Her mouth drops open, and she seems to understand immediately what I’m thinking. “Would Gavin have been that careless?”
“Probably not, but only one way to know.”
We’re back in the hallway, and I open every door, sweeping my flashlight around the walls and furniture for any sign of a computer.
“His office was off the lobby. Could it have been there?”
“I hope not. The first floor had the most damage.” We double back, and I go into the open sitting room where I once observed trays of food and champagne glasses.
An open doorway is beside the fireplace, and I see from the hinges a swinging door was formerly here. We charge through it and find ourselves at the base of another concrete stairway leading straight up. Light shines through the opening, and it appears to lead out to the street. Lara and I exchange a glance.
“Hang on.” I leave her standing at the exit and run back to the room where Roland hid Guy, where I now realize the authorities recovered his body.
Once again,
I scan my flashlight all around the walls and ceiling. I don’t see any holes in the roof. No fixtures have fallen. My brow furrows, and I recall the cause of death. It would have been impossible for cause of death to be what was described in that report. Not a single beam or heavy object is anywhere to be found.
“Mark?” Lara calls into the room, but I have my phone out.
Quickly, I take several photographs of the bed, the ceiling above it—all the details of the crime scene. I might not be able to reveal how it went down, but I can at least throw the report into question.
“I’m here.” Returning my phone to my pocket, I carefully step through the main room to the exit beside the fireplace. “It seems strange a door leading out wouldn’t have a lock.”
“That’s because we can’t get out this way.” Lara points to the door at the top of the stairs. It’s covered in black iron burglar bars. “It’s locked.”
I trot up the stairs and pull on the black bars. They don’t budge, and I see the silver lock below the doorknob. The door leads to the other side of the parking lot behind the theater. A large brown dumpster shields this entrance from the street, and to the left is a red brick wall covered in English ivy.
Turning, I walk down slowly. I don’t need my flashlight since the exterior door has been ripped off. Sunlight streams through the bars.
Lara stands waiting for me at the base, and I take her hand. “No signs of an office or computers down here. If they were all housed upstairs, they’re likely all destroyed.”
Our feet scuff through the dirt and debris coating the floor, and the sense of ghosts lurking in the shadows is diminished as we make our way out.
“Aren’t computers usually backed up?” Lara seems stronger as well as we emerge from below the stage.
“If he knew this was going to happen, I’m sure he copied everything he needed to cover his ass.”
We’re standing at the top of the narrow hallway leading to the private dressing rooms where she lived for so long. Lara looks into the passage, and I stand beside her, waiting for her decision.
“Do you need to go down there?” Blue eyes travel around my face.
“I can make one quick sweep to be sure there isn’t a room I never noticed before.”
Her chin drops, and she looks at her fingers. “I’ll wait for you outside, in the square.”
Turning my arm, I inspect my watch. “I’ll be with you in ten minutes. Got your phone on?” She nods, and I touch her cheek. “Watch your step.”
* * *
Lara
The square fills with tourists holding café au lait and beignets. The street artists, tarot card readers, and musicians are still setting up, and I dodge them on my way to the nearest iron bench to sit and put my head in my hands.
Being back there, seeing it all broken, burned, and covered in ash… Looking down the passage to the dressing room where I lived, being in that room, all the emotions crashed down on me, and as much as I hated that place, as tormented as I’d been by fear all the years I was there, it hurt. It feels like a piece of my history isn’t just gone, it’s been violently destroyed.
Memories of my mother were there.
Molly grew up there.