Random Revenge

by William Michaels

  Melanie cracked the door. Only one man there, Ryder, the good looking detective who had slyly checked her out when driving her to the hospital. No one else, no uniformed police. Would they really send just one cop?

  A faint glimmer of hope ran through her, which she immediately disguised by saying, “I remember you.” Knowing that Ryder would puff up.

  And he did, a little flush to his cheek, the hint of a smile.

  “Miss Upton,” Ryder said. “I’m sorry to trouble you but I wonder if I could have a few minutes?”

  Melanie’s adrenaline flowed back with a vengeance, her mind racing. Ryder sounded especially polite, asking instead of barging in, were the cops trying to trick her? “Well, I was just about to jump in the shower—.” She let it hang, to see how pushy Ryder would be.

  “I promise you, this won’t take long.”

  Melanie pretended to think about it, waiting him out. Sure enough, Ryder broke first.

  “I was passing by,” he said. “On my way back to the station. I thought I would give you an update on the break-in.”

  Melanie fought the urge to fully relax, this could still be a trick, maybe they suspected her but didn’t have proof. Were the cops smart enough for that? She hadn’t been too impressed by Ryder, she’d snowed him easily enough about the break-in. Unless he’d figured something out . . .

  She slid back the chain, turning her back on Ryder as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I thought you would call first, I might not have been dressed appropriately.” Not that she was, wearing just a long loose man’s shirt with no bra, barefoot. The shirt barely covered her underwear. She knew without looking that Ryder was ogling her.

  Melanie dropped into the middle of the sofa, pulling her bare legs up under her. Ryder looked around the room, the only other seat piled high with clothes. Melanie wondered if he’d try to squeeze next to her on the couch.

  Instead he stood awkwardly, apparently trying to keep his eyes off her legs, and not succeeding very well. Melanie, on her home turf, feeling the balance of power lean her way. “You have some new information?” she prodded. “It’s been a while. I’ve been wondering why no one has told me anything.”

  “I’m sorry about that. We performed a thorough investigation of the immediate area around your neighborhood and found nothing of significance. We also interviewed several people in the restaurant downstairs, as well as your neighbors. No one remembered seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary that night.”

  Ryder sounded like a robot, as stiff as he had been the first time he had interviewed her, nothing to tip her off to what he was really after. Melanie focused on his movements, his hands, his eyes. “You think a man coming to my apartment would be out of the ordinary?” She gave him a hint of a smile, just the right amount of coy.

  “No, I didn’t mean to suggest that.”

  “Because I do have guests, now and then,” she continued. “I mean, you just came walking up the stairs. Would you being here be considered out of the ordinary? It’s not like you have a police uniform on, you could just be a man visiting me, you think someone would have noticed?”

  Ryder’s eyes darted away briefly. “You never know.”

  “I have lots of friends who visit. Like the man I mentioned to you.”

  “Yes, about him—”

  Melanie rolled over the cop. “I mean, he’s been here many times, of course.”

  “You still didn’t tell us his name.”

  “I don’t want to get him in any trouble. I doubt it was him. Really.” Melanie gave her hair a ditzy twirl. “I mean, I don’t think it could possibly be.”

  “If we knew who he was, we’d be better able to investigate,” said Ryder. “We could show his picture around.”

  Melanie pretended to consider. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You can’t withhold evidence from an investigation,” said Ryder, back in his cop voice.

  Melanie scowled at him. “Are you telling me I’d get in trouble if I don’t tell you details about my personal life? I’m the victim here, remember?” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if protecting her innocence.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “It sure sounded like it.”

  “You led us to believe that nothing may have even happened, that you were a little—foggy.”

  “I wasn’t drunk.”

  “You had taken some pills.”

  “That doesn’t give anyone an excuse to take advantage of me.”

  “So are you saying that’s what happened?”

  “I told you I’m not sure. Bits and pieces come back to me.”

  “The man you were with earlier that night, have you seen him since?”

  “Yes, of course, why?”

  “Because—if he was the man who assaulted you—if you were assaulted—it will be hard for people to believe he committed an assault if you have been together after the fact.”

  “I told you, I don’t think it was him.”

  Ryder shuffled, his hands in his pockets then back out. Melanie would have been enjoying jerking him around if she hadn’t been worrying about Lenny.

  “You’re not giving us much to go on,” he said.

  “Look, I’m just saying it like it happened,” said Melanie. “I don’t remember much. If I do, you’ll be the first to know.” She waited a beat, then added, “I still have your card.” Like she slept with it under her pillow.

  “Well, something happened. Your physical exam suggested—”

  “Do we have to talk about this?” asked Melanie. “It’s very embarrassing.” Ryder reddened, off balance, as she had hoped. “You’ve already been through my apartment, touching all my personal belongings . . .”

  “We conducted our investigation as per proper police procedure.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t touch any of my belongings?”

  “Only those that were necessary.”

  “And who decided that?”

  “The crime tech, and to some extent, myself.”

  “And what exactly did you find? No one ever told me that.”

  “We found—we didn’t find anything probative either way.”

  Melanie fought to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead she gave Ryder another hair twirl. “I’m afraid I’m just a simple girl, Detective Ryder. I didn’t even finish college. I don’t understand that word.”

  “Probative. It means there isn’t evidence that would prove anything either way. That you were assaulted.”

  “Or that I wasn’t.”

  “Exactly.”

  Finally, Melanie thought, some good news. They couldn’t prove she was assaulted, but couldn’t prove she wasn’t. She’d still be able to point that gun at Jason’s head if she needed to.

  Melanie waited, if Ryder was here about Lenny he’d work his way around to that somehow. She certainly wasn’t going to help him. So far everything the cop said had been bullshit, he could have done this over the phone. Which left only two possibilities. He was here to trick her into saying something about Lenny, or he was hitting on her.

  She could test at least one of those possibilities. She stretched out her legs, watching Ryder out of the corner of her eye, and sure enough his head swiveled to the couch like a puppet on a string. Uneasy as she still was about the reason for Ryder’s visit, she had to suppress a giggle. Ryder staring at her legs certainly seemed probative of his real intent.

  Ryder fought to keep his eyes off of Melanie’s legs, mostly unsuccessfully. The woman was a vixen, and Ryder suspected she knew it. He wasn’t buying her I’m so simple act, everyone knew what probative meant, didn’t they?

  Still, he knew assault victims, especially those under the influence, often didn’t remember all the events clearly. She might have been assaulted, she might not. He’d have to look into this case some more; her hesitancy to give up the name of her lover, for instance, was odd. Or maybe not. Ryder didn’t have much experience with famous people, if the man she’d been with was in fa
ct famous. There might be a good reason she was protecting him. Or maybe the mystery man had paid Melanie off.

  He glanced around the room, it didn’t seem much different than when he had searched it. The television, that was new. But so what? He doubted anyone could be bought off with a tv, they were pretty cheap these days.

  He realized Melanie was waiting for him to say something, she was probably wondering why he was even here. He was wondering himself. He felt awkward just being in her apartment, she’d been right, he’d looked through her things, her personal belongings, her clothing. He did that all the time at crime scenes, but this felt different, an intrusion.

  He was more confused about the possible assault than when he had arrived. He also couldn’t figure out how to ask her if she knew Lenny Gruse. Hey, I think I saw a picture of your ass on the camera card of a homicide victim, can you put on some tight jeans and turn around for me?

  Instead he mumbled, “Thank you for your time, Miss Upton. I want to assure you, we will keep at this. We’re going to catch the person who broke into your apartment.” Ryder said the words, but wasn’t sure if he believed them, because he wasn’t sure if anyone broke in at all. “If you remember more, please call me anytime.” He cringed, that sounded like a line. “Or the main line at the Marburg Police, they’ll pass the information along to me.”

  “Oh, I’ll call you personally,” said Upton. She uncoiled herself from the couch, standing, Ryder feeling good he managed to keep his eyes on her face.

  He walked to the door, feeling Upton behind him, half in his space, half ushering him out, her presence a magnet.

  A thought came to him, he turned, and she almost bumped into him, she was that close. “A friend is thinking of becoming an actress, she was wondering where she could get some publicity photos?”

  For the briefest second Ryder thought he saw a flicker in Upton’s eyes. Annoyance at another question? Surprise?

  “Not many good photographers around here, you have to go to Boston.”

  “Is that expensive?”

  “It can be. I don’t pay any more, but someone starting out would have to.”

  “Any local photographers who might be cheaper?”

  Upton clutched her shirt to her chest, as if she suddenly was aware she was partially dressed. “There’s a guy named Tim Tazik, he’s pretty good, reasonable.”

  Ryder waited for her to keep going, talk about photographers, mention Gruse, but she just looked at him. He couldn’t press it, she’d given him a name. He’d sound like he was fishing, and if she asked him why, he’d sound like an idiot, and the last thing he wanted was to sound like an idiot in front of her. He’d had enough of that in high school, half the reason he became a cop was to get some respect. The fact that a lot of women liked cops was a bonus.

  He turned to go, at a loss. Worse, he’d never got the chance to see her butt in tight jeans.

  Melanie had been ready to ditch the cop, just another guy trying to get in her pants. He was good looking enough, but she was beyond needing his help, it wasn’t like she was going to be in Marburg much longer. Plus she needed to keep Ryder primed in case she needed to push the Jason assault button, that wouldn’t work very well if she slept with him. She needed Ryder to think she was a decent woman, not some floozy.

  Until Ryder asked about photographers, an alarm going off in Melanie’s head, why the hell did he ask that? No way it could be a coincidence, did they think she was that stupid?

  She’d blurted the first name that popped into her head, Tazik. She couldn’t very well say she didn’t know any photographers, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to mention Lenny. If the cops talked to Tazik, and he let something slip about her being with him that night at the hotel . . .

  Melanie wanted to see if Ryder pressed her, but he just turned to go. She needed to find out what else the cops knew, the uncertainty would eat at her. Needed an excuse to pump some information out of Ryder . . .

  Her stomach twisted, and she brightened, going with more than just her proverbial gut. “Hey, are you hungry?”

  CHAPTER 25

  Winter decided to hit the addresses on the outskirts of the city first and work his way in. He took the loop highway around to the east side, rush hour over, not much traffic until he got caught up behind a pothole filling crew, cringing every time loose tar crackled through his wheel wheels. By the time he reached his exit the twenty minute drive had doubled, souring his mood.

  Once off the loop road Winter cruised along a narrow street lined with industrial businesses, car and truck repair shops, a parking depot for the sanitation department—the city’s gathering point for any vehicles running on diesel, the fumes seeping into the car. Winter liked the earthy smell. It reminded him of his father, always working on the family cars, not as a hobby, but because they couldn’t afford to pay professionals to fix them. At any given time one of the cars wasn’t running right, especially in the cold winters, leading to morning scrambling to figure out how to get to school and work.

  He rolled down the window, for some reason he felt closer to the beat of the city that way. The addresses from Gruse’s contact list didn’t ring a particular bell; he’d marked these for himself because he knew the area. Not only was it one of the higher crime neighborhoods, but Marburg’s bigger drug hauls had taken place here, a million places to hide a literal ton of anything.

  The first stop was a bust, an electronics store, the windows spray painted with white drooping letters announcing a going out of business sale. Winter pulled to the curb. Whatever sale they had was long over, a metal pull grate covering the doorway, the window displays empty. He’d passed the place in the past, but seemed to remember it being a different business. Nothing remarkable about it, Winter guessing it could be a front for a small time drug dealer, but it didn’t have the right feel, not enough foot traffic in the neighborhood. He’d ask Cindy to check and see if any arrests had been made at this address, although he suspected she was already on that.

  Winter drove along the street, slowly, his cop eyes registering the undercurrent. Three guys in overalls smoking outside a car repair shop gave him an unhurried glance, barely pausing their conversation, telling Winter there was nothing there. A block later, two men in jeans, eyeing his car while pretending not to, virtually shouting to Winter something was going on, especially as they stopped talking to one another, involuntarily foolish, it wasn’t like he could hear from fifty feet away. Winter didn’t recognize them. If he wasn’t working this homicide he would have stopped, dug around, but not now. He’d come back in a few days, if they were still there he’d push it.

  He used to have a few good sources in this neighborhood, including a mechanic who wasn’t above not asking many questions about the source of cheap parts for a rebuilt Hemi. Winter had let him slide once in exchange for good information on a chop shop, which had led to some give and take. But the source had retired to Florida or North Carolina or someplace else warm, which to Winter sounded like everywhere else but New England.

  A few old houses now appeared between the factory buildings and parking lots, some with more weeds than the industrial buildings, others so manicured they appeared to have been dropped in from another planet. More people on the street, no sidewalks, kids that should have been in school. Winter couldn’t remember ever being allowed to play outside if he was kept home from school for being sick. One kid here and there he could understand, but groups of them? Street home schooling?

  The world was changing, and Winter couldn’t run fast enough to keep up.

  The second stop wasn’t much better, a used tire dealer, Winter struggling in his pidgin Spanish to ask about Gruse. No one knew anything, or maybe they did, and just didn’t understand his questions. Winter wasn’t surprised no one spoke English; this was the Dominican part of town, most of the customers wouldn’t either. Winter made a note to himself to check the tire condition on Gruse’s car, maybe that’s why he had called this shop.

  Winter shrugged off hi
s hoody before getting back in the car, way too hot. He pulled his shirt out over his pants, unclipped his holstered gun and put in on the passenger seat. He leaned against the car, the clanging of rattling metal, air compressors and a smooth bachata rhythm all melding into a background melody to his musings. Who kept an electronics shop and a used tire dealer in his phone contact list? Or maybe it was the recent call list? Winter had been in a hurry to hit the street, he’d forgot which category these addresses came from. If they had been recent calls, that would make sense, Gruse calling around for information, computer parts, tires. If they were on his contact list, maybe Ryder was right after all, some kind of drug hookup, Gruse a small time dealer.

  Winter got in the car, started to turn around to go back to the loop road, remembered the nasty asphalt work, and instead took the more direct but normally slower route through the residential section. The industrial buildings melded into triplex apartments and tenements, people on stoops. It had been that way as long as Winter could remember, the apartments without air conditioning, never cooling down, even at night. The stoops were the neighborhoods. No one needed a newspaper here, information flowing up and down the streets like runoff after a thunderstorm.

  Winter got a lot of stares, a white guy in a Latino neighborhood. It didn’t bother him, he was the interloper here, he was news. At a stoplight two kids on the corner, no more than twelve, stopped showing off for each other on skate boards to give him a street glare, part challenging, part icy, part boredom. Winter knew they were waiting for him say something. Even though they had the stare almost down pat—a depressing thought—they still had a lot to learn.

  No one was behind Winter, he let the light go through the entire cycle, red to green and back to red, giving them a stare in return they’d never master, not only because it was unlikely they’d become cops, but they might not live that long. The fact that he could tell this about two kids who were just hanging around a corner was another depressing thought, about them and him.