Chapter 8 - THE CAMERA ACROSS THE STREET
Trevor had been photographing me for eleven months.
Coffee shop.
Grocery store.
Lobby.
Balcony.
He had a folder labeled PARKER.
Inside were more than two hundred images.
The tea bags had never been the real problem.
They were a test.
A way to provoke me.
A way to see what I would tolerate.
Detective Chen believed Trevor wanted to know whether my mother had told me anything before she died.
When I politely asked him to stop, he learned I did not recognize him.
When I complained again, he became bolder.
When I finally reported him, he realized I might start digging.
And I did.
Police arrested him for stalking-related charges and violations connected to the threatening contact while the older cases remained under investigation.
For the first time in months, I slept through the night.
Then Trevor made bail.
I learned at 4:12 p.m.
By 4:18, Rebecca Mercer had called.
“Elaine, you need to leave your apartment.”
My pulse jumped.
“Why?”
“I just received something.”
She forwarded an email.
Trevor had sent it before his arrest.
One photograph.
My balcony.
On the back wall, circled in red, was a ventilation grate.
Underneath:
Margaret hid more than one box.
I stared at the grate.
I had walked past it every day for eleven years.
Police came before I touched anything.
Behind the grate was a plastic pouch.
Inside:
Three audio tapes.
One letter.
And a tiny digital recorder.
The tapes were labeled with dates from fourteen years earlier.
Harold.
Margaret.
Trevor.
We found an old player.
Detective Chen pressed play.
My mother's voice filled the room.
“Trevor, leave Harold alone.”
Then Trevor:
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“He promised me the apartment.”
“No. You made him sign paperwork when he was confused.”
“He wanted to help me.”
“Then why did you change his medication?”
Silence.
My throat closed.
Trevor's younger voice finally said:
“You can't prove that.”
Mom answered:
“I don't need to. Harold can.”
The tape ended.
The second recording was worse.
Trevor threatening her.
The third was the last conversation.
Recorded the night she died.
Mom's voice shook.
“I gave Rebecca copies.”
Trevor:
“You're lying.”
“I also gave Elaine something.”
My heart stopped.
I had no idea what she meant.
Trevor shouted.
“Where is it?”
Then footsteps.
A door.
My mother breathing hard.
And her final clear words:
“Stay away from my daughter.”
The recording cut off.
I cried for the first time since the tea bags began.
Not because Mom had died.
I had cried for that twelve years earlier.
Because now I heard her alive again.
Afraid.
Still protecting me.
Detective Chen sat beside me.
“We have enough to establish a pattern.”
“But not murder.”
“Not yet.”
I wiped my face.
“What did Mom give me?”
No one knew.
Then I remembered something from her funeral.
A letter the lawyer handed me.
Not personal.
A property document.
Mom had transferred the lease rights to her apartment to me under an old rent-stabilization agreement.
I thought that was all.
I found the closing file.
Inside was a sealed envelope I had never opened because it was marked BUILDING RECORDS.
I broke the seal.
One page.
A list of numbers.
Bank accounts?
No.
Dates.
Apartment numbers.
4B.
2C.
3A.
5D.
Beside each was an elderly tenant's name.
Harold Mercer.
Louise Grant.
Edward Collins.
Miriam Lowe.
All had lived in the building.
All had died or moved within five years of Trevor's original tenancy.
May you like
My mother had been investigating more than Harold.
Trevor may have targeted four elderly residents.
