Tolliver looked sympathetic. “There’s not much difference between men and women in that regard.”
“Hist--” Detective Constable Deacon said from his chair by the door.
Chief Detective Inspector Charles London strode in. He tossed his overcoat across his chair. “How are we coming on those reports?”
Georgette tapped her report into a neat pile, stapled it, handing it to London. “I’m out of here. This weekend is going to be so great.”
Farmer and Deacon nodded to London, then left the room.
Tolliver and London were standing together going over the reports when Farmer hurried back into the room.
“Parker has just arrested Tabitha Black for murder.”
Tolliver shot a quick, furtive look at London before saying, “Tabitha? Whose murder?
Farmer was gripping his hands twisting them around and around. “She was some dancer Tabitha was painting. Her painting was slashed in several places. The woman, a Jess Duval, was found in one of the cupboards in that Marylebone Theatre they are remodeling.”
Tolliver noticed that London’s well-kept hands were gripping the papers tighter than he had been, even though he didn’t say anything.
Tolliver frowned, but before he could say anything, London looked at Farmer. His voice was low, but there was an undercurrent of tension. “Parker wasn’t in the rotation for this weekend. His people were on last weekend.”
Farmer’s grin didn’t hold an ounce of humor. “He came in to check on something and volunteered to take the case since the Inspector in the rotation wasn’t here. He said it would save time.”
Tolliver frowned. “Since when does Parker volunteer for a case over the weekend?”
“Since never.” Farmer couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice.
London folded his arms across his chest. “Who’s her solicitor?”
“Mark Brown and Peter Dawes are both with her, but it doesn’t look good. Parker says all the evidence points to Tabitha.”
Farmer’s face got red. “It’s a bloody shame that Parker was here. You’d have got the case if he hadn’t been.”
“And I’d have had to recuse myself.” London’s voice was toneless, lifeless. “The Superintendent wouldn’t have allowed me to investigate a murder where the woman who saved both my life and my sister’s life is involved. You know that.”
“True.” Tolliver looked at Farmer. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t do a little snooping, does it?”
“Better check with Brown or Dawes before you get involved.” London straightened his shoulders. “They might not welcome your help.”
Tolliver put his hand on London’s arm. “Would you object if he needs us?”
“Only if I know about it. And our cases have to come first.” London took the reports. “I’ll give these to the Super. See you all on Monday.”
Tolliver and Farmer watched as London picked up his overcoat and fled the room.
Farmer’s mouth was pulled into a big frown. “What was with that? He acted like he doesn’t care.”
Tolliver looked toward the door. “He cares. I’m not sure he knows he cares, but he cares.”
“How can you tell that? He sure didn’t act like it.”
“He didn’t tell us not to work on the case, just not to tell him that’s what we’re doing. He’s protecting us. If he knew, he’d have to report it to the AC. As it is, he doesn’t.”
“So what are we going to do?” Farmer was obviously itching to get started.
“Isn’t Georgette a friend to Parker’s forensic specialist?”
“Yeah. She saved his bacon a few cases back when he flubbed that analysis. She said he been a little too grateful.”
Tolliver pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I think she needs to call in a favor or two.”
He put the cell phone to his ear. “Georgette. Sorry to call you so soon.”
He listened a moment. “I’m putting you on speaker before Farmer tries to crawl into my ear.
They heard Georgette laugh. “Relax, Ed. I’m already on it. Parker’s forensic specialist called me as soon as he got to the theatre. He was there when Parker arrested Tabitha.”
She chuckled. “Parker should never have made a move on Jeff Wilson’s wife. Neither of them liked it and Jeff is out for blood.” There was a pause. “But don’t repeat that.”
“Repeat what?” Tolliver asked a wide grin on his face.
Farmer looked shocked. “I thought Parker was married.”
They could hear Georgette’s snort. “Parker would never let a little thing like a wedding band, either his or the lady’s get in his way.”
She continued, “Parker’s wife’s sister is my best friend. You should hear the things Judy says about Parker. It would ruin his career if someone talked--”
“But he has too many connections.” Tolliver finished for her.
“You got that right. Anyway, I’m down at the theatre helping with the forensics. Jeff is having me witness everything he does. I’ll bring in a copy of the forensics report and the autopsy report tomorrow.”
Tolliver looked at Farmer. “We couldn’t get it tonight?”
“We probably won’t get done tonight.” Georgette’s voice held a no-nonsense tone.
Her voice dropped so much that Farmer and Tolliver had their ears almost against the phone. “I’d be willing to stake my reputation on the fact that Jess Duval was murdered elsewhere and dumped at the crime scene. Tabitha was set up.”
Chapter 8—Police Headquarters
“Tell me what happened from the time you entered the theatre.” Parker was taking Tabitha’s statement with Mark’s permission.
Slowly, carefully, thoughtfully, she told him what happened until she had entered her workroom and found the slashed painting.
“And that made you really, really angry.” Parker said, his eyes twinkling gleefully. He was enjoying this.
A shiver of fear ran down her spine to crash into the anger that surged up from her feet. She forced her fingers not to close around the arm of the chair. She forced her legs to stay in a sitting position. She forced her hand to not make a fist that would make contact with Parker’s nose.
Tabitha sat a little straighter. “I was more shocked than angry.” Her tone was sedate belying the anger that heaved like a Tsunami in her heart.
Of course she had been angry. A month or two’s worth of time and effort had been ruined. A painting that couldn’t be redone in exactly the same way was gone. She wouldn’t be able to make her contract.
Mark glared at Parker. “No more questions that will trick my client into incriminating herself.”
Parker sneered. “She has already incriminated herself. There’s a dead body in her workroom.”
Mark tapped the digital recorder. “I want an unabridged copy of this interview.”
Parker’s manicured hands opened and closed. His temper was legendary around Scotland Yard.
Tabitha looked from Parker to Mark. “I’d like to finish this.”
Mark nodded.
“I heard something, a scape like clothing rubbing against a chair or a foot scraping against carpet.”
The men could feel her terror.
“I locked the door, turned out the light, and practically ran into my bathroom.” She looked at Parker. “That’s American for a water closet.”
She looked at Mark a little shame faced. “But I was curious. I wanted to see what was going on. I held the door open a crack with the doorknob turned.”
She shivered even though the room was hot. “I could see a light under the door, but it wasn’t steady—not a candle, more like a torch. Then there was a light thump, then it sounded like a key being inserted in the lock, but the lock rattled rather than turned.
She rubbed her arms. “Then the door swung open, a second or so later, someone entered—a man from his shape, but he was deformed.”
“Deformed.” Parker sneered. “Now I’ve heard everything.”
; Ignoring him, she turned to Mark. “At the time, I thought about the hunchback of Notre Dame, but now, I think he was carrying Jess. The lump was too large to be a lump on the back. Then I heard the cupboard door open. It’s a deep cupboard. I keep my big new canvases in it. The man turned toward the bathroom so I had to close the door. I heard him leave.”
There was a tap on the door. It was pushed open and Jeff Wilson stood in the doorway.
“What do you want?” Parker snarled, his voice grating against Tabitha’s nerves.
“I thought you’d want to know that we’ve finished with the preliminary forensic investigation.”
“Why are you bothering me with this now? I’m interrogating a prisoner.” Parker threw back his shoulders, a broad grin on his face.
“Miss Black’s workroom is not the primary crime scene. The woman was killed somewhere else.”
Chapter 9—Police Headquarters
If Tabitha hadn’t been so scared, she would have laughed out loud. Parker looked like a toy balloon that had been pricked with a pin. The air just seemed to ooze out of him.
It took a good thirty seconds for him to recover. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. The liver temperature—”
“Then you don’t have a case against my client.” Mark’s voice was quiet, intimidating, implacable.
Parker seemed to re-inflate. His voice was a snarl when he said, “I believe I do.”
He looked at her. “You can go, but don’t leave town. You are still a person of interest.”
To Tabitha it looked like the wheels in Parker’s head were going round and round, trying to find a way to keep her in jail.
Mark took her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Tabitha gave a great shudder then got to her feet. Once they were out of the police station, Tabitha began to shake, her knees buckled, her head seemed to be full of fluff. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Mark put his arm around her, catching her before she hit the sidewalk. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
He helped her to sit down on a nearby bench. “I should have expect this.”
He sat beside her. Putting his arm around her, he pushed her head between her knees. “Breathe.”
After a few minutes, she slowly sat up. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would hit me like that.”
“I’m not surprised. After all the shocks you’ve had tonight on top of recovering from the flu, your body just couldn’t cope.”
“I guess. I hate being a wimp.” Drawing in a breath that seemed to go to China, she got to her feet. “I’m thinking I’d like to go home.”
“I’ll take you back to the theatre to get your car.”
Tabitha closed her eyes. “I came on the tube. My car has a dead battery. The auto club is supposed to be there tomorrow to fix it.”
“I’ll run back to your flat.” He walked her to his car. He’d found a parking spot on the street. “By the way, you’d better call Courtney. I was talking to her when you called Peter. She’ll be a basket case.”
“I was going to call her anyway. She always makes me feel better.”
He opened the door for her. She stopped halfway into the passenger seat. “Mark what about my painting?”
“What about it?”
“Can I get it from the theatre? I need to see if I can repair it.”
“I’ll take you down tomorrow morning if you can be ready by eight. I have court at 10:00 and it’s old Judge Hardwick. He’s a stickler for punctuality.”
“I can be ready earlier than that if you need me to. I’m afraid that the crime scene techs might ruin it.”
“Let’s do it at 7:30. That will give us more time.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready.” She pushed open the door, leaning her shoulder against it. Her arms felt like wet spaghetti, limp, useless.
Once she had managed to drag herself to her flat, open the door and collapse into her favorite recliner, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She pressed the icon for her friend’s number.
“Tabitha, are you all right?” Courtney’s voice was high pitched, nervous.
Tabitha could picture her friend running her hand through her long, auburn hair, her eyes frantic.
She knew her voice was dragging, but she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. “Hi, Court. I’m okay. Mark just dropped me off.”
“So what happened? It sounded like you had been arrested.”
Taking a deep breath, Tabitha told her everything that had happened. “When the crime scene tech told Parker that Jess had been killed elsewhere, Mark made him let me go.”
“I’ll bet Parker’s behind this somehow, Tab.” Courtney’s voice was unyielding. “He hates you like poison.”
Tabitha took a deep breath. Courtney had despised Parker ever since he had arrested her for Ronald Evans’ murder.
“You could be right.” Tabitha felt she needed to derail her friend. She knew from experience the best way to do it was to agree with her. “I just don’t see how or why.”
“He’s probably trying to frame you.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. Almost she could believe Courtney—almost.
Chapter 10—Tabitha’s Flat
Tabitha yawned. “Courtney, I think I need to go to bed. My brain is fried. Mark is picking me up at 7:30 so we can look at my painting. I need to see if I can repair it. I hope so. I don’t think I could finish it in time if I had to start over.”
Tabitha couldn’t see Courtney nod her head, but she knew she was nodding. “Okay. I hope you can sleep. If not, there are some of those sleep aids in the medicine cabinet.”
“Thanks. I don’t like taking them, but--” Tabitha said goodnight, plugged in the phone to charge and dragged herself to bed. Even though she thought she’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, she went right to sleep.
She awoke before the alarm, a dream tugging at her memory. Frowning, she stared at the Christmas wreath hanging in the window. Its tiny battery-operated light was flickering like it was a real candle. It glowed against the black night flowing against the windowpanes.
She knew she had been at Ghost Haven. It had been night that much she was sure of. She thought she was in the gallery. She had been painting. Somehow, she knew she had been painting—painting the background of the Nutcracker picture. There was a grand tree in the background, covered with ornaments. The figure was going to be the sugar plum fairy but she couldn’t find the face.
The ghost. Her ghost danced through the wall of the gallery, twirled on her toes, performed a grand jete, went en pointe and froze. Tabitha could see a knife in her hand. A knife pointed at her heart. She woke up, covered in sweat, her whole body shaking like she’d had a seizure.
Tabitha pulled the door to apartment complex closed, making sure the lock was secure. She wasn’t in the mood to come back and find her flat trashed. The dream hung heavy in her mind, ratcheting up her temper, her wrath lying on the surface of her mind like oil on water.
Looking around, she saw Mark’s car parked across the street. He was just opening the door. She waved for him to stay put. As she stepped into the street, a black Fiat zoomed from a parking place further down the street, its wheels sending snow in a gusher behind the car.
She stood frozen her eyes glued to the car that had become a guided missile with her as the target.
Before Mark could come hurtling across the street, a large hand grabbed the back of her coat yanking her away from the car so hard that several buttons ripped off.
The car skimmed by, tearing a long gash in her sleeve.
She found herself buried in the folds of a dark grey overcoat, one of the buttons scoring her cheek. Putting both hands on his chest, she pushed away gasping for breath.
“T-t-thank you.” The words spread like glue across her vocal cords as she looked up into the face of the man who hated her, Detective Chief Inspector Charles London.
His face was so white that he blended into the snow and the pale cream of the stone walls of her a
partment complex. His hair stood out like night against the white of his face.
Mark watched as the car spun around the corner, disappearing from sight. He ran across the street.
“Tabitha. Are you all right?” Mark looked from London to the corner where the car had turned.
Mark thought that London didn’t want to let go of Tabitha. But finally he released his hold on her arms and stepped back. He pulled his collar radio from under his coat. “I need to call this in. It was intentional.”
Mark nodded. He took one look at Tabitha’s white face and shaking hands and guided her to the snow-covered decorative flower box that lined the front sidewalk, helping her sit down.
“I got the license number.” Mark’s voice had a slight tremor.
London nodded as he finished his report, then he gave dispatch the license number. There was a pause.
“Detective Chief Inspector?” The dispatcher’s voice was respectful. “I just took a call on that license number. It was stolen after midnight last night.”
“Thank you. You know where to find me if Metro has any questions.”
“Yes sir. Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
London turned to look down at Tabitha. “Where were you going this early in the morning?”
“Mark was taking me to check out my painting from last night. I need to know if I can repair it.”
“I doubt if they will return it. It’s evidence in a capital case.”
She surged to her feet. “They’d better return it. That picture is worth 125,000 dollars.”
Mark laughed. “I’ll bet Cabot can get it back, if you can fix it. I know you did it with Peter’s parent’s pictures but we don’t know how badly this one is damaged.”
London nodded. “I can have a word with Parker. He should release it once the case closes.”
“Unless I’m charged.” Tabitha’s voice was bitter. “Which Parker will do if he can pull it off.”
London opened his mouth to blow off her comment, but stopped, looking worried. “Do you really think Parker would, how do you Yanks put it, railroad you into a conviction?”
Before Tabitha could say anything, Mark nodded. “If you could have seen him when he interviewed her, you’d believe it.”
The Ghost Dances the Nutcracker Page 7