Chapter 2.7: Wednesday, October 27
I brought breakfast to Sandy on Wednesday. A thick sausage in a biscuit: fat wrapped in butter wrapped in fat covered by a thin carbohydrate shell to keep in the fat. I figured if she held the thing in her hands for a minute she’d gain two pounds. I brought a milkshake to wash it down. We’d work on her weight later. Right now I wanted her to feel comfortable.
She was alone when she answered the door. I figured either Schmidt had managed to keep his professional integrity intact or, more likely, had run off at the crack of dawn. She had a little cat smile I remembered from college, so I crossed off choice number one.
She held the biscuit in one hand and broke off pieces to nibble with the other.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“Tim called me Sunday night. He said he needed a ride to Framingham. I drove him to this self-storage place on Route 135. He waved goodbye and I didn’t hear from him until he called the next day. He said to help you.”
“Right. He never called again? You never saw him?”
Sandy shook her head and nibbled the biscuit. Then she sipped the milkshake. Looked at it and then had a long pull on the straw. “This is good.”
“How did Rabbitt get back into town?”
“I don’t know. I would have given him a ride.”
I left her and flew out to the storage facility. I called Hoffman on the way and he agreed to send out the forensics people. I was just to give it a quick look and tape it shut.
“Where’s Dooley?” he asked.
“Working on a lead,” I said, lying through my teeth as far as I could tell.
Rabbitt had paid a month’s rent on a little shed the size of a tiny garage. I flashed my badge and got it opened. Inside was a cot, a few bottles of water and some food and a smell that suggested Rabbitt hadn’t stepped outside until he returned to Boston.
“Didn’t you notice the smell?” I asked the attendant.
He gave me a dead-fish stare. “No, Officer. I did not.”
Meaning: they don’t pay me enough to care.
I went back to my desk, making calls to people Sandy had managed to locate, getting wrong numbers and disconnected phones. Occasionally, I got a hit. Sure, they knew William Wallace. He was Tim Rabbitt’s right-hand man. Shame about him. You mean Pastor Rabbitt is dead, too? What’s the world coming to?
In other words, nothing.
I got a quick update from forensics on Rabbitt’s shed: more nothing. But the financial guys had finally traced the deposits to the checks. Two and a half million unaccounted for. Enough motive right there for murder.
Dooley made it in near noon.
“Where have you been?” I said in a low voice. “I don’t think Horn noticed you were gone, but I bet Hoffman and Rush sure have.”
Dooley sat down in a rush and shook his head. Then, he shook it again.
“You okay?”
He looked at me for a moment. “No,” he said. “Up late last night.”
I got him a cup of coffee and he held it in his hand and stared at it, then sipped it slowly while I filled him in about Sandy and Rabbitt’s shed and the money.
“I figure Wallace wanted to use the money for church stuff but Rabbitt had other ideas,” I said. “So Rabbitt killed Wallace. Plante was a witness so Rabbitt killed him.”
“Then, who killed Rabbitt?”
“Unindicted co-conspirator.”
“Sabado?”
I shrugged reluctantly. “It doesn’t sound like him.”
“Where’s the money?”
“Financial guys haven’t found it yet. But they have some ideas.”
Dooley nodded without saying anything.
I stared at him for a moment. “You look like hell.”
Dooley nodded. “Ever observant, Loquess.”
“What was the lead?”
He waved me away. “I’m not ready to talk about it just yet.”
I felt nettled. “Well, did it pan out?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You be sure to tell me if it does,” I said, irritated as hell.
He ignored me. “I’ll do that.”
oOo
I clocked out at five p.m. sharp and went home—I wanted plenty of time to get my mind together before I saw Sean. I took a nice shower, agonized over what to wear and settled on slacks—a dress was asking too much, jeans were asking too little. I didn’t know what to say to Sean or where we were going but I wanted to keep my options open.
I showed up at Bernoulli’s at a quarter of seven. I went to the bar, looking for Sean. At seven sharp, I went to the hostess and asked if there was a reservation, first in my name, then in Sean’s. Nothing. I took a table and left Sean’s name with the hostess.
At eight, I was two drinks drunk and decided to eat. Katelin Loquess waits food for no man. But by nine, he still hadn’t shown. I called him—voice mail. I texted him. No answer.
At nine thirty I called it a night. I was too drunk to fly. I made a stop at the packie around the corner from the apartment for a small bottle of tequila. If you’re going to drown your sorrows, why use a puddle when you can use a lake?
I turned out the lights and looked out the window of the blank little room. It was a clear October night. Not a leaf on the trees. Nothing to stop the glare of the street lights from drowning out the glitter of the stars.
Chapter 2.8: Thursday, October 28
Thursday morning came, lit up by hangover flashes from Dooley’s pounding on my door.
“Open up, Loquess.”
I grabbed a robe and let him in, pointed to the sofa and left him there while I took a shower and got ready to go.
As I was coming out of the bedroom, Dooley handed me some coffee.
“Thanks,” I said, surprised. He’d never brought coffee to the apartment before.
“No problem. Sabado is coming in this morning.”
“What time?”
“Ten.”
“Let’s get bagels. Plenty of time.”
“I suppose.” Dooley shrugged. He seemed a little agitated.
“There’s the Dunkin’ Donuts over by Ruggles Station. We can park at the station and walk there.”
“Okay.”
I stopped in the doorway. “You feeling all right?”
He gave me an irritated look. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
“The way you acted yesterday. They way you’re acting today. The way you like to drive around but today you want to walk. Are you sure a walk won’t kill you?”
“I think I’ll live.” Then, a dry chuckle. “This time.”
Dooley just drank coffee. He looked at me from across the table for a long time. “Why did you and David break up? The truth this time.”
I didn’t say anything for a long time. “That first year was amazing.” I looked out the window. The clouds had broken to the east. Under them shone the rising sun, horizontal over the earth, lighting up the undersides of the clouds into incandescent gold. “Everything we did together worked perfectly and we did everything together. Over the summer, we got this little apartment on the east side of town. Two bedrooms in a tiny building across a one-lane bridge over the creek. Nothing around but trees. All you could hear were the birds and the sound of water. That fall he gave concerts all over the Midwest. He’d drive into Saint Louis or Kansas City or, sometimes, up to Chicago or as far west as Denver. He was happy doing that. He practiced while I studied. I liked that. He’d work on a section of some piece—some Bach or somebody. It would sound perfect. But he wouldn’t like it so he would slow it down or speed it up or play it soft or play it loud, bits of it, over and over. You’d think that would drive me nuts, wouldn’t you? But I’d be studying forensics or pathology or criminal law, snuggled under a blanket in the bedroom, half listening to him. He was there. And if I got bored with forensics or pathology or criminal law, I’d drag him to bed for an hour. We spent a lot of time doing that.”
“Did you love him?”
“What happened?”
I fiddled with my coffee. “I think it actually started when we were still in Columbia but I didn’t notice. Not till we came up here.” I looked out the window again. The clouds were still ruinously illuminated. “It didn’t take long to figure out life at the BPD was far from perfect. Sniezek refused to fly with me—he would have been the perfect flying partner, too. He was quick, strong. His sheer power would have complimented my finesse. I know now why he refused but I didn’t then and it hurt. Sean wasn’t a good fit, being all gangly and loose ends. He’d have been better as a solo flyer.” I was still fiddling with my coffee. I stopped, clasped my hands together. “And there was resentment in the department. Nobody liked me—hell, nobody would speak to me. I was miserable. I came home spitting tacks, but David would just be nice and loving. Very supportive.”
“You broke up with him because he was supportive?”
“I broke up with him because he didn’t know I was there.”
“I don’t understand.”
I leaned forward, trying to make it clear. “I’d come home a bitch. He’d pour me a glass of wine. I’d pick a fight. He’d make a nice dinner.”
“So?”
“I’d come home in a great mood. He’d pour me a glass of wine. I’d do something good for him. He’d make a nice dinner. It didn’t matter. The sex was great. He’d get me going and I’d go nuts. I’d do something for him—he’d think it was great. I’d do something different. He’d think it was great. It got to the point I started doing things worse—clumsy sex. I’d bite when I shouldn’t, if you know what I mean. You know? He still thought it was great. I didn’t matter!”
Dooley watched me for a long minute. “You’re really strange. Do you know that?”
I shook my head. “On this I am absolutely clear. I know who I am. I’m a bitch. I’m self-involved. I’m half pissed off most of the time. The rest of the time I’m thoroughly pissed off. I know who I am. Maybe he was responding to some idealized version he had of me. Maybe he was responding to his mother. Or his aunt. Or his father. I don’t know who it was he was responding to, but it was not me. And I wanted him to respond to me.” I sipped my coffee.
“Even if he left you?”
I leaned back. “Even if he left me. If he knew who I was and I knew who he was, we could figure things out. As long as he was reacting to someone else, we had nothing.”
“Did you fight?”
“Not often. He didn’t like to fight.”
“Do you?”
“Sure. Get something out in the open. Move things around. I’ve been tightly wound up in myself all of my life. A fight is one place I can get completely unwrapped.”
“So you came to this realization. What happened then?”
I held my hands up to Dooley. “Look at these. I can drive a nail. I can shoot a gun. I can fly a stick. You know what David can do with his hands? He can make magic. Real magic. Not the crap people think I can do. He can move minds, break hearts, with nothing but the sound of a piano. That’s a gift. I didn’t understand what it meant.”
I stared at the Formica table. “He’d been taking it easy while we were in Missouri. Just a few concerts here and there. David played for me—it was the one thing he did where I was absolutely sure I was the only person in the room. He needed that and so did I. But he had a career, too. He’s a celebrity. In Missouri, he was a big fish in a tiny pond. Boston is good but it isn’t all that much bigger. He needed to get out there. Play bigger venues. Play with orchestras other than the ones in Boston. Places like Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, Atlanta, San Francisco, Denver. He’d had access to Chicago and Saint Louis from Columbia, but now he needed to tour. And as we drew apart, he needed the concerts more and more—David needs an audience. If one special person isn’t there, well, half a thousand not so special people will do. But he was gone a lot and my job sucked and both fed right into the problems we had. Finally, it came to a head. I went back to Jeff City and stayed with my family for a couple of weeks—you remember that, right?”
Dooley nodded. “That leave of absence.”
I grinned—well, I bared my teeth, anyway. “I only half lied when I said that to Horn. Something sure died on that trip. He came out. I wouldn’t see him. I wouldn’t talk to him. I wouldn’t answer his phone calls. When I came back to Boston, he’d moved out. I haven’t talked to him since.”
oOo
We got into the office by eight thirty. Hoffman was going over his notes.
“Where’s Rush?” I asked as we passed him.
“Preparing.” Hoffman shrugged. “Method actors. Prima donnas, all of them.”
“Beg your pardon?”
Hoffman gave me a look, his eyes deep in his face. “Get a sense of humor, Loquess. It’s Rush’s turn to get coffee.” He turned back to his notes. “Sabado’s coming in at nine.”
“Dooley said ten.”
“Ten is when we’re going to start with him. Nine is when he gets here.”
“What are you going to do with him for an hour?”
Hoffman gave me another look. “Room seven. You and Dooley can watch. No noise.”
“The place is weird this morning,” I said to Dooley in a low voice.
“Just this morning?” Dooley sat across from my desk. “Maybe it’s celebrity jitters.”
“You think so?”
Dooley shrugged. “I guess. It’s not like Sabado knows anything.”
“You don’t think he’s involved?”
“Of course he’s involved—like Rush said. He’s at the center of things just like you are. But the best we can hope for is he can make some connections for us that will lead us to what is really going on.”
I watched him a moment. “So what happened yesterday?”
“Excuse me?”
“What was the big lead you went to check out?”
Dooley finished swallowing some coffee. “Like I told you. I’m not ready to say. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
“That pisses me off.”
“I always try to do my part.”
oOo
David showed up at nine sharp. He towered over the rest of us. He’d lost some weight and the result somehow made him appear even bigger than he had looked before. Stronger, maybe. He looked good.
He was dressed in a long coat, expensive but understated, warm but still right for October. He wore it easily, used to good things. When we were living together, he took pains not to dress any better than I did—some guilt about my money versus his money. He must have gotten over that.
I was surprised I didn’t feel anything. There might have been some sort of pang inside for a brief moment but then, with his older face and lean body, he looked like a stranger. Or maybe that’s how I wanted to view him: just another witness, just another suspect.
Hoffman brought him in.
David came in the room, listening to Hoffman. He glanced up, saw me and froze for a few seconds.
I watched him—I was prepared to see him. Clearly, he was not prepared to see me.
Hoffman stopped for him, watching. I realized that Hoffman had brought him through this area intentionally to shake him up.
“Officer Dooley and Officer Loquess are also working this case,” Hoffman said, easily.
He swallowed. “I see. Hello, Katelin. Officer Dooley.”
“Right,” said Hoffman. “You know each other. Maybe you’ll want to talk with Loquess after we’re done. Come along.”
I swear, Hoffman sounded like my old grandfather.
I glanced over at Dooley. He was watching David closely, almost hungrily. David didn’t notice.
“We should go to room seven,” Dooley said after they left the room. “Watch Sabado squirm for a while.”
“Careful, Dooley,” I said. “You’ll get personally involved. Pretty soon you’ll be protecting him.”
“
Not going to be a problem.”
oOo
We let ourselves into the observation room about ten minutes before Hoffman and Rush came in.
“What do you think he knows?” asked Dooley.
“What is he? Your man-crush?”
Dooley chuckled softly. “In your dreams. Still, I understand your attraction.”
“Not for years.”
Hoffman and Rush came in the room. Rush was looking over the contents of a file. Hoffman came in with his hands empty. He sat down to one side of the table and stared at David.
“Detective Hoffman,” David said easily, then faltered when Hoffman didn’t respond.
“I’m Detective John Rush,” Rush said, not seeming to notice. “This is Detective Albert Hoffman.”
“Detective Hoffman and I have met.”
Dooley pulled out his cell phone and stared at the screen for a moment. “I’ve got to go.”
“What?” I hissed. “Are you nuts?”
“That lead I went looking for,” Dooley said just as quietly. “It’s panned out. Are you coming?”
“What sort of lead is it?”
“The best kind. The one where you find out who the murderer is.”
I was torn. Here I had a chance to watch David eviscerated by Hoffman and Rush. Two masters of the trade. But Dooley was holding out a chance to actually solve the case without them.
“Okay!” I said in a loud whisper. “You better make detective for this.”
Outside and into his car.
oOo
Conclave was in full swing up in Salem. But sometime in the late seventies Salem threw Boston a bone. The athletes got a one-day break between the trials and the finals. Participants who had been winnowed out and any witch who could lift a paper clip came down to Boston for the Conclave Parade. The preparations for the Conclave Parade were in full swing. All year long, witches pulled together scraps of cloth, glitter, LEDs, electronics and papier-mâché into costumes. All powered by humans; no cars or motorcycles. If it wasn’t drawn, carried, lifted or flown, it wasn’t in the parade.
The parade began in Chinatown, followed the waterfront to Faneuil Hall and then came back up by Government Center to Cambridge Street to enter Boston Commons from the north. It made crossing Chinatown a nightmare.
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