Page 134 of Dissection of a Murder
“Well,” she says, approaching me on the wide, ornate bridge we’ve walked over more times than I can count. The sound of the river rushing underneath is amplified around the park. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
She looks the same as she always did. Well, before she changed to look more like me. A blunt-cut black bob rests just above her shoulders, not quite skimming the fitted dark green coat she’s wearing.
“Cut the crap, Elise. Just tell me what you want.”
Her eyes widen, and a tiny smile appears on her face.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands,” she says. “You know why I’ve contacted you.”
“I know you have it,” I interrupt. “What’s the plan? Bribe me? Take the phone to the police?”
“Don’t you want to know how I got it? How I knew it was there?”
She’s playing with me. She’s waited a long time for this moment.Rule #8: Be Patient.Now she has her time for revenge, she wants to enjoy it.
“I can see you’re dying to tell me.”
“You see,thisis your problem, Delilah. You’re very clever—astoundingly so—but you get so wrapped up in your ownclevernessthat you miss things.” I watch the white, cold air leave her mouth and dance into the sky. “You didn’t see me the night you ran out of Innocence, did you?”
I’m taken aback.
“What?”
“This is the bit you’ll struggle with. It’s difficult to admit you made mistakes—you thought you’d been so discreet, didn’t you?”
There’s no point in denying any of it. Not with her.
“I saw you leaving one Friday night when I came to pick up my godson. He works at Innocence, too. Told me you went there every week at the same time and left at the same time, and I thought, ‘Hmm, why would a married woman be doing that?’ No. Why wouldyoube doing that?”
She performs every word with delight. She’s building up to something.
“I simply had to find out what you were up to, so I kept going every Friday to watch, and, sure enough, there you were. Bang on time. Just as Kit had said. Having an affair with the doorman.”
Anyone else would think this was mad, stalking someone week after week. Obsessive. But I understand. After everything that happened, I would have done the same. She’d found her opportunity, and she was going to take it.
“You always looked different leaving that place. Lighter. Actuallyhappy. I noticed it that very first Friday. But that night, you lookedterrible. Panicked. Naturally, I was intrigued. Delilah? Scared of something?
“I followed you to Pickford and watched you park just outside that house, fiddling with a phone. You didn’t get out of the car, you just sat there. And then you went straight to little old Audrey’s house, which I knew by then was very late for your usual visit. You went straight into the front bedroom. I watched from the road as you turned the light on.”
She’s right. I had missed all of this.How could I have been so fucking stupid?I’d been so wrapped up in dealing with Jack’s phone that I never even stopped to check if anyone was following me.
“None of it made sense until I saw the news the next day, when I saw that the doorman had been arrested for murder. I knew immediately you’d been involved. Not only that—my instincts told me you were the one who killed him. Getting someone else to confess to a crime you committed? Well, that’s exactly the kind of thing I knew you’d do. Because you can’t be trusted, can you, Delilah?”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap. “It’s not my name anymore. It’s not who I am.”
“You think a different name changes who you are?” She laughs, but it is callous. “I mean, bravo to you for fooling everyone. I was almost impressed, watching you play the humble, nice girl at that lecture you did at the school.”
I hate that she can see right through me.
“You’ve changed your hair, I see. Not too drastic. Again, clever. Let me guess—you couldn’t remain blonde, in case anyone saw you leave the club, but couldn’t go full-on brunette, as it’d be too obvious a transformation. What did we say? If you do something subtly over time, nobody realizes anything has changed.” She looks wild now, euphoric.
“What do you think your colleagues or followers would do if they knew the truth? About who you really are? The things you’ve done.”
“Enough! Stop this, please!” I plead. “What do you want from me? Money? Is that what it’ll take to get you to leave me alone?”
“Are you kidding? You’ve got to be. After what you did to us?”
And there it is. Elise’s wound. The one she’s been waiting to make me pay for.
