dog – Crystal’s BDSM partner. He finally answered my messages!
Thanks for reaching out and sorry for the delay – was out of town. Happy to talk, give me a call.
Adrenaline zips through me as I dial the number he shared. He picks up right away.
‘This is Big Dog.’
‘Hi, Big Dog. This is Margot.’
He chuckles softly. ‘Yeah, your message kind of surprised me. To be honest, no one’s been interested in Crystal’s case for months. So what are you, some kind of amateur investigator? Podcaster?’
‘Something like that …’
‘Well, I’m happy to tell you anything you want to know. Crystal was the love of my life. I want the fucker who killed her behind bars.’
‘Me too,’ I say fervently. ‘So, I’ll just dive in here – I was wondering if you and Crystal knew someone named Zoe Dawson?’
‘Shit, yeah. Zoe, absolutely.’
Immediately, a rush of blood roars through my head. Of course I was hoping there was a connection. But I didn’t really believe there would actually be one – there’ve been too many dead ends for too many months. Am I about to solve it? Stay calm, I coach myself, and ask good questions.
‘How did you meet her?’ I ask.
‘Crystal and I were at a club scoping out potential partners.’
‘Sorry … partners?’
‘Yeah. We had just agreed to open up our relationship and try to find another woman who might be up for joining us romantically. The three of us gelled so well on the dance floor. I made out with Zoe a little … Crystal made out with her a little … we’ll call it a mutual attraction.
’ I can hear a smile in his voice. ‘We exchanged numbers at the end of the night and Crystal started to feel her out. They got together at least one other time.’
‘Like on a date?’
‘More like a sales pitch, to be honest,’ says Big Dog with a disarming chuckle.
‘Crystal was a bit of a proselytizer for our lifestyle; it really works for us, and people are pretty ignorant about what dom-sub relationships are actually like. We heard it all – that we were freaks, pervs, you know, pushing an anti-woman agenda – everything you could imagine. But there’s always gonna be haters, no matter what you do. Zoe seemed cool, though. And curious.’
‘So Zoe was considering joining your relationship?’ If she was, she never told me about it. Then again, it’s starting to seem like there were a lot of things she never told me.
‘Yeah, I think so. We gave her a gift subscription to our channel so that she could check it out, see if she vibed.’
‘And she was into it?’
‘I don’t know. That was right before Crystal disappeared, so I never got a chance to see Zoe again. When I’d kind of accepted Crystal was gone, I did send Zoe a text to see if the two of us could reconnect, but she wasn’t interested.’
My heartbeat drums against my ribcage. ‘Are you aware that Zoe disappeared six months after Crystal?’
He makes a sharp intake of breath. ‘Damn. Wait – how did you say you knew Zoe?’
‘She was my roommate.’
‘Fuck,’ he swears softly.
‘Is there any way you could share the texts you exchanged with Zoe?’
‘I mean … yeah. Sure. I have nothing to hide. If she’s in trouble, if this helps … I’ll text you screenshots.’
After a minute of silence, my phone dings. I look at the texts. Based on the date, they were sent a few weeks after Crystal’s disappearance.
Hey pretty girl, u still open to talking?
Beneath it is Zoe’s response. No thanks. But tell Crystal I said hi.
Finally, his response. Sure, will do. Call me if you change ur mind, we can take things one step at a time.
‘Why’d you say you’d tell Crystal hi?’ I ask. ‘She was already gone.’
He sighs. ‘I didn’t have the heart to tell Zoe. Especially not over text, like, oh yeah, my girlfriend vanished. Kind of a mood kill. At that point, I didn’t know for sure that Crystal was dead, but obviously I pictured the worst.’
‘Was there anyone you thought might’ve done it?’
‘A fan? I don’t know. But we kept things really private. She was Bad Kitty to them. No one knew her real name.’
I don’t respond, but if someone on Reddit put it together, obviously it wasn’t impossible to crack …
My mind is busy putting the pieces in order. Big Dog and Crystal solicit Zoe to join their relationship. Crystal disappears. Then, six months later, just after Crystal’s body turns up, Zoe disappears.
‘Did you know Zoe was an artist?’
‘Yeah, I think she mentioned that.’
‘I’m pretty sure her final painting was of Crystal.’
‘Really?’
‘Did you know she was working on that?’
‘No. It sounds cool, though. I’d love to see it.’
‘I’ll text you a photo.’`
I feel like I’m closer than ever to unlocking something important. But what? I can see the pieces – it feels so close, like it’s on the tip of my tongue—
‘So you’re trying to find out what happened to Zoe and Crystal, both?’ says Big Dog.
‘Actually, four women total. Kayleigh Aimes and Brooke Walsh are the others. Did you know Kayleigh or Brooke?’
‘Never heard of Kayleigh. But Brooke Walsh – the tradwife lady? Yeah, she’s a big deal. And you’re saying she disappeared, too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Damn. Poodle – my girlfriend – makes her sourdough. It’s the only bread we eat at home. It’s great for gluten sensitivity. And honestly, I have a soft spot for tradwives. Their lifestyle isn’t so different from ours.’
Whoa. I’m a bit speechless. I never thought of tradwives and a submissive in a BDSM relationship as being similar, but now that he’s said it, I can’t unsee it.
Tradwives are absolutely submissive – or at least, that’s their brand.
So now we have two women, Crystal and Brooke, who were outspoken on behalf of their submissive lifestyle, though ironically, they were both also formidable business women who were clearly forging their own paths on their own terms. But Zoe – she doesn’t fit that mold. Nor does Kayleigh.
‘I have to go,’ Big Dog says, ‘but I want the record to show that I loved Crystal. I didn’t hurt her.
You can put that on your podcast. As for Zoe, I met her once, that’s it.
Never touched her, never hurt her. But hey, if you solve it, let me know.
’ His voice takes a darker turn. ‘And if you find a lead and the cops don’t act, I’d be happy to. Don’t put that on the podcast, though.’
‘Yeah … thanks. I’ll keep you posted.’
We disconnect.
I shut the laptop and grab my phone to text Liam.
Hey, just talked to Crystal’s partner. Where are you? Lots of thoughts. Call me when you can!
It’s one in the afternoon, and a grumble in my stomach tells me I should prioritize lunch. Inspired by Liam’s chefliness, I open my fridge and stare. A mushy tomato, one remaining egg, a can of Seltzer water and a very ancient container of takeout stare back.
Ramen it is.
*
It’s only when I wake up that I realize I fell asleep on the couch.
The bluish light tells me it’s early evening.
Gah! I’m late for dinner with Liam! I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I guess the exhaustion of it all has gotten the better of me.
Scrambling up, I grab my phone from the coffee table, preparing myself for a bunch of ‘where are you’ texts – but nothing, just a missed call from an unknown number, which usually means a spam call about auto insurance even though I literally don’t own a car.
OK. It’s six thirty – not actually that late. Maybe we can meet there at seven thirty. That’ll give me enough time to freshen up and get my ass over to his neighborhood.
When I go into Messages to text this to Liam, I notice he hasn’t yet responded to my previous text. I add another to the chain.
Hey! Getting hungry! What’s the name of the taco place? Should we meet there in an hour?
When he doesn’t respond immediately, I go back to Reddit and kill some time reading the new comments. But an hour later, there’s still no answer from Liam.
At this point, it’s getting a bit late. Is he OK? Or just working? I’m not sure if I should be worried or pissed.
Liam is a professional private investigator, I remind myself – so I’m not going to spiral about his safety. Pissed it is.
Thankfully, I also have a great taco place near me, so I grab a sweatshirt, toss it over my pajama top and head to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant.
At the last minute, I decide to add a couple extra tacos to the order just in case he texts. At this point, he’ll have to come to me. I carry the bag with the carne asada and al pastor tacos home and eat at my coffee table with an ocean documentary on.
Around nine, I text him again.
I guess you got busy, huh? I’m turning in. Talk tomorrow?
But before I lock my screen again, I notice that pesky missed call. Is it possible Liam called me from another number? Oh my God, is he in trouble, and this was the only call he could place, and I ignored it? For hours? I hit dial. It rings three times before someone picks up.
‘Gallery 323, this is Simon Lambert.’
Simon! This must be the gallery number instead of his cell.
‘Hi, Simon, it’s Margot McKee. I think I just missed a call from you earlier? Is Liam Porter by chance with you?’
‘Margot, hi. How are you? Liam is not with me, no, but I’m glad you called back …’ His tone is crisp, refined, but underneath I can’t help but notice a note of agitation.
‘No worries – what’s going on? Did they identify the guy in the alley?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. I wanted to let you know that there’s been an—’ He clears his throat. ‘—uptick of interest in the piece you and Mr Porter saw. In fact, perhaps flood would be a better word.’
‘But … how? I thought you hadn’t made them available to the public yet.’
‘Miss Dawson’s obituary. Apparently, it ran in the Tribune. It mentioned the painting series and my gallery.’
Her parents must have run the obit. I guess they would’ve known about her art pieces through Liam’s PI reports.
‘So some collectors are calling?’
‘A couple from New York. One buyer who represents a very prestigious client in London. Another from Singapore. We’re talking seven-figure interest. I realize both you and Mr Porter had interest in purchasing the piece …’
Ugh. Of course I had ‘interest.’ But not for seven figures.
‘Yeah, it sounds like it’s a little out of my ballpark at the moment.’
‘Well, like I said, I’m not selling until my legal ducks are in a row.
But I promised to keep you apprised, and I will continue to do so.
I’d also like to discuss purchasing the first painting back from Mr Porter – for a fair market price, of course.
I’d love to place all three with a single collector. ’
‘You’ll have to talk to him about that,’ I say.
‘Of course, I’ll discuss it with him,’ says Simon. ‘I merely want to keep you in the loop, as promised.’
What a whirlwind. Of course it’s really incredible that Zoe’s paintings have such big interest. She’d be freaking thrilled. This is life-changing kind of stuff. But she isn’t here to enjoy her success. And isn’t that how it is? Artists often seem to get big after they’re dead.
‘Well … thanks for keeping me posted,’ I say, turning back to the window, which I’ve been gazing out without really seeing. And then, something snags.
I’d love to place all three with a single collector.
‘You mean both,’ I add quickly, before he can hang up.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You mean you’d like to place both paintings with a single collector. Life, Skin. The third and fourth paintings were never completed, right?’
I wait. I can hear Simon licking his lips.
‘Yes. I was just about to tell you … A third painting has appeared.’
‘What? How?’
‘It showed up at the back door again, just like the other one. Except this one wasn’t wrapped. I reviewed the footage and alerted the authorities.’
‘Was it the same guy?’
‘It appears so. The police are looking into it.’
‘And you said this time the painting wasn’t wrapped?’
‘Correct. And for good reason.’ He makes an incredulous chuckle of disbelief. ‘The paint is still wet.’
I’m literally speechless for one, two, three seconds. Then I say,
‘When can I come?’
‘I open the gallery at nine tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be there.’
I send Liam one final text before going to bed. Meet me at the gallery tomorrow – another painting showed up. Text me back so I know you’re not dead. I add a laughing emoji, then backspace it, then add it again.
I hit send.