Page 26 of She Didn’t See It Coming

Jayne and Kilgour look down at the suitcase they’d last seen in the storage locker.

They’re in the lab, and Jonathan Fell, the head of the Forensic Investigation Unit, is staring at it with them.

The suitcase is a burgundy, hard-sided Samsonite.

It’s completely plain, except for a small, partially scraped-off sticker on one side, though there’s still a bit of red and yellow remaining.

Fell says, “Of course the husband’s fingerprints are all over it, as it’s his suitcase.

The wife’s prints are there too. And a whole host of others, as you might expect, considering how much luggage is handled.

It’s going to take time to process them all.

We might get some to check against a suspect, if we’re lucky.

But I wouldn’t hold your breath; the killer probably wore gloves. ”

Jayne nods.

Fell continues, “We haven’t found anything else on or in the suitcase, or anything useful from the storage locker area—lots of prints to process and eliminate, but again, I’m guessing the killer wore gloves.

We weren’t able to recover any usable footprints from the cement floor either.

The apartment—same thing. Lots of fingerprints—we’re processing them and then we’ll have to compare them to the victim, husband, the family, and friends—and eliminate anyone who could legitimately have been in the apartment and see if there’s anyone left.

Same with hair and fibers.” He adds, “It was an exceptionally clean murder.” He pauses and says, “Almost as if the body and the suitcase were carefully vacuumed. We’re checking the contents of the vacuum cleaner bag, of course. ”

“Ginny says she was probably smothered with a plastic bag.”

He nods. “There was no obvious plastic bag left on the scene. There was a drawer of used plastic bags in the kitchen, and we’re going through those looking for any signs of mucous or skin cells—in case the killer used the bag and then stuffed it back in the kitchen drawer, but I think whoever did this was too smart for that.

Probably took it with them. That, and the clothes. ”

Jayne can’t help but be disappointed.

“The suitcase is on wheels, which makes it relatively easy to transport, but it would have taken someone of considerable strength to overcome her and lift a dead body and fold her into that suitcase. It’s harder than it looks.

” He adds, “It could have been either a man or a woman, as long as they were strong enough. My guess is a man, though. Dumping her like that? So dismissive.”

Jayne nods. “Someone took her out of that apartment and down to the storage locker. We’ve got to hope somebody saw the killer with that suitcase.

But so far, no one has admitted to seeing anything.

And it’s cold outside, so no one would have thought it was odd, seeing someone wearing gloves. ” She adds, “Anything else?”

He muses, “It’s almost like it was done professionally.”

“What do you mean?” Jayne asks.

“I mean—it’s the perfect crime. They’ve left no evidence behind. Whoever did this was either very clever or very lucky.”

As they leave, Jayne finds herself mulling over that line. “Either very clever or very lucky—what do you think, Kilgour?”

“Maybe both.”

It’s true, Jayne thinks. Even the cleverest murderer needs to have luck on his side if he’s to get away with it. Was this one so lucky that no one saw him in the building with the suitcase? In Jayne’s experience, luck always runs out.

···

Derek Gardner sits in his office at home in front of three large computer monitors.

The atmosphere at home has been tense ever since those damn detectives showed up unannounced at their door this morning.

Derek is quietly furious at them. Furious at the situation.

He’s even rather furious with his lovely wife, who doesn’t seem to believe him when he tells her he had nothing to do with the death of this woman.

The interview had been an inconvenience.

He thinks he performed well. He always does.

He’s often thought that he could have been an actor.

He’s got the looks. But he couldn’t abide the appalling lack of privacy that successful actors have to live with.

He couldn’t do that. He prefers to live a little under the radar.

When he’d come out of the interview, he’d thanked his attorney, taken Alice by the arm in a sanguine fashion, and directed her to the car without a word. Once they were inside the Tesla, she turned to him with her big eyes and said, “Well?”

“We have nothing to worry about,” he said. “They only wanted to question me because I’d met her recently, and we’d exchanged contact information, that’s all.” He added, “Waste of time.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why did that detective think you’d been involved with her? Because she certainly did seem to think that.”

“She said she had information, but the attorney says she was just fishing, making shit up. You know as well as I do that police are allowed to tell lies in interviews. They do it all the time.”

“So that’s the end of it?” Alice said.

“I hope so,” he’d replied.

But she’d banged around the house in a sulk for a while until she announced that she was going to go shopping and that he’d better prepare himself for a large Visa bill.

“Fine,” he said agreeably and kissed her goodbye. He doesn’t mind a large Visa bill. If he knows his wife, she will be out buying shoes, and lingerie for makeup sex tonight—he certainly can’t complain about that.

He tries to focus on the work in front of him on his computer. But he finds it difficult—as much as he’d like to, he can’t stop thinking about that detective. Something about her makes him think of a pit bull. He dislikes pit bulls.

···

Alice tries on a lot of shoes. She’s wearing a short skirt that shows off her legs, and she poses in front of the mirror in the shop, this way and that, admiring the various shoes, considering how they make her feel.

In the end she buys three pairs of high heels.

Her favorite are the red patent leather.

She already has red patent leather, but oh well.

She stops for a coffee to reenergize, and as she sips her cappuccino, her expensive purchases piled on the chair beside her, she thinks about her husband.

What has he been up to? she wonders. Perhaps nothing.

Or perhaps he’s been having an affair with this woman, and perhaps he killed her.

On the bright side, at least that means it’s over.

On the other hand, it means he’s lying to her, and he promised her he would never lie to her again. Not after last time.

She can’t help it. She pulls out her phone and looks online again for the photograph of Bryden Frost. She is very beautiful.

Or at least she was. She isn’t anymore. But Alice is still here, very much alive, and after she finishes her coffee, she’s going to go buy some new lingerie that will drive Derek mad with lust.

But should she have to do that? It makes her a little angry.

She loves lingerie, and she loves sex, but she’d prefer not to feel this constant pressure to do things to keep him.

It shouldn’t have to take so much effort.

When she’s with him she feels completely confident; she knows that she is all he wants, that she has absolute control over him.

But when she’s not with him, when he’s out of her sight, she’s not so sure.

Maybe there’s some other woman who thinks she is all he wants.

He has a way of making you feel that way in the moment.

She’s a control freak, she knows that. They’ve talked about that, about her issues. Well, everyone has issues, she’s not the only one. He has issues too. But it’s not like they can go for professional counseling. She smiles a little at the idea. What would a psychologist make of them?

The thing is, he’s out of her sight quite a lot.

Enough that he was able to meet this woman—at a fender bender, not at a party or a bar, and the accident wasn’t his fault—and to get her contact information and meet her again.

What might have happened from there? He might have never seen her again, like he says.

Or he might have asked if he could buy her a drink.

There might have been chemistry. He might have leaned over and kissed her, instantly sweeping her off her feet. She knows what his kisses are like.

Did Bryden Frost wear heels? Alice wonders.

Impossible to tell when all she has to go on is one headshot from the news.

Maybe she’ll ask him, Alice thinks acidly.

She continues with her musings. He might have asked the dead woman over to their house, that day they met at the coffee shop.

It’s a spectacular house, and no one can fail to be impressed by it. He is a bit of a show-off.

She might have said yes. It’s not far from the coffee shop he said they met at.

There are no cameras on their house, he hadn’t wanted to bother, and now she asks herself why.

Wasn’t that a bit odd for someone who works in cybersecurity?

She’d thought maybe it was worth getting one of those doorbell cameras because of all the packages that arrive, but he put her off.

Why? Did he have women coming to the house?

She hadn’t thought so. The one she knows about he took to a hotel.

Alice has a pretty good nose—surely she would know if he’d brought her to the house.

And he wouldn’t have another woman in their bed.

He wouldn’t dare. He’s not stupid. But there’s the guest suite downstairs.

He could fuck whoever he wanted down there, and she wouldn’t know.

She decides that when she gets home, she will tear that bed apart to make sure he’s telling the truth. He can’t do this to her.

They have a deal.

He wouldn’t be where he is today if it wasn’t for her. He owes her.

She won’t be putting up with any more fucking around.