Lethal Affair

by Noelle Hart

  Hemming in his disdain for her, Stanley supplied, “Drew cooked. In fact,” and he prided himself on coming up with this on the spur of the moment, “he burned his hand on the stove. I had to bandage it for him.” He'd call Drew and have him bandage the dog bite. Unable to convince him to leave town, he'd coached him on how to deal with the cops.

  Crane and Hoyle exchanged glances. Both wondered what that had to do with anything. Had a struggling Gina Kirby injured him? The medical examiner hadn't found any DNA-rich tell-tale skin cells under her nails.

  “Mr. Hammond, would you say your son is prone to violence?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Because we know of several violent incidents he's had with his ex girlfriends, and one in particular with Kylie Lambert.”

  “That? It was nothing. The young woman blew things out of proportion. She got herself pregnant and my son wanted to do the right thing and marry her, but she wouldn't have it and humiliated him. It wasn't a malicious act but rather a normal reaction to her rather insulting behavior.”

  She got herself pregnant. Now that was a helluva trick, thought Stacie.

  “That depends on what you call normal,” continued Crane. “Are you aware that Drew has been stalking her for the past several weeks?”

  Stanley grimaced. “He only wanted to speak with her. It's his baby after all. Is that too much to ask?”

  It wasn't hard to see from where Drew got his cockiness. They weren't going to get much more from Stanley Hammond right now.

  Concluding the interview, they headed for Drew's apartment. On the ride over they discussed how Hammond had so obviously been covering his son's every move.

  After a brief verbal scuffle, Drew buzzed them up to his apartment. He greeted them at the door wearing lounging pants, a sweatshirt and a bandage on his hand.

  “You again,” said Drew ungraciously. “What now?”

  “We have questions regarding a murder last night,” Crane informed him.

  “I don't know why you're harassing me. I had nothing to do with either of them.”

  “You know about Gina Kirby?”

  “I read the papers.”

  “Are you going to invite us in?”

  Wordlessly he opened the door wide to let them pass.

  “This is Detective Stacie Hoyle. She'll be sitting in.”

  Hoyle figured that Daddy's phone call warning him of their imminent arrival was why the bandage on Drew's hand was fresh and unsoiled. Compounding that notion was the bandage wrapper lying on the counter.

  Drew led them to his living room where they chose to sit on the wide couch.

  Inwardly Drew seethed. The two cops were sitting on the very sofa where he and Kylie had made out. This female cop was soiling his memory of Kylie with her big rump squashed exactly onto the place where his child had been conceived. He had a quick flash in his mind's eye of sticking the letter opener on the table into her neck.

  He gave her a brilliant smile instead and her woman's heart did a little flip, a natural reaction to all that high wattage charm. But then it hardened when she looked into his eyes and saw a flicker, a shadow that hinted at something unsavory.

  Crane took the lead, asking his array of questions. “Your father left here around one am. Isn't that a little unusual, considering you were both due at work early this morning?”

  Drew uttered what he'd been told to say. “We had to put our ducks in a row before an important meeting with a client.”

  I'll bet.

  “Your father said you burned your hand on the stove. Have you seen a doctor?”

  Drew's eyes grew cold. “No need. Nothing a little ointment won't fix.”

  “May I see it?”

  Drew hedged. “See what?”

  “The burn. Indulge me. Let me see it.”

  A moment of silence. “You're going to have to take my word for it, Detective. The bandage is keeping it from getting infected.”

  “I can re-bandage it for you,” Hoyle offered. “I'm trained in medical emergencies.”

  Drew held his injured hand to his body defensively. “Sorry. Not going to happen. Do I need to call a lawyer, Detective?”

  The family was lawyer happy. With good cause. Crane knew when to back down. He'd get a court order. Then they'd see what really lay beneath that bandage.

  “Only if you feel it's necessary.” He ran off a series of questions that Drew dodged in a monotone, clearly rehearsed answers in which he flat out denied stalking Kylie on her own and later with Will Delaney.

  Crane knew he was wasting his time and rose, Hoyle following suit. “Don't leave town. That's an official directive.”

  Drew grimaced. “Officially noted.”

  On their way down in the elevator Crane asked Hoyle what she thought. “He's a chip off the old block, sir,” she said, “and he's hiding something under that bandage.”

  “What do you think of him as a man? Would you go out with him? I mean, if you'd just met him, like say, in a bar.”

  She thought it through. “Sir, I have to say that my initial impression would be one of delight. He's a good looking man. But then so is Scott Peterson,” she added, referring to the lurid murder case in the U.S. years before in which a man had killed his pregnant wife, “and look what happened to Laci.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Max doesn't know about Gina and I want it to stay that way.” On his cell with Kylie, Will paced his office floor. It was Tuesday and he'd had a word with his artist neighbor, asking her to keep Max away from newspapers or newscasts.

  At work, Kylie juggled a clipboard and her phone. “Detective Crane told me the law can be as hindering as it is just. In other words, he's running the red tape involved to put a tail on Drew and get me some protection.”

  “Is he convinced that Hammond is the killer?”

  “Drew's their only lead so they're running with it. Crane strikes me as having pretty good radar, says he's picked up a vibe from Drew but that he has to follow the legal process.”

  “Probably needs just cause or some kind of proof for a judge.”

  “Yeah. Meanwhile I'm jumping at my own shadow.”

  “Listen Kylie, please have someone big and mean looking walk you out to the lot and check your truck before you get in it. Keep your phone fully charged and on your person at all times. I mean it. This is no joke.”

  The depth of his concern warmed her. “I'll be careful.”

  “Promise? Why don't you come straight to my house, have dinner with Max and I?”

  She'd love nothing more. Yet, “I don't know. What if Drew follows me to your home?”

  “We're assuming,” said Will. “I really hope it turns out the killer is someone other than the father of your child.”

  “Not the best legacy, is it.”

  “Hammond strikes me as a pretty resourceful guy. If he wants to know where I live, I doubt he needs you to show him the way. Come over. Max has been asking about you. He wiggles his eyebrows and says you could be Taylor Swift's older sister. Hell, maybe you are.”

  That did it. “Well I guess I'd better roll my star studded ass over there and set you both straight. But I must warn you, I'm not a pretty picture when I get off work.”

  *

  Feeling antsy, Drew disregarded his father's instructions to stay put in his apartment. Dear old Dad was cooking up a scheme to tuck him away somewhere, to get him help.

  Currently he didn't need any. Other than the restlessness, he felt fine. In command of his thoughts. He knew exactly what he had to do and why. The cops were bumblers at best, fishing around for a scapegoat. All they cared about was plastering closed case stickers on their files. Wouldn't matter who went to prison for doing away with those women, so long as someone took the fall.

  He still had the gloves from his first kill. It was sheer folly to keep them; the cops might show up with a search warrant any minute. He got them out from their hiding spot and put them on, re-lived those exciting, tr
iumphant moments. As he sniffed at the still caked on dried blood, his own blood ran hot.

  He was itching to use them on someone again. It didn't phase him that his mind had now taken a turn into the general populous in terms of victims. The thrill of it sang along his nerve endings as the need crept darkly along the periphery of his soul.

  Sighing dramatically, Drew placed the gloves in a plastic zipper bag and then removed the thin disposable gloves he'd used to handle them with. The dog bite was healing, just a nip really, the tooth marks a pale pink against his white knuckles. The garden gloves were destined for another job, although less satisfying. C'est la vie.

  As he left his building he donned a baseball cap and sunglasses. Top up, he got in his car and took the short drive across the Johnson Street bridge, following the waterfront route that led past the Inner Harbor with its famous landmarks of Empress Hotel and Parliament buildings.

  Such a gorgeous day. Sunlight flickered off ripples of water in the harbor where boats bobbed lightly against the docks. Tourists wandered the walkways, boarding double-decker buses and horse drawn carriages. Flowers spelling out a welcome to the city raised their canary yellow faces to the sun.

  What better day could Drew ask for, for what he was about to do?

  Taking a side street he cruised through the quiet residential streets of James Bay until he again reached the waterfront. He drove past the house he was looking for, one he'd previously located and tucked away in his memory to be eventually utilized for whatever purpose he saw necessary.

  It was necessary now.

  Parking six blocks away he grabbed a backpack and walked casually back to the house, checking to make sure he wasn't followed.

  The house was spectacular. Set back from the road, it boasted a side patio that gave unfettered views of the Olympics across the strait. A character home, it had been restored preserving its former glory while adding in modern styling, an eclectic mix that worked if you were a fan of those home improvement shows. The curb appeal showcased burgeoning flower and shrub beds, if you liked that sort of thing.

  Him? He preferred minimalistic, anonymous high rises with clean lines and austerity.

  He imagined the inside to be one of those places that invited clutter. Nick-knacks made him cringe, made him want to crush them beneath his feet. Alas, he wouldn't be seeing the inside today, because he'd just spotted the absolute best spot for what he had in mind.

  Looking around and ascertaining that no one was watching, he opened the latch of the gate leading into the back yard.

  *

  Rosemary Meesler applied a streak of cerulean blue to her canvas and stood back, squinting at the result. Too garish, she decided, and added titanium white to the blue on her palette.

  The boys were playing on the gaming console, noisily shouting and laughing, music to her ears. It meant she could work in peace, at least until they got hungry, which might be soon.

  She'd been happy to take Max in while her neighbor, Will Delaney, was at work. He'd offered to pay her but really she should pay him for giving her these child-free time slots in which to allow her creative juices to flow.

  The sun was moving westerly now so she'd have to move her easel accordingly. Glancing out the window to judge its position, Rosemary spotted movement across the street at Will's place. A snoop at heart, she peered at the figure she saw moving quickly through the gate. The fence about five feet high, she watched as his head and shoulders followed its line to the rear of the property.

  Should she call Will?

  The guy appeared at the gate again and left as quickly as he'd gone in.

  “Mom! Can we have some macaroni with cheese?” came her son's hopeful request.he incident across the street was shelved as she sighed and put down her brushes to be exchanged for cooking utensils.

  *

  Max looked out the window for the millionth time and pouted. “When is she getting here? I'm starved!” He clutched his stomach and put a hand to his forehead. “I'm gonna faint if I don't eat soon.”

  Will came in from the patio where he was grilling salmon and crossed to the counter to chop salad fixings. “I heard you had two huge bowls of macaroni for lunch, and then buckets of ice cream. That's probably why your stomach hurts, champ.”

  Max feigned a Hollywood production of dying, dramatically falling onto the couch.

  Amused, Will went over and handed him a raw carrot. “I can see you're wasting away. Here, eat this.”

  The squeal of brakes saved him. Max leaped up and ran to the front door.

  “Wait!” Will stopped him. “She'll think we're hopelessly infatuated if we open the door before she knocks on it.”

  “You mean she'll think you're infa... infa-tat-ed.”

  “Infatuated. It means you're totally gone on someone. Usually in a good way. I can see I have some coaching to do when it comes to the female of the species.”

  “I'm never gonna be in-fat-u-a-ted. Girls suck.”

  “Then why are you so anxious to open that door?”

  “Er... I'm hungry?”

  “Eat your carrot.” Will slung the door wide just as Kylie's hand was raising to knock. “Hey! Come in if you dare. Wild child underfoot.”

  Having come straight from work as instructed, Kylie was in need of a shower. A fine layer of silt covered her skin and her clothes and boots were smeared with muck.

  Will raised his eyebrows. “Tough day on the job?” Despite the dirt he leaned in and kissed her chastely on the cheek and then whispered in her ear, “You'd be a pretty picture even if you were coated with mud. Come to think of it, now there's an idea.”

  “What, no request for my autograph? Thought I was a super star.”

  “Not in that get up. Want to use my bathroom?”

  “Thought you'd never ask.” She bent to take off her boots. “Hey Max, how's your summer going so far?”

  “It's cool. Tomorrow Mrs. Meesler's taking me and Bobby to Witty's Lagoon. She's gonna take pictures of the beach so's she can paint it.”

  “Ooh, I love that place. Wish I could tag along.”

  Will retreated to the kitchen. “We'll all go for a picnic some time. Lots of blue herons to see in the bird sanctuary.”

  “Can we bring back some driftwood and make something like the last time?” Max asked, eyes bright at the prospect.

  “Sure. So long as it's not too heavy. That trail is a twenty minute walk.”

  “Sounds like oodles of fun, but right now I'm headed for the shower.” Kylie always traveled with a change of clothes and today was no exception. She grabbed her bag and entered the master bedroom. Then just stopped and stared.

  The room was all male, the bed massive with a burgundy upholstered headboard. Bold splashes of color mingled with neutral gray tones. She wanted to plop down onto the plump duvet and just lie there, taking in the feeling of being in a cozy haven.

  Instead, she headed into the bathroom and gaped at the generous claw foot tub and next to it, a glassed in shower with its multiple massage unit. Chrome and glass gleamed in the soft afternoon light pouring through an overhead skylight. Add in the slim TV mounted on the wall and the little fireplace in the corner and you had a space she could move into and never leave. The man not only had good taste, but appreciated his creature comforts as well.

  Coming out a short while later, Kylie was a new woman. Dressed in white shorts, a soft pink t-shirt and sandals, she'd tied her hair in a knot at the top of her head, but strands of white gold fell onto her nape and onto her forehead.

  For Will she looked fresh and as sexy as a summer breeze. He didn't care if Max as watching as he pulled her in and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

  She wanted to sink in.

  Max was a solid reminder as to why not. Her shorts were a denim and spandex mix so they still fit, but soon her belly would expand beyond any hope of wearing such an outfit. A child was being created within her. It both fascinated and scared her.

  The food was ready. They sat outside on the
deck and feasted on grilled salmon, herbed roasted yams and tossed salad. While they ate Max kept up a chatter about his life on the mainland with his mother, prompted by Kylie's subtle questions.

  “Sounds like you've got a pretty ideal life in Vancouver. If you come and live here, will your hockey team survive without you?”

  “I'm not that good. They won't miss me.”

  “What about your school pals and your Mom?”

  “Randy and Pete can come visit.” His expression went glum. “My Mom won't miss me; she'll be busy with Tom.”

  “Won't you miss her?”

  Max frowned, concentrating. “I love my Mom, but Tom's always trying so hard to make me love him too. That's not going to happen.”

  Will interceded. “Nobody said you have to love the guy. But if you give it some time I'm guessing you'll like him well enough. You realize your Mom might not marry Tom after all if it means keeping you in her life. That wouldn't be very fair to her, would it?”

  Max slumped. “Guess not.”

  “You're welcome to live with me if that's what you really want. But you've got a life over there, and running away from it because you're not thrilled about sharing your Mom with Tom isn't a good reason to.”

  He slid down in his chair. “Guess not.”

  Will saw the confusion warring in his son's eyes. “Nobody has to decide anything right now. Who want's dessert?”

  “Me!”

  “Me too!” echoed Kylie. Watching how Will had reasoned with his son had been a lesson in parenting. She wondered how well she would do with her own child.

  Will ruffled Max's hair. “How can you want dessert after that tub full of ice-cream you and Bobby choked down this afternoon?”

  “I'm ten, Dad. I could eat ten desserts.”

  “Great. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  He brought out a peach pie while Kylie stacked dishes in the dishwasher. Max helped by carefully bringing out three glasses of milk to go with it.