Chapter Eleven
Elle was singing in the shower when his computer beeped with an incoming email. He switched over to that window to find a new message from David.
I just got a call from a tabloid rag. The story of Elle being stalked has been leaked, and they were trying to verify some facts before going public. I just answered No comment, and I advise you two to turn your phones off. I haven’t had time to see who else has the story, but the site was ready to publish after they hung up with me. By tomorrow morning, it could be national news.
Conrad headed to the landline and dialed.
“Could be national news?” he demanded grimly when David answered.
“Hard to say how big a story it’s going to be,” David admitted. “First of all, she’s not a huge star, so this is unlikely to make front page news, but then again, I don’t know what details they have. If they know about both attacks or that a Sonic executive was hurt too or the contents of some of the more twisted emails, one or more of those might push it to the bottom half of the front page.”
Conrad sighed, knowing this would make his job much harder because of the increased interest in her, but also because she probably wasn’t going to take it very well.
“Have you spoken to Marcus?” he asked.
“No. Do you think I should?”
Conrad considered for a moment. “Yeah, basically try to sound him out. I’d like your take on him.”
“You think he leaked this?” David growled.
“I’ve got no proof, and I can’t think of a reason why, but I just don’t trust that guy.”
“I’ll call him now and see if anything is off. I’ll call you back?”
“No, email me. Elle’s really pleased with how things went today, and I don’t want to drag her down any sooner than necessary.”
“She probably won’t thank you for that,” David cautioned.
“I’ll put up with a few harsh words if it gives her an extra night of peace.”
David was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Conrad . . . is there something going on between you two?”
Conrad should have known better than to think he could keep this from David.
“It’s not—I mean, we’re not . . . It’s nothing!”
“It’s not ‘nothing’ my friend, and you know it!”
Conrad sighed. “Look, I know she’s like a daughter to you, and I promise I won’t hurt her.”
“If there’s one thing I know about Elle, it’s that she knows loss. While she might look soft and fluffy, she’s resilient. You on the other hand, I’m not so sure about.”
“Me?” he wasn’t sure whether to be insulted.
“Look, Elle might not have a troubled background, but she’s basically an orphan. You don’t lose everyone you’ve ever loved and come through it still smiling without developing an inner strength that I can only wonder about. If she gets hurt, she’ll not only survive, she’ll find a way to thrive. Can you say the same?”
David’s words had hit just a little too close to home for his liking, and he was left speechless for a moment.
“Look, things are too screwed up to talk about this properly right now,” David went on. “But just keep in mind that a woman like Elle could be good for you.”
Conrad scoffed at the notion. “Doesn’t mean I’d be good for her.”
“Why not?” David demanded.
Conrad sighed in frustration; he did not want to get into this now . . . or ever, really.
“We’re too different.”
“That’s what I told myself when I first met Stacey. It turned out that under the makeup and the smiles, she’s not so different from me, and when she is, we complement each other’s flaws. But now is not the time for those questions, just . . . try not to make any rash decisions, hey?”
“I’m not making any decisions that don’t involve keeping Elle safe,” Conrad promised.
“Good man. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” David hung up.
Conrad pocketed his phone and went over to his computer, standing there a few moments while he debated the wisdom of his next action. Then he placed his hand on the screen and closed the laptop, the solid click as it shut sounded like approval to him.
Elle awoke before Conrad the next day and turned to face him in the bed. She studied his sleeping features for a moment.
He looked so peaceful and untroubled in his sleep. It took years off him, and she wished he could look that serene while he was awake. She’d also seen enough glimpses of a smile to think that if he ever gave a full-on grin, she might faint away with desire.
What was it that robbed him of his peace while he was awake? She contemplated the sweep of the lashes lying on his cheeks. There was no hint of the tension that so often animated his waking face.
She could guess it was some sort of atrocity he’d seen in war, but what? He seemed to be blaming himself for some action, or possibly inaction, but she was sure he had taken an unfair burden on his shoulders. The man she knew was not willfully cruel. He wouldn’t turn his back on horrors or do anything to intentionally cause them.
Everything about him screamed of his desire to protect, so maybe that was what he felt he had done wrong. Had he failed to protect someone? But whom? And more importantly, why?
She could play guessing games until the cows came home, but she wouldn’t know the truth unless he decided to trust her with the answers to her questions.
As quietly as she could, she slipped from between the covers, grabbed her panda pajamas, and headed to the bathroom. When she had washed up, she grabbed her hair straightener and makeup and headed to the living room so as not to disturb him while she got ready. She put the news on low and settled herself at the computer desk since it had a handy plug.
Today she had interviews with Femme magazine—the magazine supplement to a weekend paper—as well as a photoshoot and interview with Chic magazine. She would round out the day at the offices of Eva magazine. All three were new bookings based on the success of her first single and the expected success of her second. Some magazines worked months in advance, but luckily these were weekly, and they only worked a week or two ahead.
She was excited because these were well respected and popular publications. So what if it turned out to be just a half-page interview in the Arts section? It was good publicity and would help sell her music. At the end of the day, all she really wanted was to share her music with people in the hopes that it would move them as much as creating and performing it moved her.
She’d let her hair dry naturally after her shower last night, so she used her straighteners to smooth the kinks out. She liked it wavy, but her natural waves weren’t polished enough to fit the image Marcus demanded. For him, she had to straighten and curl it into “bouncy” waves. Some days, she wanted to take Marcus to a beach and let him see for himself just how bouncy real waves were!
She sighed at her own unkind thoughts. Marcus had been very good to her, had done wonders for her career. She knew she wouldn’t have gotten this far so fast without his help, and here she was thinking of drowning him!
It was just that he was becoming . . . she didn’t know how to describe it. Nothing he did crossed any lines, nor was he inappropriate. Yes, he could be a little bullying at times, but that didn’t really bother her. His concern was really only over her image, and he left her music up to her and her producer, which was the important part of her artistry. Elle didn’t particularly care what she looked like as long as he didn’t try to mess with her music.
Plus, he had gotten hurt trying to protect her from her attacker, which was an unexpectedly brave thing for Marcus to do. If asked, she might have said that Marcus was more the scream-and-run-away type. He must care for her very much if he was willing to put himself on the line like that for her.
So why did she have a sinking feeling when it came to the thought that he might be at these interviews today? Something was making her feel uncomfortable, niggling away at her subconscious, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.
Maybe it was guilt. Guilt that he had been hurt, yes, but also guilt that she had gone behind his back with Paul on the music video. Marcus’s version felt so artificial and uninteresting to her.
Why did she feel so indebted to him and so bad for going against him? It was his job to want what was best for her career, right?
David had been the one who discovered her, and when she disagreed with him, they talked it out. Disagreeing with Marcus, though . . . It left her feeling bad, as if she’d personally let him down in some way.
Considering that David was the closest thing she’d ever had to a father figure, if she was going to feel like she’d let anyone down, wouldn’t it be him? But David never left her feeling as if she’d disappointed him.
She separated a new strand of hair to run through her straightener when the presenter on the breakfast show caught her attention.
“Gossip site, Jared Jones, last night revealed that a new blues singer, Ellen Raymond, better known to her fans as Ella Ray, has been the subject of a stalker. Sonic Music executive Marcus Blake was attacked by the stalker while defending her. He was treated in hospital for a head injury but released the next day.”
She sat back in her chair, her breath whooshing out of her only to leave her feeling dizzy. What?
“Ella Ray’s first single, a cover of ‘The Sound of Silence,’ peaked just outside the Top 40 and has amassed over a million YouTube views.”
They played a snippet of her singing on the Julia Jones show.
“Sources say that her second single, an original song, is expected to be released next week. The police confirmed that they were investigating an incident involving Ella Ray and Marcus Blake but state they are unable to comment on the details of an ongoing investigation. If you have any information, please call Crime Stoppers on . . .”
“Elle?”
She jumped when Conrad spoke her name. She spun toward him, her eyes huge. He stood in the doorway, looking at her with concern.
“I-I’m on the news,” she said, her shocked voice wavering and high-pitched. “H-how did they find out?”
“I don’t know,” Conrad admitted as he approached.
He was wearing only sweatpants, and his hair was still tousled from sleep. If she hadn’t felt so poleaxed, she would have found him incredibly sexy. Instead of being turned on, though, she felt herself tearing up.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes before her tears could fall.
“It’s okay.” He pulled her up from the chair and into his embrace. “You can cry if you want to.”
And she did, sobbing so hard that it racked her small frame and left her shaking in his arms. Conrad moved them over to the sofa and sat down with her on his lap. He tucked her head under his chin and stroked her hair gently, rocking her until her misery subsided into hiccups.
She’d been doing her best to carry on as normal for so long now, living in fear of what might happen next, it was inevitable that she’d snap. He’d been expecting something like this for a while. He knew her tears were more from frustration than sadness.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled away, mortified at having broken down in front of him. “I . . . don’t know where that came from.”
“It’s easier to keep a brave face on when you’re the only one who knows you’re suffering,” he said quietly. “Now you’re on the news, so it’s harder to pretend everything’s fine.”
He reached for a tissue from the decorative box that was on the end table and handed it to her. She dried her tears and blew her nose inelegantly, not caring at all.
“At least you hadn’t put your makeup on,” he said with a teasing smile as she wiped her face.
She found a watery laugh for him as she pictured what she’d look like had she cried like that with a full face of makeup.
“I thought panda eyes were in right now.” She sniffled.
“Only for pandas . . . and zombies.” He smiled, pleased at her ability to joke. Keeping a sense of humor would help her get through this. “We’ve got two hours before we have to be at your first interview,” he soothed gently. “So why don’t we turn the TV off and have some breakfast. Then we can face the world when we’re good and ready and not a moment before.” His hand stroked up and down her back.
She nodded, grateful that he was there for her.
“Okay, but I don’t think I could eat a thing right now.” She gave him a wan smile. “Just the thought of food turns my stomach.”
“A latte then. Milk is a pretty good substitute for food,” he suggested.
“Okay,” she agreed, trying to get up off his lap, but he tightened his grip.
“No hurry,” he told her, wrapping her in an embrace. “Today is a busy day and this might be the only chance you have to process this before strangers are bombarding you with questions.”
She hadn’t yet considered that, but while she wanted to keep busy and try to forget everything, she knew he was right. After a moment, she relaxed into him, resting her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hair with one hand and her thigh with the other.
People were going to ask about it. When it started, how it started, how it escalated, what it was like being attacked, how she felt about it, how she was coping, and on and on. Oh God.
Today was supposed to be about her first original song being released, and now it would mostly be about her bloody stalker! Not only did he get to terrorize her and her friends, but he was also taking attention from her achievements.
It wasn’t fair!
It was like the bastard was slowly robbing her of different aspects of her life. First he took her peace of mind with the letters, then he took her sense of safety after he attacked her. The need to be safe meant that she’d lost her freedom. Now, as a final insult, he was taking her spotlight!
She wasn’t a vain person, but she was damn proud of her original songs. Thanks to that slimeball, her interviews now would also be about him, and he didn’t deserve the attention!
She felt a rage building within her, unlike any she’d ever felt before. This wasn’t hot and wild. This feeling was cold, calm, almost emotionless, and heaven help this creep if she saw him again, because right now she felt so much hatred for him that she would gladly watch him being tortured and not feel a single prick of her conscience.
She wasn’t really a revenge kind of person, or at least she hadn’t been until now, but she finally understood the appeal of vengeance.
At the Femme magazine offices, Elle told the receptionist she was there to see Cassie Brooks, the woman who would be interviewing her for the magazine.
“Ella Ray?” the receptionist asked.
“That’s me.” She smiled, but it was tight. She wondered if the admin’s curiosity was because of the stalking gossip.
Her phone had been buzzing with messages from her friends ever since they left the apartment, and she’d done her best to reassure them she was fine. Her close friends already knew, but people she didn’t know well were suddenly came out of the woodwork with good wishes. She silenced her phone so it wouldn’t disturb the interview.
“Your interview’s been changed. You’re seeing Greg Parsons now.”
“Greg Parsons?”
“Uh-huh,” the receptionist said absently as she got on her phone, presumably to alert him.
Elle and Conrad shared a look, both feeling that this didn’t bode well. And it didn’t.
“Ah, good. You’re here.” A portly man with a bad comb-over and a slight cockney twang to his accent hurried into the reception area with his hand extended.
Elle shook his hand as he offered it and followed after him as he darted back the way he’d come.
“Is Cassie unwell?” she asked as they stood by the elevators.
“I’m just filling in.” Greg avoided her question as they stepped through the opening doors.
Femme magazine was supposed to be on the third floor, sharing it with the newspaper’s other weekend supplement, Views magazine. Greg pressed the floor for entertainment.
“I thought this—” Before she could finish her question the doors opened, and Greg darted out, clearly expecting them to follow.
“He’s not being straight with you,” Conrad murmured in Elle’s ear, just in case she hadn’t picked up on Greg’s clear signs of deceit.
Elle sighed. She’d thought so, but having it confirmed was depressing.
They followed Greg to a room down the corridor where he was holding the door open for them.
“Come on. Come in.” He hurried them inside. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Elle said firmly. “But I would like to know what’s going on.”
“You’re here for an interview, yes?” As he sat down, he got his tape recorder out, pressed record, and set it on the table. Then he looked up at them, confused as to why they weren’t sitting down too.
Conrad took the recording device and turned it off, keeping hold of it until the confusion had been resolved.
Elle spoke. “I came here today under the impression that I would be speaking about my new single and upcoming album to Cassie Brooks from the Arts section of your Saturday supplement,” she said firmly. “Not only are you not Cassie, but we’re also on a totally different floor. According to the signs near the elevator, this floor houses the Entertainment section. So please, what is going on?”
“I’m interviewing you instead.”
“For a gossip segment rather than a discussion about my music, right?”
“But all publicity is good publicity.” Greg flashed a smile that looked more like a grimace and showed off his nicotine-stained teeth.
“Did you clear this with Marcus?”
“Who?”
“The studio executive who arranged this interview.”
“Oh no, probably not.”
Elle looked to Conrad, who sadly didn’t have any answers for her on how she should proceed. He knew nothing about the press or the music industry.
“Why don’t we just start with a few easy questions?” Greg got a notebook and pen out, clearly not wanting to ask Conrad for his voice recorder back.
“I’d really rather wait for Marcus. Or talk to Cassie.”
“When did the stalking start?” he asked, ignoring her.
Elle didn’t answer. Now she was worried about the interview and where Marcus had got to. She checked her phone and saw that Marcus was only five minutes late.
“Okay, how about you tell me a little about your song?” Greg tried a different tack.
“Excuse me.” She went out into the hallway and dialed Marcus’s number, but Greg followed her.
“This story will do wonders for your career! Honestly, it will generate so much interest and goodwill.”
Elle ignored him and spoke to Conrad. “He’s not picking up.”
“Maybe he decided to take your advice and rest up.” Conrad didn’t believe that, but he didn’t like Elle worrying. Besides, whatever Marcus was doing was probably nefarious, so the bastard didn’t deserve her sympathy.
Elle nodded absently, but she clearly didn’t believe his excuse.
She didn’t know what to do. This interview was clearly going to be a hatchet job, mentioning her music only in passing as it celebrated the more salacious details of her stalking. There’s nothing a tabloid rag liked more than a juicy story about a female victim, especially if they could find a way to make the whole thing her fault.
She tried calling Marcus again, but there was still no answer. She bit her lower lip as she considered what to do.
As much as she didn’t want to spend the next half hour or so answering invasive questions, it was publicity. Marcus had often said how they needed to maximize any publicity opportunities, so he’d tell her to do the interview, right?
“Look, I can probably get you a lead-in from the front page,” Greg offered.
“Give us a minute,” Conrad told him and the tabloid reporter reluctantly stepped a few paces away, positioning himself between Elle and the elevators. The guy certainly was desperate for his story.
Conrad took Elle’s shoulders and guided her a few steps farther away, out of earshot.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said softly. “If it feels wrong, then we’ll leave.”
She looked into his eyes, wishing she knew what the right thing to do was. She wanted to leave, but that didn’t mean it was the best decision. She thought about calling David for advice, but she wasn’t a child who needed parental consent. She usually resented Marcus telling her what to do at these things, so she really had to pull herself together and just get on with it.
“I think I should do the interview,” she said with a decisive nod.
They returned to the small interview room and Conrad handed the voice recorder back to Greg, who set it to record as they sat down.
“Now, Ella, since your friend was grievously wounded, do you worry that your other friends and acquaintances could be hurt?”
I wouldn’t mind if you were hurt, she thought viciously, regretting her decision already.
“Of course I do. Only a—”
The door to the corridor burst open and a red-faced woman with a mass of curly blonde hair stood there, breathing heavily.
Conrad leaped to his feet, putting himself between Elle and the stranger, poised to strike, but the woman didn’t enter the room. It quickly became clear that her target wasn’t Elle.
“Greg, what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” the newcomer demanded loudly.
Greg actually seemed to quail under her words, and as she approached him, he stood up and backed away, circling the table, keeping it between them.
“If you ever try to steal one of my interviewees again by lying your balls off, so help me, I’ll get you and your little girlfriend in reception fired, do you understand?”
Greg nodded and bolted for the door, his recording apparatus clasped in his sweaty little hand.
She finally turned to Conrad and Elle, taking a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry about that.” She held her hand out. “I’m Cassie Brooks. I completely understand if you want to cancel or reschedule after that little show, but if you’re in a forgiving mood, I have mimosas and a delicious buffet lunch I can bribe you with.”
Elle shook her hand with some trepidation.
“Are you planning on asking about my stalker?”
“No, my article won’t run for another two weeks, by which time, I hope for your sake, it’ll be old news.” Cassie smiled sympathetically.
Elle checked her watch. They should still have plenty of time to get to their next appointment, especially if they ate Cassie’s buffet instead of stopping for lunch somewhere along the way.
Cassie took them up to her floor and into a much nicer meeting room, where there was, indeed, a buffet set out along one wall.
“This isn’t all for me, is it?” Elle asked about the vast array of food presented.
“Actually, it’s for a meeting later. The department heads like to get together and plan what the rest of us are doing, but please help yourself. They consume far more alcohol than food!” Cassie laughed, and Elle couldn’t help smiling.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” Cassie smiled and handed her a paper plate, and they both helped themselves to the food. Elle glanced at Conrad, but he shook his head slightly, preferring to prop up the wall inconspicuously and keep an eye on the proceedings.
The room was large and furnished with an oval table in the middle that could probably seat eighteen people at a push. Elle and Cassie sat at the rounded end farthest into the room, so they were right beside the buffet table, and Conrad stood behind Elle so he had a direct view of the door.
“Thank you. I felt a little too queasy to eat this morning, and now it’s catching up with me,” Elle explained, diverting Cassie’s attention from Conrad.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Cassie sympathized. “I remember feeling like that on the mornings my exam results were due, but of course that was just one day a year. This must be so much worse for you.”
“Strangely, it’s not the threats or the violence that really get to you when you’re being stalked. Stalkers get inside your head, so you don’t even feel relaxed in your own home. They’re always there, at the back of your mind.”
“I can’t imagine how that must feel.”
“Sometimes it feels like constantly living as if you’re having a mild panic attack: racing heart, a queasy feeling, jumping at every little thing, exhausted but too worked up to relax enough sleep . . . And that eases sometimes when you’re busy, but it never goes away.”
“It’s terrible, I’m so sorry you not only have to go through all that, but now you also have to do so publicly.”
Elle sighed as she began to pick at her plate of food.
“Now I’ve put you off your food again.” Cassie cringed. “I’m so sorry. How about a drink, maybe that will settle your stomach? And if not, well it’s half orange juice, which is better than nothing right?”
“One of my five a day,” Elle joked with a sly smile.
Cassie made two mimosas, although her own was very weak, then rejoined Elle at the table. Conrad declined a cocktail but helped himself to a bottle of water.
“Do you know how the story got leaked?” Cassie asked, nibbling on a sausage roll.
Elle shook her head. “I almost wonder if it was him, the stalker, looking to invade another aspect of my life so people ask me about him rather than my music.”
“Oh my God, do you really think so?”
“I don’t know.” Elle shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything these days.”
“Well, I hope they catch him quickly.”
“Me too.” She smiled. “And thank you for the drink.”
“My pleasure.”
For the next thirty minutes she discussed her next single, her album, and her musical influences. Cassie had listened to the single and was a big fan, almost gushing over the husky, bluesy quality of Elle’s voice.
Conrad was pleased to see Elle begin to emerge from her shell, relaxing and becoming her usual vivacious self as they talked about her beloved music, although a second mimosa might have had something to do with that!
Even when Cassie asked about sensitive subjects, like who “Everywhere” was written for, she was kind about it. She apologized when she realized the song was about Elle’s lost mother, although Elle assured her it was years ago, and there was no need to feel as if she was treading on a fresh wound.
At the end, both women were smiling as they hugged each other goodbye.
“She was nice.” Elle sighed in relief as she rode down in the elevator with Conrad.
“She was.” He didn’t ask how she was feeling about Greg’s stunt, because he didn’t want to remind her of it.
As Elle paused in reception to change her shoes, she remembered that Marcus hadn’t been answering his phone, which was most unlike him. She knew she was vulnerable on the street and needed to pay attention, so she waited until they were back in their car before calling him again. He didn’t pick up.
“Okay, now I’m starting to get worried,” Elle said as she fired off a text to Marcus, her brow creasing.
“His phone has probably died or something,” Conrad reassured her. Truth be told, he was worried about Marcus’s silence himself, but for entirely different reasons. He sent his own text to David, asking if he knew what was happening.
“Do you think I should call David?” Elle asked Conrad, chewing on her bottom lip.
“I texted him,” Conrad assured her. “I’m sure if he knows anything, he’ll get back to me soon.”
Ever since the break-in at his home, Elle hadn’t wanted to bother David, worried he might be angry at her or hold her responsible for his sons being frightened.
Honestly, the sooner Conrad could find proof against Marcus and get the bastard behind bars, the happier he’d be. Elle didn’t deserve this, any of it. She was just a sweet girl who wanted to make music, and now she was being terrorized and sequestered for it.
The journey to Chic magazine was mostly silent. There were no words to ease Elle’s tension, but Conrad took her hand and ran his thumb over the back of it in what he hoped was a calming manner.
Elle paused in reception, and Conrad expected her to change her shoes to the platforms that Marcus insisted upon, but she didn’t.
“Aren’t you going to change?” he asked as she looked around the reception area.
“I don’t know. I kind of feel like if I don’t, he’ll come charging in to tell me off,” she joked.
They remained there for another five minutes, waiting for Marcus to show, but if they waited any longer, Elle would be late. After a final long look out at the street, she slipped her ballet flats off, switched them for the approved platforms, then approached the reception desk.
The journalist who came down to meet her introduced herself as Helen and ushered them into an office where they could talk.
“Now I know we agreed to this interview to talk about your new single and album, but given what’s happening to you, I’d like to ask a few questions about your stalking.”
It hadn’t even been phrased as a question.
“Actually no, that’s not okay, sorry.”
Helen looked surprised.
“Please understand, he’s taken so much from me already, I won’t let him stop me from talking about my music too. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only thing left that he hasn’t tainted.”
Helen’s features cleared, and she looked a little contrite.
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Not many people would, unless they’ve been there.” Elle smiled in reply.
Helen turned on the voice recording app on her phone, then she began asking questions about Elle’s music.
Conrad was pretending to play on his phone when it vibrated in his hands with a message from David.
Marcus is in hospital, he was attacked at home last night.
Conrad ground his teeth together at this new ploy.
Really, given how guilty Elle was over his minor head injury and how she had fawned over him ever since in an attempt to make up for it, Conrad should have seen this coming, especially since Marcus had laid the groundwork in that email where the stalker threatened to hurt her protector.
Marcus was a sly old fox, but Conrad was not going to allow him to guilt Elle into anything!
He texted back and forth with David a few times, getting as much information as David knew, which wasn’t much.
There might be something good to come of this, however. Marcus was attacked at home, making his home a crime scene, which meant the police could look through his computer. They’d be able to check if he’d sent any threatening emails from it. He was clever enough to disguise the origins of his emails to the recipient, but it would be much harder to obscure such evidence within his own computer.
For a start, he’d have the web address in his history for the stories included in Elle’s emails, He might even have saved copies in Word given that he was editing them to better apply to Elle. He probably had a link to the email account the stories came from bookmarked, or at least proof of access existed in his history. He might even have kept copies of the emails or narratives on the various memories, like the server or the clipboard . . . or something.
Marcus would have to be paranoid to wipe all that information every time he used his computer, so the odds were good that even if he cleaned up after himself, he’d left a trace somewhere.
Conrad would mention it to the police on the case the first chance he got.
Elle’s phone was turned off for the interview, and Conrad wondered what his chances were of keeping this information from her. He quickly learned that the answer to that question was zero.