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“You are not leaving my sight,” Gray said.
“Why? This is good information.”
“You think this is good? No.” Gray shook his head.
“He protects women, not hurts them. You heard him. He’s basically Batman.”
“What?” Gray asked incredulously.
“Seriously. Think about it. Ben’s a rich, good-looking, vigilante. He’s basically Batman.”
“He cleans up murders and hides evidence. He doesn’t care if the person is guilty or not.”
“He beat up the CEO’s son. Vig-i-lante.” I dragged out the last word in a high-pitched, sing-song voice.
“You still aren’t leaving my sight.”
“Fine. What’s next?” I asked.
“You ice your foot, and then we are going out.”
“On a date?” I asked eagerly.
“Not like one you’ve ever had before.” Gray’s grin melted my heart.
“But, I have a plan.” It had been forming during the phone call. I just needed to talk Gray into it.
“Do I want to know?” I hobbled over to my travel bag. Years ago, I wrote an article on an old locksmith. He was rumored to be a thief before turning his life around and opening his business. We hit it off. He was old and cranky, and I loved old people. He pretended to be irritated by my presence and questions, but by the end, he had gifted me a set of lockpicks. I pulled them out and held them up in front of Gray.
“You want to break into someplace.”
“Yes, but there is a problem.”
“What?” Gray asked. He sat on the end of the bed, eyeing me warily.
“What was your idea for the day?” I asked him, distracting him from his questioning.
“A hunting excursion.”
“We’re in the city.” I pointed out.
“Perfect place to hunt a human, then.”
“Ben,” I said. Gray touched his nose with the tip of his finger indicating my right answer. “Where do we start?”
“His apartment. I got the address from my uncle.”
“Who is your uncle, by the way?” I asked.
“We’ll get to that. You ready?” Gray stood up waving his hand toward the door. “I'll be right behind you. I just need to grab a few things.”
Ben lived in an old brownstone in Lincoln Park. It wasn’t surprising; Lincoln Park was known for money. The rent was higher there in an already high-rent city. I’d always avoided the area because I didn’t care for the attitude. Superiority was an essence sprayed on like perfume. The building was well maintained from the outside. I bet the inside had been gutted and completely modernized though. Ben never liked inconveniences in his living spaces.
"Let's ring all of the apartments," I suggested.
"Why?" Gray asked while paying the cabbie, leaving us alone on the front walk.
"Two reasons. One, if nobody is home, then there won't be witnesses if we break in. Two, if someone is home, we can ask questions. Either way, it’s a win-win."
I walked up to the front door and pushed every button multiple times. The building is four stories with four apartments listed. I was going out on a limb here, but I thought there was one unit per floor. Like I said, just a guess, though.
"Are you trying to annoy someone? It’s not the best way to get them to answer your questions," Gray said.
"No answer anyway. I wanted to be sure they heard the buzzer." I headed around back. It was a safe bet that there would be stairways connecting all of the units with back porches. It was a Chicago staple.
I walked up the stairs with Gray following me. I used the handrails to help keep weight off my foot. It was better but still sore. Liam lived on the top floor. I felt extra exposed without the cover of another deck over us. I checked for any prying eyes before I squatted down and pulled out the lockpicks.
"What are you doing?" Gray asked.
"Picking the lock." Duh. This is the problem I distracted Gray from earlier. I own lockpicks but have no idea how to use them.
I laid the set out on the deck, trying to guess which piece to use. It seemed easy and straightforward enough on TV shows.
Gray leaned against the building, arms crossed, looking down at me. “Picking the lock? And where did you learn this neat little trick?”
“Truth? I don’t know how. Is it obvious?” Gray laughed in response.
"Get out of my way." Gray nudged me aside, still laughing. He pulled a key ring out of his pocket, along with a screwdriver. Choosing one of the keys, he put it in the lock and hit the head of the key with the handle of the screwdriver. After tapping the key four times, it turned, unlocking the door.
"You gonna tell me what that is, why you have it, and how I can get one?" I asked.
"It’s a bump key, Nancy Drew. And I have it because you never know when you might need it." He opened the door, sweeping out his arm. "Ladies first."
I walked past him but turned back to ask a question. “Did you know I wouldn’t be able to get in with the lockpicks?” At his nod, I continue. “But, you let me try anyway?”
“Where would the pleasure be in not watching you fumble?”
“Good point. What are we looking for anyway?"
He entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “You wanted to break in. We’re in. Now it’s all you.” He finished the sentence with a wink.
“I think we should try to find anything to tell us who his client is and what the job is he’s being paid for.”
“We don’t know that he is on the job.”
“You think he was searching Peter’s place out of the goodness of his heart?” I asked.
"I don't know exactly. I figured we could start with the obvious places. I'll go through Ben’s stuff, while you look through his computer."
"Sounds good. Put these on." He handed me a pair of latex gloves and then pulled on a pair for himself too. "You can never be too careful."
"Why do you have these? Are you a professional burglar and I just don't know about it?"
"Always be prepared. Boy Scout motto," Gray said.
"What else do you have hiding in those cargo shorts?" I asked. The gloves were too big for me, but Gray was right, better safe than sorry.
"Wouldn't you like to know?” he said with a grin. “Now, get to work. I don't want to stay long."
I headed for the bedroom, making a mental list of the places to look. Ben kept a neat apartment. The surfaces of his dresser and nightstand were clear of clutter, and the bed was neatly made. I opened the nightstand drawer and rooted around. Like most of us, the drawer had become a catch-all for random items: pen, notebook, condoms, and a magazine. I picked up the notebook, hoping for a diary, but it was nothing but random notes to self: grocery items and to-do things.
The dresser held no clues either. The females I knew all kept secret items in their underwear drawers, but Ben’s was empty except for actual underwear. The most interesting item there was a Speedo. Other than competitive swimmers, who actually wore those?
I checked between the mattresses, under the bed, and behind everything . . . Clean. Nothing, nada. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but it was easy to know what you weren't looking for when everything was empty. I gave up and moved to the other room, maybe Gray was having more luck.
"Anything out here?" I asked as I headed for the kitchen.
"He has spyware on his computer monitoring the pub computer." Gray plugged a memory stick into Ben's computer and started copying files. He wasn't kidding when he said he came prepared.
“Peter would find that interesting.”
"We can go through the files at home. Have you found anything?"
"Nope, nothing. I've checked everywhere in his bedroom." I opened the refrigerator. Typical bachelor: some soda, vodka, beer, and condiments. My fridge always looked the same, since I couldn't cook. Empty. I mean, when I had one.
"Crappy vodka," I mumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing," I said. Gray followed me into the kitchen.
"Regan, you are looking through his things like a girl. Guys don't hide stuff in their 'panty drawers.'" He squatted down, opening the cabinet under the sink.
"Guys hide stuff in plain sight. Behind pictures, in the freezer, under the sink, in hollowed-out books. Things like that. Plus, you watch too much TV. I bet you were hoping to find a diary." He looked over his shoulder at me, but I turned away before he could see my guilty look.
I turned back to the bedroom. A diary would've been nice, but Gray had a point. I looked around the bedroom like a guy. Two prints hung on the walls, and a large lamp stood on the nightstand. I walked over and shook the lamp. Something banged against the sides. Sure enough, Gray was right. The bottom of the lamp had been cut out, and inside was an extra clip for a gun. I hadn’t found a gun in my search, but then again, according to Gray, I didn’t do it well the first time.
Now for the pictures. I pulled the first one down, but nothing was behind it. The second one, I hit pay dirt. A thin folder holding a few pieces of paper was wedged into the back of the frame. I quickly scanned the papers and put them in my purse. Kate Spade hobo bags come in handy when pillaging someone's apartment.
"Regan, come here," Gray said. His voice sounded urgent. I followed the sound back to the kitchen.
"You are good at this. I found Ben’s bullets. Haven’t found a gun though." I held up the clip to show him.
"Forget that. What was Anya stabbed with?" Gray asked.
"Liam said it was a spike of some sort, not a knife. Why?"
I turned the corner to find Gray sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the sink cabinet. He had everything pulled out in front of him but was holding a spray paint can upside down. My first thought was wondering how Ben got a spray paint can since they are illegal in the city; my second was “Oh.”
Gray had pulled off the bottom of the can, revealing the hollowness of the inside. In his other hand, he held a plastic Ziploc baggie. Taking a closer look, it seemed to be a bloody . . . pen? I bent down to get a better look. It wasn’t just any pen; it was the missing pen from the set in Peter's office at the pub. The pens were old-fashioned and solid. One could easily be used to stab someone. They were sturdy and came to a sharp point, making them a handy weapon in a pinch.
"We need to call Liam." I met his eyes.
"Regan, we need to leave. Now." Gray’s eyes showed the urgency he felt.
"Okay, and then can we call Liam?”
"Later." We hastily cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and hightailed it out of there. I mentally said a thank you for Gray's forethought on wearing gloves. We locked the door behind us, exiting without leaving a trace. Or even a fingerprint.