Page 23 of Done Dirty

He closed the file cabinet drawer and joined me in the closet, crouching beside the safe. “Combination lock.”

“Maybe he’s got the code written down somewhere.”

Jack stood and moved to the desk. He pulled the top drawer out and emptied it on top of the desk—pens, a stapler, business cards, and a Form and Flow Pilates credit card in Wade’s name. Then he turned the drawer over and checked the back side.

“If you put on your psychology hat how would you profile our victim?” I asked.

Jack had a master’s degree in psychology. It came in handy when we were working various cases. It wasn’t so handy when we were having a marital disagreement.

“Narcissistic personality, almost certainly.” He moved to the second drawer. “Classic profile. Charming on the surface, very controlled underneath. The OCD isn’t random—it’s about power. Everything in its place, everything on his terms. The women, the schedule, the safe hidden in the closet. I guarantee he didn’t just sleep with random women. He was precise in his choices. Each one served a purpose. And he didn’t worry about them coinciding because he managed them to the same degree he managed everything else in his life.”

He checked the underside of the next drawer and then reached inside the cavity to run his hands along the back and sides.

“He was arrogant,” I said. “He thought he’d never get caught. He probably underestimated the women he was juggling. You and I both know scorned women are some of the best detectives out there. What they can track down online is pretty impressive.”

Jack grunted in agreement.

“So here’s my question,” I said. “Why Paige? Moving a woman in with him messes with the system he created. It’s not his MO.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. He pulled the bottom drawer open. There were more office supplies and printer paper. He pulled the whole drawer free of the desk and flipped it over.

A sticky note was taped to the bottom. Six digits, written in Wade’s precise hand.

“Even people like Wade are predictable,” Jack said. “Everyone likes to think they’re unique, but in the end, even when we feel like we choose the option that others wouldn’t, we still fall into a specific human behavior pattern. It’s why all those personality tests have a slot for everyone.”

“What about serial killers and sociopaths?” I asked.

“They usually fit in those personality slots the best. A good sociopath is generally a high-functioning member of society.”

“Always comforting to know things like that.”

Jack smiled and went back to the closet and knelt in front of the safe. I stood in the doorway and watched him dial the combination, the soft click of each tumbler falling into place. He paused on the last digit, looked up at me, and turned it.

The latch released with a solid thunk.

“Bingo,” he said.

Jack swung the door open and we both looked in.

I gave a low whistle. “Well now. Things just got very interesting.”

“The dead body with the knife in his groin wasn’t interesting enough?”

Inside sat three stacks of cash, each one bank banded and at least two inches thick. Beside them was an iPhone Pro in a plain black case, and on the other side, a small leather notebook with a snap closure.

Jack picked up one of the cash stacks and flipped through it without breaking the band. “This is a lot of money to keep in a closet safe.”

“Weird he kept it at work and not at home,” I said.

He set the cash back exactly where he’d found it and picked up the notebook. He unsnapped the closure and opened it.

“What is it?” I asked.

He turned it toward me. The pages were dense with names—first names only, sometimes just initials, written down the left margin. Each entry was in one of four ink colors. Black. Red. Blue. Green. Beside some of the names was a dollar sign. Beside others, a check mark. A handful had a small star.

“It’s a system,” Jack said.

“Of course it is,” I said. “He’s a man of consistency.”