“Hunter, it will be fine. Go do your detecting shit.”
Taking in a deep breath, I shake my head and go back to the car. It takes me a while to work through the morning traffic to Jess’s apartment. The sandstone monster of a building seems all the more oppressive today. My heart makes itself known in my chest. What am I going to do if I find out she’s taken that money? Shit, I can’t believe I’ve got myself into this mess. Am I really doubting what her stepfather told me? Why waste money to send me on a fool’s errand? I weigh up what I know. She’s smart. With a head for numbers. She must be planning something. But it just doesn’t jive with the Jess I know and I’m not easily fooled.
I stomp up the stairs and pause in front of her door. No indication of forced entry or anything. I open the door, pausing to take a look around the cold apartment. Funny, it always seemed grim but without Jess in it’s like a wasteland. There’s no more letters waiting for her, no sign of the stranger from last night.
My search starts in the kitchen where I saw that mysterious letter. Still can’t find it but without the need to tiptoe around, I can do a decent exploration. Everything is clean from the tops of the cupboards to the grouting between the dingy tiles. Hardly the behaviour of a hardened criminal or someone planning to make a break for it. Given the sparse state of the kitchenette, it doesn’t take me long to finish searching.
The search of the sitting room proves fruitless and there’s nothing in the bathroom apart from the odd bandage or two. I try not to recall Jess’s soft fingers skimming my side and the way she chewed her lip with concern. What kind of a con woman plays nurse? Concentrate on the job, Hunter. Examine the place, find the money, then worry about what the hell to do with Jess.
Entering her bedroom brings make a whole load of memories—ones that make my blood zing through my veins. The pounding remorse surges through my brain and I have to shake it off. I rifle through her drawers, search on top of her closet and inside it but come up with nothing. Not even damned dust bunnies. I turn my attention to her bedside table. The one on the other side contains the pills I brought over, a bottle of perfume and some moisturizer of some kind. Now I have to tackle the cabinet on her side. This could be it and I’ve been putting it off for some reason. If she’s going to keep anything that will hint to where the money is, where better than by your side at night? My hand trembles a little as I open the drawer.
There, under several different varieties of make-up, is the letter I’d seen. I draw it out and study the address. Guildford. Where she’d been living before she came to London? Carefully I peel open the letter and slip it out. The paper is creased as if it’s been folded and refolded several times. Words are smeared and illegible, some ruined by the creases and others by what looks to be water. Tears perhaps? This has to mean something but what? Why keep a letter you can barely read?
I skim over it repeatedly to garner what I can. It’s an apology of some kind. Whoever wrote it didn’t know. Didn’t know what? Jess’s name is clear at the top but the ink disintegrates as it gets further down the page. My heart does a little jolt as I study one word. Carl, it says. Jess’s stepfather. Someone’s been writing to her about him. Other words start to come together now. The writer doesn’t blame Jess. She hopes she’ll move on with her life.
“Shit.” Sinking onto her bed, I shake my head. This has to be about the money.
I glance at the envelope again. I need to make a trip but it’s already nearly lunchtime so it will have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime I’m going to have to concentrate on not touching Jess. The gnawing ache in my chest tells me this letter is the key somehow. Everything is about to come unravelled and I’m not sure I really want that.
***