finally answered. “But let’s go down there first.”
Ryan looked in the direction she was facing and nodded.
“Just wait a minute,” he said. “I want to let Trembley know what’s going on first.”
“Go ahead,” she said distractedly. “I’ll meet you on the sand.”
Ryan led her down the stairs and then headed back up. Jessie walked out the front door and found a set of steps leading from the Strand down to the bike path below and beyond that, the beach. She took off her shoes and held them by the heels with her fingertips as she walked toward the water.
Thought it was early summer, at this hour the sand was still cool as it shifted under her feet and wriggled its way between her toes. She moved slowly so as to keep her balance, following the sound of the waves more than any visual cues. As she got closer, one of the old blue wooden lifeguard stations came into view.
She passed it and noticed that the sand was now harder and more tightly packed. A few steps farther and she felt the dampness under her feet where the tide had recently come in. The water was now visible. She watched as the waves collapsed in on each other, creating a frothy surf that bubbled white as it reached out longingly for her toes. She sat down just out of its reach and watched.
After a while—she wasn’t sure how long—Ryan arrived and sat down beside her. He didn’t say anything and neither did she. She reached her hand out and he took it. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. She thought that maybe the crashing waves hid her weeping. But she wasn’t sure and she didn’t really care.
*
He watched until the sun came up.
At first it was hard with the fog and because he was several blocks away. But after he found a pair of binoculars in the master closet, he was able to go on the rooftop deck and keep tabs on all the comings and goings six blocks down the Strand, where it had happened.
He was weirdly excited by it all. There was something satisfying in knowing that he was the reason the beachfront was a symphony of sirens the last two nights. He didn’t completely understand it. The first night made sense. But the police response in the middle of last night seemed even more intense than the night before. Maybe there was something he was missing.
Eventually, as the sun rose over the hills in the east, he retreated back into the home he’d adopted for the time being. He wanted to sleep but it was hard with all the excitement. His mind kept flashing back to what he’d done, what he’d taken away.
He’d never intended to kill that woman. After all, he was minding his own business in the Bloom house, the one they always left for weeks at a time during the summer. He wasn’t bothering anyone.
But then that busybody woman from next door, with her plastic body and even faker smile, had to show up. He thought she’d go away after a while but she actually entered the house, committing the same crime he had. He hoped she’d just go and let him get back to his life. But no, she had to get curious and give herself a tour of the house. If only she’d kept her nose out of it, she’d probably be alive today.
But once she saw him, he had no choice. She likely would have given a description of him to the police and then he’d be in a really desperate situation. So he had to stop her, had to silence her. He couldn’t let her take away the lifestyle he’d been living, even if it was only temporary.
So he’d strangled her. Initially, he was riding on adrenaline when he slammed her against the door and later, wrapped the stocking around her neck. There was a moment, when she was really flailing and struggling, that he briefly had second thoughts. Maybe he could just knock her out and make a run for it, go somewhere else entirely.
But then the old fury reared its head. Why should he have to leave to accommodate the desires of another rich bitch? He’d done enough of that in his life. Suddenly he was squeezing her neck even tighter, imagining she was one of the models who used to do whatever he wanted but wouldn’t even look at him now. He watched the