Moon Music

by Faye Kellerman

  "Why?"

  Poe stalled. "I wanted Rukmani to have a look at it."

  "Go on, Poe."

  "I want to make sure that the mark was Alison's teeth."

  "You doubt Steve's story, then?"

  "Sir, I don't doubt Steve was attacked. But by his own admission, he was doped up most of the time. He may have missed something. For all we know, that bite mark may have been given to him by Gretchen." A beat. "Just trying to fill in the gaps."

  Weinberg thought as he drank water. "Did the doc have a picture of the bite mark?"

  "Several. I have a snapshot in my backpack."

  "The doctor just…released part of Jensen's medical chart over to you?"

  "The doctor took several pictures. Steve assigned one of them over to me."

  "So you don't suspect Steve of anything?"

  Poe shook his head. "Not at the moment, no."

  Weinberg said, "I still can't figure out how Alison could do that much damage by herself. Killing Gretchen and carrying her into the attic. Then stuffing Steve into the trunk." He rubbed his eyes. "Even if she was taking steroids. Even if she believed she was Hercules. It spits in the face of logic. There had to be a second party."

  Poe spoke prudently. "Possibly."

  "But you're not committing to anything. No wonder you never got married." Weinberg redirected the air-conditioning vent away from his face. "So you tell me how she could lift Gretchen into the attic."

  "Alison's around five-seven or -eight. If she had been taking steroids—"

  "Okay," Weinberg interrupted. "So maybe she could lift Gretchen. Let's even assume that she could. Tell me how she could have lifted Jensen into the trunk."

  "Leverage."

  Weinberg looked dubious.

  Poe said, "With enough adrenaline pumping through your veins, and a wheelbarrow and ramp, it could be done."

  "She left the car in the middle of nowhere. So you're telling me she takes off with a wheelbarrow and ramp in tow. And if she left them behind, where's the wheelbarrow? Where's the ramp? Does that seem logical to you?"

  "No, it doesn't."

  "Do you know if she had a lover on the side?"

  "I don't know."

  "A good-looking woman like Alison, even if she is cuckoo, she could attract men."

  "Absolutely."

  "So, she could have roped someone into helping her do the murders."

  "Yes."

  "I want you and Patricia to go question the neighbors," Weinberg ordered. "Find out who came and went from the house."

  Poe sighed. "Okay."

  "What's the sighing? You sound like a love-struck goose. What's the problem, Poe?"

  "Nothing. I'll go question the neighbors."

  "I know you want to look for Alison. Forget it! I don't trust your judgment when it comes to her. She could sweet-talk you into doing something dumb." The loo paused. "I don't know if I trust your judgment period. Between not telling me about Steve and Brittany Newel, then your manhandling of Honey Kramer, I should suspend you."

  "You'd be within your rights."

  "Maybe the snake toxin went to your brain. Maybe it's your mother's illness. Whatever the reason, let the highway boys look for Alison. You just piece together something logical from what Steve told us."

  "I'll do what I can."

  Poe's cell phone started ringing. He picked it up. "Yes?"

  The female voice said, "God! Finally! You've been out of range for what felt like hours."

  "Patricia?"

  "You've got to come back right away."

  "We're on our way. What's up?"

  "I'm outside Honey Kramer's apartment. Or what once was her apartment. It blew up about ten minutes ago."

  "Oh my God!"

  "What?" Weinberg asked.

  Poe handed the lieutenant the phone.

  "Weinberg here. What?"

  "Honey Kramer's apartment exploded around ten minutes ago!"

  Weinberg swore silently. "Where are you, Deluca?"

  "Right outside the place." A pause. "I saw it, sir. I was watching the place…and then there was this loud bang…the place just…detonated."

  "What's happening now?"

  "Fire trucks arrived immediately. So did the ambulances. I've called someone down from the Arson—"

  "Good thinking—"

  "Scariest fucking thing I've ever seen!"

  "We'll be there in a half hour," Weinberg said. "Should I bother to ask this?" A pause. "Was Honey inside?"

  "Sir, I saw her enter the building. That's why I was watching the place."

  "Any possibility that she could be alive?"

  "I don't see how."

  The apartment was belching dark plumes of smoke, but Patricia couldn't make out any more active flames. The fire department had stopped spraying, but a half-dozen fighters were still chopping through blackened siding. Hoses lay curled along the ground like sleeping cobras. Several ambulances had arrived to transport victims to the hospital. Arson had started to do their thing. The mixture of water and ash choked Deluca's throat. She was trying to figure out her role in all of this when Poe's dirt-coated Honda chugged its way through the ropes. She felt relieved when Lieutenant Weinberg stepped out and immediately took over.

  Retreating across the street, she observed the inferno with her arms folded, her face covered in black soot. Poe walked up and stood next to her, smoking a cigarette. Together, they watched the ambulances flash and wail as they sped down the street. Neither spoke, taking mental notes on the commotion. Finally, Patricia asked how Steve was faring.

  "Back from the dead," Poe answered. "Amazing."

  "What'd he tell you?"

  "That Alison murdered Gretchen Wiler. She used Steve as bait to lure her down. Gretchen went, thinking Steve wanted a threesome. They partied. Steve drank and passed out. Next thing he knew, the room was covered with blood and Alison was munching on Gretchen's corpse."

  Patricia winced. "Steve doesn't recall anything about the murder?"

  "He says no."

  She paused. "Do you think he's holding back?"

  "Honestly, I don't know."

  "Do you think…" She paused. "Do you think he was involved in the actual murder?"

  "He was a heartbeat away from death when we found him. I'm inclined to believe his story and his innocence."

  "Does he have any theories as to why she did it?"

  "Just that she's crazy."

  "Not that crazy," Patricia replied. "She purposely picked out Gretchen."

  Poe nodded, gazing at the blackened structure. "I caused all this." He took a deep drag on his smoke. "I should have…if people died—"

  "No one died," Patricia interrupted him. "Even Honey Kramer's still hanging on."

  "You're kidding."

  "She's not in good shape, but she's alive." Patricia looked at her feet. "I was surprised. Man, that explosion." She let out a breath. "They say it was lucky that I was watching the place and called it in immediately. Fire chief said a few more minutes and the flames would have reached the central heating system. Then the entire building would have been torched."

  "Honey Kramer is actually alive?"

  "Alive but burned." A pause. "Badly burned."

  Poe licked his lips. "It's all my fault. I should have handled it better."

  Patricia stared at him. "You blew up the building, sir?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "And here I thought that only women had the capacity for irrational guilt."

  "What about the other victims? How bad off are they?"

  "I don't know the medical details, Sergeant. But like I said, the fire department was here in a flash."

  Poe took a final drag. "I should have figured that she'd run to Lewiston…tell him I strong-armed her. I should have known he'd do something like this." He crushed out his cigarette with too much force. "Too late now."

  "Sir, even if you hadn't done anything, Lewiston probably would have gotten rid of Honey as soon as the investigation star
ted gaining force. Look what happened to A. A. Williams. You know someone monkeyed with the van."

  True enough. He faced her. "Was Honey conscious when she was brought out?"

  "I don't know. They took her to the University Medical Center."

  Poe said, "I want a twenty-four-hour guard on her hospital room." Eyes fixed on the action, he saw Weinberg break away from the crowd and head toward them. "Uh-oh!"

  Patricia said, "Looks like the lieutenant has something on his mind."

  Probably my dismissal, Poe thought.

  Weinberg stomped over to them, attempting to brush wet ashes off his clothing. All he did was streak his pants gray. He spoke in a grave manner. "No deaths yet. Even Honey Kramer is alive."

  Poe said, "Patricia told me. What a relie—"

  Weinberg interrupted, "Patricia, you stay here and tag along with Arson. See what you can find out from them. I've also ordered a police photographer to come down to take extensive pictures of the damage. You can tag along with her also." He turned to Poe. "They took Honey to the burn unit at the University Medical Center. C'mon."

  "Me?" Poe asked.

  "Yes, you."

  "Sir, you told me to keep away—"

  "That was then, this is now." Weinberg coughed. "She kept calling your name out as they loaded her into the ambulance. I don't know if she was asking for you or cursing the day you were born. Let's go find out."

  FORTY-FOUR

  HARD TO believe that there was a breathing person beneath the shroud of bandages. Honey's arms and chest were completely dressed, her legs probably wrapped as well. Poe couldn't tell, as they were covered by a lightweight sheet. Her head was also swathed in gauze. If she made it, she'd be in for a long and painful haul.

  Poe watched over her as she slept fitfully, wondering why it had been cosmically ordained that the summer of his thirty-sixth year should be spent in hospitals. He stared at Honey's swaddled face, her eyes moving underneath bright red eyelids. Her lips were bluish and covered with something sticky. The skin above had been blistered red.

  An hour passed before he heard signs of life—a soft, whispery moan. In another context, it could have been interpreted as erotic. Here it suggested agony. Her eyelids fluttered, opened, then closed. Poe was almost hoping she'd fall back asleep. Instead, with effort, the lids reopened, then widened when she saw him. Slowly the eyes moved and took in Weinberg's face. He nodded, glanced at Poe, who turned on the tape recorder strapped across his chest.

  Poe spoke softly. "If you want, I'll go away."

  Honey whispered a no.

  He spoke softly. "Someone said you were asking for me. Blink once if that's a true statement."

  "Don't have to blink." She breathed laboriously with each word. "I can…talk."

  Her words were muffled, but Poe could make them out. He said, "Do you need more pain medication?"

  She nodded. "But it'll…knock me out. So wait until…"

  Poe said, "I have a tape recorder running now, Honey. Is that okay?"

  "It's…good." A long pause. "I want to confess."

  Poe's brain started racing. "About what we talked about?"

  She nodded. "Yes."

  Poe coughed into his fist. "All right. Mind if some other people hear it? Witnesses? So certain people won't say I'm making this up?"

  "I'm tired. Now…or never."

  "I need to tell you your rights."

  "Quick." There were tears in her eyes. After Poe advised Honey of her rights, she started talking in a raspy hush.

  "He did it." A pause. "Parker Lewiston. He killed that girl…with the pink hair…Sarah Yarlborough." Another hesitation. "I saw it…saw him do it."

  She took in Poe's expression, her own eyes now dry.

  "He was…screwing her, said he was gonna give her…the ultimate high. She thought he meant drugs."

  More labored breathing…her voice was as soft as a sable brush.

  "As she started to…climax, he…choked her. Don't know if he meant to kill her…but…but the end was the same."

  Three deep breaths, a moan of agony.

  "When she stopped breathing, he knew. He didn't…give a shit. He reached into his pocket…pulled out a knife…slit her throat. Did it to make it look…look like…"

  Her words became unintelligible. Poe said, "He slit her throat to make it look like what, Honey?"

  "The other one. The other girl…in the picture you showed me."

  "Brittany Newel?"

  "Yes." More toiled breathing. "Yes, Brittany Newel."

  "Parker Lewiston choked Sarah Yarlborough to death. To masquerade her death, Lewiston slit her throat."

  "Yes."

  "So the police would think that Sarah Yarlborough and Brittany Newel were murdered by the same person."

  With great effort, she told him yes.

  Poe said, "Where'd he kill her?"

  "In his office…in the Laredo." She looked away. "I'm tired. I want my dope now."

  "Right away." Weinberg called the nurse. "You did a great service, Ms. Kramer. You really did."

  Honey didn't respond. A doctor came in and monitored her vitals. Within minutes, artificial harmony shot through her veins. She drifted back into a restless unconsciousness. Eyes closed, Honey murmured, "Now…I can finally…sleep."

  Weinberg finished off the last bits of his pastrami sandwich, threw the napkin in the backseat of Poe's Honda. "Get your car washed. I'll pay for it."

  Poe turned out of the hospital complex's parking lot. "What now?"

  "Good question," the lieutenant responded. "What we got was more like a confessionette than a genuine full-scale confession."

  Poe said, "She said he did it. She said she saw him do it. She said how he did it. She said where he did it. I've got a witness that'll link Honey and Sarah together the night of the murder. I think we've got a lot."

  "It won't stand up before a grand jury."

  "Agreed," Poe answered. "But maybe it's enough to convince a judge to issue us a search warrant for Lewiston's office at the Laredo."

  "What's in his office? The knife?"

  "If we are magically lucky. Actually, what I had in mind was a sample of grass."

  "Grass?"

  "Lewiston's entire Laredo office is floored with grass for golfing—"

  "The sample found under Yarlborough's fingers. The odd-type grass." Weinberg thought a moment. "Okay. We probably have enough to get a warrant."

  "It's a start."

  Weinberg said, "That confession will be contested in every way, shape, or form. It was done while she was drugged, it was done under duress, it was done without her having legal representation. No way it's going to be meaningful unless she stands by it once she recovers. Especially since she lodged a complaint about you three days ago. His legal eagles are going to accuse you of coercing her, tear into you like—"

  "I'll take a polygraph."

  "It won't stand up in court."

  "So let's get the warrant for his office and maybe if the grass blades match, that'll stand up in court." Poe paused. "We should move on it now, sir. Before Lewiston finds out she's still breathing."

  "I'll contact the judge. Where's the tape recording?"

  "It's in my knapsack."

  Weinberg reached around and lifted Poe's knapsack from the backseat floor. He started rummaging through its contents. "She was hard to understand in person. Tape makes her sound even more muffled."

  "You can make out the words if you listen hard enough." Poe thought a moment. "If you want we can take it down and have it enhanced—"

  "Better straight off the brisket." Weinberg paused. "A deli term. It means we don't do anything fancy unless we have to."

  "I agree."

  Weinberg pulled out the tape recorder and slipped it into his briefcase. "You go back to the office and work with

  Deluca on the explosion. I'll send in Baylor and Herrod to search Lewiston's office—"

  "What?" Poe was appalled. "You can't lock me out now! This is my moment
of glory."

  "Exactly. I need people who are dispassionate and professional. You're not either when it comes to Lewiston. Baylor and Herrod'll work out fine."