Everything was better since he’d figured out that the old lady downstairs left the keys to her car tucked above the sun visor. The car was as old as she was, but she parked it down the street from their building and almost never used it. She wouldn’t miss it in the dark, and the way he figured it, the worst that could happen was they would send him back to prison. He just hoped he could get Sam Chase to do it. He wanted to go back to the same place, see Wally again.
He had wanted to follow Sam Chase yesterday afternoon, too, but the old lady had taken her car before he could get it. Probably better, too. If she’d found out it was gone, then he’d have been in big trouble.
This morning, he’d been up at four and had found money in his neighbor’s laundry downstairs—eight dollars, so he’d had a good breakfast. He wasn’t sleeping much, but the pills he’d found in the old lady’s glove box made him feel better.
The light came on in the room, and Gerry ducked down. The Levelor blinds were bent in one corner, so he could see in perfectly.
“Get in your pajamas,” someone called.
Gerry thought it was her mother.
The little girl stomped around her room, ignoring her mother’s request. It made Gerry smile. She was independent. He liked her.
He’d seen her on the street earlier. There were a lot of kids on this street, but she was the best. She wore tight pink leggings and a T-shirt that was a little too short. She still had a belly. He loved that. And those pigtails.
He shifted against the building, pressing himself against the hard shingles as he watched her.
A fat, ugly woman appeared at the door, hands on her hips.
He dropped down into the corner, but he knew she wouldn’t see him. He was invisible to her. He was always invisible to the parents.
Only smart people like Sam Chase would discover him.
“Whitney Anne, you get in your pajamas this minute.”
Just then a little boy came running into the room, making a horrible moaning sound.
Whitney covered her ears, and so did he. But the fat woman picked up the boy and took him away, closing Whitney’s door.
He watched her turn her head and stick out her tongue at the door, and he covered his mouth to keep from laughing. She was perfect.
Whitney. What a wonderful name. He couldn’t wait to get the chance to talk to her.
Someone yelled something again and Whitney stomped across the room toward the dresser and began to take her clothes off.
Turn toward me, he thought. Turn and look at me.
But she didn’t. He watched her bare shoulders and the way her hair cascaded across her ivory skin. She was beautiful.
Just then a door slammed and he heard someone outside talking.
He took a last look at beautiful Whitney and ducked down.
The voices got closer, and he knew they were coming to the side of the house. He thought about getting back to prison and then about Whitney again. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Not quite yet. Wally would wait, but Whitney—he had to see her again.
Chapter Thirteen
Moving in slow circles across the floor of his apartment, Nick held Sam as Thelonius Monk brought the song to a close. He wondered what she was thinking about, what her dreams were. So many things about her were a mystery: her bold, ruthless manner with criminals, her soft vulnerability when he held her.
She was hiding something. He wanted to shake it out of her, to command her to spill it. One thing was clear: Sam Chase wasn’t used to relying on anyone. He could see that. If he wanted to be a part of her life, he knew he’d have to give her time. He just hated to think how long it might take.
He leaned back and met her eyes. Their faces only inches apart, he paused, giving her a chance to pull away. When she didn’t, he leaned forward to kiss her.
He longed to pick her up and drag her into the bedroom, to tear her clothes off. Instead, he kissed her gently, holding her close. He could smell her soap, like flowers, light enough that only when he held her did he get a scent of it. He came closer, holding her mouth to his—
She stepped away.
He was suddenly confused. “What—”
She touched her lips and turned away. “It’s late.”
What had happened? What had he done? He had pushed too much. Damn.
“I should get home. I’ve got some stuff to do early, and I want to be there when the boys wake up.”
He watched her brow furrow as she ran her fingers through her hair. The vulnerable, soft Sam was gone. The window he’d seen open had slammed shut, and she was self-sufficient again.
He should be happy. Sheila had been too dependent. He’d always told himself that if he fell for someone else, it would be someone strong and independent. He just wished Sam would let him in a little.
She stepped away from him and straightened her coat, looking like a girl caught by her parents in the backseat of a car.
He wanted to laugh, but he wished there was something he could do to stop her from running. Instead, he didn’t move.
“There’s something I need to tell you about. I didn’t want to ruin the evening, but I need to show you.”
He rubbed his face, trying to pull his mind back to business. “What is it?”
“It’s a picture of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll show you.”
He watched her cross the room and felt as though the temperature had just dropped twenty degrees. He tried to put his mind off the feel of her in his arms. Why the hell did everything have to be so damn complicated?
She pulled a small manila envelope from her purse and walked back, her arm outstretched. “Don’t touch it.”
Nick opened the envelope and looked in. He met her gaze. “What is this?”
“I found it in a file that had been missing.”
He walked across the room, his mind on track again. Frustrated, he slid the picture onto the table and used the corner of the envelope to flip it right side up. It was a candid shot of her, and the first thing that struck him was how beautiful she was. Damn, he wanted to kiss her again. But in the center of her forehead, someone had made a red splash. It was meant to look like blood. He looked up at her.
Her gaze met his, her eyes narrow and unhappy. “I need you to run prints on it.”
“When did this happen?”
“I found it this morning.” She pulled out a standard envelope and handed it to him. “This came yesterday.”
He took it and emptied it onto the desk beside the picture. It was a pink message slip with a message written in caps.You’re not invincible. Jesus. Nick ran a hand through his hair and looked up from the threats. “Yesterday?”
She tucked in her shirt and straightened her shoulders, then nodded.
He stepped forward and took her hand. “You should have told me sooner. Are you okay?”
“Of course. I’m fine,” she snapped.
He held her hand and tried to soften his tone, but he was frustrated. “I want you to trust me. I wish you had brought this to me when it happened. Maybe we could have already stopped it.”
She shook her head. “Please don’t, Nick. I’m doing the best I can. It’s been crazy. I am trusting you. I brought them here tonight.”
“Are you telling me all of it?” The words came out in a flash, and she flinched as though he’d stung her.
She shook her head and turned toward the door. “I’m supposed to trust you, but you treat me like a child.” She snatched her purse and swung it over her shoulder.
He grabbed her as she reached the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just worried, is all.”
She faced the door. “I just need you to check it for prints. It’s probably a prank. Corona didn’t think it was a big deal. He thought I should just forget about it, but I don’t find it amusing.”
He held himself from touching her. “No. It’s not funny. I’ll get them to the lab first thing.”
She looked up and met his gaze.
He felt his gut tighten.
“Thanks.”
He kept his lips closed, wishing she would give him a sign, something that said it was okay.
She turned her back and pulled the door open.
“Thanks for the birthday dinner,” he said as she moved out of the apartment.
She smiled, not meeting his gaze, and he wondered what the hell was going through her mind. “It was fun.”
He watched her turn her back again and walk to her car. He should have taken her out, opened the door for her. But he couldn’t move. Instead, he watched her get in, start the car, and give him a quick, friendly wave as she pulled away from the curb.
Shutting the door, he let out a string of curses and then walked into his bedroom. What had he done? Where had the mood been broken?
He pictured her high cheekbones, her wide, oval green eyes, the feel of her fingers through his shirt. He thought he was going to burst. Why in the hell couldn’t he date someone normal? Hell, he’d had offers. There were normal women out there. And they would pick him. But he wanted Sam Chase. Damn, did he want her.
He crossed into the bathroom and leaned over the sink, staring into the basin, wishing he could banish her from his head, and at the same time wishing he could understand her. He turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water. He looked into the mirror and saw her full lips. Shaking his head, he moved to the shower and turned it on.
“Damn,” he said again.
After a crappy night’s sleep, Nick spent the next morning talking to Sandi Walters’ neighbors. No one had seen Lugino the night she was killed. But Wendy Mayes had sworn Sandi was picked up at the house that night. Who the hell had the gall to pick her up from her home and then take her off and kill her? It was possible that Lugino had been here and the neighbors just hadn’t seen him. But his Skylark had a loose muffler, and it would be hard for everyone to miss the noise.
One neighbor said she’d heard the motorcycle that belonged to the neighbor two doors down from the Walters. “Justin Rapozo’s the kid’s name,” she explained. “Runs that thing at all hours.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t a car?” he asked. A cracked muffler might make Lugino’s car sound a lot like a motorcycle.
She shook her head. “I saw it whiz by. Same thing every time. Likes to rev the engine right at my house. Show off to whatever chicky he’s got on back,” the woman had said.
The case should’ve been closed. They had their man. They had his semen, evidence he’d been with Sandi that night.
But Nick hadn’t come up with a drop of evidence of motive for James Lugino as the killer. Sandi had no money, so it wasn’t greed. She was seeing only Lugino, so it shouldn’t have been a jealous rage. He had a history of drugs, but no history of violence. Why the hell would he strangle her? Nick just couldn’t get it to add up.
And then there was the matter of the one thumbprint they had found on her shoulder. It wasn’t Lugino’s. It was possible it was the first cop’s. He might have touched her to see if she was alive. It was a common rookie mistake. Nick had touched evidence he shouldn’t have on more than one occasion.
Or maybe the print belonged to someone who had happened by. They were running the print against the cop’s now. If it wasn’t his, they might never find out whose it was.
Nick drove down A Street in Antioch and crossed the railroad tracks, turning down Railroad Avenue and up to the familiar dive. Alf’s all-night diner. The chipped off-white paint had streaks of yellow from the rusted gutters that lined the dilapidated roof. The windows were clouded and streaked after years of kitchen grease layered on without washing. A faded chalkboard resting against the inside window displayed specials that never changed. The inconspicuous appearance of the diner made it a good meeting place, though Nick had never ordered anything other than coffee. Even the water seemed strangely brown. He tried not to think about that water in his coffee.
Pulling his car to the curb to park, Nick carefully avoided the biggest of the potholes. He looked down at the dash clock. He was right on time. He hoped his contact didn’t no-show. Guy should’ve learned after last time. Civic duty and all that.
Nick took his last clean breath of air and walked inside, wishing he had a filter to breathe through. A full-bodied black woman in a short dull-yellow gingham dress pointed him toward the back of the restaurant. “Wherever you want, Sugar.”
Nick scanned the room for his contact. When he didn’t see him, he made his way to a back booth under a fan and carefully scanned the table’s surface for residue from someone’s meal before putting his elbows on it. The waitress brought coffee and left him alone. He doubted that she remembered him from the last time, but maybe there was something in his expression that said “only coffee.”
Three minutes later Dougie Harris came through the door. Deep blue shadows beneath his eyes, and he was thinner than the last time Nick had seen him. He wore unhemmed cords that dragged under the heels of a pair of battered Vans. His button-down was untucked, the cuffs hanging over his thumbs. He walked stooped over, one hand dragging at his side, the other latched onto his belt buckle to hold his pants up. He was nineteen years old, but he had the posture of someone about seventy. Nick wondered if he had AIDS.
Dougie slid into the booth and nodded in his direction.
“You okay?”
Dougie nodded his head in affirmation. “Hungry,” he said, the word barely a whisper.
Nick signaled to the waitress. He didn’t want Dougie dying on him right here at the table. It would be difficult to explain what Nick was doing with a dealer on his day off, especially a dead dealer. “Bring him four eggs scrambled, hashbrowns, a short stack of pancakes, and a double side of bacon,” he told the waitress.
Dougie made an attempt at a smile and settled back against the cushion. From the look of it, he’d lost another tooth, too.
“You been tested lately?”
Dougie closed his eyes and shook his head.
“You should, you know. You’re sick.”
Without opening his eyes, he said, “Fine.”
Nick wanted to ask his questions and get out of there, but Dougie didn’t look strong enough to answer them yet. Nick settled for watching the door and sipping his toxic coffee to save himself from boredom.
Dougie finished the food Nick had ordered and then, in a more energetic voice, told the waitress to bring him apple pie à la mode for dessert. Nick wasn’t sure where Dougie put all that food, but watching him scarf it down had given Nick indigestion.
When the waitress returned with the pie, Nick took the check and pushed his coffee aside. “Enjoy the breakfast?”
“Yeah, man. Thanks.”
“I’ve got some questions.”
Dougie nodded.
Nick pulled Lugino’s picture from his pocket. “You sell to him?”
Dougie took the picture and stared at it. “I see him around.”
“What’s his poison?”
Dougie gave the picture back and took a bite of pie, dipping the end of it into the ice cream before shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “Crank,” he said with his mouth full.
Nick got an eyeful of melted ice cream and chewed-up pie. “That it?”
“Some Mary Jane.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”
“You deal any heroin?”
“Naw, man. That shit’s bad news.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” Nick snapped.
“I’m telling you straight, man. I don’t do Horse.”
“You know someone?”
Dougie looked at him and nodded. “I know someone.”
Nick slid Lugino’s picture back to Dougie, face-down. “I need to know if my man bought some. I need the information fast.” He pointed to his cell phone number written on the back of the photocopied picture. “You call me here.” Nick took the check and stood up. “You find anything out and there will be a little something for you. But I need someone I can talk to. Confirmation, you know?”
Dougie tucked the picture in his pocket and returned his attention to dessert.
Nick paid the check at the register, leaving a generous tip for the waitress. As soon as he got outside, he realized he didn’t have his keys.
He ran back to the table where Dougie was still eating. The keys were nowhere in sight. Nick put his hand out. “Keys.”
Dougie looked at him and then grinned, pulling the keys out from under the table. “I thought it was a gift. I could use a ride.”
“Yeah, right.” Nick left again, tossing his keys. There ought to be a better way to keep track of the damn things. Maybe he’d get one of those cars with the security access code. He would be able to remember a code. It was just keeping track of the damn keys that made him crazy.
Dougie should be back to him within a day or two, but probably not sooner. Nick had somehow hoped that Dougie would say he sold Lugino the heroin. It was stupid thinking on his part, but he would’ve liked to be able to go back to the station with something.
He headed for Mt. Diablo, intending to have another talk with the neighbors closest to the scene. He flipped on the radio and heard an old Miles Davis song. “Damn.” His plan for the day had been to do anything to keep himself from thinking about Sam. It had worked up to now.
He didn’t need the kind of aggravation Sam presented. She wouldn’t tell him what had happened in her past, but it didn’t take a Ph.D. to guess. She’d been raped or abused. He knew she’d been married once. Maybe it was that guy. It was hard to picture her letting some guy beat her up, but wasn’t it always?
And marriages took a toll no matter how they ended. He knew all about that. He’d told himself he wouldn’t fail Sheila. He would protect her from whatever came their way. But it turned out she’d found a better protector. He hadn’t been good enough or available enough or sensitive enough or some damn thing. She wanted children and he couldn’t support the kind of life she wanted. That was her last argument. He had wanted children, too. Too damn bad. She was divorcing Nick so she could marry Stephen and have his kids.
(2002) Chasing Darkness Page 11