There was a buzzing noise, then the click of the double glass doors unlocking.
I rolled the suitcase to a small elevator off the shabby lobby and took the quick, rickety ride to the second floor. Before reaching Alex’s unit, I extracted the large silver wrench from the suitcase’s front pocket. The one I’d found in the red toolbox beneath Natalie’s kitchen sink.
What happened next unfolded like a dream that I watched from outside myself, my consciousness a numb, impassive witness while my body did the work.
Alex, at the door, silky blue shorts and a white tank top.
A single, solid thud to the head before a scream could erupt from her delicate face.
The twitching of an arm, the fluttering of an eyelid, on the parquet floor of a tiny, studio apartment.
A pillow from the bed—kinder, not so messy—to finish the job.
The underwear that I’d found on Natalie’s closet floor (extremely irresponsible when you have a dog) shoved into Alex’s sheets. Another pair left in the hamper. A clump of hair from Natalie’s brush stuffed into the shower drain, her toothbrush tucked into the top drawer of the bathroom vanity.
A Nokia burner phone—the twin to Ian’s—sitting on a nightstand, stashed in a crossbody bag.
Surfaces wiped.
Suitcase… packed.
A blonde in a face mask and a black hoodie tugging it, two-handed, back to the elevator.
Leveraging it with all her might against the back bumper of a red hatchback to get it inside.
Then, finally, driving north out of the city, to a perfect house, in a perfect place.
36
I have never seen Ian look so afraid. I almost wish I could take a photo and show him.
“You remember the Murder Mansion, right?” I say, still seated on the sofa.
His expression contorts. He croaks out a single word: “What?”
“Come on, you remember. The one nobody would buy after they found those poor people slaughtered inside?”
Sweat slicks his forehead, his skin unnervingly gray. He hunches over the sink now, as if he might get sick.
“Erika reminded me about it the other day,” I explain, “and then I saw your girlfriend in front of our building. So I thought, sure, why not take care of that problemandkill the competition for the house all at once?” I shrug. “You know I’ve always been a multitasker.”
“I… I’m calling the police,” he chokes out. “You’re out of your mind.”
I figured he’d react like this. But he’ll come to his senses.
“I think you should stop and seriously consider how that’ll work out for you. I mean, do you really want to raise your hand andvolunteer that you were fucking the dead girl? You know it’s the boyfriend like 99.99 percent of the time, right?”
He stares at me, unblinking, and takes a hard swallow.
“Oh, and that reminds me, we’ll need to get rid of your new burner”—I let my eyes wander over him—“wherever you’re keeping it.”
Whatever guilt I might’ve felt when I first heard Alex’s voice crackle through that intercom dissolved as soon as I scrolled through her phone. They’d been texting that whole night, while I was upstairs at Natalie’s. Ian’s old Nokia is out of battery and stashed inside the drawer of my nightstand, so it was obvious he’d gone out and bought another one. Asshole.
“But Alex…” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, beating back a wave of nausea. “Alex had one, too,” he manages to get out.
“You think I don’t already have it?”
His face relaxes for a split second, before tensing up again: “My DNA will be everywhere.”
