“I can’t do that.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I was really hoping the three of us could have some fun.”
“Three of us?”
Isis took something else out of her purse. This was a Polaroid of April tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth. “It was so easy to convince her to let me tie her up. I can only imagine what you two must do together in there.”
“If you hurt her—”
“I’m sure you can find yourself another whore.” Isis’s fingernails dug into the flesh on Kramer’s chest. “I’d much rather we keep things cordial.”
“If I give you the key, will you let her go?”
“Only if she wants me to let her go. I think she rather enjoys it.” This she said with such an evil grin that Kramer shivered. It was only then he noticed her black eyes. These seemed to mock him as he wrestled with the decision. Of course all he had to do was shout for help and a dozen police officers would charge in. But then they would find out about April and everything would be ruined. His wife would leave him and take the kids with her. He’d probably be fired, not long after which April would dump him too.
“All right, but only if you swear she’ll be safe.”
“Of course she’ll be safe.” Isis let him take the key to April’s room. He in turn took the key to the evidence locker off his key ring. He dropped this into her open palm. “Thank you.” As a token of her gratitude she kissed him on the lips. It was the best kiss Kramer had ever experienced, far more passionate than those of his wife or April.
When Isis pulled away, Kramer was left to gasp for air. Once he recovered his wits, he took off in a brisk walk to the parking lot. With typical late night traffic it wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get to the motel. Though once he got there, he might take his time to let April go.
***
Lydia Vendetta sat in the interrogation room with a cup of coffee. Lieutenant Donovan listened to the don slurp from the cup and then checked her watch. “We’ve still got about ten minutes until your ambulance chaser gets here. Why don’t we pass the time with a little conversation? We can talk about anything: sports, politics, the weather, or your ties to organized crime in the city.”
“Do you really think such an obvious ploy will work? You drag me from my cell in the middle of the night with no lawyer and you think I’ll say something to incriminate myself?”
“I thought you might have decided to cooperate by now. Of course if you don’t want to, we can put you back in the cell.”
“You might as well. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“Come on, Lydia, I thought we were friends by now. We’ve spent so much time together these last few days.”
“It won’t be much longer until I’m out of here.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. I think you’re going to be our guest for a long time.” The last syllables of this sentence hadn’t faded away when the fire alarm went off. Lieutenant Donovan reached down to her belt, to take out the handcuffs she kept there. She clamped one of these on Don Vendetta’s wrist and the other to the table leg. “Stay here.”
“What if the place is burning down?”
“I’ll come back for you. Wouldn’t want you to get to Hell before I’ve put you away.” Lieutenant Donovan sprinted from the interrogation room and followed the line of cops on the way to the source of the fire. Her stomach churned as they approached the evidence locker.
Officer Lois Early, Lieutenant Donovan’s closest friend on the force, was already at the locker, a fire extinguisher in her hands. She used this like a crowd control shield to keep her friend out of the smoky room. “You’re too late,” Lois said. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“Your evidence. The computers. They’re all gone.” Lois gestured to the burning room, which had started to come under control thanks to the sprinkler system. “There’s nothing left in there.”
“How do you know?”
“I tried to get to them.” Lois motioned with the fire extinguisher. “It was too intense. I’m sorry.”
“No. That can’t be. It can’t be. Not after all that work. Goddamnit!” Lieutenant Donovan seized the fire extinguisher from Lois and then charged into the evidence locker. Though the flames had died down, there was still plenty of smoke, far more than even Lieutenant Donovan liked to ingest.
She pulled up the collar of her T-shirt until it covered her mouth and nose. This filtered out some of the smoke, though her eyes continued to sting. Even with the smoke, she knew where the evidence for the Vendetta case was located; she could have found it blindfolded if needed. She used the extinguisher to put out a few rogue pockets of fire as she made her way to where her case against the don was kept.
Just as Lois said, it was all gone. Nothing more than melted plastic and scorched metal. All of the stolen computers were destroyed. Lieutenant Donovan sank down to her knees, in part from despair and in part to escape the smoke. She battered the scorched floor tiles with her fists as she screamed a stream of curse words, many of which hadn’t been invented until that moment.
A hand touched her shoulder. Lieutenant Donovan whirled around to see Lois behind her. “Come on, Lottie, let’s get out of here. There’s nothing we can do.”
“It’s gone. It’s all gone.”
“I know.” The grip tightened on Lieutenant Donovan’s shoulder. “If we don’t go, IA will bring you up for tampering with a crime scene.”
“Me? Tampering with a crime scene?” Lieutenant Donovan shrugged out of her friend’s grasp to get to her feet. “Whoever did this is the one who tampered with a crime scene. And I’m going to find out who it was if it’s the last thing I do.”
Lieutenant Donovan stormed out of the evidence locker, back to the interrogation room. Don Vendetta sat there with a placid grin like the proverbial cat who had swallowed a canary. The lieutenant banged a fist on the table. “I don’t know who you put up to this, but I’m going to find them and then I’m going to nail your ass for obstruction of justice on top of everything.”
“Does this mean I’m free to go?”
“Get yourself out of here. Or have one of your friends do it for you.” Lieutenant Donovan turned on her heel to stomp out of the room. She stopped at Captain Kramer’s office. He had been there before she went to interrogate Don Vendetta. Now he was gone. From the look of it, he had left in a hurry.
Lieutenant Donovan’s fists clenched. She had found the mole in the department.
Chapter 7
Steve’s gold Stratus pulled up in front of the museum. Becky was behind the wheel and Emma could see her sisters already in the backseat. Emma supposed it was a little bit rude to make the bachelorette drive to her own party, but Emma and Becky’s sisters didn’t have a car. Emma didn’t even get all the way down the steps before Becky called out, “What did that butcher do to you?”
Emma patted her head. “I like it,” she said.
“You didn’t sell your hair for money, did you?”
“No.” Emma went around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s seat. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine. I wish you’d have consulted me before you did something radical like that. We have to take pictures tomorrow.”
“She looks great,” Brandi said from the backseat. “When did you become such a fashion Nazi?”
“You better watch out. She’s turning into Bridezilla,” Bambi said with a giggle.
“Pipe down both of you. You’re not too big that I can’t whip both your hineys.” This only prompted more giggling from the backseat. Emma shrank down in the front seat and waited to see what Becky would do. Her friend muttered a curse and then started for the restaurant Emma’s secretary had reserved.
It became clear as they approached that they should have rented a car. The only cars to pull up to the restaurant were Mercedes, Jaguars, and BMWs. Becky didn’t seem to pay any attention to this as she pulled up to the valet in Steve’s rusty, dented Stratus. “Who’d you
have to pay off to get a reservation?” Becky asked as she climbed out of the car. She blindly tossed the keys to a valet.
Before they could go inside, Becky pulled Emma aside. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said.
“I’m sorry about the haircut,” Emma said. “I should have asked you—”
“It’s not that. I invited someone else to our party.”
“What? Who?”
“Don’t get mad, please. You promise?”
“Who is it?”
“That Isis woman.” Becky braced as if Emma would punch her and Emma seriously considered it. Their last night before Becky got married and she had invited the person Emma disliked more than any other in the world. “Look, I know she married your guy, but she came to the office this morning. She was crying because she’s having a hard time fitting in. I thought maybe if you two got talking, you’d see she wasn’t so bad and maybe you’d become friends. Or at least not enemies.”
Emma almost laughed at the coincidence of this; she had thought of something similar herself at Mrs. Chiostro’s house. She wished Becky hadn’t sprung it now without any warning. “I understand. I’m not mad.” She forced a smile, though she doubted Becky would believe it. “And it’s your party. You can do what you want.”
“Thanks. I didn’t want you to go in there and see her and give her one of those kung-fu moves of yours.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know. I’m just kidding.”
“Oh, right.” Emma motioned towards the door. “Let’s go inside.”
Becky’s sisters followed them into the restaurant. Isis was already inside, on a bench to the side of the waiting room. She gave a shy smile and then walked towards the group. “Dr. Earl? I’m Isis Dreyfus. We met at the party last night—”
“I remember. Dan’s said a lot about you.”
“He’s mentioned you too. He says you’re extremely gifted.”
Emma instinctually blushed at this compliment. “I don’t know about that.”
“You two are getting along already. Isis, these are my baby sisters Bambi and Brandi. They’re my bridesmaids.”
“You’re getting married?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m very happy for you.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Let’s go in and order, shall we?”
“Good idea. I’m starving,” Becky said. One of Emma’s greatest fears was assuaged when she found the maitre d’ had not lost their reservation. He did give their eclectic group a raised eyebrow as he searched the list; he probably hoped they weren’t on it.
They had a booth in the back, one of the best tables in the place. Emma made a note to send Leslie a bouquet of flowers Monday. “Would you like to see the wine list?” the waiter asked with a suspicious raised eyebrow.
“I don’t think—” Emma started, but Becky cut her off.
“Yes, please. But only for three of us. My sisters are still underage.”
“Narc,” Brandi grumbled.
“I’ll have water,” Emma said. She rarely touched alcohol in order to stay sharp if she needed to suit up in the magic armor.
“Could I perhaps choose something?” Isis said. “I have some experience with this.”
“You lived in Switzerland, didn’t you?” Emma asked. “They probably drink wine there all the time.”
She watched Isis’s face for hesitation or a trace of uncertainty, but there was nothing. “Yes, we drank wine quite frequently, but not to excess.” She scanned the list and then ordered an expensive red wine in French. Emma, who was footing the bill for the party, stifled a gasp at this.
“Excellent choice. And would your young companions like water?”
“I’d like a coffee if you have it,” Brandi said.
“Water is fine,” Bambi said.
They were left to scan the menus, which like the wine list were written in French. “Would you like any help in reading this?” Isis asked.
“Emma knows French. She taught me a little bit of it,” Becky said before Emma could say anything herself. “I think I’ll have the fish. What about you two? Just remember they don’t have hamburgers here.”
“We’re not children,” Brandi said. Her sister nodded in agreement. Brandi skimmed the menu before she said, “I think I’ll have the snails people are always talking about.”
“Gross,” Bambi said with a giggle. “I think I’ll have a salad.”
“Watching your weight?” Becky asked.
“A little late for that,” Brandi said. Becky plucked a piece of bread from the basket as if to throw it at her sister.
Isis ignored this and leaned over to Emma. “Are you enjoying your new job at the museum? What is it the assistant director does?”
“Mostly it’s paperwork. Administrative tasks. It’s not very interesting.” Emma noticed the haughtiness present when she had first met Isis had evaporated. This Isis seemed reserved, even shy. Emma wondered which version of the woman was genuine, or perhaps neither was. Stop it. Stop looking for reasons to hate her. Be objective, she told herself.
“Dan said he thinks you’ll be the director very soon.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Becky had finished with her sisters and beamed at Emma and Isis as if they were leaders from Palestine and Israel about to make peace. “I knew you two would hit it off.”
The waiter brought their drinks and poured a glass of red wine for Isis and Becky. Isis raised her glass in a toast. “May you be blessed similarly on your wedding day.” Emma tapped her water glass to Becky’s and then Isis’s; she felt like a passenger already. Why did Becky have to invite her?
The wine was exhausted before the entrees arrived. Emma wasn’t sure exactly how this happened, but she did know Becky had drunk most of it. Already Becky showed signs of drunkenness in the way she slurred her words as she thanked the waiter for her plate of halibut. Emma tried to stop her friend from ordering another bottle of wine, but Becky said, “Come on, it’s a party.”
“At least for you,” Brandi said.
Becky started to cut her piece of fish with her fork. The piece of fish rocketed off her plate, into the mostly-untouched basket of bread. Becky guffawed at this as if it were the funniest thing she had ever seen. Isis leaned over and said, “Let me help you with that.” She cut Becky’s fish into small pieces and then put one on her fork. She fed this to Becky as if Becky were a small child.
“That is some good halibut.” Becky guffawed again. “Hally-Butt. What a funny name.”
“Are you all right?” Emma asked.
“I feel great. Just great.”
“She’s happy, enjoying life before her big day,” Isis said.
Emma shared a concerned look with Becky’s sisters, both of whom had obviously noticed their sister’s strange behavior and sudden connection with Isis. As they ate, Isis regaled Becky with stories about her married life, stories that while not dirty made Emma blush. It should be her telling stories about being married to Dan. But she had given Dan up. It was her own fault.
Emma was grateful when she could signal the waiter for the check, but unfortunately the night was still young.
***
When Leslie had planned the evening, she had scheduled them to head to the tearoom at the Rampart Arms Hotel for coffee and dessert. It made sense since three of the party wouldn’t be drinking and none of them wanted to dance. When they arrived at the hotel, Becky pointed towards the ballroom, from inside which came the sounds of swing music. “Let’s go in there,” she said.
“We don’t have a reservation,” Emma said.
“And you can’t dance,” Brandi seconded.
“Dancing isn’t very difficult,” Isis said. “I can show you how. I took lessons when I was a little girl.”
“In Switzerland,” Emma said. She hoped that Isis might slip up after a few drinks.
“That’s right, in Switzerland. The school insisted we learn how.” She took Becky�
��s hand and led her towards the ballroom. Emma saw little choice but to follow them with Becky’s sisters in tow. Despite not having a reservation Isis got them in with little difficulty. “They needed a little persuasion,” she said with a wink.
The music was far louder in the ballroom, enough so they had to shout to each other in order to be heard. “What do we do now?” Bambi asked.
“Come, let me show you,” Isis said. She pulled Becky onto the dance floor. Isis began a series of acrobatic maneuvers and to Emma’s surprise Becky followed along—for the most part. On one particularly sharp twist Becky lost her balance and collapsed into Isis’s arms. They laughed uproariously at this. If Emma didn’t know the two people involved she could have sworn at that moment they would kiss. To her eyes at least it looked as if Isis wanted to, but Becky pushed her back to resume dancing.
Meanwhile, Emma and Becky’s sisters stood along one wall. Emma hadn’t felt like such a wallflower since her senior prom in high school. Though she could perform all sorts of acrobatic moves in the Scarlet Knight’s armor, she never could manage the same kind of agility to music. Brandi, the reformed Goth girl, lamented the kind of music to which they danced. “Fucking swing music. From the ‘40s or something,” she said. She stuck a finger in her mouth to indicate how she felt about this.
“I think it’s cute,” Bambi said.
“You would.”
“She seems to be having fun.”
“Sure, because she’s wasted.”
“She is not.”
“You saw how much wine she drank. And wouldn’t let us drink any.”
“What was she supposed to do, bring fake IDs?”
“I already have one.”
The two girls continued to argue while Emma studied Becky and Isis on the dance floor. Becky’s behavior throughout the evening had been odd. She rarely drank and she never danced. In second grade when they had to square dance in gym class, Becky faked a stomach cramp to get out of it. This wasn’t right at all. And it had all begun when Isis had entered the picture. As if Isis had bewitched her.
Witchcraft. That would explain Dan’s attraction to Isis and how they had gotten married. She must have done the same thing to Dan that she was doing to Becky. Perhaps it wasn’t even real witchcraft but some kind of pheromone she used to make herself attractive to prey. But why hadn’t Emma, Brandi, and Bambi felt any effects of it? Perhaps only certain people responded to it. If only she had some equipment here, she might be able to measure it and locate the source.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 61