by P. A. Wilson
All she needed to think about right now was her next set. She looked at the cigarette in her fingers, damn, now she’d have to warm up again after the smokefest. Why didn’t she think about that first? When she was done for the night, she’d call Detective Adams, or Watson, whoever answered the phone. She’d tell them about the threat. Then she’d figure out how to find The Colonel before he could do any more damage.
Pulling the door wide behind her, she heard Maisie start signing Someone to Watch Over Me, her last song. Monique would need to be on stage in ten minutes. She flicked her half-smoked cigarette into the puddle and ran back into the lounge to start warming up. Ray would expect her to pick all the songs for the next set. In normal circumstances, she’d have no problem winging it. Tonight it was hard to think about one new song, let alone ten.
“Great set, Monique. It’s been a while since I played some of those oldies.” Wes patted her shoulder as they filed into the lounge.
Monique had dug deep into her memory and found some standards by Nina Simone that matched her mood. Sprinkling in a little Sarah Vaughn had softened it enough for the audience. And she knew Maisie wouldn’t have chosen any of them because few people sang the real oldies these days. Monique didn’t want to step on the girls toes while she was still learning.
“I’m done,” Wes continued. “You want to join us for a late night burger at Maria’s?”
Monique shook her head. “I’ll stay for a drink and then I’m heading home.” The fewer people she hung around with, the fewer targets for Vincent and his minions. She’d call the cops as soon as the guys left, and get them to meet her at home.
Two minutes later, she was alone in the lounge. As she pulled out her cell phone, a flash of panic went through her nerves. Was she doing the right thing? Was she being stupid? Her only answer was yes, to both things. It wasn’t always smart to do the right thing. If she just folded, she’d be looking over her shoulder forever. And more people would die, or get pulled into whatever The Colonel and Vincent were involved in. And she suspected that whatever they were doing now would just get worse the longer they got away with it.
Although what could be worse than acts that got you labeled as a war criminal?
She scrolled through her call history and pressed redial on the call to Detective Adams. It rang three times.
“Monique, the cops are here to see you,” Tess said as she walked through the door.
Clicking the phone shut, Monique looked up. Detective Watson walked through the door, Adams behind him. “Thanks, Tess. It’s fine.” She waited until Tess left and then said, “I was just calling you.”
“You have something to tell us?” Watson’s voice was hard and he stared at her as though he could pin her to the chair.
Monique stopped herself from responding to the tone. She needed them to be on her side. “Yes, I got a call tonight. I was threatened.”
“Is that all?” Watson didn’t seem interested.
“I don’t know who he was, but his accent made me think of that Vincent guy.”
“Why would you get a call like that, Ms. Duchesne?” Now Adams was back to playing good cop to Watson’s bad cop.
Monique sucked her lips in while she thought about how to frame her answer. “I might have been seen following Vincent when I got the license plate number.”
She watched a glance go between the two detectives. Then Watson turned back to her. “You are stepping too close to some dangerous territory, Ms. Duchesne.”
“That’s basically what he said.” Monique stood, tired of feeling like a kid being lectured to by the principal. “So you came here for something.”
“We need to ask you to come down to the station,” Watson said.
Monique was in no mood for riddles. “Why?”
They glanced at each other again, and Monique decided she wasn’t going anywhere with them unless she had her answer, or a lawyer. “Gentlemen, I have had a shitty couple of days. I want to go home and get some food and sleep. If you want me to come with you, you need to tell me why, or arrest me.”
“You aren’t under arrest, but we need you to come to the station, and tell us what you know about a murder that occurred yesterday.”
Three murders in as many days, and the cops somehow think this new one was connected to her. How had she gotten this close to the vicious side of the world? Why had Alexi chosen to move across the hall for her apartment? “Why do I have to come to the station?”
“I don’t think you want to discuss this here. And the crime scene team is in your building right now.”
Monique’s legs gave out as she took in what he said. “In my building? Is Mac okay? Is it someone I know?”
Watson took her elbow and led her back to the chair. “We’d like to find that out. Will you come to the station now?”
CHAPTER 13
Monique let them take her to the station on Main and Keefer. They led her to same room she’d been in two days ago. This time Watson brought tea and a packaged chicken sandwich. “It’s not great, but it’s food.”
She put the sandwich to the side, too keyed up to be hungry, and tested the tea. It was perfect, scalding, sweet, black, and it did help. “Can we get this over with?”
“Can you tell us where you were yesterday morning?” Adams asked.
How can they say she’s not a suspect, but ask her that kind of question? “I was a lot of places yesterday morning. What time?” She hoped it wasn’t around the time she was in Alexi’s apartment. Had someone seen her go in despite the precautions she took?
“We think this happened around ten, maybe as early as nine.” Watson seemed to have switched to good cop. If they were trying to put her off balance, it wasn’t working. As far as she was concerned, they were both bad cop.
She decided to let them play their game. If the victim was anyone she knew it wouldn’t get any worse for waiting. “I was having breakfast at Mitch’s diner. You can check with Jack.”
“Did you see anyone going into the apartment when you left?” Watson locked his eyes on her face.
Monique considered lying, but there were already too many lies for her to keep straight. “Yes. Some guy was looking for Alexi. He asked me if I’d seen him. I told him Alexi was dead, and he should talk to you if he had any questions.”
Detective Adams took a picture out of the file folder he was holding. “Is this him?”
Monique kept her eyes on Adams, afraid to look at the picture. If it was the man she’d spoken to, and Vincent had killed him, it was going to be bad. She didn’t want to have a panic attack if there was blood. Not in front of the cops. The trembling was already starting with just the anticipation of what she might see. She clasped her hands together in her lap so the detectives wouldn’t see, and probably misinterpret, her reaction. “How bad is it? I’m not good with gore.”
“It’s just his head. No blood.” He pushed the photo closer. “We need to know if this is the man you saw.”
Monique took a breath and looked down. Adams hadn’t lied, although she wouldn’t put it past him to do it just to see how she reacted. She saw the shaved head. She saw the scar still pulling on his face. “Yes, it’s the man I saw.” She pushed the photo back toward Adams. “Do you know who he is?”
“Yes, a local criminal named Marek Prochazka. It looks like he broke into the apartment. A few things were moved around in the bedroom. Someone must have come in while he was tossing the place. They stabbed him and left him to bleed out.”
The memory of the blood in the center of the carpet flashed before her eyes. “Thanks for the details.” She picked up her purse. “I’m going now.” She wasn’t going to stay here and break down. If she could get outside, the fresh air might help stem the darkness.
“We’ll get a car to take you home,” Watson said, walking around to open the door.
Monique strode through before saying, “No, I’m taking a cab.” Being in a cop car would be just the same as staying here.
She pulled out he
r phone and called the taxi as she maneuvered through the crowd of people waiting in the corridor. She couldn’t wait to get out of the station, the aura of desperation almost choking her.
When she got outside, the rain splashed across her face. It was freezing, but she waited on the street because she couldn’t stay inside one more minute. Even standing in the tiny shaded area outside the door, made her feel too close to the violence and hate inside. The image of the man bleeding out wouldn’t leave her, but, at least, outside she could breathe.
The cab arrived within five minutes. And ten minutes later she was closing her apartment door on the world.
Monique pressed her back against the door, and rubbed her eyes with her still clenched fists. She’d run from the stairs to her apartment, keeping her eyes away from Alexi’s door. In her imagination, blood was creeping across the hall.
This was getting worse. She couldn’t even handle the thought of violence now. Was it just because of everything piling up? That after being safe for so long, it was all coming at her?
Monique dropped her hands from her face. She was not going to let this defeat her. She would get a grip on herself, and she would take her life back. She didn’t need anyone to help her. She’d managed to put everything away inside before and start a normal life. She would do it again.
She knew that sleeping would help her to reset, that it would help her to get over the memory of two murders, and a threat, and Didi going through detox and… Monique stopped inventorying the reasons she wouldn’t sleep.
Opening a bottle of wine, she grabbed a glass and curled up on the couch. She needed to decide how to move forward, how to get through whatever shit kept coming her way. She took a gulp of her wine, not caring what it tasted like, just needing the alcohol in her blood. If she decided to give the cops everything, would it be enough? What would they do with it? How would that keep everyone safe?
All she knew was that a war criminal was operating some kind of crime syndicate in Vancouver. Okay, maybe she didn’t know, but she couldn’t think of another explanation for everything. What seemed certain was his ability to hide. He was smart enough not to get his picture in the paper, or anywhere on the Internet since coming. Otherwise that app would have found him under another name, or found other pictures she might have recognized.
Monique was certain it had to be about more than just stolen credit cards. It was hard to believe the killings were just about that. Surely a bullet would have done the job if they needed to keep someone from talking.
Then there was the weirdness of Vincent killing Snake just because he wouldn’t deliver the bag of stolen cards.
Monique shrugged off the questions. This wasn’t helping her sleep. All she had was things she knew, and she wasn’t all that sure she knew them. There wasn’t a trail to follow like in a mystery story. There was no pointer to show her the next step.
It all seemed so simple in books and movies. The heroine just snooped around and solved the problem. She didn’t want to solve it. She didn’t want to get involved. The problem was someone thought she was already involved.
Maybe she could just stop following Vincent. Whoever called might believe she had backed off.
She was backing off, she swore as she took another swallow of wine. If Didi were involved, she’d make sure he had a good lawyer. Andy had a point when he said she should stop enabling her brother.
Stretching out, Monique heard her joints crack. She reached for her cigarettes hoping they would relax her, before she remembered her decision to quit. She rolled herself in her throw and sipped the wine. If she could stop thinking about Vincent and the Colonel, maybe she’d be able to at least get in a nap before she had to do anything else.
Her thoughts kept breaking into her attempts to sleep.
She wasn’t sure about Vincent. If he was working for The Colonel, then why did he want Snake to deliver the bag? If he wasn’t working for The Colonel, why did she get that phone call? Was that Vincent? It sounded like him, but she was going more on the accent than anything else because his voice in the alley was more alive than the voice on the phone.
Monique lay back on the couch. This was getting her nowhere. Pouring another glass of wine, she turned on her stereo and let the sounds of jazz float her into a calmer state. The playlist was only instrumental, which meant she could listen and not be tempted to sing with the vocalist. She could rest her voice because she didn’t have a set at the club tomorrow. And given the phone call, she planned to stay away from The Blue Scene when she wasn’t working.
She tucked a cushion under her cheek and took another sip from her glass. She was almost half way through the bottle. It would probably make sense to stick a cork in it so it would stay, well not good, but drinkable. She just needed to close her eyes for a second.
Something woke her. Her heart hammered until she heard a burst of laughter from the street. It was probably a car door slamming that had broken into her dreams, not a murderer smashing through her door. She’d fallen asleep on the couch in front of the open window.
She checked the display on her phone, no missed calls. It was almost three. She’d managed a couple of hours sleep. Now that she was awake, she was tempted to call Andy, but if he wasn’t a night person, she might lose an ally. And if Didi were sleeping, she didn’t want to wake him.
She’d have to trust Andy to call. It felt like a good place to start changing her life, with trust. She dropped the phone into her purse.
She rolled to a sitting position and her stomach rumbled. Glad she’d grocery shopped, Monique went to check that she’d locked her door before going to the kitchen, and then decided to check the windows. Everything seemed secure, but she wouldn’t leave the front window open again.
She made herself a sandwich and poured a glass of milk. The acid in her stomach made her think the wine hadn’t been such a good idea. Her nap was too short for a hangover to develop, but she could feel the dehydration settling in, and a headache wouldn’t be too far behind if experience taught her anything.
The people who’d woken her had long disappeared behind their own closed doors and the world was silent again. This was her favorite time of night, or rather, the very early hours of the morning. When no one was hurrying to work and most people had come home from the clubs. It was usually silent enough that she could hear the quiet rumble of traffic on Main Street and if it was misty, the mournful call of a foghorn. Tonight it was clear and the traffic was light. The night had a magical quality of renewal, everything fresh and clean.
The sandwich gone, she wandered the apartment checking windows and doors again. Leaning in to look through the peephole to check that the hall was empty. The thought of going out later in the day to lead a walking tour gave her a twinge. If she wasn’t careful, she’d become afraid to leave her apartment.
She realized it wasn’t fear keeping her agitated. It was annoyance at herself for considering giving up on the investigation.
Yes, it was dangerous. No, she didn’t have much real information. But she hadn’t taken the time to look. All she’d been doing was thinking about confessing to breaking into the apartment just to off-load the responsibility.
Now that there’d been another murder, she couldn’t tell the detectives about the picture. There was no way she’d look innocent. She could almost hear Detective Watson now. If she broke in once, she could have done it twice – well, she had – and if she did that, what proof would she have that she didn’t commit the murders? All of them.
It was time to stop just reacting. She needed to get something she could hand over to the cops without implicating herself. She needed a plan. She needed to take some action.
Doing some on-line searches wouldn’t be dangerous. It would be better to do that and try to give the cops something to work with, other than suspect her. And maybe if she could identify this killer, she could move on. She could focus on Didi, and Rafe, and her career.
Monique reached into her purse for her phone to start the sear
ch. The small screen made her wonder if it was time to get a laptop, or maybe a tablet. If she needed to go deep into research, she couldn’t rely on her ability to read microscopic text.
The phone started vibrating as soon as she touched it. She flipped it over and answered it without looking.
“Monique?” Andy’s voice was strained.
“What happened?” Her heart stopped while she waited for his answer. If Didi was dead… she couldn’t complete the thought.
“Didi is having a hard time waking up.” Andy’s words caught as he tried to tell her what happened.
She pressed her lips together and swallowed the fear in her throat. “Will he wake up? Should I come there?”
She heard Andy breathe in, and realized he was suppressing the same emotions that she was, fear, and sadness. “There’s a good chance he’ll be okay. Sometimes it’s just difficult for people to deal with the physical trauma. Even though he is under anesthetic, his body still goes through the withdrawal.”
Monique didn’t tell Andy he’d already explained it. Maybe it was helping him to talk it through. “Where are you? I’ll come down and wait with you.”
“No, it’s going to be fine. He’ll wake up soon. I know he will. He didn’t want you here, Monique. He wanted to see you when he was well. I’m just overreacting.”
“It’s not about him, Andy. You sound like you could use some support.” She didn’t know what she would do when she got there, but maybe just holding his hand and being there would be enough.
“You shouldn’t come. You know what Didi is like. If he finds out we didn’t do as he asked… Anyway, thanks, but I think we should wait.”
She knew exactly what her brother was like. He’d go into a snit. “Okay, if you’re sure. Just call me when he comes out of it. Don’t worry about the time. I’m going to be up for a while.”