by Edie Claire
I bet he fixes dinner for her, too.
***
Maura Polanski hadn't left Butler when Leigh did, but had doubled back into the state police barracks. She had no trouble finding the employee break room in the basement, nor Sara Jean, who lounged inverted on the ragged couch, her long legs draped over its back.
"Polanski!" she effused, swinging her feet over with ease. "Long time, no see, woman!"
Maura smiled. Sara Jean was some sort of relative, or so they had always assumed. All they really knew was that they had both grown up in Avalon and tended to show up at the same reunions. Sara Jean stubbed out her cigarette in a candy wrapper and banked the wad off a No Smoking sign into the trash can. "Good aim," Maura praised.
Sara Jean shrugged. "Practice." She motioned for Maura to sit down. "So how are things in Avalon? Have they made you detective yet?"
Maura's teeth clenched slightly. "Not yet. Everything in Avalon is the same. Except Mom's worse."
Sara Jean shook her head sympathetically. "I know what you're going through, believe me. It was rough with my granddad, but we got through it. You ever need a relief person, you call me, you hear?"
Maura nodded, then changed the subject. "Thanks for calling me about Leigh. I'm surprised you remembered her name."
Sara Jean laughed. "After all that mess in Avalon last summer? How could I forget? No, when I heard her name on the news, I knew it was your friend. So when I found out she was coming in here, I figured you'd want to know."
Maura smiled appreciatively. Sara Jean had a good heart, but hopelessly loose lips. How she had managed to secure a job as a police records clerk was a mystery, but Maura suspected it had something to do with her libido. "So what's up?" the policewoman prompted.
"Guy knifed his ex," Sara Jean said simply. "Got him plain as day. Blood all over him, moaning about how she'd left him. Classic." She reached into her pocket and lit another cigarette. "Classic," she repeated.
Maura sighed. "Do you know how long the woman had been dead when they found her?"
Sara Jean looked at the ceiling as she considered. "Seems like I heard she wasn't stiff yet when they picked her up."
Probably less than five hours.
"Your friend reported it," Sara Jean continued. "Sounds like she's got a thing for this guy. You think he did that woman at the zoo, too?"
Maura winced slightly. "I hope not. Was there anything you heard about this case that didn't fit? I mean, that might make you think he didn't do it?"
Sara Jean shook her head. "They didn't find the knife, but he could've got rid of it easy enough."
"Anything else?"
Sara Jean shrugged. "They were asking about another car for a while—some woman down the road saw somebody shooting off like a bat out of hell earlier. But she didn't get a license or anything. It was probably just some drunk coming down from one of the hunting cabins."
Maura was quiet for a moment. "You remember what kind of car?"
Sara Jean shook her head. "I could look it up if you want."
Maura shook her head. Listening while Sara Jean shot her mouth off was one thing. Asking her to look in confidential files was another. "Thanks, cuz. You know my number, right?"
Sara Jean grinned. "You know I do."
***
Leigh paced around her apartment for exactly three minutes before heading back down to Warren's. She knocked on the door loudly.
"Come on in!" Warren yelled cheerfully. Leigh obliged. He and Katharine were still sitting next to each other on the couch, smiling as if they shared some private joke.
"Mike Tanner's ex-wife was murdered today," Leigh announced without preamble. "And the police think he did it."
Chapter 12
Katharine Bower's peach iced tea spewed forward about three feet, most of it over the Wall Street Journal on the coffee table. Warren leapt up to fetch a towel, glancing unkindly at Leigh as he went.
"Tanner did what?" Katharine cried.
"I didn't say Tanner did anything," Leigh said defensively. "Being arrested for murder doesn't make you guilty, you know."
"He's been arrested?" Katharine asked, choking a little.
She nodded.
Warren took a firm hold of Leigh's arm and maneuvered her into a chair. "Sit down and start talking." He handed one towel to Katharine and began salvaging the Wall Street Journal with another.
Leigh took a deep breath. She really didn't want to go through everything again, but what choice did she have? She had to tell Katharine, and Warren wasn't going anywhere. She squirmed uncomfortably and began, noting that her chair was wet.
Warren listened without comment; Katharine asked a million questions. But when Leigh had finished, the lawyer seemed pleased. "You did good," she said approvingly. "You could have sealed your own coffin with this one, but you used your head. And almost hitting the dog was a heck of a nice break."
Leigh would have liked to bask in the moment, but she felt too bad about not helping Tanner. "Can't we do anything for Mike?" she asked plaintively.
"The good doctor can get his own damn lawyer," Warren said sharply. "Katharine's going to concentrate on saving your butt, remember?"
Assuming this would not be a good time to see if her lawyer could represent someone else on the same tab, Leigh kept her mouth shut.
"We need to talk to Tanner right away," Katharine said firmly. "I shouldn't have let you see him on your own in the first place, but what's done is done." She looked at her watch. "Hey Warr—mind if I use your shower? Leigh and I can just take off from here."
Warren smiled. "Sure. Whatever you need. There are clean towels in the hall closet."
Leigh looked at him with disgust. If a friend asked to use her shower, she'd say yes also, but only after she spent twenty frantic minutes picking up personal items and scrubbing the shower. And what was this "Warr" business?
Katharine grabbed her tote bag and headed for the bathroom, while Leigh headed for the kitchen and a glass of peach tea. As she returned with it, she noticed that Warren had settled back on the couch and was watching her. After a moment, he spoke. "Tanner could very well have done it, you know."
"He could not!" she responded testily, plopping herself into the chair opposite him. "You met him. Did he seem like a murderer?"
Warren studied her face. She hated it when he did that. This time, however, his mind-reading abilities worked to her advantage.
"No," he said finally, with a small sigh. "If you really think he's innocent, I suppose I trust your judgment."
She smiled.
"Not about everything, mind you. You've obviously misjudged him in other ways, but I think you'd know if the man was violent."
"Tanner's a lamb," Leigh said, sipping her iced tea thirstily. "He can blow his top and yell, but he's not the type to hurt something weaker than he is. I can tell by the way he is with his patients." Her mind backtracked to Warren's other comment. "And what do you mean—misjudged in other ways?"
Warren looked at her again for a moment, then shook his head. "Look, Leigh. I hate to burst your bubble, but don't you think you could be a bit more objective about this guy?"
Her blood pressure rose. "Meaning?"
"Meaning that you're seeing the same idyllic hero you saw when you were a kid. He was unattainable then—a fantasy. Now he's interested in you, and you've convinced yourself it's destiny. But it's not, Leigh. It's still just a fantasy."
Leigh's eyes blazed. "You don't know anything about it."
"You told me about it!" he protested. "You were still obsessed with him in college—when we met. You joked about how you wanted a Southern man because they knew how to treat a girl."
"I did?" Leigh tried to sound ignorant, but she was starting to remember. For a few years after Tanner had left the Koslow Animal Clinic to start a prestigious zoo residency, she had carried around a rather large torch. She was sure Stacey would meet some beach bum in San Diego and take off for good. Then Tanner would come back to town…
&nb
sp; "That was stupid kid's stuff," she said, blushing.
"I know it was," Warren said, more gently this time. "What I'm trying to say is—it still is. Do you understand?"
Leigh turned away from him and drained the last of her iced tea. Sometimes, Warren was too damned perceptive for his own good.
***
Katharine insisted on doing the driving. Leigh didn't feel like arguing, but she did demand they visit a fast food drive-through on the way up. Lawyers might be able to work on negative calories, but advertising copywriters could not. She ate a chicken sandwich without enjoyment, watching out the windows as rain started pouring down from the darkening sky.
The ambience was perfect.
Tanner hadn't been in the jail long, having spent a fair amount of the afternoon at the Butler hospital. He sat across from them at a table, handcuffed, while a guard looked on. He looked almost as miserable as Leigh felt.
"Do you have a lawyer yet?" Katharine asked.
Tanner shook his head. He seemed older than his thirty-eight years, and very tired, but at least he was lucid again. "I thought I'd call my brother in Alabama and see if he can float me a loan. I'd use a public defender, but my salary may disqualify me. I don't have any savings. Most of what I had—"
He broke off in mid sentence, but Leigh could guess the rest. "Most of what I had, Stacey got." The pain in his eyes was deep, far deeper than the anger she had seen when Stacey had confronted him at the zoo the day before. Leigh recalled an old expression about love and hate being two sides of the same coin. She watched him as he mechanically answered Katharine's gently worded questions, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He didn't seem to realize that the lawyer was there only to help Leigh; in fact, he didn't seem to notice Leigh at all.
The realization sunk into her brain with a dull ache. Tanner really had loved Stacey. He probably had never stopped loving her, insufferable witch that she was. Had he even wanted the divorce?
"Do you have any idea how long you were at the cabin before Leigh arrived?" Katharine asked.
Tanner looked at Leigh for a brief moment. "Were you at the cabin?" he asked tonelessly. "I didn't see you."
I'll bet not. "You were in shock."
He looked at her as if he didn't believe her, but made no comment. "I can see why they arrested me—I guess. I was there. But they've got to keep looking for the real—" he stumbled over his word choice. "The real person who did this. Stacey wasn't even supposed to be there. When I saw her car, I thought she'd come for the antique rifle. She probably did." He smiled slightly, as if even his ex-wife's avarice was now endearing. "But someone else was there, or someone else surprised her." His tone assumed a faraway quality. "A madman in the woods."
"You didn't see anybody else?" Katharine prodded.
Tanner shook his head.
"Did you pass any cars on your way in?"
He jerked his head up and looked at her. "No, should I have? The detective asked me about cars, but I didn't know why."
Leigh sat up. "What cars?"
"He asked if I knew anyone who drove either a green Pinto or a tan Eldorado."
Leigh looked at Katharine meaningfully. "He asked me about a Blue Buick or a tan Eldorado." She turned to Tanner. "Do you know anyone who drives a tan Eldorado?"
He nodded. "I used to. One of the keepers. But she's gone now."
First excited at the prospect of a break, Leigh's joy was suddenly tainted with dread. She thought she knew whose name was coming next.
"Kristin Yates," he announced, nonplussed. "But I don't see how she could have anything to do with this. She's in Washington now. And even if she wasn't, she'd never do anything like this."
Leigh studied his sincere expression and began to wonder if this Kristin Yates and the one she remembered were one and the same after all. The Kristin Yates she knew would have had a hard time reaching thirty without committing a felony. "Was Kristin from the same high school as Carmen?" she asked Tanner.
He looked surprised by the question. "I don't know. They were old friends, though. Why?"
Leigh shook her head and shrugged.
Katharine asked Tanner several more questions, most of which he answered without hesitation. But on the subject of his personal relationship with Carmen, he was closemouthed. Katharine seemed to accept this stonewalling as expected, and when Leigh asked for a moment alone, the lawyer threw her an approving look and obliged.
Wary of the guard who hung just close enough to overhear, Leigh leaned over the table and lowered her voice. "I'm really sorry about this, Mike," she said honestly. "Believe me, I know exactly how you feel. But I'm going to beat this thing, and so are you."
He smiled, but not sincerely. It seemed more of a polite gesture.
"There's one thing I have to know, though. And I'm not asking for my own petty reasons. I'm asking for my own deadly serious reasons." She took a deep breath. "The prosecution's theory is based on the idea that you and Carmen were involved. And don't play semantics with me. You know what I mean. They think that the three of us were caught up in some love triangle, and that Carmen attacked me, or I attacked her, or some such nonsense. Then of course we nonchalantly hacked her up and fed her to the tigers."
Tanner winced, but Leigh pressed on. He could get squeamish—and she could throw up—later. "Everyone at the zoo has testified that you and Carmen were an item. I want to hear it from you. Were you?"
She stopped, sitting back in her chair and trying not to look as anxious as she felt. She didn't want to ask, and she didn't really want to know. But she had to do both. Warren had been right, blast him. She hadn't been looking at Tanner objectively, and if she didn't wake up soon she wouldn't be up just any creek; she'd be up the Niagara River.
Tanner avoided her eyes. She'd never seen him squirm before. Did he squirm before he lied, or before he told the truth?
He sighed, long and deep. "Look, Leigh. It was true what I said before. Carmen and I were friends. First and foremost. Maybe there was more there occasionally—maybe she wasn't as sure what she wanted. But I knew what I wanted. I didn't want to be tied down to another woman. Period."
The words washed over Leigh in a muddy drizzle. Evidently, her hero had studied at the Bill Clinton School of Semantics. She, however, was an alumnus of the School of Women Who Aren't Idiots. She hadn't believed Clinton then, and she didn't believe Tanner now.
"I see," she said simply. His definition of the word "friend" was now clear. A friend was someone he liked, but had no intention of ever committing to. Sex would not be precluded, of course. It was just another form of friendly recreation—like going to a movie.
She rose to leave. "Leigh?" he said hesitantly. "You believe me, don't you?"
Leigh looked at him sadly, painfully aware of his navy-blue jumpsuit and shackles. Being a prisoner was demoralizing, even if Butler County did have better fashion sense than Allegheny. She couldn't kick a man when he was down.
"Don't worry about what I think," she said, smiling. "Concentrate on getting yourself out of here. Try to figure out how Carmen's and Stacey's deaths could be connected—if they are connected. Can you do that?"
Tanner nodded.
"Good," Leigh smiled again. "If you come up with anything, call me. Or if they won't let you, have your lawyer call mine." She headed for the door, then turned around. "When you're out, we'll do dinner, okay? I'm buying."
She left him smiling, which was at least some small accomplishment. She wanted him to hang in there, to stay strong, to come out swinging. Because after she bought him the dinner she had promised, she was going to beat the crap out of him.
Chapter 13
Katharine dropped Leigh off at the front door of her apartment building, and Leigh climbed immediately to Warren's floor. The thought of facing her maniacally blinking answering machine held little appeal, and she suddenly felt very…lonely.
She knocked on his door and he pulled it open part way, as he sometimes did when he had an important visitor. Leigh's heart sank.
"Hi," he said, a trace of sadness in his voice. "I've got company. Can you come back in about fifteen minutes?"
Leigh nodded glumly and mounted the last two flights to her own apartment. A neglected Mao Tse attacked her shins immediately, and Leigh swept the cat up and cradled her upside down. Mao Tse purred contentedly. She wouldn't let just anybody get away with that, but Leigh was privileged.
The answering machine announced a mere four messages, and Leigh was pleasantly surprised. Two were from her mother, announcing the specific location, menu and agenda of tomorrow's family conference. The menu—her Aunt Lydie's famous lasagna—sounded great. But given the location and agenda, Leigh wasn't sure she could stomach even that delicacy.
Jeff Hulsey had also called—he said for Leigh not to worry, that the whole incident could actually be good for Hook's business, provided she was cleared. Despite his impure motives, Leigh was encouraged. He seemed to have no doubt (along with everyone else who knew her and had half a brain) that she was innocent. Character witnesses were allowed in criminal trials, weren't they?
Only one message was from a reporter, and there had been no reporters waiting outside. She smiled. It was a good trend. All messages disgorged, the machine rewound and beamed its steady light once more.
Leigh looked at her watch. It had been twelve minutes since she'd talked to Warren. That was close enough. She plopped Mao Tse down on the couch, and the Persian protested loudly. "Oh, all right," Leigh said, feeling guilty again. "You can come with me."
She plodded down the stairs, holding tight to the anxious Mao Tse. "Don't get out much, do you, girl?" Warren's door was open a bit, and as she came closer, it swung open the rest of the way to let out a well-dressed, portly gentleman with a briefcase. Leigh stepped back.