The Suitcase

I began to move closer to the double sided mirror, drawn to the distance behind her eyes. I wondered if she could see me studying her, searching for any ounce of dishonesty that would reveal the answers we longed for. Her deep blue eyes posses a compelling emptiness. Sandy’s monochromatic teal suit is stained and yet, she begins to smooth her untidy curls into a neat bun.

“We’ve decided to continue with the interrogation,” Sam begins. “Her alibi is airtight but she’ll slip up eventually.” An overwhelming surge of confidence begins to travel down my spine, pulling me towards the door. Before Sam can continue, I find myself sitting face to face with Melrose. “So they send their rookie in the get a rise out of me?” She questions as her lips curl with enjoyment. “You really should loosen up, Stacy Stone.” I exhale the tension brought on by the confusion of this statement. She somehow knows my name, but if I want to make something of myself, I must keep my cool. I begin to state my purpose. “I am the only one convinced of your innocence and the only one who knows you don’t belong in here, so I suggest you work with me.” Melrose listens closely. “We found the crown in your home, but my question is why? Why would the deputy director of museum operations steal a priceless artifact, and keep it in her apartment?” As this question lingers in the air, I notice us both gawking at the insanity of the accusation. She and I were the only ones convinced of her innocence, but I was the only one who could save her.

The Crown of Abub- a ceremonial crown dating back to 18th century Ethiopia was found in Melrose’s apartment, but no one knows why. Melrose shares an insightful piece of knowledge, “Look Stacy, since you’re the only one with any sense around here, I’ll make you a deal. If you can find the real culprit, I’ll pay you. But I should warn you, you may not like what you find.” Puzzled, I point at the mirror. “You know we’re not the only ones listening, right? I can’t take any bribes.”

“I saw you check your watch, its half past 3. Which means Sam has already left for his lunch break. And this isn’t a bribe, think of it as a reward. I know you need this.” Melrose begins to provide me with the details of her private art studio. She describes a secret hiding in the floor encompassing my reward and something that will prove her innocence. Her words I know you need this begin to play on a loop in my head. I hesitantly agree to the deal, knowing I must do everything in my power to crack the case without getting caught. Melrose insists I keep everything I find, noting that the money in the secret hiding was from a buyer who didn’t want a paper trail.

I leave the station and head towards her home on Peachtree Street, checking my rearview mirror. I cautiously assess my surroundings, hoping no one at the station is following me. I look for the residence she describes, which seems to grab me by the neck and pull me in. This luxury apartment building is a glass-clad marvel, featuring a uniquely patterned frit design. It seems to come straight out of a magazine. I find the garage and park as she directed. As I begin to make my way through the double doors and into the lobby, I can’t help but look around the building in amazement. So much thought was put into the architecture of this 30 story work of art. The gold trimmings decorate the ceiling, the marble floors squeak as I walk, and the Swarovski crystals on the chandelier dance in the moonlight. The elevator door opens as I approach it. I quickly glance around the lobby one final time, making sure no one follows me as I step inside.

As I the elevator dings, I open the sliding door to reveal the marvelous view of Melrose’s penthouse apartment. I try not to get swept away in the beauty of it. I know you need this, I say in my head, reminding myself to focus on the task at hand. I am filled with angst as I search the floorboards for the opening she described. "Move the Bamboo Lyre Easel towards the window in my room," I recall. So I do as instructed, revealing the small opening below my feet. I begin to remove the planks on the floor one-by-one until I am met with a medium sized black suitcase. I stand to get a better grip, and as I lift, the weight causes me to drop the suitcase on the floor spilling all of the contents. I pause, and hesitantly begin to count the money, stopping at $100,000. “Melrose makes $100,000 off of one self-portrait? This must have been some painting.” I say to myself while searching the corners of the suitcase, looking for evidence of Melrose’s innocence. Surely this wasn’t part of an elaborate plan to bribe me? I search the opening in the floor once more until my hand grazes a smooth texture. I lift the object to reveal a small black notebook with thin a black elastic enclosing its contents. I remove the elastic and the ivory-colored pages are filled with elaborate drawings and memoirs.

As I continue to flip through the pages, I notice this is a little black book of all of her previous buyers, all of which payed by check. I stumble upon the last contact and what I find causes me to lose my footing. I read the name “Aaron Stone,” alongside his phone number with the words “Nude Self portrait.” I stumble towards the closet and notice my husbands shoes lodged in the far corner. Is my husband the mysterious buyer who didn’t want a paper trail? I am confused and nonplussed at this new information. What am I to do with it? I observe the contact again, and I make my way towards the elevator with haste. My head spins with anger and disgust.

I sit in my car rereading old texts from Aaron. I scroll back to February 7, at 6:14 pm. Aarons texts says “Met up with a few buddies at the museum. I won’t be home for dinner.” None of this makes sense, and yet, it all becomes clear. I hastily drive back to the station, thinking back to all of the nights I waited up for Aaron as he stayed out with his alleged buddied. This night in particular, the crown was stolen moments after his text. Not only did he betray my trust, but he also committed a felony.

The corridor leading to my supervisors office become longer with each step. The small black notebook, nestled quietly in my hands is screaming with information. I barge into Sam's office and place it on his desk, alarming him as he spills coffee on his oversized suit pants. "Melrose is innocent. The crown had untraced print and I believe they belong to... Aaron Stone." Sam's brow furrowed with confusion as I described the contents of the book. I leave out the information regarding the cash I was offered, as I am unsure what I will do with it.

Sam sits on this newfound knowledge for a minute. I see a look of compassion sweep over his face before he makes a few calls. Aaron is escorted to the station moments later in cuffs. Apparently he was at the coffee shop hoping to meet me after work. We make eye contact and I see the defeat weighing his shoulders down.

"Your husband is going to face a lot of time for this" Sam declares.

"I know," I say coldly as my eyes pierces Aaron's.

"I'm so sorry Stacy. I can get his bail a little lower, but it will probably cost you thousands."

"You know what Sam, I've decided he can rot in there." As these words leave my lips, I feel a sudden sensation of liberation sweep over me. I decided this money was the push I needed to start fresh. I walk towards the exit, forgetting Melrose but appreciating the reward. I cant help but think back to Melrose's statement, I know you need this. I guess I'll never find out how she knew.