She leaves us alone while she goes through her slips. Kace leans back, extending his arm over the spine of the sofa.
“They treat this place like a hotel for clothes.” Kace finds it amusing. “Guess that’s what happens when someone’s wardrobe costs more than an average person’s car.”
The Upper Lehigh Area reminds me of the Upper East Side, but less expensive to live in and a little more withdrawn from the population. The long street lasts for over seventy blocks, separated by the Lehigh Station. Danger increases the further south one travels, and wealth increases the further north. Crossover between opposite sides is rare, except in mid-Lehigh—the central area, or the ten blocks on either side of the station.
“He sent a few more.” Kace shows me the images.
“I thought he only had one?” I swipe my finger over the screen and find two additional shots that appear to be taken consecutively: one using the front camera and one using the back. The one using the front caught some of the road. “Can Frank run these plates?”
“Cap texted me and said they were going to go through the CCTV footage, but it would make sense to start with the six or seven on here.” He takes the phone and sends off the message for them to get a head start. “I don’t think we’re going to get anything here.”
“Me neither.” I glance over my shoulder toward the partition. The small woman is going through each slip one by one. “He wouldn’t have dropped the suit off himself, risking someone who could ID him directly and getting caught on surveillance.”
“Maybe he slipped up.”
“No. Why use couriers if you’re going to show your face?”
“It could have been another job on BlackBoard.”
I agree, “It could have been a lot of jobs on BlackBoard or on another application. If I were him, I’d split them up.”
Kace smirks. “Thinking like a criminal?”
“Sometimes it’s easier to think like them than to think my own thoughts.”
Kace reaches for my knee and squeezes softly. “I’m glad this is helping. I haven’t forgotten how much I missed talking about things with you.”
Luckily, we’re interrupted. “Here it is!” she squeals and excitedly rushes toward us. “This is the one.”
“Have they picked it up?” Kace memorizes the date on the upper right-hand corner. The pick-up date is today. I highly doubt someone is coming for the suit.
“No, sir.”
“Do you recognize this person?”
“No, this was a first-time client, I think. I didn’t recognize her face.” She points to the time and date on the slip, then up at the ceiling above the partition. “I can get a video for you.”
I thought it was just decoration. Mentioning it would reduce cooperation, so I keep the tidbit to myself.
Kace nods. “That would be much appreciated.” Once the woman disappears again, Kace leans forward and whispers, “She said her.”
“Yes, I heard that too.” Among other things. “More than likely, it’s another courier, but you have the time and date. Maybe we can trace backward and create a timeline or establish a pattern.”
“If he’s using more than one for every delivery, this is going to be hard to pin, unless at some point they see his face.”
“Hopefully, the videos will help us narrow something down."
6
Session Two
Eleanor Devero
Monday afternoon, Kace dropped me off at Nolan’s office before he went back to the precinct to do reports on everything and debrief with Frank. Nolan’s receptionist escorted me in to wait for the doctor. After thanking her, I headed over to the large window to look out at the world below. We were pretty high up, and the people looked like small figurines placed randomly on a Monopoly board.
All of them roll the dice on life, taking chances and trying to survive, like the kid at the hotel. The police caught him yesterday, delivering a paper bag full of drugs to a homeless man on the street. Kace had ordered surveillance on both Anthony and the cleaner’s while they figured out courier number three. A false name had been given for the check-in slip, but the number remains active. No doubt an amateur. They’re chasing it down and comparing it to the footage.
As for the cleaner’s lie, I wonder if it has something to do with the drug ring. Had they escalated to the North side to be less suspicious? Does it have to do with the pregnancy clinic and the hollowed-out fake bellies?
The mind of a cop has been intrigued, spinning on its wheels and winding through time to draw connections and replay events. But not for the right reasons. Revenge is still the prominent force driving my ticker.
Anthony’s situation irks me. Not only did I know something was off with him and the paper bag, and the size of his bag, but he also kept checking it out. I can’t stop thinking of his family.
I’m sympathizing with criminals, which further adds to my horrible cop repertoire. If he told me the truth the other day, then his siblings are going into foster care. I admit, adoption crossed my mind, but it would be unethical in this case. Not that I’m very ethical in anything lately. To ignore my conscience, insisting on burrowing a hole through my frontal lobe, I rub the space between my brows in circular motions.
“Everything all right, Eleanor?”
I glance back to find the therapist standing near the door. He is dressed in trousers and a light gray twill jacket with a black button-up underneath. Reading glasses hide his tired eyes today. The coat fits snuggly around his upper arms. He isn’t muscular, but he’s built—sturdy—and nerdy.
Sturdy-nerdy, I joke to myself and crack a smile. “All right probably wouldn’t land me in your office, Dr. Mills.”
“Nolan, please.” He unbuttons the two center buttons and removes his jacket, before draping it over the back of his desk chair. “Shall we get started?”
“Are you all right? You look tired.”
He squints narrowly and bobs his head before taking a seat. “I’ve had a long weekend, but thank you for noticing.”
The way he says noticing causes the fine hairs on the back of my neck to protest, but I ignore them and take a seat.
I’m always on edge here. It still makes my body shiver to know he’s spending an hour analyzing me. I take my usual seat on the cool leather couch, perfectly parallel to his armchair and the coffee table … and the rug beneath that table.
The photos on the wall are pristinely straight. Guess he has a thing with straight lines.
“Feel free to make yourself comfortable, Eleanor.”
“You can call me Elle or Ellie. No one really calls me by my given name.” I tuck my hands underneath my thighs and glance around. The office looks exactly the same, but he moved the coat rack from behind the door over to the window. Was he checking to see if I’d open it and step out on a ledge?
“Elle, how have you been since Thursday?”
That’s a loaded question, thus there’s no direct response to it. “Friday, we spent most of the time working out details of the case, and I stickied-up the house. I mean, all that was left was sticking one on his di—manhood.” My hand floats up to my disheveled hair, twirling a loose strand between my fingers.