Page 79 of She Didn't See It Coming
But he has been holding out on her too. There’s his other, illegitimate business that he hasn’t yet told Alice about. He’s been meaning to. Maybe now is the time. If he tells her what he’s been up to, maybe she’ll tell him what she’s been up to. A quid pro quo.
He has a small handful of powerful and wealthy clients off book. They pay him handsomely for his specialty—data manipulation. He sneaks into a target company and alters its database by adding a couple of fictitious accounts so that his clients can gain access and spy on sensitive business information without the target being any the wiser. It’s a rather brilliant sideline, and he doesn’t want Detective Salter looking into him. He needs her to back off. He doesn’t want to appear like he’s anything other than a completely respectable businessman. He thinks about his growing offshore accounts.
But if it goes south, he’d be in a lot of trouble. From the law, obviously, and possibly also from his rich, powerful, and ruthless clients. To be safe, he has a go bag all packed, ready to start a new life if necessary. A new name, a new passport, new everything. Just like in the movies. Maybe it’s time for Alice to have a go bag too. That’s the great thing about cybercrime, Derek thinks to himself—you can live and work from anywhere.
He sits down at his desk and logs on to his computer.
•••
Sam had read the articletitledLocal Murder Case Takes Interesting Turnon the front page of this morning’s Sunday paper with a certain amount of satisfaction. It was nice to see that his rival and fellow suspect, Derek Gardner, has skeletons in his closet. Maybehe did murder his mother-in-law. Sam hopes so—he’s glad to have the media focusing on someone else for a change.
He paces the living room. He’s hardly left the apartment since all this began, except for his harrowing visits to the police station. He will have to take Clara to day care tomorrow though, if Lizzie or Paige doesn’t offer; he doesn’t relish the idea. The stares, the questions.
Paige had texted him this morning and offered to pick up some groceries for him and Clara. He’s grateful; he can’t imagine taking Clara out grocery shopping right now, being chased by a pack of media.
He thinks about last night, the detectives telling him about finding the clothes. How he’d scrambled to tell them that he’d hugged Bryden that morning. Why hadn’t he mentioned that before? It looked like something he’d suddenly added when they found the clothes. He knows they think he killed her. But if those are Bryden’s clothes—and they certainly looked like them—then he has a perfectly good explanation as to why transfer evidence from him might be on them.
He’d spoken to his attorney about it afterward outside the station in the parking lot. She hadn’t seemed too worried. She said it was something that they could handle if it ever came to that. She reminded Sam that he wasn’t under arrest.
But Sam can’t help worrying that that might change at any moment.
•••
Alice dons her disguise.
She puts on an oversize, shapeless, dark-blue jumpsuit, something Derek wears when he’s working on things around the house. She rolls up the sleeves and tucks the hems of the pants into her work boots, knowing that if she is seen going into Detective Salter’s apartment building, she won’t be recognized. She hides her long hair up under a baseball cap. If there are cameras in Salter’s building, she will spot them and govern herself accordingly.
It was easy enough to find out where Salter lived; you don’t live with a cybersecurity expert without learning some tricks. It’s Sunday and Alice already knows that the detective isn’t home. To be sure, she’d driven by the police station half an hour ago to make sure Salter’s car was in the parking lot. It was.
Derek doesn’t know what she’s doing. He’d gone off in a temper after their argument, probably to work at the office, as if he’d wanted time away from her. Alice gets into her car in the garage and drives to Salter’s address, a historic apartment building on Willet Avenue. Six stories with an awning out front. Vintage black-and-white-checkered marble floors in the entryway. Nice enough. She’d already checked it out online. She knows Salter is single, and that she has a boyfriend, Dr. Michael Fraser. She’s done her research. Like Alice, he has a job at the University at Albany, but he’s a lecturer in the Psych Department. There’s a chance he’s in the apartment. She’ll have to be careful.
First, she buzzes the apartment and doesn’t get an answer. She has to assume the boyfriend isn’t there. Getting into the building doesn’t take long. Someone comes out via the lobby and actually holds the door for her. Once she’s in, she takes the elevator to the fifth floor. Alice reaches Salter’s unit, checks for cameras but doesn’t spot any, and places her ear against the door to listen. Can’t be too careful. She doesn’t hear any sounds from within. The corridor is still empty. She pulls the nitrile gloves out of her pocket, puts them on. She makes short work of the lock. She’s inside within a little more than a minute.
With the door closed, she stands perfectly still, getting her bearings. All is quiet. To the left is a small kitchen, and in front of her is the living room. It’s spacious and nicely decorated, with a charming Art Deco fireplace. She may be a bitch, but at least she’s got style. Her estimation of Salter goes up a notch.
She walks quietly down the hall. The bedroom door is open. She pushes it wider with a gloved finger. The room is empty, the bed made.She checks the next room—it’s small, used as an office—and the bathroom. Having done the once-over, she can now get to work. She’s going to find out everything she can about Detective Salter.
She starts with the medicine cabinet. She finds a vial made out to Jayne Salter for escitalopram 20 mg. Interesting. The detective takes antidepressants, who knew? She finds birth control pills. Good-quality skin care products. She opens them, sniffs, puts them back.
She moves on to the bedroom. Opens the top drawer of the dresser and flicks through the detective’s underwear drawer. Pretty standard stuff, nothing too sexy. Oh, wait—she pulls out a couple of pairs of daringly cut lace panties, one hot pink, one black. Probably a gift from the boyfriend, she thinks. She’ll remember this if she’s ever interviewed by Detective Salter again.I’ve seen your underwear.
She looks under the bed, and then under the mattress, but there’s nothing there. On the nightstand she finds a couple of novels—Wolf Hallby Hilary Mantel, on top ofA Gentleman in Moscowby Amor Towles. She puts them back down, side by side. She can’t resist messing with the detective a little.
She checks all the clothes hanging in the closet, rifles through the pockets. Looks through the shoeboxes on the shelf above. She’s not looking for anything in particular. She just wants to get to know her enemy better.
53
Lizzie lies in bed on her side. She stares at her computer across the room on her desk, without lifting her head from the pillow. She feels its pull.
It’s quiet beyond her bedroom door. She heard her mother leave a while ago. She doesn’t know where she went. She doesn’t care. But she thinks her father is still here.
She gets up and makes her way out to the kitchen. Her father is sitting at the table reading the newspaper, which he sets aside. He smiles tentatively at her, but doesn’t give her the third degree, the way her mother would.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says simply. No accusations. No frantic questions. It’s a relief. She pours herself a coffee and sits down with him at the table. It’s well past lunchtime.
“You want anything to eat?” he asks.
“No.” She has no appetite. “Where’s Mom?”
