Night Corridor

by Joan Hall Hovey

  Animated sounds issued from the den where David was watching cartoons. Tom wondered how he was handling all this. Neither of them would ever feel the same way about Christmas. But maybe especially Gloria. David was young and kids had a way of bouncing back.

  "Mom had an artistic bent," she said sadly, but with pride. "Well, then, whoever she wrapped it for must have killed her. What other explanation could there be? It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't the hope diamond either. Who would kill someone for a two-hundred dollar brooch?"

  "People have been killed for a pair of sneakers, their jacket. A couple of bucks. But I don't think your mother died for the sake of a brooch. There's another reason. I just don't know what it is yet. But I will."

  He was promising again. Something about her made him want to protect her. Not the same as just wanting to find a killer, which was his job. He wanted to be there for her, take care of her and David. He hadn't felt like this about a woman in years. Nuts, he'd just met her. It wasn't because she was beautiful, either, although he saw beauty in her. Her fair hair needed washing and her eyes were swollen from all the tears. And she'd lost weight even since he'd last seen her. Aside from that, he was too damned old for her. But that didn't stop him from feeling an urge to beat the hell out of her ex for hurting her, which made him about as mature as a high school kid.

  "Can't you check the wrapping paper for prints?" she asked. "The killer's would be on it, wouldn't they?"

  "Did that, but nothing. Only your mom's thumb print. He probably wore gloves."

  She let out a weary sigh, said wistfully, "We ate the Pizza in the back room. You could hear if a customer came in, there's a little bell above the door. That was the last time I saw mom alive."

  He could only nod.

  "I could feel him when I was in the store, you know. I could feel his insanity. The terrible violence he unleashed on my mother hung like residue in the air." More tears leaked from her eyes and he resisted the compulsion to go to her and put his arms around her. "She must have been so terrified," she said. He saw her mentally pull herself together. "Would you like a cup of coffee, Detective O'Neal?"

  He said he would. Against his better judgment he also said, "If I'm to call you Gloria, please call me Tom."

  Fifty-Three

  All New Years' Eve day, Caroline couldn't quiet the anxious feeling she had that Jeffrey might not show up tonight. The last time she saw him, he'd seemed irritated, and she hadn't heard from him since. Well, she'd just be ready for nine o'clock, which was the time he said he'd call for her and if he showed up, fine. If not, fine too. She knew it would hurt. She also knew she'd get over it.

  Lynne called to wish her a Happy New Year, and Caroline guessed it was an excuse to see if she'd turned the brooch over to the police. She didn't mind. It was only because she was worried about her. A 'mother hen' she'd called herself. I don't think I need that anymore, Caroline thought. I just need her to be my friend.

  She swept her hair back from her face, which looked kind of Audrey Hepburnish with the dangling rhinestone earrings. The rhinestone belt made the dress look totally different.

  He knocked on her door at ten to nine and she almost ran to answer it. He looked very handsome in a shirt and tie, and topcoat. They took a cab to the club. His car was in the shop. In the cab, he said, "You really look stunning, Caroline. I can't take my eyes off you."

  At his words, a warm glow of pleasure washed through her.

  The big room was decorated festively, draped with blue and gold crepe paper, streamers and garlands. A big glittery sign on the back wall wished everyone HAPPY NEW YEAR!

  The air in the room was charged with excitement. Caroline was relieved to see that only a couple of the women were wearing long dresses, and in fact, one woman, a redhead, wore jeans and a purple sequined top.

  Jeffrey found a small table off by itself against the wall, then went to fill their plates with goodies from the buffet table, including two glasses of spiked punch from the punchbowl.

  As they enjoyed the food and punch, Jeffrey told her about his father who had fought in the war. She, in turn, talked about her own father serving in Korea and thought about his passionate letters to her mother. It was nice here, she thought, though she preferred the small piano bar where they'd gone Christmas Eve. Gradually, it got too loud to hear each other.

  As the band was tuning up for the next set, the redhead in the sequined top was up on her feet, whirling around the room, a glass in her hand. "Play I Can't Stop Loving You," she yelled, evoking a burst of laughter from the crowd. She responded by telling them what they could do with themselves.

  "I'm sorry. Not exactly the Ritz, is it," he grinned sheepishly. "But the tickets were cheap. You wanna leave?"

  "No. Not yet. I've heard worse language, believe me."

  The band obliged the redhead and Jeffrey drew Caroline to her feet. "I'm not much of a dancer," she whispered in his ear, but he just smiled and pulled her closer and led her in a slow dance to the middle of the floor. She tried to keep a space between them, which made her steps awkward. He laughed lightly, a very fetching laugh. "Relax, Caroline," he murmured, and drew her ever closer. A small sigh escaped her as she gave in and let him guide her around the floor. She followed him easily. Too easily. She danced as if she had always danced or at least it felt that way. She was quite happy to dance the night away, in Jeffrey's arms.

  Soon, however, the place became so crowded you couldn't walk onto the floor without bumping into someone, and the noise ended any chance of conversation. Perfumes mingled with perspiration and liquor. Anxiety began to creep over her and it was getting hard to breathe.

  She withdrew from his embrace. "I need to get some air, Jeffrey."

  "Sure." Looking concerned, he got their coats. Outside she leaned against the red brick building and breathed in the crisp winter's night air, let it calm her. She looked up at the dark blue velvet sky strewn with stars and an almost full moon.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Fine now. It's such a beautiful evening. I hope I haven't ruined it for you."

  He laughed. "Hardly. You're right; it is a lovely night. Anyway, I'm just happy to be with you, wherever we are." He glanced at his watch. Eleven-thirty. Feel like walking?"

  "Yes, please. I love to walk."

  The street was tree-lined, their branches silvered with frost. As they walked, the noise from inside the club grew fainter, finally dying away. Overhead wires sang in the sharp night air.

  For a time they walked silently, holding hands, collars turned up against the cold, their breaths visible in the cold air. "Will your friends think it odd your leaving before the midnight hour?" Caroline asked.

  He laughed. "I didn't know a soul in there. My dad used to frequent the place; he had a lot of friends who did too, many gone now. Like I said, the tickets were reasonable. You don't make big bucks teaching kids how to play the piano. And I'm still waiting to be discovered as a composer. I'm a very poor catch, Caroline."

  "No, you're not." She smiled. They were passing Gleneton, the street where she once lived and she averted her eyes. With her hand in his, for a moment she recalled walking alongside William, the way their hands had fit together, entwined. Then William receded to that far place in her memory, and she was back with Jeffrey again.

  "I owe you an apology," he said unexpectedly.

  "Oh?"

  "When you knocked on my door Christmas night, I was in a bit of a mood. My mother had been crying most of the day, digging out old pictures of dad. I also knew I was a suspect in the murders. The detectives came back twice to interview me. Then they put a tail on me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure. It's because Lorraine Winters used to live in the building and I went to her funeral. I knew the girl, for God's sake."

  "Did you—go out with her?" She was sorry she'd asked the question as soon as it was out of her mouth, but he seemed to take no offense.

  "We were neighbors. We passed the time of day when we met
coming or going from the building. Nothing more. But she seemed like a lovely girl and I was very sorry about what happened to her."

  She was surprised to see that they were standing in front of their building, as if she'd been in a kind of trance and just woken up.

  "Listen," Jeffrey said. "Can you hear the horns?"

  She listened. And suddenly fireworks exploded in the night sky, a spectacular starburst of electric blues. Then another…boom…boom…boom…one after the other, displaying a kaleidoscope of colors—gold, silver fuchsia, green, reds—a burst of flowers lighting the midnight sky. As she looked on with the wonderment of a child, she felt Jeffrey's arm go around her.

  "The city holds these fireworks down by the docks every year," he said, just as another chorus of horns blew in celebration. He glanced at his watch, then at her. "Happy New Year, Caroline," he said, and took her into his arms and kissed her.

  There on the deserted sidewalk, wrapped in the magic of the night, he kissed her long and tenderly, and finally with an urgency that matched her own. Without words, he unlocked the front door and he followed her upstairs, a hand at the small of her back.

  Caroline was trying to think clearly, trying to rein in the passion flowing through her. And then they were in her room and somehow their boots were off, and he was unbuttoning her coat, then his own, tossing them. One part of her wanted to surrender to her desire while a rational part of her was flashing red lights, warning her of a barrier ahead, and the very steep cliff beyond it.

  His warm hands were gently cupping her face and he was kissing her again and again, his mouth searching and hungry. Murmuring her name, he guided her toward the sofa, kissing her throat as they moved, her eyes, and then they were on the sofa, her fingers wound in his hair as if with a will of their own; it was thick and silky. William's hair had had a lighter feel, like a child's hair. Everything is going too fast. This isn't right. No, no. He wanted to swallow her up. She would need him. She didn't want to need him.

  "No, no, Jeffrey," she gasped, pushing him away, fighting them both.

  He groaned at her resistance. "I want you, Caroline." His breath warm against her cheek, he murmured, "Please, I know you want me too."

  "I do, but I'm not ready, Jeffrey. I'm sorry." She sat up and readjusted her clothes. She was shaking, her own breathing not quite under control.

  The glaze of passion was still in his eyes, mixed with frustration. "No, no, it's okay. I didn't mean to pressure you." Running a hand through his mussed hair, he stood up. "I thought…" He picked up his coat from the floor and brushed it off.

  Most of Caroline's coat had managed to find the end table. She hung it in the closet. "I'm sorry," she said, walking him to the door. "Would you like some coffee before you go?"

  He grinned like she'd said something incredulous. "I'll take a rain check, okay?" He kissed her lightly on the corner of her mouth. "Sleep well."

  She was silent. She had ruined everything. She was about to close the door when he asked, "Do you work tomorrow?"

  "No," she said, puzzled. "I worked Christmas day so I have it off."

  "Great. I'll take you to lunch? How's one o'clock."

  "Fine." The dark feelings evaporated and she was happy again.

  Down in the foyer, Buddy melted into the shadows, fists closing and unclosing, rage born of yet another betrayal pounding through his veins.

  Fifty-Four

  Detective Tom O'Neal spent New Year's Eve with his dog, Jake. They'd had pizza earlier to mark the occasion. Tom had a couple of brews and now they were walking along the beach, a big white moon lighting their way along the stretch of sand, and reflecting silvery off the water. The night was cold but invigorating, helped to clear his head.

  Looking toward town, he could see the bursts of fireworks blooming in the night sky, but he couldn't hear them, which made them almost dreamlike. The whooshing of the waves rushing at the shore near his feet accompanied his thoughts.

  Earlier, he and Glen had poured over the facts of the case again. He was beginning to have his doubts Jeffrey Denton was their guy. He'd have to be a complete moron. Though he did fit the profile—early thirties, lived alone, close to his mother. But bad guys usually weren't that bright, despite popular belief. And Glen had told him he thought Denton picked up his tail. And why the hell would he savage Natalie Breen like he had, then hang that brooch on Caroline Hill's doorknob, knowing it would connect him to the killing? Didn't make sense. Nothing about this case did.

  There could be other victims for all he knew. Missing women they'd figured were runaways, others no one reported missing. Prostitutes were prime targets for these predators. The guy could be a transient, moving from state to state. A salesman, a truck driver. He'd had the thoughts before and now they returned, running full circle in his mind.

  Then there was the landlady's nephew who'd been hesitant to answer their questions, but maybe only because he had some challenges. Although Tom didn't discount that there might be more ominous reasons. Caroline had said he'd asked her out to a movie and that she'd turned him down. When Tom mentioned it, he'd hung his head, said that that was okay. She was still his friend. It was clear the landlady, very protective of her Harold, hadn't liked them questioning him.

  They'd also interrogated Handratty who swore he never touched 'that crazy bitch'. Though they questioned him for four hours, they couldn't break him down and get to him admit what really happened to him that night, even when it was clear they all knew the truth, that only one man had put him in the hospital. When they started pushing him about the killings, he shut down altogether and demanded to be permitted to make a call to his lawyer. As it turned out, he'd actually called his mother, but now was lawyered up.

  Other thoughts inserted themselves in the mix. Mainly of Gloria on her own in that house with David. Who knew where the bastard would strike next? You couldn't put a squad car on every house. And he couldn't play favorites.

  A wave snuck up on him, rushing over his sneakers before he could jump out of its reach, sending a shock of cold seeping through the canvas.

  Jake was running ahead of him, nosing under logs, checking stuff out, tail wagging happily. Every so often, he would turn and look in Tom's direction to reassure himself that everything was cool.

  Fifty-Five

  Mrs. Bannister met Caroline at the bottom of the stairs next morning and invited her in for tea. "Aren't you looking spiffy. Day off?"

  "Yes." Once Caroline decided to revisit the house she grew up in, a strange urgency had overtaken her and she was anxious to be on her way. "I'm taking the bus to Gleneton Street," she said, but Mrs. Bannister had already taken her hand and was drawing her inside her flat.

  "I—I guess I can come in for a minute."

  As she followed the landlady down the hallway, she found herself looking for the kitten Mrs. Bannister had offered her, but Mimi wasn't to be seen among the menagerie of felines who had taken up post on various pieces of furniture. Not that she had changed her mind.

  Stepping into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Harold sitting at the table, eating Cheerios from a blue bowl. He explained he didn't have to go in till ten this morning, smiled at her and went back to eating. There was a Cheerio stuck to the corner of his mouth.

  "What number, dear," Mrs. Bannister asked, as she poured their tea. "I know a woman lives over on Gleneton."

  "Number 264. Near the Bay. You put that model airplane together yet?" she asked Harold.

  "Yeah, you wanna see?" Before she could answer, Harold was gone. Sometimes he seemed like he was no more than ten or twelve. But she was happy he liked the gift she'd bought him.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, the landlady eased herself into a chair. "That was a thoughtful gift, Caroline. You're a good girl, but I have to tell you I'm not happy about that police car cruising by at all hours, slowing down when they pass our building. The neighbors will think we're selling dope or something. They questioned poor Harold for over an hour. They were asking him about a
gold brooch someone hung on your door. They thought it might have been him. Did you tell them that?"

  So Mrs. Bannister hadn't asked her in because she wanted company. She was angry about the police talking to Harold. "I told them I thought it might be possible," she said truthfully.

  "Why didn't you just ask him? Or me? Anyway, Harold doesn't have that kind of money if he did want to buy you something so extravagant. Did you consider that Mr. Denton might have left it? I've noticed you two are quite an item."

  She was probably watching out her window and saw us kissing, Caroline thought. "Yes, I did ask. He says he didn't. I'm sorry about the police questioning Harold, Mrs. Bannister. I guess they have to talk to everyone who knows me, and who knew Lorraine Winters, since she lived here at one time too. They'll find the killer soon, I'm sure, and then all this will be over."