"Hm. How formal do you think she means?"
"I'd say very. She's got a rock on her ring finger the size of a Buick."
I gave the card back to him.
He looked at it for a second and crumpled it, knuckles cracking, and let it fall. "What a mess."
"Did you pick up Willie?"
"Yeah."
"How's he doing?"
Lowell squinted into the flashing lights and cameras. "A zombie," he said. "He's all brass on the outside but he's tin in the center. He and Karen were close but they never seemed to rely on each other much, always did their own thing. Sometimes those are the ones who depend on one another the most, down at the bottom, where it counts."
"Where is he now?"
"He didn't want to go back to the house. Couldn't face that yet. His folks are dead and no other relatives live in the county, so I brought him to the Hobbes'.Doug is out of town until tonight, but at least he's got Lisa."
"She'll help," I said.
He turned to the kids playing in the fields. Some skaters were practicing double axels on the far end of the lake. "I could have Roy run you home."
"I think that would be best."
"Me, too."
Roy was not thrilled to have Anubis in his cruiser, even if the dog sat in the back seat behind the grille. He drove us through the throng of reporters and they ran at the car and yelled questions at me. Anubis also declined to comment.
Roy took the long way around to Anna's house to shake news vans that might be following. There weren't any. We toured the side streets and retraced a portion of our route before turning down Anna's block, where I could still hear them beyond the brush. I felt like we were picking up ransom money. We pulled over to the curb and he said, "We'll do our best to keep 'em from the house, but they'll show up soon."
"Thanks for trying, Roy," I said. I left his coat and Lowell's hat on the seat.
"Why I'm here."
Anna opened the front door as the dog and I came up the ramp. Anubis ran to her like a child who'd found his mother after being lost in a department store. She patted his thick forehead. It was clear to me that she wanted to get into a deep discussion. I did not want to talk. The phone had already been unplugged.
She broke into a humorless smile, one composed of consolation and tinged with a private joke, as if only she and I understood a particular family saga or curse. "Of course you know I heard what happened, Jonathan."
She often made statements pertaining to what I knew. I only wished I knew everything she said I did, or that knowing it was ever a matter of course.
"What did they say on the news?" I asked.
Her hair shined as she moved past the front window; the setting sun giving her a vermillion aura. "Nothing really, mere speculation and promises to keep their viewers further updated as the story continued to unfold. Channel thirty-five mentioned your name and held 'interviews' with bystanders, who were mostly children and teenagers. They gave accounts of playing with Anubis, witnessing your struggle in the park, and its grim ending. Several vulgar youths first described and then graphically portrayed your attacker's death throes." She sneered. "Garish little beasts."
"Cripes," I said.
"And because of your involvement, interest in the Degrase case has resurfaced, and retrospectives are planned. The story has also broken in New York City. Debi called twice, 'Boss.' She is extremely worried."
"All this in a couple of hours."
"The media is nothing if not prompt," Anna said, "and intrusive. They'll be here soon, no doubt.”
“And we still don't know anything."
Cleaning the dog got first priority. I couldn't stand the smell much longer. I lifted Anubis and stuck him in the bathtub, soaped and washed him down hastily and soaped him again, taking my time scrubbing out the deep filth. Blood and dirt streamed into the drain; he worked his mouth as if trying to spit up the taste of a dead man, or else he was just getting hungry. Anna wheeled herself in behind me and said, "You should not mask your feelings, dear. I believe I understand what's on your mind."
"Really," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"Then you know why I prefer to mask my feelings."
"I do." The thin rubber tires squeaked on the tile floor. She had a book rack beside the toilet, filled with first editions and rarities I could've made a mint on at the store. How she kept them in such good condition in the bathroom, I couldn't guess. "But I fervently wish it were not so. You did not kill that man."
Anubis sniffed at the bubbles and sneezed. He stood ready to shake off and I forced him back into the water. "Technically speaking, no, I didn't."
She was not in the mood to converse, but rather to dictate. "You did not cause this."
"The guy said differently." I shifted on the edge of the tub and threw handfuls of warm water over the dog's back. "He said I made it happen by being nosy. He told me it—whatever it was—was an accident."
"Richie's death?"
"Or leaving him in your trash," I said. "Or Margaret dying. Or Karen's involvement. I wonder which?"
"I do not believe that all these answers can be found in a note that the sheriff may or may not have received and be hiding."
"It's a good starting place. Did you speak to him this afternoon?"
"Yes," Anna said, slightly frustrated, caught between two topics. She let out a breath in a gentle whistle that jerked the dog's head up; maybe he thought she wanted him to tear somebody else's throat out.
Picking up her original train of thought, she said, "You are not accountable. You certainly did not invite him to ambush you, Jonathan."
"No."
My grandmother did not mean to be redundant or to keep at me; it was the way it happened, at times like these, when she was worried and her exterior softened and I put up a wall or two around my usually sensitive self. We temporarily traded positions, which made us both equally uncomfortable. We would work through it quickly, but not quite fast enough to completely suit either of us. "You did not force him to attempt to kill you."
"That's true," I said. "However, something did. We touched a nerve."
"Thus spurring him to action. He came clear from the shadows because he was frightened. Why? What prompted his attack? If he was afraid of exposure, why would he so clumsily expose himself? What can you recall about him, his manner, his characteristics?"
"Just his haircut," I said. "And hostility. He knew how to use a knife. He had a terrible calm in his eyes."
"Anger directed solely at you, as if you had somehow upset his scheme."
"I guess." My thoughts kept turning back to when he had asked, Why didn't you stay out of it? He'd almost been pleading. "It was like he was just throwing a temper tantrum. He was vicious. Demented, maybe, but I don't really think he wanted to kill me so much as he wanted me out of the way, and was willing to kill me to do it."
"He was fueled by venom," she said.
"More like he was a brat. He seemed to take my interference personally, but only so far as he had to get past me before he could go on to something else. He must have thought I knew more about him than I did."
"Then we can assume he had a specific goal he had not yet achieved. The deaths of Margaret, Karen, and Richie were means to an end."
"To what? And was he working alone?"
"I would hazard to guess no," she said.
"So would I. He was probably dropped off at the park, and, considering how fast he got out of Raimi's the other night, he had somebody waiting for him in the parking lot. Nobody could remember serving him. He walked right in, saw me, grabbed a bottle off some table and picked a fight to put me out of the game."
"Whatever he was doing, I do not think it was a game."
"Whatever he was doing," I said, "he didn't think he'd be staring at the ceiling of the morgue tonight with most of his face gone."
Anna handed me a towel and I dried Anubis. He was ready to go back and finish our run in the park, the incident placed aside. He went to the
front door and thumped a paw, and looked mildly irritated when I did not open it for him. Anna wheeled herself near the reading table. After a moment, Anubis resolved himself and lay down behind her.
"Thank you for attempting to salve my conscience, Anna," I said, "but I don't need any. It's not easy watching a man—even one who is trying to kill me—die in front of my eyes. I don't feel guilty. If the dog hadn't come along, I would have stabbed that bastard through his heart. I was ready to do that. I think most people would have been." She stared and slowly blinked twice. "I'm going to take a shower."
"Yes, dear," she said softly.
I went upstairs to my room and got clean clothes, stripped off the cruddy sweats and got under the hot spray. I was out in two minutes. I didn't feel that dirty or chilly. In fact, I felt pretty good. When I returned to the living room, Anna was putting The French Powder Mystery back onto the shelf and was taking down Ed Gorman's Blood Moon.
I laid out on the couch with my legs on the pillows. I felt some strain in my calves, my chest hurt, and crew cut had gotten some more jabs into my gut. "What did Broghin have to say?" I asked.
She sniffed. "First I went to his office, where I learned he was off duty, so I continued to his home. We spoke for less than half an hour before the call came which took him to the park."
"I always remember Broghin being at the station, all the time, but apparently he's been taking a lot of time off."
"Yes," she said.
"Did you ask him about the letter?"
"No," she said.
"Wasn't quite as easy as you thought it would be."
Anna continued to hold Blood Moon in her hands, noticed and put it down on the table. "Well, I couldn't bring it up in polite conversation while sitting with Clarice. She's taken up baking as of late. A hobby, really, to help pass the time. If her cheesecake is any portent I'd say she's better off inclined towards other recreational avenues. Masonry, perhaps."
"Another wash-out."
"Not entirely," she said. "I did notice the house was recently repainted."
Nobody paints in February, when snowstorms raged around every corner.
Anna's gaze became very sharp. "I think someone must have scrawled obscenities and he has spent time eliminating them."
"Any idea what they were?"
"None."
"That sounds as if they're being harassed," I said. "So why isn't he talking? Getting the rest of the force involved?"
"Clarice was extremely agitated. Still, I must confront either her or Franklin with pertinent questions. While avoiding further servings of cheesecake."
"I'll have to do this the hard way. Sneak into Broghin's office and snatch the note, if the damn thing even exists."
"That is not wise, Jonathan," she said, which I knew was not the same thing as her telling me not to do it. "Don't you have a date tonight?" she asked.
I checked my watch. It was already after six.
"Oh, shit," I said.
~ * ~
I had no idea how long Broghin would be tied up at the park, or whether he'd go straight home afterwards—I thought he would—but either way I had to see Katie before anything else. Breaking our first date did not bode well for continued romantic liaisons. Meeting her had been the only good circumstance of my return, and I didn't want to give her up.
Prairie Lane was a circular street that led to The Orchard Inn, a sort of boarding house. It had ten or fifteen rooms run by Mr. and Mrs. Leone, an elderly Italian couple who used to always tip well and feed me Florentine recipes when I was their paperboy. I walked in and Mr. Leone greeted me in his customary manner; he was a big man who liked to give bear hugs. I tightened my muscles and tried to keep my ribs from being crushed. He went so far as to pinch my cheeks before giving me Katie's room number.
It was at the rear of the second floor. I knocked and waited half a minute before Katie opened the door, smiling. She wore a snug, strapless black dress that ended a mile and a half above her knees. Her earrings matched her eyes. I wondered how big a puddle a man of my size would make if he spontaneously combusted in the hallway.
Katie gave me the once over, frowned, and said, "I think I may have overdressed."
"You're perfect," I said. "And it also proves you're not a big TV watcher."
"Not today, anyway. I spent the past couple of hours making myself beautiful."
"You have achieved your purpose."
"Now that you know my secret, have I broken the spell?"
"It has been duly reinforced."
"You say the sweetest things, but I have the feeling I'm getting the brush off."
"Not exactly," I said.
She went, "Hmmm," and drew a fingernail along her lower lip. I began to realize what I was giving up to go steal a letter from the sheriff who would then throw me back into jail. I began to realize I was a pretty stupid person.
"Don't mind the boxes," she said. "I've been unpacking for weeks, but I keep buying junk so it's a never-ending battle to find spots for everything. I know the place is small, but I like it."
"It's bigger than my apartment."
She walked to the sofa and motioned me beside her. I sat and couldn't quite manage to free myself from her eyes. "So what are we doing here, Jonathan?"
I gave her an edited report on the events of the afternoon and told her why I had to break our date—nothing sounded especially dramatic when you laid it so simply on the line—Anubis killing a man came across like a scene from a Disney movie, as if we'd all just been playing in the snow. Katie's face filled with concern, warmth, and real fear. She slid over and held me and seemed to understand volumes about what I never could have told her anyway. Her intuition led her to whisper all the right things. We kissed and I drew her to me and pressed against her, the moment lengthening as the kiss grew more intense, and she wrapped her arms around me and the raw flash of pain lit up my head.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing."
"Is it your chest again?" She took the edge of my shirt and lifted it in the same way Wallace had. Her hands were skillful and cool. "This might seem a little barbaric," she said, "but I can fix this up for you here and now with my first aid kit. If you wait much longer it might turn septic and become a rather awful scar."
"Okay."
She dug for her kit in four different places before finally finding it at the bottom of a large box which also contained pillows, magazines, tablecloths, magic markers, dishes, aspirin, candles, and everything else this side of Atlantis.
"If I'd cut myself shaving I would have bled to death by now," I said.
"Bitch, bitch, bitch," she said. She took the kit into the bathroom and ran water and opened and shut the medicine cabinet. She returned with a couple of bottles and her jaw set firmly. "Sit on the sofa and stare straight ahead. It will only take a minute. Don't look while I do this."
"Exactly what are you going to do?" I asked.
"If I told you, Jon, it would be as bad as if you were looking."
Whatever she did, it hurt like hell, but at the same time there was a certain sexual electricity in her touch. Her fingers moved gracefully and tickled when I wasn't cringing. She cleaned the wound and gave me a glass of ice water and then we made out for a few minutes. There came a point when I knew I would either leave right then or I'd lose any chance of getting out of there.
"I have to go," I said.
Katie nodded and smiled. She took off her earrings and threw them onto the coffee table. "Hell of a first date," she said and gave me a last peck. "I hope I don't have to visit you in the hospital for our second one."
~ * ~
I passed two news vans as they headed back for the turnpike. The parking lot of the police station was empty; inside, the boiler remained broken and precipitation ran down the open windows. Meg was at her desk, packing things into her purse and getting ready to leave. Roy and two other deputies were deep in hushed conversation. They glanced up without stopping and gave me curt nods. I passed by quickly, hoping c
ops couldn't really sense criminal activities in their guts as many of them suggested.
Lowell was in his office, leaning back in his seat, looking out the window again, a spire of paperwork on his filing cabinet ready to topple onto his shoulders. I snuck by without quite getting onto my tippy-toes. Broghin's door stood open and the room was empty. I went in and left the door a few inches ajar, shadows looming. I recalled Robert Wagner from It Takes a Thief, and thought that being a cat burglar wasn't so difficult. Broghin's desk was from another age, two hundred pounds of squatting mahogany with gouges and burns. I opened drawers and rummaged through them, and it didn't take me long to find the note. He hadn't bothered to hide it; the letter proved to be yellowed and crinkled from the years, and the hands, and snow which had fallen on it while covering Richie Harraday's leg.
The windows in the sheriff's office were closed. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I read the letter that Lowell had said was a love note from Broghin's wife, Clarice.
I sat in the sheriff's seat and carefully went through the letter again; it was only one side of a page, three lengthy paragraphs written in a diminutive script. I didn't learn much more on the second reading; Lowell had been right, it was what you would consider your basic love letter, full of lots of emoting and weak metaphors and garden imagery—but there was a nuance beyond that, something out of kilter, maybe a little obsessive.
I got up and walked into Lowell's office and tossed the letter in his lap. He picked it up and said, "Even when you have no slack at all you find a way to hang yourself."
"It's unsigned," I said. "And there's no salutation."
His eyes narrowed as he stood. Even his hair looked muscular and irate. He took a breath and his chest expanded to an incredible degree, and I had no doubt he could pick me up with one hand and launch me through the window if he wanted to. Actually, it was clear he wanted to, I just hoped he didn't choose to.
"Why do you keep putting pressure on when it'll get you nowhere?" he asked.
"Look at the note," I said. "There's something weird.”
“What?”
“Read it.”
The Dead Past Page 14