Look Closer

Ten years ago, I didn’t even know Vicky. I met her three years ago at Survivors of Suicide, not long after Vicky’s sister, Monica, overdosed on OxyContin. But yeah, Vicky told Christian about the ten-year anniversary. And I milked the hell out of it in the diary.

“We’ve seen a divorce petition,” he adds.

“Sounds like another fake, like the diary,” I say.

“We’ve seen a marriage certificate.”

“Probably another fake, Agent Crane. I mean, how hard would it be to fake a marriage certificate? Look me up, if you like. See if I’m registered with Cook County as married.”

“You don’t have to be registered with the county to be married,” he says. “Not if it’s a foreign marriage.” His eyes are beginning to water. Anger, probably.

“A foreign marriage certificate? Shit, that’d probably be even easier to fake.”

It was, actually. I just downloaded a blank form and edited it on PDF. Took me about half an hour. Vicky helped. She helped a lot with the diary, too, for that matter. Gave me some details from a woman’s perspective.

See, here’s the thing: If you’re a con artist like Christian, and someone like Vicky walks in with a wedding ring on her finger—my mother’s, by the way—and says she’s married to Simon Dobias, why on earth would Christian think she was lying? Who lies about something like that? He was spending so much time trying to con her, he didn’t realize he was the target all along.

“You have a . . . a trust,” Gavin stammers. “Over twenty million dollars.”

“That’s true,” I say, because it is.

The first time Gavin has found firm ground, gotten an answer he wanted and expected. But it’s a very small patch of ground.

“And it says that your spouse can’t touch the money until she’s been married for ten years.”

Also true. Thanks to my father. It’s what gave Vicky and me this idea. We had to give a sense of urgency to killing Lauren. So we worked backward. What would be a good date to commit murder? Halloween. Okay, so say our ten-year anniversary is just after Halloween.

And tell Christian just before Halloween, giving him only a few days to make his move, leaving him with no other choice, if he wanted the money, but to kill Lauren.

“You sure know a lot about my trust,” I say. “That’s pretty disturbing in itself.”

“Today is your ten-year anniversary,” he says.

I just smile. “You know what it sounds like?” I say. “It sounds like someone was pulling a con job. This ‘Vicky Lanier’ you mentioned? I’ll bet that’s not even her real name.”

I couldn’t resist. Vicky told me Gavin was onto her. Gave her a pretty hard kick to the ribs, too, sounds like.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Gavin comes off the couch, towering over me on the chair.

“I’m telling you everything,” I say. “I have nothing to hide.”

My phone buzzes. Gavin hears it, too. I pick it up off the coffee table separating us and read it. It’s from Jane Burke.

“I have another appointment in . . . Sounds like they’ll be here in just a couple minutes.”

“You’ll need to cancel that,” he says, still standing over me.

“Cancel with the Grace Village Police?” I say.

“The—what?” He takes a step back.

“The Grace Village Police,” I repeat. “They want to talk to me about Lauren’s murder. You should stick around. You guys can compare notes. Kind of an interagency cooperation kinda thing, right?”

I manage to keep a straight face while he shuffles his feet, thinking quickly.

“Or you can leave a business card, and I’ll give it to them,” I add. “You have a business card, Agent Crane?”

“It’s a— We’d like to keep our investigation separate,” he says.

“Yeah? I could see that. In your case, I could definitely see that.”

“What does that mean?” he says.

I get up and walk over to the window. Look out over the street. They’re saying it could snow later.

“It means that Nick was obviously in way over his head,” I say. “Which means you are, too, Gavin.”

“What did you say?” His head jerks around. “What did you call me?”

“Gavin Finley,” I say. “Who thinks he’s getting ten million dollars from Vicky Lanier. But you’re not, Gavin. You’re not getting a dime. Oh, there they are, the detectives, pulling up right now.” I turn to Gavin. “I suppose you wanna go out the back way, right?”

“I don’t know—this isn’t—” His jaw juts out. “This isn’t over, asshole.”

“Sure it is. You wanna go tell the cops everything you know? Be my guest. They’ll never be able to pin a thing on me. Or this phantom ‘Vicky,’ who, gosh, was probably using an alias. Diaries and marriage certificates and divorce petitions? None of them exist—not anymore. But the cops will sure be interested in how you seem to know so much. They’ll take a hard look at you, Gavin. You up for that? A lot of police scrutiny into those petty little financial scams you’re pulling? I’m thinking no. I’m thinking, you took your best shot at Vicky and me, but you failed. And be lucky it doesn’t get any worse for you. You have no idea what contingency plans I have.”