Chapter 13 #2
“That’s good for us,” I reply. “Not that we have to worry about him fighting back, but he’ll be less apt to try if he’s not feeling well.”
With a glance down the street at the brick building we’re about to enter, I add, “Once we get inside his apartment, we’ll fan out.
Ace, you check the primary bedroom to the left.
Tyler, you’ll take the bedroom on the right.
And I’ll head straight into the living room.
Whoever finds him first, immediately silence and restrain him.
We can’t let him make a sound. Not until we have the situation under control. ”
Ace and Tyler nod as they reply in unison, “Roger that.”
“I’ll take point on the interrogation,” I continue.
“Ace, you’ll make sure he knows what will happen if he tries yelling.
” Since Ace is the biggest of us, all he usually has to do is just stand there, looking pissed off and menacing.
“And Tyler, you’ll search his apartment.
See if he has any computers he’s keeping offline. ”
“On it,” Tyler says.
“I’ll be extra intimidating,” Ace adds. He smiles grimly. “Maybe I can even make him pee himself.”
“The primary goal is to get those videos,” I say.
“But we want a confession about planting the cameras, too. The fingerprint we found on the camera in Noelle’s bathroom isn’t going to be enough.
Considering how incompetent the police were before, they’ll probably claim she took the camera from the theater or some shit like that.
We need a solid confession. With details. Receipts.”
Tyler puts his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll find it, Spidey. We’re not leaving until we do.”
I take a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Okay. Are we ready?”
“Ready,” they both reply.
Raising my hand in the hold signal, I take one last second to visualize the plan. My dad always told me to do that—whatever you want to accomplish, visualize it from start to finish. See yourself acing the test or winning the race, and you’re setting yourself up for success.
In this case, success is the only option.
And with that in mind, I lower my hand.
The three of us exit the car at the same time and close the doors silently in unison.
Then we start off towards the building, walking at a brisk pace as we chat quietly about nothing.
Tyler allows his gait to wobble a little, like he’s slightly tipsy.
Ace intentionally drops a fake wallet on the ground and picks it back up.
If anyone happens to see us, we want them to think we’re just three guys on our way home from the bars—a little buzzed, but harmless.
Fortunately, we don’t run into anyone in the two hundred feet it takes to reach the entrance to the building.
Once we’re there, Tyler pulls his phone from his pocket, taps the screen a few times, and a second later, the light on the access pad changes from red to green.
He smiles as he pushes the door open with his gloved hand—flesh colored latex to look like skin—and gestures for us to follow him.
The mailroom is empty, just as we expected; the overhead lights reflecting dully on the rows of metal mailboxes.
In one corner, a recycling bin is nearly overflowing with discarded mail, and beside it, there’s a towering stack of empty cardboard boxes.
A sign on the wall ironically reminds the residents, Please break down all boxes before recycling.
To our right is the hallway that should lead us to Donaldson’s apartment, but before we turn down it, I gesture to stop. While Ace and Tyler wait in the mailroom, I creep ahead to peer around the corner.
Like the mailroom, the hallway is well lit, with modern wall fixtures glowing brightly at regular intervals.
I prick my ears, listening for the sound of a door opening or the tap of footsteps on the shiny black tile.
But there’s nothing aside from a brief burst of laughter from a television playing somewhere down the hall.
Turning back to Ace and Tyler, I motion for them to follow. Together, we move towards apartment N107, which I know from our research is one of the bigger units in the building.
More room to stash his fucked up surveillance gear, I can’t help thinking.
He needs a place to hide all the cameras he removed from the theater and Noelle’s apartment.
And who knows what other shit he’s got tucked away in there.
Noelle might not be the only one he’s watching, after all.
He could have been pulling this shit for years without anyone knowing.
No. I shove the door shut on those thoughts again. Later, I can work on untangling the mess of emotions I’m feeling. But not now.
When we arrive at Donaldson’s door, I glance up and down the hallway once more before pulling my lockpicks from my pocket.
This is one of the riskier parts of our plan—if we’re spotted just walking through the building, it’s not too problematic, but if someone sees me picking the locks…
Well, that would be a lot harder to talk ourselves out of.
But fortunately, the hours of practice pay off.
Before joining Blade and Arrow, I would never have thought picking locks would be a part of my job description.
But during one of our first discussions with Cole, he explained the value of it.
“I’m not saying you have to,” he said, “but there have been times when we needed to gain access for a rescue. Times when we couldn’t afford to wait. ”
This might not be a rescue in the traditional sense of the word, but I don’t feel an ounce of guilt breaking into Donaldson’s apartment. Not when it means putting an end to his sick obsession with Noelle.
I have the doorknob open in under thirty seconds, and then I move on to the deadbolt. While I’m maneuvering the lockpick, Tyler and Ace hover close on either side, shielding me as best they can just in case anyone comes by.
Fortunately, no one does. And less than a minute later, the deadbolt slides open with a soft snick. I exchange a quick glance with Tyler and Ace, sharing a silent communication. They both lift their chins in acknowledgment, and I do the same.
On a held breath, I carefully turn the doorknob and push the door open.
We quickly move inside, closing the door quietly behind us.
The apartment is laid out so we enter through the kitchen, with the dining area and living room just beyond.
The open-concept space is dark, with the only light coming from the clock on the oven and the moonlight streaming through the patio door.
The apartment is cool, almost uncomfortably so, and I can hear the soft whoosh of the air conditioning working. But there’s an odd stillness to the air. An emptiness. Like there hasn’t been movement for quite some time.
My neck prickles. The hair on my arms stands up.
Ace looks at me, his expression grim. He feels it, too.
Tyler leans close, his voice almost inaudible as he speaks near my ear. “Do you smell that?”
I sniff the air, first catching the scent of disinfectant. But on the heels of it, a sour aroma hits me—an unpleasant combination of rotting fruit and sickness.
My body tenses. Silent alarms sound in my head.
It’s not terribly strong, not from here, but I recognize that smell. I’m pretty sure anyone who’s been active duty has.
Gesturing left, then right, the three of us fan out through the apartment like we discussed before. But I haven’t even reached the far end of the living room before Ace comes back out of the primary bedroom. His features are dark and stony as he says quietly, “You need to come see this.”
He doesn’t have to tell me what he found. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know.
Tense with anticipation, I head towards the bedroom, bracing myself for what I’m about to see inside. Given the smell, it’s a pretty sure guess. But how? When? And what else is in there?
Then I walk through the doorway, and my suspicion is confirmed.
We found Ken Donaldson. But he’s dead.
Now that I’m in the same room, smelling the pungent odor of early decomposition, I’m shocked I didn’t realize it the second we came into the apartment. But the bedroom door was closed, and with whatever cleaning products he must have used in the kitchen…
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“Yeah,” Ace replies softly. “Fuck.”
As I approach the bed, where Donaldson is stretched out on top of it, Tyler comes into the bedroom and mutters, “Shit.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I study the dead body in front of me—not touching it, of course—while I try to guess the cause of death.
Judging from the condition of his body, it doesn’t appear that he died violently.
He’s just laying there, beneath the covers, like he went to sleep and never woke up.
There are the normal signs of death—a bluish-green cast to his features, a laxness to his skin, his eyes slightly sunken in—but no sign of an unnatural death.
Tyler joins us at the side of the bed and says quietly, “He has to have died pretty recently. There’s no bloating yet. Or if there is, it’s not noticeable.”
“He was alive on Wednesday night,” Ace replies. “At least, he sent his last email then.”
Tyler leans close to inspect the body. “A couple days at most, I’d say. And if I had to guess, I’d say he died in his sleep.”
“A heart attack,” I muse. “Maybe a stroke. Unless… he didn’t have cancer or anything, did he?”
Tyler shakes his head. “I checked his medical records. Aside from hypertension, which he was on medication for, and occasional cluster headaches, he was pretty healthy.”
“Of course he was.” My jaw clenches as anger pulses through me.
Logically, I know this isn’t a bad outcome. Yeah, the guy is dead, but I’m certainly not sad about that. And his death will put an end to Noelle’s harassment, which is the most important thing.
But, shit. I wanted to face him. I wanted to scare the shit out of him. I wanted to make him suffer like he did to Noelle.
And fuck, did I want to punch him.
“Dammit,” I mutter.
“At least it’s over,” Ace says.
“I know. But—” I shake my head. “I wanted him to know what it felt like. Being scared. He deserved it.”
Tyler puts his hand on my shoulder. “He did. But this will make it easier.”
“I want those videos.” My voice is rough with frustration and anger. “I don’t care if he’s dead. And—” I release a heavy sigh. “We need to know if he did this to anyone else.”
“We will,” Tyler agrees. “Before we leave, we’ll search the apartment. Find that damn USB drive. And I’ll make backups of everything. If we find recordings of anyone else, we’ll make sure the evidence is in plain sight, so the police have to investigate this time.”
With Donaldson dead, we could just delete the videos of Noelle and leave it at that.
But before I left B and A tonight, Noelle asked if we’d be looking for recordings of other women.
“I have a hard time believing he only did it to me,” she said.
“And if there are other videos out there, other women he recorded, they deserve justice, too.”
I couldn’t argue her point. So we’ll search for other recordings, and if we find them, we’ll do our best to ensure the police follow up.
We’ll arrange for the evidence to be conveniently in sight when the police inevitably come for a welfare check.
If there’s other information, Tyler will anonymously share it with the investigators.
And at the end of it, Donaldson will be outed for the sick asshole he was.
The stench of decomposition stings my nose, and I take a few steps away from the body. Turning to Ace and Tyler, I say, “Okay. Let’s search this place and get out of here as quickly as possible.”
Because, though I don’t say it, I’ve already been away from Noelle far too long.
I know she’s still awake, waiting for me to come home to give her the news. Probably sitting up in bed, Bigfoot and Grizzle sitting beside her. I’m sure she’s worrying about the outcome. Worrying about me.
I can’t wait to see her. Kiss her. Hold her. And despite how it came about, I can’t wait to tell her it’s over. That Ken Donaldson will never hurt her again.