“Well, a hospital bed did roll right over that nurse, killing her. And Margot Chasseur remains missing, as does the assistant. They found her car at the airport, right?”
“That part I can’t speak to. I just hope the ending works, given the circumstances. That it matches up with everything that came before it.”
“Oh, yes. I mean, the voice is different, but that’s the point, right? Gerry Andersen writing in the voice of his insane nurse, pretending to be her, then editing her. I love how lurid it all is. Anyway, I’ll submit to five editors in the first round. I think women will vibe more to the material.”
“How quickly do you think this will go?”
“Oh, I’ll sell this in less than a week. It’s Gerry Andersen’s last book, written in collaboration with his niece. I mean—I know you wrote only the last bit, but there’s no harm in pumping up your contributions. And including an author photo of you—that won’t hurt. No, that won’t hurt at all.”
Kim smiles, lowers her eyes with pretend shyness. Is Thiru flirting with her? How unprofessional. Can these old tigers ever change their stripes?
“Thank you, Thiru. I know I’m in good hands here.”
“I’d like to push for a two-book contract. Do you think you have another book in you?”
“Maybe. Let’s see what they offer for just the one, then talk.”
Kim leaves Thiru’s office. It’s a splendid September day, the platonic ideal of fall, perfect for walking. Good thing, because she is staying with a friend near Fort Tryon Park and she can’t afford a cab. But she will be able to take cabs, and soon. For now, she will walk until she tires, then hop on the subway to complete the trip.
The day that Gerry died—her first and only instinct was to get out of there, away from those crazy people. She had grabbed her suitcase, made sure the door locked behind her, and left the building through the parking garage, which was how Leenie had brought her in, come to think of it. Had Leenie really intended to harm her? Why had she invited Kim to Baltimore, hiding her identity—and true intentions—behind Gerry’s email address? Where were the letters that Kim had written to Gerry last year? Kim sat in a small park near the apartment for almost an hour, trying to figure out what she should do.
Finally, she returned to the building and presented herself to the front desk, announcing she was Gerry Andersen’s niece from Ohio and he was expecting her. After all, he had bought her the ticket, had he not? When no one answered the front desk ’s call, she insisted that someone go upstairs and let her in. He was expecting her, he was confined to bed because of an injury, maybe something had happened. The put-upon woman at the front desk finally agreed to send a custodian up with Kim.
She let the poor man discover the bodies at the bottom of the steps, quickly pocketing the Moleskine notebook that Gerry had thrown to the floor. She had tried, as unobtrusively as possible, to snoop for her letters, but she didn’t find them, not that day. Later, when she was allowed back into the apartment, she unearthed what must have been Aileen’s hiding place, a duffel bag deep in the master bedroom’s walk-in closet, overlooked by the blessedly lazy detectives. The duffel was full of objects; Leenie was quite the magpie, stockpiling shiny things and rare first editions. Here was the Birkin, the phone case, and, yes, Kim’s letters. She understood why Leenie had kept Margot’s things, which were beautiful and exquisite, but Kim had no problem tossing them in a dumpster outside a nearby construction site. As for her letters, she shredded them.
There also was a manuscript, but Kim had read that already, having discovered a copy on Gerry’s computer. It surprised her that the computer was of no interest to the homicide detectives who had investigated Gerry’s death, how uninterested they were in motive or reason. But that was to her benefit, too, as it never occurred to them to request the elevator tapes that would have shown her arriving with Leenie earlier. For them, the scene was all physics and sequence, trajectories and blood splatter. Aileen was clearly killed first, her larynx crushed by the bed. Gerry had suffered a fatal head injury when he was thrown from the bed to the floor. Scuff marks on the upper floor, the walker lying on its side—that indicated how he had managed to move the heavy bed.
Oh, they had spoken to Kim at length, and it had been hard not to demand a lawyer, but she assumed insisting on one—lawyering up, as they said on TV—would be suspicious. Luckily, the truth was more or less on her side. She had arrived that afternoon from Columbus, on a ticket paid for by her uncle, who had only recently come into her life. Email supported that. He wanted to discuss her grandfather’s inheritance with her. Why had it taken her so long to arrive at the apartment from the airport, which was only a twenty-minute drive? She said she had tried to use public transportation and screwed up horribly, ended up walking a good portion of the way. She was proud of that invention—if police really did check her cell phone’s GPS and determined she was in the neighborhood, it would be consistent. She knew all about cell towers from one of her favorite true-crime podcasts.
Ultimately, the police ruled it a homicide “abated by death” and a state’s attorney closed the case: a man had killed a woman, accidentally killing himself in the process. “Weirder things have happened,” one of the detectives told Kim when she followed up. “You should see this Wikipedia page on bizarre deaths.” No one could figure out why he had killed her, or if it had anything to do with his missing girlfriend and assistant. Again, the why of it was of no interest to the detectives. It was speculated that Gerry had been paranoid and possibly delusional after his fall in January—consulting a private detective, then a neurologist. It appeared that he had been taking some medications that were not prescribed, possibly in dangerous combinations, although tox screens showed nothing and an autopsy found that the only damage to Gerry’s brain was from the injury that killed him. If Gerry had lived to see how his death was treated by some Internet outlets, he would have killed himself.
Kim felt she was doing Gerry a favor of sorts when she finished the manuscript she found in his computer. Giving him the last word, rescuing him from being a morbid punch line, another bizarre death logged on the Wikipedia page of bizarre deaths, a terrible thing Kim wishes she could unsee. She is especially haunted by the little boy whose head got stuck in the floor of a rotating restaurant. Why had the detective told her about that list? God, men can be awful.