Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

by Donna Andrews

  “And then there's your knowledge of karate,“ the chief continued. “Mighty interesting, considering the indications we have that someone with a knowledge of the martial arts might have something to do with the murder.“

  Even Rob snickered at that, which probably didn't help him in the chief's eyes.

  “You mean because of purse fu and the shurikenT“ I said.

  “And the crushing blow to the victim's larynx, which was used to stun him so the killer could strangle him,“ the chief said.

  “Crushing blow?“ I echoed, and then remembered the chief's conversation with Dad and the ME, when they'd both kept gesturing at their throats. The doctor's daughter part of my brain mused that it must have been quite a strong blow, if the results showed up during the fairly superficial examination they'd have done on the scene. The rest of my brain asked if we could please think about something else now.

  “The kind of blow you could do with one of those karate chops,“ the chief went on. He leaned back on his heels with his thumbs tucked in his belt, looking quite pleased with himself.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,“ I said. “You don't really believe – “

  “I think we should go down to the station where we can talk without all these interruptions,“ the chief said, frowning at me.

  They led Rob down to a waiting patrol car, with me trailing after, pointing out things the chief was overlooking, especially the many other people who might have had it in for Ted. Although, since most of those people were standing around, mouths open, watching the chief haul their fearless leader off to jail, I refrained from naming names.

  “And what about all the suspicious characters we told you about?“ I said. “The crazy fan, the angry ex-employee, and the sinister biker,“

  “We're not going to forget about them,“ the chief said. “We'll continue to explore every avenue.“

  But as I watched the patrol car drive off, I didn't believe it.

  “Damn the man,“ I muttered. I felt strangely betrayed. I'd told him everything I could mink of about Ted and Mutant Wizards. I'd let him pump me for information. And just when I'd started to feel comfortable and think he was a sensible and intelligent person who stood a good chance of solving the murder, he had to go and settle on Rob as his prime suspect.

  Maybe Dad had the right idea after all. Maybe I did need to do my own investigating. At least if the police were misguided enough to focus on Rob as a suspect.

  I'd worry about that later. Meanwhile, the first order of business was to keep Rob from saying anything stupid or incriminating to the police. Anything more than he'd already said.

  I groped in my purse for my cell phone and the notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe, as I called my combination to-do and address book, looked up a number, and dialed frantically. I breathed a sigh of relief when a familiar voice answered.

  “Liz! Thank goodness I got you! Where are you?“

  “The police told us we could all go home, so I was just getting into my car. What's wrong now?“ she said, sounding tired. Sounding, in fact, as if she were trying very hard not to reveal her irritation, and failing miserably.

  “I think they're planning to arrest Rob for the murder,“ I said. “At any rate, they're taking him down to the police station. He needs a lawyer. Could you – “

  “I'm a corporate attorney, remember? I do contracts and stuff. I'd be worse than useless; I don't know anything about criminal law. Half the programmers around here know more about criminal law than I do, thanks to the damned game.“

  “Yes, I know, but – “

  “For that matter, Rob's a lawyer, and he invented the damned game, which means he's forgotten more about criminal law than I'll ever have any reason to learn. So – “

  “Yes, and who was it who said that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client?“

  A pause. Then a sigh. “I don't know. I could look it up for you.“

  “I'd rather you went down to the police station to keep Rob from doing anything really stupid until we round up a good criminal lawyer to help him. I could try, but they'd only keep me cooling my heels outside. They'll have to let you in because you're a lawyer. Besides, he wouldn't pay the slightest attention to what I told him, but he might listen to you.“

  She sighed again. “Okay,“ she said. “Can do. Sorry I vented on you; it's been a long day.“

  “I know, and I'm not making it any shorter.“

  “I'm off, then; get that criminal lawyer down there as soon as you can.“

  “Any ideas who it should be?“

  “Afraid I don't know the local talent yet. Which is stupid; I should have had someone lined up. I mean, sooner or later, L should have known that a key employee would need a defense attorney; it happens occasionally even in the most normal firms – “

  “And it was even more likely to happen in a whacked-out place like this?“

  “Well,“ she began.

  “Don't worry,“ I said. “I know who to ask. Go put a lid on Rob in the meantime.“

  I hung up, and this time I called a number I knew so well I could dial it in my sleep.

  I was in luck; Michael answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, great timing; we just finished the ritual sacrifice scene and broke for lunch,“ he said. “I have an idea that will take your mind off all the horrible stuff that's been going on. Want to have a virtual date?“

  “A what?“

  “I got the idea from Walker – he does it all the time when he's on location or something. We figure out a restaurant chain that has a branch here and in Caerphilly.“

  “Probably either Pizza Hut or McDonald's,“ I said.

  “Or maybe not a chain,“ he said without missing a beat, “maybe we just both go to the restaurant of our choice, and we can call each other on our cell phones and talk to each other while we order and wait for our food and eat. Ta-da – a virtual date.“

  “And this is Walker's idea of a date? Do you think this could be at least part of the reason Walker's girlfriends keep dumping him after a couple of weeks?“

  “Actually, I hear they find the virtual dates rather sweet; it's the real ones that kill things. I have it on good authority that he likes to read them his fan mail.“

  “Ick.“

  “In bed.“

  “Double ick,“ I said. “I know he's been your buddy since you were both on the soap opera together and you feel grateful that he helped you get the role on his show, but given Walker's track record, let's do a rain check on the virtual date thing. Anyway, I need to ask you something.“

  “Ask away, angel.“

  “If you were in Caerphilly – “

  “Now if I were in Caerphilly, you could forget ail about the virtual date thing, absolutely. We'd start with dinner at Luigi's – an early dinner, because – “

  “Hold that thought,“ I said. “We can discuss it later; things are a little hectic right now. If you were getting arrested in Caerphilly and needed a good criminal attorney – “

  “Oh, God – what have you done now?“

  “What have I done?“ I repeated. “What have I done? I like that!“

  “I meant the collective you – as in you, your father, your brother, and the whole motley staff of Mutant Wizards, for whose mere existence I feel at least partly responsible. What have you all been doing, and who has gotten himself or herself arrested for what crime?“

  “Nice recovery, but I'm not buying it,“ I said. “Just tell me who you'd call if your suspicions were correct and I'd gone off the straight and narrow in your absence. I think the police are going to arrest Rob, and I don't want him talking any more without a lawyer.“

  He came up right away with the names of two attorneys he thought would be the best prospects and made me promise to call if I had news.

  “And I didn't mean that I thought you'd committed a crime,“ he said. “Only that you have this absolutely charming tendency to wade in to protect your family and friends when you think they'r
e in trouble – “

  “And sometimes the local authorities don't like me interfering,“ I said. “Yes, I know.“

  “For that matter, whoever really killed this Ted guy might not like you interfering,“ he said. “Be careful, will you?“

  “Don't worry,“ I said. “I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself.“ And then, seeing out of the corner of my eye that someone was hovering at my elbow, I added, “Gotta run; I'll call you later.“

  “Can I help you?“ I said, turning. It was Dr. Gruber, one of the therapists – although I'd learned by now that she preferred not to be called Dr. Gruber, and I still couldn't quite bring myself to address this severe and stately woman as Lorelei. Or perhaps I couldn't warm to her because I didn't like the way she, at six feet, loomed over me. I was only two inches shorter, but I wasn't all that used to being shorter than another woman, and I wasn't at all sure I liked it.

  “Not a good sign,“ Dr. Lorelei said, shaking her head.

  “I beg your pardon?“

  “Sounds as if he's trying to control your behavior from afar,“ she said. “Not a good sign.“

  “He's not trying to control my behavior,“ I said. “He's worried about me.“

  “Sometimes it takes that form,“ she said, nodding. “Tell me, have you considered using this enforced separation as a time to reexamine your relationship with this… actor person? To establish appropriate boundaries?“

  I blinked, somewhat taken aback. If you asked me, it was Dr. Lorelei and some of the other therapists who needed to work on the appropriate boundaries thing. Since the first day I'd met them – only two weeks ago, though it seemed rather longer – they all seemed to think me badly in need of their services. And not just therapy, but the particular species of therapy each one of them practiced. For instance, the woman who did weight management counseling, calling her business Eat Your Way Skinny, and her arch rival, a size-acceptance guru, began feuding over me the minute they saw me. Which I couldn't help resenting; I thought I'd already reached not only a pretty acceptable weight but also a decently philosophical attitude about the fact that I would never be a willowy blonde like my mother.

  And now here was Dr. Lorelei trying to shoehorn me into her couples' therapy practice.

  “I'll think about it,“ I said. I'd found that was as close as I could get to “leave me the hell alone“ without triggering a discussion on why I always reacted with such hostility to their efforts to help me. “Was there something you needed?“

  “Will the offices be open tomorrow?“ she demanded. “We'd all like to be able to notify our patients if the offices will be closed tomorrow. Or if the police will be present; it could be extremely traumatic for some of our patients to see the police on the premises.“

  “As far as I know we'll be open tomorrow,“ I said. “But I can't guarantee police-free premises, under the circumstances, so maybe you should advise any clients who might be on the lam to skip this week's appointment.“

  I left her with her mouth hanging open and went in search of a phone book.

  Roger had begun trailing after me, looking as if he were about to say something, but then Roger was capable of looking that way for hours with no audible results. I ignored him, and he continued to follow me, an irritating and faintly threatening presence. I couldn't quite tell why I found him threatening – he was only about five-ten, the same as I, or would be if he stood up straight. Perhaps it was the combination of his stooped posture, stocky form, and shaggy hair – it was rather like having a hulking bear shambling along at my heels, and a bear I wasn't entirely sure was tame.

  I shook him off, finally, when I dropped by the shoe-repair shop across the street and used their phone book to look up numbers for the lawyers Michael recommended. Then I went back to a reasonably empty comer of the parking lot and pulled out my cell phone. The first lawyer wasn't in. The second one agreed to race down to the police station.

  The parking lot had emptied out considerably by the time I finished. I was relieved to see that most of the other dog owners had already taken their charges home – to air-conditioning, I hoped. A dozen of the programmers still seemed to be harassing the officers guarding the entry to the office. No sense upsetting the local authorities more than necessary, I thought, so I strode over to tell them all to get lost until tomorrow.

  “But what about our build?“ moaned Keisha, a petite African American who was one of Mutant Wizards's few female programmers. “Do you realize what it's going to do to our schedule if we miss today's build?“

  “Schedule's totally f – I mean, it's totally messed up already,“ Frankie muttered.

  “No, we'll manage,“ Jack said, arriving on the outskirts of the group. “We've got that spare server over at the Pines, remember? We can do the next build there.“

  “Yeah,“ Frankie said, “but what good will that do if they won't let us in to get our files?“

  “Don't worry,“ Jack said. “Luis took care of that.“ All eyes turned to Luis, but only briefly, since they realized almost immediately that Luis wouldn't be giving them any explanations. Luis, a slender twenty-something Hispanic, was one of the few staff members for whom I hadn't found a nickname – he was so quiet that I tended to forget he existed when he wasn't actually around. When he saw us looking at him, he blushed and stooped slightly as if trying to make his already slight form too small to be seen.

  “As soon as we heard the police were coming, Luis realized that they'd probably kick us out and shut us down,“ Jack went on. “So he tarred up the contents of our server and e-mailed them to his home e-mail account.“

  “Way to go, Luis!“ Frankie exclaimed, and they headed off in a cheerful, chattering herd.

  “Anything I can do for you?“ Jack said, lingering behind.

  “Nothing I can think of, beyond what you just did,“ I said. “No, I tell a lie – here, take Spike, and ask Frankie to keep him until Rob gets back. If Frankie balks, tell him I need to be free to dash out at any time during the night to bail Rob out.“

  “Can do,“ Jack said, picking up Spike's crate.

  Offloading Spike cheered me up a little. The only thing more depressing than spending the evening alone in the dark, cramped Cave was having to share it with Spike.

  I finally got into my car, still ignoring Roger the Stalker, who stood at the edge of the parking lot, hands in pockets, watching me drive off. I revised my assessment of Roger. He wasn't just a little strange; he was seriously creepy. Maybe it would be a good idea to have the chief check him out. Or better yet, one of our resident shrinks.

  I turned on the radio before starting the car, and I punched the button for the college station to see if our murder had made the news. As usual, I hit the middle of a commercial, and a particularly annoying commercial at that, for a local auto-repair shop. I'd have switched stations, but I needed my good hand on the wheel, so I tuned out the Fabulous Singing Muffler Sisters and was fretting uselessly about what might be going on down at the police station – and should I drop by the police station? – when a familiar voice broke into my reveries.

  “One more important thing you should remember,“ I heard Lorelei proclaim. I whirled and checked the backseat, thinking for a moment I had taken a stowaway aboard.

  “And this is a very important thing to remember about all relationships,“ she continued. I realized the voice was coming from the radio.

  “They're not static.“

  “Yeah, but you are,“ I growled back.

  I fumed for a few more minutes as Dr. Lorelei imparted more generic advice on managing one's relationship. Possibly good advice, if you weren't too irritated to pay attention. The woman – she sounded very young – who had apparently called in to ask Dr. Lorelei a question fell all over herself with gratitude, so maybe it was good advice. But I couldn't help feeling irrationally annoyed that after I'd managed to cut Dr. Lorelei off in the parking lot, she'd found a way of following me home.

  Though as I learned at the end of her show, it was
only luck and my normal preference for quiet thinking time on the drive home that had saved me from hearing her before. The college radio station aired Lorelei listens, her advice show, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons at this same time, with a repeat at 1 A.M. Prerecorded, then – of course, it had to be, since the half-hour show would have been just about to start when she'd badgered me in the parking lot.

  Perhaps 1 should complain to the programming director. I began phrasing a witty letter accusing the station of air pollution. But no need – Lorelei's days on the college station were already numbered. September 1 would bring the debut of a new nationally syndicated version of Lorelei Listens on the rival commercial radio station.

  I wondered if the college radio station would be replacing her with another psychologist who hadn't yet broken into the big leagues. Perhaps she had recommended one of her colleagues around the office? Not that any of them seemed hot prospects to me. Certainly not Lorelei's partner. Apparently couples therapy, like mixed doubles, had to be done in coeducational pairs. I wasn't surprised that Lorelei had chosen to join forces with a mousy-looking male therapist so self-effacing that he never seemed to speak except to echo something Lorelei had just said.

  But at least they didn't squabble, like the dueling weight therapists. Or Dr. Brown, inventor of the Affirmation Bear, whose improbable specialty was anger management, and who carried on a running feud with the burly, red-faced psychologist who seemed intent on browbeating the world into studying assertiveness.

  My cell phone rang. Normally I try to avoid using it while I'm driving, but I was only one block from the apartment, and when I recognized Michael's number, I managed to pause at a stop sign and answer it. And pin it between my ear and my shoulder, which meant I looked like Quasimodo but I could still drive.

  “Are you off work?“ Michael asked.

  “Finally,“ I said. “And here I was hoping to get off a little early, what with the murder and all.“

  “So that's the real reason ya bumped him off,“ Michael said, in his best Cagney imitation.