by Blair Howard
It was almost eleven-thirty when we finished the meal, but the night was not yet over. The restaurant was almost empty. Just one other couple remained; they were enjoying a final cup of coffee three tables away.
“Coffee, Harry?”
“No, I don’t think so, thank you.”
“How about some brandy then?”
I thought about it, and then nodded.
She attracted Louis’ attention and ordered Domaine Dupont Calvados, whatever that was. I’d never heard of it, but it was smooth, and a perfect end to a perfect evening.
“I’ll get the check.” I reached for my wallet.
She chuckled. “It’s already paid for, Harry, and so is the tip. I have an account here. I did say it was my treat.”
“Yes, you did, but—”
“Harry. Enough!”
I sighed and shook my head. “Okay. I looked around. I suppose we should leave.”
“What on earth for?”
I squinted, frowned, and looked her in the eye. I didn’t have to ask. My question was obvious.
“You’ll see. Be patient.”
We waited until the restaurant was empty. The last couple left at a little after midnight. She rose from her seat, and François rushed over with her jacket. She didn’t bother to put it on.
“Come with me.”
“What about...?” I nodded in the direction of the black car outside.
“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ll leave when I do.”
I raised my eyebrows, but she didn’t elaborate.
I got up from my seat and followed her to the door in the rear wall, the one with the painting of the two serpents over it. There was an audible click. Someone, somewhere, had pushed a button. We walked through into a passageway that ran the entire length of the rear of the building. She turned left. At the end of the passageway was a flight of stairs that led to the upper floor and another passageway that ran the length of the front of the building. It reminded me of a hotel. There were doors at intervals from one end to the other.
She walked ahead of me, her hips rolling gently under the tight black dress. I could see the outline of every muscle. Those high heels really do something for a woman, don’t they?
The doors were not numbered, but she seemed to know which one she wanted. She stopped, searched inside her clutch, withdrew a key card, swiped it through the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside. I followed.
Now I knew what the mall was all about: apart from providing Shady with an office, a place from which to conduct his business, it was also a place for like-minded people to meet, get together. The fact that the five outlets on the ground floor made money was an added bonus.
We were inside a small luxury suite, with a large bedroom, a sitting room, a bathroom, utilities for making coffee, and a small, but well-stocked bar.
“Make yourself at home, Harry. Pour the drinks. Sorry, I don’t have any Laphroaig.” She smiled as she said it.
I grinned and shook my head. “What can I get for you?”
“Vodka tonic; easy on the ice.”
She tossed her jacket onto a chair by the door.
“I’ll be but a minute.” She walked into the bathroom.
I poured the drinks and sat down to wait.
After a moment, I heard the toilet flush, and then the sound of running water.
“Now then, Harry.” She took the drink from my hand and sat down on a chair directly opposite me. She looked me squarely in the eye and said, “We’re alone here, so we can talk freely.”
“You sure?”
“What do you mean? Oh, you mean.... Don’t worry, Harry. This place is swept for bugs on a regular schedule. It’s secure.”
Again, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into, but what the hell. Here I was, alone with a beautiful woman. Why not enjoy the moment?”
“You said you might have something for my father.”
“And you believed me, didn’t you? Really, Harry!” The sarcasm was unmistakable. “What the hell did you think I would do when you dangled that thing in front of my face? Offer you a job? Get serious, Harry. You knew exactly what you were doing, but you weren’t expecting anything, were you? After all, very few men on this planet get to screw a sitting United States senator, especially this one. And you’re not there yet.”
I was speechless, struck dumb.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. You know the ropes.”
I do?
“You know what this place is. As I said, it’s secure. I come here every once in a while, mostly just to rest, to get away from it all. I’m not married; well, I’m a widow, as you probably know. I don’t engage in casual relationships. I can’t afford to. Mystica was a gift from the Gods, an answer to many of my needs, needs that are unique to me and what I am, and before you ask the obvious question: only once before have I brought a man to this apartment. This is my refuge, a place to be alone, and to think. Although, it does provide a unique opportunity, should I ever need to.... Well. I’ll let you figure it out.”
She sipped her drink, staring at me over the rim of the glass. She put the drink down on the coffee table, leaned forward, put her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands together in front of her.
“I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think very carefully before you answer it. Don’t lie to me. If you do.... Tell me, why are you a member of Mystica?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “I’m not.”
“Not what? Not going to tell me?”
“I’m not a member, Linda. Never have been, never will be.”
“But you have the pendant.”
“I do, but... well....”
“Tell me, Harry. What you say next—”
I interrupted her, “Linda, It doesn’t even belong to me. It belongs to a young woman who committed suicide. I’ve been retained by her father to investigate what happened to her. She was wearing it around her neck when they took her out of the water. When I spotted your pendant the other night, I had to try and find out what it meant. Look, if you want me to go, I will.” I started to rise, but she waved her hand for me to sit down again.
I’m not sure, but I thought I saw her breathe a sigh of relief.
“I believe you, Harry.” She picked up her drink, took a sip, and then set it down again.
“Now.” I looked at her. “Can I ask you the same question?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“For several reasons, the foremost of which is that I don’t want you to. Another is because I don’t want to become part of your investigation. Is that good enough for you?”
“It is, and I understand. I do need to know about Mystica, though.”
“Then you’ll have to find out from someone else. That should be easy enough for a man of your talents.”
I didn’t press the point. I was happy just to still be there.
She downed the rest of her drink, got up from the chair, and walked over to the bar.
“Would you like another, Harry?”
“Better not. I’m driving.”
“No you’re not. You’ve already had too much to be allowed to drive home, much less drive me back to the hotel, and my friends have already left for the night. Same again?”
I looked at my watch. It was already well past twelve-thirty. “Sure, why not?”
We talked for at least another thirty minutes, though I wasn’t watching the time. Mostly, I was watching her, and she took the initiative, asked questions; she was relentless.
“Are you in love with your detective friend, Harry?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to give her a quick answer, but something made me pause. I lowered my head so she couldn’t see my eyes, and I thought about it. Was I? I’d always thought so, but then I realized something, and I looked up at her. She was watching me intently. I took a deep breath. Here we go.
“Linda, I have known Kate for a long time, more than fifteen years. We’ve
been seeing each other for almost ten years and, until you asked me that question, I really thought I was in love with her, but then I realized something. Ten years and I’d never asked her to marry me, and she’s never mentioned it either. No, I’m not in love with Kate.”
She nodded. “Good. I believe you. I need to use the rest room. I’ll be just a moment.”
I sat back in the chair and gazed up at the ceiling. Again, the toilet flushed, the water ran, and then I looked down and there she was. Fucking hell!
She was standing in the backlight from the bathroom. The dress was gone. She was posed like some super model. All she had on was a black strapless bra and tiny black panties so sheer I could see right through them, and she was still wearing her high-heeled shoes.
Now I have to tell you, I had been fantasizing about where I hoped the night might be going, but that’s all it was, just a fantasy. Never in my wildest imaginings did I expect anything to actually happen. She glided across the room, kicked off the shoes, and then she sat down on my lap. I could barely breathe, and it wasn’t because she was heavy; she wasn’t.
I put my arm around her waist. Her skin was cold, but it felt like silk. She put her hands together on my shoulder and leaned her head on them, breathing gently, as if she was about to go to sleep. I could smell her perfume, and I know it sounds stupid, but I actually wondered if that was what heaven must smell like.
We sat like that for a long time, saying nothing. I thought for a moment she’d fallen asleep, but then she sat up and looked into my eyes.
“Make love to me, Harry.”
We didn’t leave until after nine the next morning. I drove her back to the Read House. The black Caddy followed at a discreet distance. I pulled up outside the front entrance to the hotel. She leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Thank you, Harry. I had a lovely time. I hope you did, too. Until the next time, then?”
She didn’t give me a chance to answer. She flung open the car door, swung herself out, and then breezed in through the front door. I could only sit there and shake my head. What the hell has just happened to me? Better yet: there’s going to be a next time. Oh my God. Thank you, Lord.
I put the car in drive and pulled away from the front of the hotel. My intention was to continue on MLK to the interchange on Highway 27, but as I cruised past the multi-level parking lot, I also drove past the silver Honda. I didn’t notice it until I was alongside it. Maybe I was tired, distracted by thoughts of my oh-so-amazing experience. I don’t know. Whatever it was, my reactions were slow. I must have driven twenty yards past the Honda when I caught on. I slammed on the brakes, jammed the car into reverse, and floored the gas pedal. I almost hit the Honda as it made a right on Walnut and screamed away. By the time I made the turn and went after it, it was gone; disappeared. What the hell?”
I cruised around several adjacent blocks, but there was no sign of it. Damn!
Chapter 27
It had been a rough week, well, with the exception of my dinner the night before with Linda Michaels. I hadn’t heard a word from Kate since Wednesday. I’d done my best to put our differences out of my mind — differences? That’s a joke — and concentrate my thoughts on what had happened to Tabitha, Falk, and now Olivia. There wasn’t much to go on. The only straw I had was what Ronnie and Mike were doing, and they still had nothing to share with me. I also had the senator deep inside my head. I’d had half a thought that I might hear from her, but I hadn’t.
Just after ten on Sunday morning, I was on my third cup of coffee, sitting on the sofa, relaxing. I looked out over the river. It was one of those bleak, cold, and utterly miserable days. The sky was concealed by a low-lying blanket of cloud that was, itself, all but hidden by a driving, horizontal rain that was coming down in torrents, whipping the surface of the river to foam and battering against the windows. It was a good day to stay home and do nothing, so that’s what I did. I lay stretched out on the sofa for most of the morning, drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, watching the rain, and thinking... about Linda, Kate, and Harper... always Harper.
It was almost noon when my cell phone rang. I looked at the screen. It was Kate. I smiled. I don’t know why, but I did. If nothing else, I wanted her as a friend. I hated being at odds with her.
“Hi, Kate. It’s good to hear from you.”
Silence. I waited.
“Harry, I have more bad news.” So, no make up. Damn!
“What’s happened?”
“Charlie Maxwell is dead. Looks like suicide. I’m at her home. You want to come on over?”
Oh, Christ. Not another.
“Geez, Kate. Okay, I’ll be there in...” I looked at my watch. “Twenty, twenty-five minutes.”
I was there in twenty. A couple of police cruisers and an ambulance were parked outside the house. Lonnie Guest was standing on the front porch, his hands in his pockets.
“Another one, aye, Starke. Seems to me there are too many people dyin’ around you, an’ that’s a fact. Glad I ain’t your friend.”
“Me, too, Lonnie. Me, too.”
I went inside and found Kate standing in the bathroom doorway. The ME was already there, doing his thing.
“Well, it looks like he decided to get comfortable before he cut his wrist: a nice bath, scented candles, a bottle of red....”
“Wait a minute,” I said. They both turned to look at me. “He? What do you mean, he? I thought you said it was Charlie Maxwell.”
“See for yourself,” Kate said. She wasn’t smiling. She was deadly serious. She backed out of the doorway so that I could enter.
Charlie Maxwell was lying naked in a bath full of pink water. Her left arm was hanging over the side. There a gash in her left wrist maybe six inches long, and deep, almost to the bone. There was some arterial blood splashed on the walls and ceiling, but most of it had drained onto the floor beside the bath, forming a pool that stretched almost to the door. I stepped in, sidestepped to avoid the blood, and approached the foot of the tub. She was as white as a sheet of paper, a stark contrast to the dark brown hair; the fact that it was wet made it even more startling. Her breasts, smaller than I thought, were just above the water line. She was still quite beautiful, in a strange sort of way. I looked down, and there it was, visible even through the colored water. She was a man, all right. Jesus H. Christ!
But that wasn’t all. I noticed something else.
“It wasn’t suicide, Kate. It was murder.”
“What? Why do you say that?”
“She was left handed. The cut is on her left wrist. There’s no way she did that to herself.”
Kate looked at Charlie’s arm, then at me. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah. I had coffee with her, remember?” The look I got should have shriveled me.
“I remember.” Her voice was cold.
“She used a French press, and she not only poured with her left hand, she held her cup with it, too. She was murdered.”
Kate looked at the ME. He shrugged. “I’ll know more when I get her, him, on the table. Time of death.... hard to tell, because of the water, but at least ten hours, late yesterday evening, I should think.”
“Shit!” Kate snarled. “So this is a goddamn crime scene, and we’ve compromised it. Come on, Starke. Let’s get out of here.” Starke? Wow, she hasn’t called me that in more than five years.
“Guest,” she yelled, as she slowly stepped her way out onto the front port. “Get this place taped off. I need to get the crime scene techs here.”
“What the hell for? She topped herself, didn’t she?”
Kate glared at him. “Tape it, Sergeant. Do it now. I’ll get some backup. In the meantime, try to keep the lookers away. Keep them back on the road. There’s already been too much foot traffic inside the house, and probably around it, too.”
She radioed in and made the requests for the techs and extra officers, and then she turned to me.
“Spill it, Harry.” Her face was serious.
�
�Spill what?”
“I want to know everything that you know about her, him, Harry.”
“Kate, I don’t know a whole lot more than I told you on Saturday. I was following up with my investigation for Willard. I needed to interview her about Tabitha. I only met her twice; once at the Read House for coffee, and the other time right here. I told you. She called me; she thought she was being stalked. I nixed that idea. Maybe I was wrong; maybe she was. When I left her, she was in good spirits, great spirits.”
“Yeah. I’m sure she was.”
“Cut the sarcasm, Kate.” I was becoming angry. “I told you everything that happened that day, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
She nodded.
“Kate, there’s something else. Tabitha had a room here. She stayed with Charlie when she wasn’t up on the mountain. I meant to take a look at it while I was here on Saturday but somehow... well, it slipped my mind.”
“Yeah, I bet it did.” More sarcasm.
“Dammit, Kate.”
“Okay, okay, but there’s nothing we can do now, not until the scene has been processed. You said she thought she was being stalked, tell me about that?” Her use of the gender ‘she’ was understandable. Charlie had been a very beautiful woman.
“She thought someone was following her. She said she saw him three times, at least she thought so. She thought he was white, but that’s debatable. He was well covered, so he might have been black. He was tall, well built. That’s all she could tell me. She saw him when she left me at the Read House, and again the next day at the gym in the new mall.” Kate looked at me, her eyes wide. I nodded, and continued, “She saw him a third time on Friday, at Angelique, the clothing store, also in the mall. Kate, I thought it must have been Duvon, and that he was shadowing me. I’d already caught him following me in Tree’s BMW. It made sense. At that time, I’d had two run-ins with Tree. Now, though... after this... hell, I just don’t know.”
“You didn’t see the man, right?”
“No.”
She stared at me. It wasn’t nice. It made me feel itchy, like something was crawling up my back. I didn’t like it. It lasted but a minute, and then she shrugged and turned away.