“His fingerprints were on the photo where someone had burned out her fiancé’s face. When we questioned him about it, he finally admitted to sending it.”
A little moan came from Ahanti. She must feel a lot like I would if I found out that she’d been doing something like this to me.
Except we’d suspected Terrance might have sent that single messages but not any of the others. “Were his fingerprints on any of the other messages?”
“We’re still processing them. Many of them are so old that we’re not expecting anything other than smudged partials.”
Even if some of those belonged to Terrance, it didn’t mean he’d written them. Ahanti could have shown them to him before taking them home. My prints would be on many of them from when we’d sorted them out.
We needed something more solid before we could be confident that Ahanti was safe and this was over. DeGoey didn’t have the same personal stakes.
“What about ties to Cary’s murder?”
“When we started investigating the murder, one of the victim’s clients said they’d heard him arguing with a black man about money. They picked Terrance Moore out of a lineup this afternoon.”
That made it a lot more likely that Terrance had been behind this all along.
“I’m confident he’s our guy,” DeGoey said. “More now than ever thanks to you finding that camera. Our background check into him showed he did one year of Computer Science at Northern Virginia Community College, and his apartment was full of gadgets. Probably what he was spending all the money he was borrowing from the victim on. He even had a high-tech drone that my guys say has to be worth nearly five grand. Once I get ahold of that camera your people found, I can see if any of the places he was buying this stuff from show a purchase for the same make and model.”
I thanked him and disconnected.
Ahanti propped up her chin on her arms, her face no longer buried. “At least it’s over. I can sleep tonight in my own home and walk to work tomorrow without worrying someone’s going to grab me on the way. There’s just one more thing I still need to do.”
She grabbed her bag from the back of the chair and fished out her phone.
I was sitting close enough that I could easily read what she was typing. At first, I kept my eyes averted, thinking she was sending a message to Geoff. Then I saw the name at the top of the screen—Terrance.
Come by the studio in the next 48 hours to get your stuff or I’m throwing it out. And I want my keys back.
She added a swear word onto the end.
I reached out a hand to stop her from sending it, but I was too late.
Setting aside the practical element that Terrance might not be able to make bail—at least not in 48 hours—there was still the fact that she shouldn’t have anything to do with him. I understood the rush of boldness that came with knowing your opponent and feeling you had the upper hand. Over the past few months, I’d also learned that the farther away from murderers you could stay, the better.
“I still have the private investigator sitting on Terrance. Why don’t we pack up his stuff into a box and have the PI give it back to him? I’ll tell him to get the keys for your apartment and Skin Canvas from Terrance at the same time.”
The old defiance was back in Ahanti’s face. “Now that they know who he is, he can’t hurt me anymore.”
That was so far from true that I didn’t know where to start, but I also didn’t want to send her into another panic attack. A stalker who received a text like she sent could easily become even more dangerous. She’d rejected him. He could also feel like he had nothing to lose. He was potentially going to prison for one murder. Why not two?
I couldn’t say any of that. I’d have to come at it a different way—one she couldn’t argue with. “It’s not about that. You don’t want to hurt the case against him by having any contact with him. His attorney could argue that you clearly don’t believe the charges against him or you wouldn’t have allowed him anywhere near you afterward.”
“I can see your point, but I already texted him.”
“Give me his number. I’ll text him about the change in plans.”
I went to work with Ahanti the next day to help her package up everything that belonged to Terrance. She’d started rebooking her cancelled appointments, beginning with a design session with Jana. In the gaps between sessions, we emptied out Terrance’s drawers.
Ahanti’s way of dealing with it was to dump everything none-too-gently into the box.
By four in the afternoon, all Terrance’s stuff was in three large boxes, sealed with packing tape. I snagged the permanent marker away from Ahanti before she wrote anything nasty on the boxes.
Eddie showed up shortly before five. He came in the door sideways, looking back over his shoulder. “There’s some guy sitting out front of here in his car, watching the door. You want me to get rid of him?”
I already knew it was the private investigator. I’d asked him to drop the surveillance on Terrance, since he wouldn’t see much while he was in custody anyway, and hang out here for the day, in case Terrance made bail and decided to show up.
Eddie could have at least waited until he was inside the tinted windows to point the guy out, though. If he had been someone unsavory, he’d have tipped him off. Maybe that was the idea. Let him know he was being watched to scare him away.
I stacked the final box of Terrance’s stuff by the door. “We know. He’s extra protection in case Terrance shows up.”
Mark had insisted on it. He said if my dad balked, he’d pay for it himself. I wouldn’t be much protection to Ahanti if Terrance showed up with a gun or a knife.
Eddie’s frown added wrinkle rolls to his forehead, like he had too much skin there. “Terrance?”
Ahanti motioned for him to sit. “The police arrested Terrance. Nicole’s fiancé was worried he might come back here and do something to hurt us. Nicole had the security people her dad’s firm uses come in, and they even found a camera in my apartment. So much for him being my friend.”
Eddie’s mouth opened in a way that reminded me of a bear about to growl, lips pulled back and showing too many teeth. “I thought he was my friend, too.”
My phone rang in my pocket. The caller ID listed a 703 area code, which meant it was DC-based. Probably the security firm letting me know they’d turned everything over to the police. I didn’t want to answer it in front of Eddie and upset him more. The man looked like he might burst a vessel in his head.
I motioned to them that I was going to take it outside.
“Is this Nicole?” a man’s voice said when I answered.
A man’s voice that sounded too close to Terrance’s for comfort.
