Damaged
Page 24
Her words echoed in Kate’s ears as she hurried to the entrance. The walls of the foyer pressed in on her. She needed to feel the sun one final time today. She flung open the main door, forcing herself not to run down the stairs. Sunshine warmed her hair as she strode to her car. Enid and Muriel were already there, waiting for her.
“That woman!” Enid said as soon as Kate was close enough to hear. “She’s a liar!” She gripped her purse with white fingers.
“I know.” Kate opened the door for her. “I think she made a mistake and she can’t own up to it.”
Enid guided Muriel into the backseat and slid in next to her. “Oh, no, it wasn’t just a mistake.” She looked up at Kate. “She tried to trick me.”
Kate studied her face. “Are you sure?”
Enid pulled a folded paper out of her purse. “I picked this up on my way out.” She waved it in front of Kate’s nose. Kate unfolded the document—making sure she stood behind the open door of the car so Anna Keane couldn’t see her from her window.
She scanned the text. Enid had taken a consent form for donating bodies. Kate silently admired the elderly lady’s gumption. When she reached the final words at the bottom, she had to reread them to make sure she had understood them correctly: You can make your loved one’s final act benefit the good of mankind. Donate his or her body to the Neuromuscular Motor Study, headed by renowned Hollis University researcher Dr. Ronald Gill, and help change people’s lives.
“What did I tell you?” Enid said. “She’s a liar.”
“Where did you get this?” Kate asked. She hadn’t seen this in the funeral literature displayed in the foyer.
“There’s a drawer in the table that holds the usual brochures. I saw Anna Keane get the form out of there the first time so I knew where to look. She thinks I’m losing my marbles, but there’s still juice left in this old noggin.” She tapped her head.
“May I keep this?” Kate asked. “I’d like to pay a visit to Dr. Gill.”
Enid’s eyes gleamed. “You do that. See what he has to say for himself.” She glanced at her sister, who gave her a tremulous smile. “And make it clear that no matter what greatness he thinks he’s doing for mankind, he is doing it at the expense of vulnerable people like us.” Enid took Muriel’s hand in hers.
Kate closed the back door of the car and slid into the driver’s seat. It was stuffy in the car. She rolled down the window, then, remembering the ladies in her backseat, rolled it up halfway. She eased out into traffic, her mind on their meeting with Anna Keane.
The funeral director must have been lying. Man, she was good. Kate had completely fallen for her compassionate funeral director shtick. And yet, was it all an act? She really thought she had glimpsed some empathy warming Anna Keane’s eyes.
But empathy only went so far. She had tried to trick Enid into signing over Muriel’s body to Dr. Gill’s research program. Was it just an overzealous attempt to help medical research? Or was there some other agenda in play?
Kate glanced in her rearview mirror. Enid was brushing some lint off Muriel’s old black coat. Muriel must be boiling. She bit back a smile when she saw Enid roll her window down all the way. No frail old ladies in her car, at least not in the typical sense.
Twenty minutes later she pulled her car into the Richardson sisters’ driveway.
“Would you like to come in for tea?” Enid held Muriel’s door open for her.
“Could we have tea on the weekend?” Kate asked. “I really need to get home right now.” She was longing for a shower. She wanted to stand under the stream of warm water and wash off the sweat of the day, the rankness of her meeting with John Lyons, the sourness of her encounter with Anna Keane.
“Of course, dear.” Enid touched Kate’s arm. “Thank you for coming.” She pulled Muriel’s hand. “Come on, Mil. It’s time for supper.”
Kate watched them walk together into their house. The front porch, although sagging in a few spots, was framed by a vibrant show of spring flowers. Muriel’s handiwork, Kate guessed.
She drove to her home, a scant three houses away. She was struck by the contrast of her property with the Richardsons’. There were no spring bulbs in front of her home to refresh the drab olive paint. She really needed to get the house painted. Of course, she really needed to have the money for it.
Then she noticed the gleaming black truck of Alaska’s dog walker. It was parked by the curb. She sighed and swiped her hair off her forehead. She wasn’t in the mood for Finn. What she really wanted was to take that shower, have a glass of wine, relax over a magazine. And figure out how she could have been such a dupe.
Her lips twisted as she put the key into her lock. She was angry with herself. Angry that she had let herself be swayed by John Lyons’ big promises—didn’t she know better? Angry that she’d been fooled by Anna Keane’s brown eyes.
35
Kate unlocked the door. Alaska came bounding through the kitchen doorway, his tongue lolling. He stuck his damp nose in her hand. She patted him, staring through the empty doorway. Everything was silent.
She walked into the kitchen. “Finn, are you in here?”
An off-key whistle made her jump. Geez. Any and every little thing was spooking her. She needed to relax. Finn still hadn’t seen her. He was leaning into the closet. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt had hiked up around a strong, muscular waist. The whistle changed into a cheerful version of “California Dreamin’.”
“Hi, Finn,” she said loudly.
“Oh, hi.” He turned, swinging a paint can in each large hand. Kate noted he still wore the leather thong around his wrist. It emphasized the corded muscles and tendons in his forearm.
She glanced at the pantry. Her mop and broom leaned obediently against the wall. The bucket and dustpan were pushed to the side. “You’ve been busy.”
She knew she should feel grateful that Finn was helping clean up Muriel’s mess. But instead, her stomach was a tight ball. It hadn’t occurred to her when she gave Finn her house key a week ago that he would go inside her home. But of course he would. He had to get Alaska, find his leash, make sure he was okay. But still…did he just go into the kitchen when he picked up Alaska?
Or did he stroll through the upstairs, checking out her medicine cabinet, her filing cabinet, her underwear?
Stop it. This was Finn, not some psychopath.
And yet her unease remained. She eyed him. He looked his usual laid-back self. How could a guy like Finn be a creep? Then again, how could her mentor screw her like that? How could Anna Keane deceive vulnerable elderly ladies?
Had Finn deceived her, too, when he denied seeing her at Lisa’s funeral? But if so, why?
“I brought Alaska back. He was really thirsty since it was so hot out. I went to fill up his water bowl and then I saw all this stuff—” He jerked his head in the direction of the mess. “I couldn’t leave him alone.” Finn kept his tone light but there was reproof in his gaze.
“I was in a rush.” She felt as if she’d just been caught for being a delinquent mother. Was that how Judge Carson felt? The thought flashed like quicksilver through her mind, startling her. She banished it. She wouldn’t think about Lisa MacAdam or her mother anymore. Case closed, at least for her.
She picked up a can from the floor and smiled sheepishly. “You’re right. I should’ve thought of that. I’m still new at this.”
He glanced around, his gaze falling on the collapsed bookcase. “So were you practicing your karate moves?”
A laugh escaped her. It had the unmistakable note of unease in it. “No, my neighbors did this.”
“Fierce neighbors.”
The thought of Enid and Muriel karate chopping the bookcase made Kate smile. “They used to play in this house when they were little. They’re elderly now. Anyway, they wanted to show me—” She stopped. She hadn’t meant to tell anyone about the secret passage. Certainly not Finn.
“This?” he asked. He stepped into the closet.
Finn tugged at it. It swung completely open.
“Cool.” He stuck his head in the opening. “Holy crow, there’s a set of stairs!”
He pulled back and faced Kate. Boyish excitement shone from his eyes. “Have you gone up there yet?”
“No.” She peered through the opening. Stale, musty air tinged with a rotting smell—she bet there was at least one dead mouse in there—met her nostrils. It was dark. Gloomy. In the dimness she could make out the first three steps. “I’m not sure I want to go up. It just leads to the linen closet.”
“Oh, come on, Kate.”
She did not have the energy for this today. She was still in major piss-off mode. “No.” She added for good measure, “In fact, I’m going to nail it shut.”
He eyed the doorway with a final, longing glance. “You sure I can’t convince you?”
She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was caving in. The tension eased out of her neck. She nodded. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll help you board it up.”
“Finn, you don’t need to do this. I can handle this.” She wanted to be alone. “Besides, I don’t have any nails.”
He gave her a little smile. “Hang on a sec. I’ve got some supplies in my truck.”
He came back a minute later with a box of nails, a hammer and a handsaw. The hammer was paint splattered and obviously an old favorite. The saw, however, gleamed with the pristine shininess of new ownership.
He put them down carefully and retrieved a long plank from the broken bookcase.
“You’re going to use that?” Kate eyed the busted board.
“Once I clean up the edges it’ll be perfectly fine,” he said. He braced the plank on the edge of the counter and picked up the saw. “Isn’t it a beauty?” he asked her. “I just got it.”
“Very nice,” Kate murmured. She wasn’t going to deflate his obvious enjoyment of his new tool. Men and their tools. She thought longingly of her glass of wine. Her magazine. A hot shower.
He carefully sliced off the ragged edges of the plank, humming “California Dreamin’” under his breath. “There,” he said, carrying it to the closet. “I need your help,” he added pointedly.
“All right,” she groaned. She followed him reluctantly into the cramped cupboard.
Finn handed her the plank. It was heavy. “Now, if you just hold this up against the door, I can nail it shut.”
She bent over and held the plank against the door with one hand.
He stood behind her. “No, I need you to brace it, like this.” He knelt down in front of the door and held the plank against it, his arms spread-eagled.
He got up. “Got it?”
“Yes.” Sir, she almost murmured. It was easier for him—he wasn’t in a skirt. She got down on her knees, and held the plank the way he demonstrated. I better start doing weights again. This is harder than it looks. Her cheek was pressed against the plank, her arms spread-eagled against each edge.
He backed away. She heard him breathe deeply.
From the very corner of her eye, she saw him pick up the saw.
He fingered the blade. The humming stopped.
He turned. And, in the silence, Kate suddenly thought of Lisa MacAdam. Her limbs had been cut off.
As had the killer’s other victims.
There was a blond guy, Shonda had said. With dogs. Asking about Lisa.
And the funeral… Hadn’t Ethan said the killer was there?
He stepped toward her.
There was something in the air between them, something that sucked the oxygen out.
It was fear.
She dropped the plank, scrambling to her feet as the board crashed to the ground.
He jumped. The saw jerked in his hand. “What the hell?” He looked at Kate in alarm. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
She backed out of the closet and rubbed her hand. Blood welled in a scratch on her palm. “I snagged it on a nail, I think.”
“Here, let me see.” He put the saw on the counter and took her hand. “You need some antibiotic cream on this. Let me wash it for you.”
He seemed for all the world like a concerned father. And yet, for a moment in the closet, Kate felt something else. Something that had terrified her.
It was his saw. Why had he picked up the saw and not the hammer? “I thought you were going to nail the board,” she said, trying to keep her voice casual.
“I was.” He stared at her in surprise. “But when you held up the board I noticed I’d missed an edge. I was just going to touch it up first.”
Had she overreacted?
She studied his face. There were no signs of deadly intent in his eyes, no sign of murderous rage, no sign of malice. Just his usual warm, friendly gaze.
How could she have thought all those things about him? She couldn’t believe what stress and exhaustion could do to an otherwise rational mind. She hoped he hadn’t seen the fear in her eyes.
She gently tugged her hand free. “It’s okay. I was going to get a shower this evening, anyway.”
“Me, too.”
He threw that tidbit toward her. She knew she could rise to the bait and they’d be naked in the shower before she could say “pretty please.” And it was a ludicrous thought after the paralyzing terror she had felt being alone in the closet with him. But because of its ludicrousness, it was reassuring. It showed her, more than anything else, how extreme her reaction had been. She felt the tension ease out of her. “Thanks for all your help today.”
He gave a rueful grin. “Sorry about trying to use the old plank. I’ll get some two-by-fours next week.”
“Thank you.”
Alaska padded toward him. He stroked the dog’s head. “See you tomorrow, buddy.” He picked up his toolbox and pushed open the kitchen door. “Bye, Kate. Have a good evening.”
“You, too.” She watched him cross the deck. The evening carried a light breeze with a hint of damp in it. Fog was moving in.
She closed the door. Then locked it. She tottered over to a kitchen chair and sank into it. She felt chilled despite the lingering heat of the day. She doubted a hot shower would be the ticket. The chill went deeper, beyond the skin and into the bone. And every time she walked into this house, it burrowed even deeper.
36
Tuesday, May 15, 8:00 p.m.
Ethan walked casually down Agricola Street, his eyes skimming the doorways and alleys. The old north end street was lined with buildings that had gone from being elegant and proud a century ago to derelict and forgotten. But the street was on an upswing. In the past five years, interior design and antique furniture businesses had “rediscovered” Agricola. New paint in updated historic colors picked out the beautiful Victorian trim on the houses. During the day, the street didn’t look half-bad.
At night, it was a different story. The trendy businesses hadn’t been successful in doing away with the some of the more established enterprises. When dusk fell, crack whores and pimps crawled out of the woodwork.
He strode toward a pair of women, one black, one white, both stoned. They were leaning against a wrought-iron railing in front of a weed-filled yard. A derelict rooming house loomed above them.
“Want somethin’, hon?” one of the women called out.
He stopped in front of them. “’Evenin’, ladies,” he said.
The black woman shimmied forward. She seemed less stoned than the white girl, who looked barely sixteen and was so out of it that Ethan wondered how she remained standing.
He fished around in his pocket. The black woman smiled encouragingly. “Fifty for a blow, a hunred for anythin’ else.”
There was an edge of desperation in her gaze that made Ethan want to take her away someplace safe. God only knew what she was willing to do for a hundred bucks. “Not tonight, hon.” He smiled to take the sting away.
She stepped back, tottering in her latex stile
tto boots. Her gaze flickered over him. “You’re a cop.”
“Yeah.” He pulled out a photo. “You seen him ’round?” It was a mug shot of Mark “the Shark” Arnold.
The prostitute barely glanced at the picture. “Nah.” She stepped back against the railing and began scanning the street for possibilities. Ethan pocketed the photo. “Do you know where Shonda is?” he asked.
She jerked her chin toward the corner.
“Thanks.” He slid his hands into his jacket pockets and headed down the street. The day had been clear, but fog was moving in. He wanted to find Shonda before it became hard to see.
A girl stood with her back to him, talking to a prostitute. The woman glanced over the girl’s shoulder, said something hurriedly under her breath and left.
The girl stuffed a bag in her pocket and began to walk down the street. Ethan hurried after her.
“Shonda,” he called her name softly. He didn’t want to scare her away.
She quickened her pace. He broke into a light jog. “Shonda! I just want to talk. That’s all.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze was cool, direct. Ethan was relieved. She wasn’t high. He might get some information from her.
He fell into step next to her. “You’re Shonda, right?”
She nodded.
He smiled. “I’m Ethan.” They walked past a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
She stopped in front of him. “I already spoke to the cops.”
“I know. We just have a few more questions.”
She crossed her arms. “What about?”
“About the guy who killed your friend Lisa.”
“Yeah?”
He’d got her attention. Hopefully, he’d get the truth with it.
“You were the last person to see Lisa alive. Did you see anyone pick her up that night?”
She shook her head. “I already told the cops I didn’t.”
“What about Krissie Burns?”
She chewed her lower lip. Ethan noticed that her teeth were large and very white. “I didn’t see her at all last weekend.”