Apparently there wasn’t much else Ella could say about it. She plucked in silence. I drummed my fingers and racked my brain and spun my wheels.
“You know…”
I don’t know how long I’d been deep in thought. I only know that when Ella spoke, I jumped about a mile. She smiled an apology.
“You know,” she said, “Will’s just waiting for all the hoopla to die down. Before he turns himself in to the police.”
It wasn’t what we were talking about, but I was grateful for the change of subject. Maybe once my brain had a chance to disengage, it would settle down into thinking about what it was supposed to be thinking about. “You mean all the hoopla about—”
“About that terrible Winston Churchill fellow, and about Quinn being a hero. You’ve seen the newspaper, right?” She’d brought it into my office with her and set it on my desk, but I’d been so busy mulling and obsessing, I hadn’t paid any attention to it. She tapped the front page with a rusty paper clip. “They’re saying if it wasn’t for Quinn, Churchill would have gotten away.”
I craned my neck for a closer look. I was pretty sure those newspaper stories didn’t mention me, and I guess I couldn’t expect them to. It’s not like Quinn could tell the press he’d provided me with the vital clue while he was dead.
I sighed.
“That’s such a nice picture of your friend,” Ella said with another tap at the photo of Quinn, the one right under the headline about how he was expected to make a full recovery and what a miracle it was. “He’s so good-looking!”
Yeah, so good-looking, and so unwilling to believe it last summer when I told him the truth about how I talked to the dead, it took him dying to make him see I wasn’t a liar.
Rather than look at Quinn’s face looking back at me, I flipped the paper over.
“Hey!” I poked the newspaper, too, only not as delicately as Ella had. “You didn’t tell me there was a story about Darren Andrews in here.”
Antique interoffice memo in hand, she dismissed the comment with a lift of one shoulder. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Lucy. Or with our case.”
“We don’t have a—”
“In fact, I’m surprised they bothered to put it on the front page at all. Must be a slow news day.” I had no doubts the media thought so, too. Now that Churchill was behind bars where he belonged and Quinn’s service record had been examined from one end to the other—both in print and on TV—there wasn’t much else for them to talk about.
Ella brushed her hands together, picked up the box of paper clips, and headed for the door. “It’s just about five,” she said, and it struck me that this was probably the first time in the years I’d worked at Garden View that she’d ever had to remind me. “You going home? Are you sure you’re OK to be alone?”
“I’m fine,” I told her, because if I said anything else, she would hover.
“You can just throw those old memos into the recycling box on your way out,” she said at the door. “And the newspaper, too, if you’re done with it. Unless you’re keeping a scrapbook for that handsome guy of yours!”
I’ll bet she was twinkling when she said it. Since I didn’t need verification, I didn’t bother to look. Instead, I pulled the paper closer, ignored the story about Quinn completely, and scanned the article about Darren Andrews. It was all about that building of his down in the Flats, the one the city had scooped up through eminent domain. In spite of his feisty words about it at the news conference I’d crashed, it looked like Andrews had run up against a legal brick wall. Demolition had already started. Things like windows and copper plumbing—things that could be recycled—were already gone. What was left of the Andrews Building was set to come down the next day.
Ella was right. If that was front-page news, it was a slow day in Cleveland.
I tossed the newspaper aside, gathered my purse and the lunch I’d brought with me and hadn’t touched, and turned out my office light.
I already had my hand on the door when that irritating mantra floated through my brain again.
And that’s when it hit me.
That’s what my subconscious had been trying to tell me!
If my hands weren’t full, I would have given my forehead a slap.
The dead do talk.
All along, Lucy held the key to the mystery and all the proof I needed to put her—and this case—to rest.
And something told me Darren Andrews knew it, too.
It wasn’t hard to find the Andrews Building. There was yellow construction tape printed with do not cross warnings strung around the entire perimeter, and yes, just for the record, I crawled right under it like it wasn’t there. It wasn’t hard to get inside the building, either, but then, most of the windows on the second floor had already been removed, there was a conveniently placed Dumpster nearby, and—thank goodness—nobody was around to witness my less-than-graceful ascent.
It was practically an invitation to walk right in.
And walk right in I did.
Well, truth be told, I actually dropped from the window ledge. Fortunately, there was a small mountain of construction debris right under it, so I didn’t have far to fall. I landed in a pile of splintered wallboard, wadded-up fast-food bags, and old floor tiles. Good thing, too, that I had dressed for the occasion in my oldest jeans and sneakers. If I’d risked a decent outfit, I’d be plenty pissed.
I scrambled down from the pile and took a moment to look around. In the gathering evening gloom, the hallway that stretched out in front of me was muffled in shadows. The good news was that since most of the windows were missing, I still had some daylight to guide me.
Some squeaky something scurried across the floor about a foot in front of me, and I gasped and jumped back. I waited until my breathing steadied, then flicking on my flashlight, I scanned what was left of the building. There was a stairway right in front of me, and a bank of elevators over on my left. What were the chances? Rather than try and just end up disappointed, I hoofed it up the steps, my sneakers silent against the green tile.
I stopped at the third-floor landing, listening, and when I didn’t hear anything, I did a quick turn around the floor. The place was as creepy as hell, and except for the floors that creaked and moaned and the swoosh of the wind coming off the lake and in through all those gaping window holes, it was as quiet as everybody who doesn’t know the dead talk to me thinks it is over at Garden View.
There was no sign that Darren Andrews was anywhere in the vicinity.
I legged it up to the fourth floor, and the fifth, and the sixth.
By the time I’d scouted them all—and found them all empty—I was discouraged. Not to mention winded.
I allowed myself a couple minutes to sit on the steps and gather my thoughts.
So maybe I wasn’t so good at putting together clues and finding meaning in the words Quinn had mumbled when he’d had one foot in the grave?
Or maybe I was.
My head came up when I heard a sound from the floor above me, and I held my breath and listened for more. Sure, it might have been another furry intruder, but if it was, it was one with big feet, wearing hard shoes. My head tipped so I could listen more closely, my steps careful and quiet, I slunk up to the seventh and top floor.
The other floors I had examined each contained wide hallways and rows of doors. This one was different. Just to the left of the elevators, there was an archway that led back into a suite of offices. Carved over it were the words andrews incorporated.
“Bingo!” I whispered to myself. It beat listening to the sound of my heart knocking against my ribs. I stepped through the doorway and paused to listen. This time, there was no mistaking the sounds I heard. Pounding. Like somebody banging on a wall.
I followed the noise, and just outside an office at the end of the hallway, I heard it change. No more pounding, this was more like punching through. I heard the splat of plaster chips hitting the floor, and the grunt of labored breathing.
Silently, I s
tepped into the office. This was the corner suite, the one I had no doubt had once belonged to Darren’s father. It was roomy, and once upon a time, I bet it had been elegant. Though most of it had been salvaged, there were still a few remnants of oak paneling on the walls and chunks of thick carpeting over in the corners where it had obviously been too difficult to rip up. Two of the walls had once contained windows and a killer view of Lake Erie beyond.
Darren Andrews stood opposite them, in the farthest corner of the room. He had a shovel in his hands, and he smacked the wall one more time. In the quickly fading evening light, I saw the last of the plaster fall away. And I saw the look of relief that swept Darren’s expression.
But then, that’s because he saw what I couldn’t see. At least not until he stepped back and stepped aside.
An arm had flopped out of the wall.
Or I should say more precisely, what was left of an arm.
The bones were burnished the color of old brass, but there was no mistaking that the arm must have belonged to a woman. It was slim and delicate. The fingers were long and shapely. They clutched a gold chain, and I didn’t have to get closer to know what was dangling from it—that Saint Andrew’s medal Darren wasn’t wearing in his senior picture.
“Son of a gun, Quinn was right. The dead do talk. I just wasn’t listening. Lucy said she fought with you when you came around to the trunk and put that blanket over her face. She was so panicked, she didn’t realize she’d ripped off that medal of yours. I bet you didn’t, either. Not until it was too late. Bet you thought you lost it in the park. That’s why you went back there the next day. You never knew it was clutched in her hand, did you? You were too scared to look too close.”
Honest to gosh, I thought Darren was going to have a coronary, right then and there. His mouth open, his cheeks pale and pocked with plaster dust, he spun to face me. “What the hell are you talking about? You can’t possibly know—”
“I know more than you think. Like about the tests you were stealing and selling. You thought that’s what Lucy was going to see the principal about. News flash, it wasn’t. You killed her for nothing.”
Now that Andrews had a couple moments to compose himself, he pulled in a breath and threw back his shoulders. “Killed? What on earth are you talking about? You can’t possibly think I know anything about this . . .” His top lip curled, he slid a look at the arm and I took a moment to peer farther into the cubbyhole it had fallen out of. Now that my eyes were more accustomed to the dim light, I saw the smooth contours of a skull, its empty eye sockets fixed on me.
I think it was that unwavering look from Lucy that kicked my adrenaline into high gear when Darren started with the excuses—just like I expected him to.
“I was here taking a last look at this magnificent building that was once home to my family business,” he said. “I’ve made this terrible discovery. You’re just in time. I was just about to call the police and let them know what I found.”
Adrenaline, remember. And a healthy dose of chutzpah to go along with it. My chin high, I stepped closer to the skeleton. “You were going to call the police, huh? Was that before or after you were going to get rid of that medal of yours that Lucy’s holding?”
His eyes snapped to mine. “That’s ridiculous. There must have been a million medals like that made back then.”
“Back then. You mean like back when Lucy Pasternak was bragging about how brave she was at the Beatles concert, and you kids decided to teach her a lesson.”
Oh, how I love to watch bad guys squirm!
He ran his tongue over his lips. “You’re going to believe that stupid drunk? If that’s what Will told you, then maybe he killed Lucy. Will and I, we used to hang around here sometimes after school. You know, watching the building being built. He could have known the last of the plastering was going to be done the day after the concert. He could have brought the body here and—”
“Except he didn’t, because he thought the body was where you guys left it. You know, at the park. But Will and Bobby went back the next day, and Lucy’s body was gone. That’s because you…” I emphasized the word. “After you took the other kids home and swore them to secrecy, that’s when you went back to the park to look for your medal. You didn’t find it, but you picked up Lucy’s body and brought it here. You know, it would be one thing if you did it just to hide the body and save your own skin. But you had something even nastier in mind. You knew that if the other kids were scared that someone had seen them, they’d keep their mouths shut. You held it over their heads for forty-five whole years. And you knew you were safe because you’re the one who knew about the plastering the next day. I’m not much when it comes to construction, but let me guess…” I moved closer and took a look. “That’s a heating duct or an air vent or something. You knew once the walls were finished, nobody would ever find Lucy. And that was that. Until the city swooped in and scooped up your building. That’s why you fought so hard to keep it from being torn down. You knew what they were going to find when they started demolition.”
Andrews must have come right from the office. His suit coat was off and thrown over a nearby three-legged chair. His white business shirt glowed eerily in the half-light. “You really are a ridiculous young lady, and I don’t know why you’re spouting all this nonsense. You don’t think if you tell the authorities, they’ll actually believe you, do you?”
I grinned because, let’s face it, another piece of the puzzle chunked into place and I was feeling damned proud of myself. “That’s why you killed Janice and never bothered with Will. Once you liquored him up again, you figured you were safe. If Will said anything to anyone about what happened that night, nobody would listen. He’s just a crazy drunk, after all. But Janice…”
I remembered the portrait that hung in the lobby of the tony real estate building.
“They would have listened to Janice. She was an intelligent, successful woman. And she wasn’t stupid. Let me guess, she called and told you Will came to see her to tell her I was asking about Lucy. She wanted money to keep her mouth shut. You don’t have to confirm or deny,” I added, though I wasn’t sure he was going to do either. “From what I know about her, that sounds like Janice.”
“Well, that certainly is an interesting story you’ve concocted.” Andrews took a step toward me. Don’t worry, I hadn’t forgotten he was holding that shovel. When I saw his hand tighten around the handle, I stepped back, and gauged the distance to the doorway.
Sure, I was hopped up on adrenaline. But I wasn’t stupid.
I can’t say for sure because it happened pretty fast, but I think I’d already made a move toward the door when I slammed into something.
I should say someone.
Someone short and skinny who was wearing jeans just like mine and a cami that hugged her bought-and-paid-for curves.
“Ariel, what the hell are you doing here?” I wailed.
It only took me a second, but it was one second too long, and Darren wasn’t stupid, either. He knew a skinny little kid was an easier target than a tall, imposing woman.
Before I could warn her or push her away, Darren had an arm around Ariel. He dragged her away from me, back toward the wall, and when she saw the skeleton arm dangling there, Ariel panicked. The more she screamed and squirmed, the tighter he hung on.
“Shut up.” Andrews gave her a shake.
Ariel shut up, all right. I’d like to think it was because I was signaling her to keep her cool, not because the creep was threatening her.
“Your friend and I here…” He gave her another shake, just for good measure, and Ariel’s head snapped back. I didn’t like the look of that, and I sprang forward, but I didn’t dare get too close. Especially when he dragged her too close for comfort to the gaping holes left by the missing windows.
I put on the brakes.
“Your friend and I here were just discussing what we were going to do about this surprising discovery I’ve made,” Andrews told Ariel. She wasn’t listenin
g. Her eyes goggled out of her head and tears streamed down her cheeks when she slid a look toward the missing window and the seven stories of nothing between her and the ground.
I had to tell myself to ignore her, or I’d end up crying, too, and then where would we be?
“I was going to call the police,” Andrews purred. “But then you showed up.”
Was Ariel canny or incredibly stupid? I can’t say, but I’ll give the kid credit, she worked past her fear. “I’m a detective,” she said. “Just like Pepper. That’s why I followed her here tonight. I heard everything about the medal and the trunk and the blanket. I know you killed Lucy.”
“I said, shut up!” This time when Andrews shook her, he lifted Ariel’s tiny body clear off the floor. I would have been alarmed if I’d had the chance.
But then, when Ella and Will raced into the room, I was a little taken aback.
“You let her go right now, Darren!” Oh, yeah. That was Ella, all right, except that in all the time I had known her, I’d never seen her like this. Her chin firm, her gaze steady, and her eyes spitting brimstone, she stalked into the office like a lioness.
“That is my daughter,” Ella said, her voice iron. “If you so much as harm one hair on her head—”
“If any of you get one step closer…” Andrews twirled around. His hand was still clamped on Ariel’s shoulders and he swung her closer to the window. Ella let out a gasp. Behind me, I heard Will curse.
“We’re all getting a little overemotional.” Pepper Martin, the voice of reason. It wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence, and I had to remind myself that this one time, I had to play it for all it was worth. Ariel’s life depended on it.
“What we need to do is just talk this out.” I took my eyes off Darren just long enough to glance at Ella and Will, just so Darren didn’t feel singled out. “All of us.”
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