Retribution

by Jasmine White

  Chapter Eleven:

  She needed to stand by Johnny. The thought was plaguing her as she wearily pushed the elevator button. She was dimly aware of the faint noise of the elevator groaning in revolt as she waited for its descent.

  If he needed her so badly, then why couldn’t he tell her what was bothering him? Why did it have to be such a huge secret? The elevator finally shuddered to a stop in front of her and she stepped inside and deftly pressed the third floor, grateful no smiling bellboy was there as she leaned against the side of the lift and closed her eyes.

  Secrets. That word about summed up what her relationship with Johnny had become. And with that came a sinking feeling that she didn’t want to stay with him. Not if it was going to be like that. He’d changed. He was no longer reachable; instead it seemed to Katherine that he’d become some remote stranger, secretive and irritable. Trust. The word flashed across her mind and she knew she was beginning to doubt him. She tried to pinpoint the time when she’d first started noticing he wasn’t the same, when he’d begun to block her out, causing her to pull away herself. The strong emotion she’d felt for him earlier had now fizzled out to this feeling of indifference. Her heart ached; he needed her, she reminded herself sharply as she stood up straight, the elevator having finally reached her floor. He needed her, and she’d promised to stand by him. After what they’d been through she owed him that much. And that was that.

  So distracted was she in her thoughts, that her brain was delayed in processing the image of the disheveled man sitting on the floor against the wall. A worn black fedora pulled over his face as he snored, he was leaning on the wall of her apartment, right next to her door.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” Her voice registered more abrupt than she’d meant as her not-to-cautious step caused Bailey Marsh to jerk awake, his hat falling to the carpeted floor. He didn’t seem to be in the least embarrassed at being found napping outside her door and simply straightened his tie, standing up as he ran a hand through his unkempt hair.

  “You sure keep late night hours, lady,” he commented dryly as she inserted her small key in the lock.

  “I don’t see what business that is of yours,” she refuted as she pushed open the door and slid her hand along the wall, found the light switch and flicked it up with her finger. Numbly she stood viewing the scene illuminated before her.

  Her pretty living room looked as though a tornado had ripped through it. Spaced out across the floor were the three drawers belonging to the little blue dresser that usually stood tucked off to side of her hall. Scattered in between were the scarves and gloves the drawers had held, her notepad and sketchbook and several brushes and paints. The dresser itself was roughly dislocated, teetering on a left shoe from a pair of black pumps, which had left their place in her bedroom closet. Even her couch cushions had been slashed, its inner wire ribs crudely exposed, its white stuffing solemnly surrounding in tuffs. Her eyes sought past the living room into the bedroom where she glimpsed dresser drawers opened, their contents spilling out like blood from an open wound. The floor there, too, was littered with various items carelessly thrown from drawers, from their proper places.

  The sound of something rolling merely added to the surrealist scene; Bailey stopped his foot mid-step, and sent his eyes after Katherine’s, hers following the imperfect semi-circle arced path of the crystal glass she’d given Johnny his whiskey in hours earlier. The glass rolled until it was forced to a stop by the wall with sound emulating the last strike of a music box.

  “Why?” The noise prompted Katherine to ask weakly as she moved over to sit on the edge of the couch cushion, taking care not to lean back against the exposed steel armature.

  “I was trying to warn you,” Bailey said as he walked over to her side and nudged back into hiding a red lacy bra that peeked out from under the couch. “Sure isn’t a nice thing to come home to.” He gave the room another thorough glance.

  Too stunned for words, Katherine leaned forward and closed her eyes, chin resting within her cupped hands. “This can’t be happening.” She spoke under her breath, more to herself than to Bailey. How did she attract so much bad luck? All starting when she had found Professor Drake. She felt the sharp stab from her conscience at the thought. Here she was complaining about having her apartment broken into when poor Philip Drake was dead.

  “What happened?” She drew away her hands and looked up at Bailey who was now inspecting a pottery fragment from a shattered blue and white vase.

  He stooped and picked up the other larger pieces and replaced them back on the mantle he assumed they’d fallen off of. “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She stared at him dumbly, silently shaking her head then allowing her eyes to search the room again.

  “I thought maybe you wouldn’t know.” Bailey filled in the silence as he pulled out the one chair that still stood upright from a small dining table. He briefly inspected it to make sure all the stuffing was intact before he sat down. “I was hoping that by talking to you, I’d be able to figure out what happened.”

  “Sure.” Katherine shrugged, not convinced she could be of any help. “You can interrogate me—” Laughter bubbled up in her at the thought, remembering the last time he’d questioned her at the police station.

  “Alright.” He leaned forward slightly in his chair. “What do you own of high value that a thief would go through all this trouble to get?”

  “Nothing.” Katherine giggled again. Why had she been stressed earlier, this situation was hilarious! “They went through all this trouble for nothing!” she exclaimed with a burst of laughter.

  Bailey studied her with narrowed eyes. “No jewelry? Nothing?”

  “No,” she replied with a huge grin on her face. She had never realized before how funny and actually nice this man was. Before she’d thought he was just a jerk.

  “There had to have been something. Somebody wouldn’t go through all this trouble for nothing. It could be something you are thought to have. Think carefully.”

  Katherine shrugged again. “Nope. Nothing. As you can see, my furniture and belongings were never in the best repair. I spent most of my money on the rent because I wanted to be in a nicer area of the city.”

  “They obviously weren’t tempted to take your furniture, I’ll give you that. They weren’t tempted by anything that is still remaining here. That leaves that they were looking for something they believed was here. Looking thoroughly.”

  “Well, they searched pretty thoroughly from the looks of things.” Katherine giggled again.

  A half smile tilted up the right side of Bailey’s mouth. “You know, you actually might be a fun person to be around when you’re loosened up.” He cleared his throat suddenly. “Ahem, back to the subject . . . can you tell me anything out of the ordinary that has happened since I last saw you?”

  “You mean since you last investigated me? I must be your prime suspect all the time, why not just arrest me now?”

  “Yes, since the last time I talked to you after Drake’s, um, unfortunate incident.”

  “Well, everything has been out of the ordinary.” Katherine began laughing again as her hysterics heightened to a new level. “First my mentor commits suicide, for no apparent reason, then an ideal job opportunity comes out of nowhere. Should I continue?”

  “Yes, but not along those tracks. Think of the last few days, or better yet, just start with tonight and we’ll work our way backwards. Where were you at tonight?”

  Katherine rolled her eyes. Here he was back again to Mr. Jerk. “I was at a club with my fiancé.”

  “How long were you there for?”

  “Since the early evening. We had dinner — at least we were supposed to, just ended up having wine and dancing.”

  “I can see.” Bailey commented dryly as he studied her. She tee-heeed as she now dared lean back against the bare springs of the couch, her laughter sending out little fluffs of cotton floating in the air.

&nb
sp; “When you say ‘we,’ are you referring to you and that—your fiancé?”

  “Yes, well it was supposed to be. It started out with only me and Johnny, then some “Friends joined us.”

  He raised his eyebrows, darn him. “Who?”

  “Wesley Grant, Pamela Torres , Mike Donavan,” she responded dully.

  “To your knowledge, is there anyone else who was aware of your absence tonight?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. It’s not like I employ a housekeeper or anything.” Katherine fought back another giggle.

  Bailey ignored the hysterics. “You’re telling me the only ones that could’ve known about your absence tonight is your fiancé, Wesley, Pamela, and Mike.”

  “Yes. As far as I know. I don’t believe I told anyone else where I was going. Of course other people could’ve seen us out and about, although I don’t know why they would take notice.”

  “Okay.” Although he wasn’t taking physical notes, Katherine had the impression that each word she said was being mentally recorded.

  He stood up suddenly as though his mind had just processed where the liquor was, one of the only items that hadn’t been disturbed from its mirrored tray on the dresser. Pouring himself a glass, he turned to her. “Care for a drink?” Before she had a chance to answer he changed his mind. “Actually, I think you’ve had enough to drink for the night.” Apparently he mistook her mild hysterics for tipsiness.

  That comment chased away the state of merriness she’d been in, and in a serious voice she said, “So, you’ve finally caught up with me.”

  He turned, drink in hand, eyebrows raised.

  “Last time you questioned me, after Professor Drake’s suicide, you threatened to be in contact with me again. And here you are.”

  “Well, sometimes it’s hard to see you with that boyfriend of yours hanging around all the time.”

  “Fiancé.” Katherine corrected.

  “Whatever. It seems like it’s either he or the lofty Mr. Grant with high connections are always around.”

  “And how would you know?” Katherine realized suddenly. “Have you been following me?”

  “Miss Hale.” His tone was disgustingly patronizing. “You should be aware that we have an unsolved murder on our hands. Of course we are keeping track of all who could possibly be involved.”

  “Unsolved murder! You mean—Professor Drake was murdered?” And any light mood that might threaten to come upon her again tonight was vanquished for good; he had her entire attention.

  “Yes. Unsolved murder.” Bailey relished her now rapt attention as he took a sip of whiskey.

  Katherine suddenly become aware of the uncomfortableness of the wired couch, straightened, and dusted some stray cotton puffs from her evening dress. “How long has the verdict been murder instead of suicide? Why did I never hear of this?”

  “Oh, I had my suspicions all along. Just took me a bit of time to convince the Chief there was some credibility to the murder aspect.”

  “And now I’m one of the suspects?”

  Bailey slowly swirled his whiskey around in a crystal glass identical to the one on the floor and smelled it before responding. “You may have been under suspicion before this”—his hand swept in a dramatic arc indicating the destroyed room—“but I believe what happened here tonight has cleared you . . . at least most of the way.”

  “So you believe this break-in is connected in some way to Drake’s—murder?” As the words left her mouth she felt a chill run down the back of her neck. “But how could it be? What could they want from me? It’s not like I know anything. I’ve told you everything I know!”

  “Maybe you don’t know anything, maybe you do.” At Katherine’s protest Bailey held up his hand for silence before he continued. “Look at it from the murderer’s or murderess’s point of view. You found the body. They believe either that you know something or you found something to incriminate him or her.”

  “Found something? At professor Drake’s apartment? Yes, I found his body!”

  “That’s what you think. That’s what I thought—until now. This uncomely scene adds an interesting twist to the whole ordeal.” Bailey couldn’t quite keep the gleam out of his eyes from the prospect of a new challenge.

  “Until now?” Katherine studied his face, trying to discern what he wasn’t telling her. “You think this break-in is somehow connected, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “After that auction you went to of Phillip’s belongings, I’m positive it is.”

  “The auction—how did you know?” Understanding dawned in her face. “You were there, weren’t you? I didn’t see you. Where were you?”

  “That’s because you weren’t supposed to see me.” Another grin lifted his mouth. “Disguise isn’t a hard feat to pull off when no one is looking for you.”

  Then understanding flashed in her eyes: "The dirty man with stinky overalls and the creepy smile! That was you?! Ewwwwww. . ." Bailey's smile faded, and he simply cleared his throat. She shot him a look of apology, then said, "Well, then I guess you know how that went. It wasn’t anything special, pretty drab, actually; I only ended up with one of his drafting tables. There wasn’t much else there that interested me.” Or that I could afford, she added to herself.

  “I know. You bid against both Wesley and Johnny for that carved table of Drake’s. Any particular reason you wanted it so bad? It seemed to me a pretty hefty price to pay for some used furniture.”

  “Because . . .” Katherine steadied her voice at the thought of her dead teacher and friend. “He had been my mentor. The first person in my field to really believe in me. He believed in me for my abilities as an architect without expecting anything in return.”

  “So you wanted his desk as a memento of sorts, and you were willing to pay an outrageous price for it.” Katherine nodded, surprised not to hear any sarcasm in his voice. He continued. “Sounds reasonable, I suppose. Now that leaves me to wonder why Wesley and Johnny both wanted the desk too. I doubt they had the same emotional attachment as you.”

  “Oh, that’s simple,” Katherine supplied confidently. “Johnny told me he wanted the desk as a gift for me. He knew how much the professor had meant to me, so he thought I would like it. It was sweet of him.”

  Bailey’s eyebrows rose again, from surprise or humor Kate couldn’t tell. “That still leaves Wesley unaccounted for.”

  “That’s simple as well. He’s an avid collector of antiques and fine arts, is always going to estate sales buying all sorts of random stuff.” Her mind had its own will and flashed back to earlier that evening, his sudden kiss; a few days before at his pool party, the way his eyes had met hers. Why was it that she couldn’t get Wesley out of her mind lately? “Besides . . . ” She shook the memories out of her mind. “He had no reason to kill Philip—neither of them did. The idea is ridiculous.” She hoped he couldn’t see her slight rise in color as she spoke of Wesley.

  Bailey shrugged, his dark eyes scrutinizing her intently. “You don’t see it as a coincidence that shortly after you bought the desk, which both Wesley and Johnny wanted, your entire apartment is turned upside down and inside out?”

  “But there’s nothing here to find! No. I don’t see it as a coincidence, because there’s nothing in the desk someone could possible want. I can show you it now, although it’s rather filthy. I haven’t had time to clean it yet. There’s nothing anyone would want unless they’re an architect. Just has a bunch of drafting tools in it.”

  “You sure? Maybe you should show me.”

  “Right this way.” Katherine got up and led the way to her small office. As they crossed the living room, she was surprised to feel a cold breeze and saw that the balcony door was open several inches.

  Bailey noticed it too. He crossed to the door and looked out. “Goes down the fire escape?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s how they left, but I’d hate to be in their shoes; the alley is always full of mud after a rainstorm—” She broke off abruptly, suddenly remembering the
mud smear on Johnny’s shoes. He couldn’t have, could he?

  “After a rainstorm?” Bailey prompted, his eyes on her face.

  “When it rains, mud gets washed into the alley there. That’s it.”

  He didn’t ask another question but silently shut the door and locked it firmly. She didn’t look at him but continued to the office. The door was ajar, this room, too, had fallen under the crude hand of searching that’d touched the rest of the apartment. She turned on the light and stepped inside. Mr. Detective following close behind. She felt as though she’d just been punched in the gut and had to perform without time to recover. Johnny had been involved in the searching of her apartment, and she had to act towards this detective like nothing was the matter.

  “See? There really isn’t much here,” she said. The detective's eyes followed her motion to the desk with all its drawers open, some of them lying face down on the floor, drafting materials and papers scattered everywhere. Suddenly her eye caught on something black and shiny peeking out from underneath a pad of paper. Was that Johnny’s cigarette lighter? Had Bailey seen it? She quickly drew her gaze back to him, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  “I do see a lot of drafting supplies,” Bailey commented, his eyes on her face. “So tell me, were you with your group of friends the entire evening?”

  “Yes.” She forced her mind away from the sick pain, the realization that Johnny had trashed her apartment. Searching for something . . . searching for what? “Well, we didn’t exactly plan it, but we were in each other’s company for most of the night.”

  “How much is most?”

  “Wesley was the first to leave. I’m not sure when Pamela and Mike left. When Johnny—when Johnny got back I didn’t pay any attention to where they were.” She felt as though she’d just signed his death warrant.

  “Where did Johnny go?”

  “He had a phone call sometime in the evening.”

  “Do you remember what time?”

  “I’m not really sure.” Memories of Wesley and her flashed across her mind.

  “But he was gone for a significant amount of time?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe about an hour? I don’t know exactly. I danced with Wesley and then after he left, it seemed like it took a while for Johnny to come back.”

  “Was he making the phone call or receiving it?”

  “Receiving it, I believe. Jerry, his boss is always calling him, no matter what time of the day or night about some problem or another. I don’t know what he’d do without Johnny.” The pieces of the night snapped into place. Jerry had put Johnny up to it. The sick feeling began to return.

  “And where was the phone located?”

  Katherine hesitated. “I’m not sure, exactly. I don’t believe it’s within sight of the main dining room where we were dancing.” She knew now, based on Johnny’s actions that he hadn’t seen the kiss.

  “Well,” he said suddenly, “I’ve kept you long enough.” He headed for the front door.

  Katherine was perplexed that he didn’t want to examine the office more thoroughly. “Is it safe for me to sleep here tonight?” she asked as she walked him to the door.

  “I believe so.” He put on his hat. “Whoever was here seemed to have done a pretty thorough job. Don’t see any reason why they’d be back.”

  “That doesn’t really help me rest any easier.”

  Bailey had the door open by now and turned to face her. “Would it help to know I have a surveillance car parked right outside your apartment?”

  “What?” Katherine was shocked. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Bailey said gently, sensing she might be headed for one of her temperamental displays. “It hasn’t been there for long. I requested the car after your neighbor reported that she heard someone shuffling heavy things around in your room.”

  Katherine rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. It was the nosy widow Mrs. Browning, two doors down.”

  “Yes, it was, actually. How’d you guess?” The man seemed surprised by her powers of deduction.

  “That woman is the nosiest person I’ve ever met. She doesn’t have anything else to do so she monitors the activity of everyone on this floor. I’m sure she just can’t wait to catch me in some scandalous behavior.”

  “Well, then between her and the car outside your place, I think you should be very well protected tonight.”

  “I guess that does make me feel better,” Katherine conceded ruefully, realizing that if it really was Johnny involved she had nothing to worry about. He would never hurt her, of that she was positive. Whether or not he would hurt someone else was another matter. “Never thought I’d be grateful for that witch’s presence.”