“I don’t think that’s a good reason for an abortion.”
“No. It’s not.” She sighed again. “And part of me pictures being a mom and thinks, how the hell am I supposed to do that? I’m not the most maternal person in the world.”
“Mom always said it’s different when it’s your own kids.”
“I know. Helena, how did I get into this mess?”
I grinned, and intoned, “Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much—”
“Shut up.” She grinned back at me. “I didn’t realize how much of a burden this was until I told you. Thank you.”
“Well, I am your sister.” I laid down my fork. “Look, Cynthia, I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve never really thought about being pregnant, or how you make that kind of decision. I just don’t know. But…if you want my opinion, you’ve never backed down from a challenge in your life, and I can’t imagine a bigger challenge than motherhood.”
“I…think you’re right.” She took another bite of linguini, chewed and swallowed. “I can’t—”
My phone rang. I ignored it. “Can’t what?”
“I can’t believe I’m going to be a mother.”
My heart tried to swell out of my body. “I’m going to be an aunt. The cool kind of aunt who spoils her niece rotten.”
“It could be a boy.”
“Then I’ll spoil him rotten too. You have to tell Mom. No, you have to tell Ethan first.” My phone rang again. “What are you going to do if he…”
“Then I’ll have to be a single mother.” She didn’t look as brave as she sounded. “But this is the right thing to do, and I’m—”
My phone rang yet again. I swore and pulled it out. Judy. “I’m sorry, let me take this and find out what’s got her panties in a twist.” I half-turned away from Cynthia, as if that would give me privacy. “Judy, what is it?”
“Helena, I’m sorry,” Judy said, “but this is important. Malcolm Campbell just murdered Amber Guittard.”
11
“What?” The room seemed to swell, everything receding from my vision. “Judy, that can’t be true.”
“It’s true. He was seen by three magi. Stabbed her through the heart.”
“They must have made a mistake. It’s—” I glanced at Cynthia, who was looking at me with concern. “It’s someone trying to make trouble.”
“Two of the witnesses were Ambrosites, a couple of Parish’s people. There’s no question. He killed her.” Judy was crying. “That bastard killed her.”
“There has to be some reason, Judy. He wouldn’t—”
“Don’t make excuses for him, Helena. Just don’t. I loved Amber like an older sister. I’ve known her all my life. And he just walked up to her and stabbed her.”
I swallowed my own tears. “What does Lucia say?”
“Lucia says we don’t have all the evidence.” Judy’s bitterness was almost palpable. “I don’t know what other evidence she wants.”
I looked at Cynthia again. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, I guess you didn’t know him as well as you thought.” She disconnected so abruptly I felt dizzy again. I lowered the phone to my lap and stared at the remains of my lasagna.
“What’s wrong?” Cynthia said. “That sounded dire.”
What can I tell her? “I, um, that was Judy. Her boyfriend just broke up with her and she was really upset. They’d been together a long time and he just did it out of nowhere.”
“That sounded worse than a breakup. Your face…you look like someone died.”
“No, nothing like that,” I lied. “It was just completely unexpected. Sorry to interrupt dinner.”
“That’s all right.” She still looked skeptical. I smiled and took a last bite of lasagna. I wanted dinner to be over so I could go home and try to reach Malcolm. I had no doubt, if he’d killed someone like Amber Guittard, he had a good reason.
“I’m leaving Monday evening, but I…actually, this is something I should tell Ethan in person, don’t you think?” Cynthia pushed her plate away. “Do you want dessert?”
“I’m full. But thanks.”
“I don’t know what my boss is going to say. He’ll probably flip out, but he can’t fire me.”
“Is that because you’re too valuable?”
“That, and I’ll sue him for discrimination. I don’t intend to let this affect the quality of my work.”
“You’re going to be fine.”
Cynthia leaned across the table. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look really shaken.”
“It’s been an emotional evening.”
“I can tell. How about we take you home?”
We drove in silence until we reached my door, when Cynthia grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Thanks. For everything.”
“I’m sorry it took us this long to be able to really talk.”
“We both had some growing up to do. Me more than you.” She smiled briefly. “You know,” she added, “if there’s something going on, you can tell me.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“I’m not sure about that, but it’s your life.” She looked disappointed. I smiled weakly. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.
I waved goodbye and went inside, locking the steel door behind me and setting the alarm. I had my phone out and was calling Malcolm before I even made it up the stairs. It rang, and rang, and finally went to voice mail. I hung up without leaving a message. What could I say? I needed to speak to him, not his voice mail.
Once inside, I tried calling Judy, but she didn’t answer either. I scrolled through my contacts. Who else would know what was going on?
I tapped a name. “Lucia, it’s Helena. Call me.” She’d know what it was about. I sat on my couch clutching my phone and stared at the dark room. I’d forgotten to turn on the lights, and now it seemed like too much trouble to get up and find the switch. Malcolm had killed the Nicollien second-in-command. I couldn’t think of anything more likely to start a war than if Rasmussen killed Parish. What was Malcolm thinking? It must have something to do with the murders, but Guittard hadn’t even been in Portland when the first murder happened. Unless he’s snapped. Olivia said he was under pressure. No. Malcolm would never let his work change who he was, and who he was didn’t go around killing innocent people.
I got into my pajamas and went back to sitting on the couch. I couldn’t sleep now. I tried Judy again and left a message this time. It sounded like Judy’s loyalties had been tested and she’d come down on the side of the Nicolliens. Well, I could hardly blame her for hating Malcolm.
I stood and paced the living room, bumping into the nonfunctional, ancient radio cabinet and rubbing my sore hip. There was nothing I could do but wait. It made me furious and miserable and heartbroken all at once.
My phone rang, and I pounced on it. “Hello?”
“Campbell hasn’t contacted you, has he?” Lucia said.
“No. His phone’s not picking up either.”
“He probably ditched it so we couldn’t trace him that way. Damn. He needs to turn himself in.”
“Lucia, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” Lucia’s voice was tight and angry. “Witnesses say he went in to see Guittard in private. They heard shouting, and when they entered Guittard’s office, she was slumped over her desk and Campbell had a bloody knife in his hand. He fought his way free and disappeared. Injured five more in his flight.”
“But that’s circumstantial! He might have discovered the real killer. It might not have been his knife.”
“That sort of thing only happens in movies, Davies. There wasn’t anyone else in the office and no one was spotted entering or leaving while he was there. He did it. I just want to know why.”
“He must have had a reason.”
“Which is why I haven’t issued a kill on sight order. My people will find him, and bring him in, and we’ll discover the truth.”
“You’re not telling me everything
.”
There was a long silence. “I’m not the only one looking for him. The Nicolliens are furious. I hear Spinelli has sworn to take his head. She wasn’t speaking metaphorically.”
“You can’t let her do that!”
“You may be overestimating what I’m capable of. The best I can do is see Spinelli in front of a tribunal for murder if she succeeds. Not that I expect Campbell to go without a fight—for all I know I’ll be trying him for two murders if there’s a confrontation.”
“Lucia, this is ridiculous!”
“Like I said, Campbell needs to turn himself in so I can put him in protective custody. His team hasn’t heard anything from him either.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t have the resources to pursue our killer and find Campbell. Not to mention the explosion that will happen as soon as this becomes public. Who told you? Judy?”
“Yes.”
“Rasmussen is ready to kill Campbell himself. I guess his daughter wasn’t as far from being a Nicollien as I thought.”
“She’s just grieving. She’ll see sense soon.” I hoped it was true. If Judy couldn’t stay impartial, I couldn’t keep her on as my assistant.
“If Campbell contacts you,” Lucia said, “tell me immediately. And for God’s sake convince him to be sensible.”
“He won’t contact me.”
“You sure about that?” Lucia cut the connection and my phone beeped to indicate the end of the call. I set my phone down and closed my eyes. If Malcolm hadn’t contacted his team, he certainly wasn’t going to call me. There wasn’t anything I could do if he did but urge him to turn himself in.
I trudged down the hall toward my bedroom, clutching my phone. Sleeping was out of the question. I’d read Silas’s book and see if that calmed me.
Snuggled into bed with the window open a crack for the cool breezes, I tried to focus on my book. The sounds of the street below, the smells of exhaust and popcorn, filled my senses until the words on the page made no sense no matter how often I read them. Finally, I set it aside and stretched. I’d left that book on bathroom remodeling downstairs. It was probably an excellent cure for insomnia.
I padded barefoot down the stairs without turning on the lights and opened the office door, took two steps inside, and was rooted to the spot. Malcolm, the phone receiver held to his ear, stared at me, looking as stunned as I felt.
My hand gripped the doorknob so tightly my knuckles were white. Malcolm’s stunned expression gave way to impassivity. He said, “That works for me,” and it took me a second to realize he was talking to whoever was on the other end of the line. “I’ll meet you there,” he added, then paused. “Don’t worry about me, just be ready. Tomorrow at noon.” He hung up the phone with a click that felt like it should echo in the quiet room.
We stared at each other for a long moment in which I searched desperately for something to say that wasn’t inane or accusatory. Malcolm still looked impassive. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Whether he thought my silence covered fear.
Malcolm said, “I’m sorry. Yours is the only phone I could safely reach that can’t be traced.”
“It’s all right,” I said, and silence fell again like a storm cloud, waiting for the deluge.
Finally, Malcolm said, “By your expression, I can tell you know I killed Ms. Guittard.”
“I know. Malcolm, why?”
He shook his head and took a step toward me. “You need to stay out of this. It will all be over, one way or another, in a few days.”
I wanted to close the distance between us, but I was afraid that would just make Malcolm leave. “Lucia wants you to turn yourself in.”
“If I do, Ms. Guittard’s colleague will certainly have me killed. I’m safer free.”
“Her colleague? Malcolm, just tell me—what happened?”
He smiled, a bitter, self-mocking expression. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“You’re safer not knowing.” He took a few more steps toward me.
I moved backward to get between him and the outer door. “You’ll go to Derrick?”
“And mix him and his family up in this? Not a chance.”
His face was haggard, bone-weary, and my heart went out to him. “Have you eaten?”
He smiled, a grim, mirthless expression. “I can’t exactly stop at McDonald’s.”
“Come upstairs, and I’ll fix you something.”
“I won’t drag you into this.” He made a move in my direction that I once again blocked. That would only work so long as he was reluctant to physically move me aside, and I had no idea when that would happen.
“You used my phone. It’s too late for that. Or did you think I could just go back upstairs and pretend I didn’t see you?”
Malcolm shook his head. “Just give me ten minutes’ head start before you call Lucia.”
“I’m not calling Lucia. Come upstairs with me.” I held out my hand to him, feeling like I was trying to coax a wounded animal to trust me. Malcolm still stood lightly on the balls of his feet, poised to run.
“What happened to impartiality?”
“This isn’t about being impartial. It’s about helping you. I have faith in you, Malcolm, and whatever your reasons, I’m sure they were valid ones.”
Malcolm shook his head ruefully. “I’m going to regret this. You’re going to regret this.”
“‘Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but’—”
“This isn’t the time for games, Helena.”
“I’m sorry. I thought we both could use some levity.” I held the door open for him. “Do you like pot roast?”
I served him one of my mother’s leftover meals and sat opposite him at the tiny table, watching him eat. His black fatigues were filthy, as if he’d rolled around in the parking lot, and he had a shallow cut over one eyebrow. His hair was ruffled in back, and I controlled an impulse to run my fingers through it to straighten it.
Malcolm ate like he hadn’t seen food in weeks. “This is incredibly good,” he said.
“My mother is an excellent cook, and she’s afraid I’ll starve to death if she doesn’t provide me with home-cooked meals. It’s better than frozen dinners.”
He smiled, flashing his dimple, and the room shrank down until it was just the two of us sitting companionably around the table. “Much better. Though at this point I’d be happy with Lean Cuisine.”
I cleared his plate and silverware, then returned to sit across from him. “Please tell me what happened. I don’t care if that makes me involved. I just need to know why you did it.”
Malcolm leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face. “I killed Ms. Guittard,” he said, “because she was the accomplice of our serial killer.”
“Impossible. How could she—and why—”
“I was able to trace her because she carried out two of the murders herself. When I confronted her, she denied everything, of course. Then I laid out my evidence against her, and told her I would take it to Lucia. She attacked me, and I defended myself, which came down to a choice between her life and mine. But I think she chose not to be taken alive, given how easy it was for me to kill her. She might even have wanted to bring tensions to a boil by letting an Ambrosite kill a high-ranking Nicollien. And I played into her trap.”
“Don’t sound so bitter. You can’t be expected to see everything.”
“Can’t I?” He laced his fingers together and rested them on the table. “I shouldn’t have confronted her, not when I’m so close to finding the killer, but I hoped to coerce her into giving up her accomplice. I was impatient, and see what it’s gotten me.”
“Do you really think the killer can have you murdered in protective custody?”
“Indirectly, yes. Spinelli probably wants my head, and she’d fight Lucia’s people if it meant killing me. And then there would be war.”
I shivered. He’d said those words like they were a dire prophecy, some black and tarnished book produced by the oracle as
an augury for all of magery. “So you have to stay free long enough to find and capture the killer, and induce him to tell everyone Ms. Guittard was working with him. I just can’t believe it. I really liked her.”
“So did a lot of people. I don’t know what caused her to start killing, or how she came into contact with our second killer. Another reason to regret killing her. It’s been a long several days.”
Now that I had a good look at him, I saw he looked exhausted as well as haggard. “Do you have a safe place to sleep?”
“As safe as anywhere.”
“Is it as safe as here?”
Startled, Malcolm said, “Helena, I can’t sleep here.”
“Why not? It’s probably the best-warded building in Portland. And no one will think to look for you here.”
“I won’t put you in danger.”
“What danger? The worst that can happen is Lucia will yell at me.”
“If the killer finds me—”
“He doesn’t want any contact with you, Malcolm. You’re hunting him, remember? I can make you a bed on the couch. You can leave early in the morning. Just…let me help you. Please.”
Malcolm pushed away from the table and went to the kitchen window. He put his hand to the curtain, but let it fall without touching it. “I shouldn’t,” he said.
I got up and went to the hall closet where I kept my spare linens, such as they were. I had some sheets and a microfleece blanket, probably not sufficient in the winter, but plenty for a nice summer evening. I spread sheets over the velvet couch and laid out the blanket, then went to my bedroom for a pillow. “There,” I said. “Now, are you seriously hurt? You can clean that cut in the bathroom.”
“Helena,” Malcolm said, then fell silent. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. There’s English muffins in the bread basket in case you leave before I’m up, and you can make coffee if you want. Just—don’t let them catch you.”
“I don’t intend to be caught.”
I smiled at him and retreated to my bedroom. Faintly, I heard the bathroom door open and close. I should have shown him where the towels were, though I doubted he wanted a bath at a time like this. I’d never regretted not having a shower until that moment.
The Book of Mayhem Page 12