The chime of the doorbell made him blink. With weary movements, he pushed himself from his chair and stood by the bed, where Kelly thrashed from side to side. She was now locked in a world of torment. Once she succumbed to sleep and its darkness, she had remained there, unable to free herself from the nightmare that held her.
Over the course of the night, her appearance had taken on a dramatic change as well. Bruises had begun appearing. Her eyes were sunken and ringed with discoloration. Her cheeks had grown hollow. He had been stunned to see how perfectly she mirrored the portraits hanging in his gallery. She had taken on the very essence of the little girls, and even as his heart swelled, his skin crawled each time their chorus of whimpers combined with Kelly’s moans, jarring the still night. It was like they were all in the room with him, like they were all crying out at once, each one needing help to ease their suffering and using Kelly as their outlet. It all seemed so cruel to him, but he knew being angry at the little girls was futile. He had a more tangible, corporeal person to focus his anger on—the one responsible for it all.
Tom turned away as the doorbell rang again. By the time he opened the front door, Jonathan could barely contain his impatience. He stepped through and assessed Tom’s appearance in one quick glance.
“I got your message,” he said, following Tom into the den. “How is she?”
“Not good.”
“I don’t have to ask how you’re doing. This thing’s getting more bizarre by the minute. You said Winward and Hayes saw the whole thing?”
“I think they came in just before the electricity went haywire and the lights exploded. They saw enough.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve told Russ.”
“No.”
“I’ll take care of it. This is something he’ll definitely need to know. Just think what it would mean in a trial to have the two star detectives testify for the defense.”
“Jonathan, I could care less about a trial. It’s Kelly I have to worry about now. If something’s not done, I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
Jonathan looked startled. “What are you talking about?”
Tom turned away and rubbed his hands across his beard shadowed face. When he turned back, his distress was striking.
“I think she’s dying.”
“What! You can’t be serious.”
“See for yourself.”
Tom led the way into the bedroom. Kelly was in constant motion. Tears stained her pale cheeks while her quiet sobbing alternated between frightened whimpers and deep, mournful moans layered underneath by multiple child voices.
He took the damp cloth he had used during the night and gently wiped the moisture from her bruised face. Then Tom leaned close and caressed her cheek with a reassuring hand.
“I’m here, Kelly,” he whispered. “I’m here, sweetheart. I love you.” His voice broke. Tom hid his face against her shoulder and her motion ceased, her sobs quieted. She turned her face to his and he continued his tender stroking until her breathing grew slow and even.
Jonathan knelt by the bed and felt Kelly’s pulse with an awed, horrified expression. “My God, Tom, why isn’t she in the hospital?”
Rising, Tom shook his head and motioned Jonathan from the room. When they reached the den, Tom crossed to the window and looked out, feeling Jonathan’s eyes on his back.
“She looks like she’s been beaten up. Where did the bruises come from?”
Tom shrugged. “I think from the little girls. They’re sharing both their physical and mental pains. She’s not cut, though. She’s not bleeding, thank God.”
“So, I repeat. Why isn’t she in the hospital?”
“Think about it, Jonathan. What could they do? How could you possibly explain the bruises and the voices and make them believe you? The last thing she needs right now is to be placed in some psych ward while she’s being pumped full of antidepressants. Not to mention the examination they’d put her through for being assaulted. Then they’d probably lock me away for being the one that hurt her, because there’s no way they’d believe the truth.”
Jonathan lifted his palms in frustration. “It may be the only way to help her.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Why?”
“Jonathan, I’m truly convinced the only way to help Kelly is to find the killer.”
“How?”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to start a full background check on the house. Find out everything you possibly can about former owners, renters, whatever. I also need someone I can trust to stay with Kelly.”
“I take it you have someone in mind?”
“Marsha.”
Jonathan nodded and reached for the phone. “I’ll give her a call.” He punched in the number as Tom picked up his coat. “Where are you going?”
“To shower, change, pack a bag, then beg for a leave of absence.”
Winward was livid. “You had to do what?”
Swainer released a noisy sigh and took a draw from the cigarette clamped between his fingers. “Look, Mark. Someone tipped the commissioner. He was breathing down my neck as soon as I walked in this morning. I had no choice. It was a direct order.”
“Chief, our investigation depended on those surveillance teams.”
“What can I say?” Swainer said behind a screen of smoke. “You’ll just have to think of something else.”
Winward threw up his hands and stormed out of Swainer’s office. There was a can of citrus scented air freshener sitting on the corner of Swainer’s desk and Hayes gave it a pointed look before meeting Swainer’s narrowed I-dare-ya eyes. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Hayes left, closing the door behind him.
“Who do you think tipped him off?” he asked, easing his bulk into the chair across from Winward’s desk.
Winward flipped open the Shear file and thumped a list of names. “Take your pick.”
“What about the guys on surveillance?”
Winward rejected the idea with a shake of his head. “No way. I handpicked those guys. They knew what was at stake. They wouldn’t have gone behind our backs. It had to be someone connected with the case.”
“Who?”
“When we answer that, Don, we’ll have our killer.”
Tom entered the apartment and was met by silence. Panic reared in his chest until he saw the purse sitting on the dining table and the coat that was draped over one of the chairs. He entered Kelly’s bedroom and was stopped short by the sight of Marsha sitting on the bed holding Kelly’s head in her lap while she stroked her hair. Marsha’s eyes glistened as she met Tom’s gaze. She crooned words of comfort in Kelly’s ear then eased herself from the bed. Kelly curled into a fetal position and quietly sobbed.
Tom swallowed hard as tears stung his eyes. He watched Marsha tuck the covers around Kelly’s shoulders, then turned and left the room. He stood in the den like he wasn’t sure what he should do next. In a moment, he felt Marsha’s presence behind him.
“Did Jonathan explain?” he asked, turning to face her.
“Yes. Oh, Tom, it’s unbelievable. How could this happen?”
“I stopped asking myself that a long time ago,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. He tossed it into the chair Winward had claimed the night before. “The question is how do we stop it?”
Marsha shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’m here for as long as you need me.”
“Thank you. You already seem to have done more for her than I was able to do all night.”
“That’s because one of the girls thinks I’m her mother.”
“Her mother?” he repeated in surprise.
Marsha nodded. “I’ll tell you, Tom, it gave me the woolies. As soon as I walked into the room and spoke, a little girl’s voice started calling for her ‘mommy.’ She almost became hysterical when she couldn’t find her, so I assumed the role and she became instantly subdued.”
Tom closed hi
s eyes and ran his hands over his face. When he removed them, his expression was chiseled with determination.
“Where’s Jonathan?”
“He’s meeting with Russ Carson. He said he was going to start researching the house after that.”
“Good,” he said as he began rubbing his temples. “Where was he going to do his research?”
“I’m not sure.”
He walked into the kitchen and took a bottle of Tylenol from a shelf over the stove. As he filled a glass with water from the tap and washed down four caplets, Marsha shook her head.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” His absent-minded shrug was the only answer she needed. “I’m going to fix Kelly some soup. I’ll fix you something while I’m at it.”
“Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.”
She searched the lower cabinets until she found the pots and pans, then began another search of the pantry. “You’ll eat. I’m mother, remember?”
He opened his mouth to protest, but the ringing phone stopped him. He answered before the second ring.
“Thomas Shear?”
“Speaking.”
“Mr. Shear, Craig Raymond here. You certainly are a hard man to track down.”
Raymond’s jovial chuckle was like sandpaper against Tom’s raw nerves. He had ignored several calls from the man earlier on his cell phone and let voicemail pick up the calls. Now, as he stood with Kelly’s landline pressed to his ear, he unclenched his fist and took a deep, slow breath before saying calmly, “What can I do for you, Mr. Raymond?”
“I’ve been calling your gallery and cell phone all morning. I also called the university and was informed you’ve taken a leave of absence.”
“That’s right.”
“Could it be you’re planning to lock yourself away in that studio of yours to create another masterpiece collection?”
“Not quite.” Tom bit back his impatience. “My reasons are strictly personal. As a matter of fact, I’ve decided to close my gallery altogether for a few days. If a matter of importance arises, you should be able to reach me here or on my cell phone.”
“This is beginning to sound quite serious. Is there anything I can do?”
The man’s curiosity was tangible, but Tom was in no mood to play games. “I appreciate your concern, but no, thank you. I’m sure you didn’t go to the trouble of tracking me down to chit-chat. Is there something I can do for you?”
There was a moment’s pause, and Tom could almost see Raymond patting his ruffled feathers.
“You’re quite right. My reason for calling was to congratulate you on the contract you negotiated with my son, Michael, yesterday. I was also hoping to set up an appointment with you to begin selection of the paintings to be placed in our galleries.”
“We both should be congratulated. But as far as scheduling an appointment, I’m afraid it will have to wait a few days. I hope that’s not going to be a problem.”
“No, no. Not at all.”
“Great. Until next week then.”
“Mr. Shear, before I ring off, please let me reiterate that my services are open to you. If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.” Tom hung up and stared at the phone as if expecting it to move. Then he picked the receiver back up and dialed the number he’d memorized.
“Chandler residence.”
Tom could see the man behind the voice. His starched butler’s uniform and imperial disposition were hard to forget.
“Hello. This is Thomas Shear. I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Chandler. Is she available?”
“One moment, please.”
Tom began to pace as he awaited the butler’s return. Marsha’s movements in the kitchen as she prepared lunch had become subliminal background noise.
“Mr. Shear? This is Merideth Chandler.”
Tom straightened to attention. His heart pounded with excitement until he realized he was suddenly at a loss for words.
“Mr. Shear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, but you took me by surprise. I wasn’t really expecting you to take my call.”
“Am I going to regret it?”
“I hope not,” he said. “For both our sakes.”
The silence on the line seemed to stretch forever.
“What do you want from me?”
“A moment of your time and your knowledge.”
“My knowledge? Mr. Shear, I’ve already told the police everything I know. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Mrs. Chandler, please don’t hang up,” he said. “Everything I hold dear is hanging in the balance, and you’re the only person I can think of to turn to.”
“Why me?”
“Because something has happened since your husband’s death. I’m convinced he was murdered and I think you may know of the person responsible.”
“That’s impossible.”
Tom heard the break in her voice and could only imagine what this conversation was costing her.
“Mrs. Chandler, please,” he said, gentling his voice. “Please talk to me.”
After a moment, she spoke. Her voice was strong and Tom knew she’d won her inner battle.
“You’re a very persistent man, Mr. Shear.”
“I have to be. I’m not the only one this has affected.”
“What do you mean?”
Tom swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “Someone I love very much is being torn apart by what’s happening, and I have to find a way to help her. She’s someone you cared about once. I’m hoping you still do.”
“Who?”
“Kelly Stafford.”
“Kelly?” Merideth sounded breathless. “How did Kelly get involved?”
“By falling in love with me,” he answered. “Please, Mrs. Chandler. I need your help. Right now, you’re my only hope.”
“Why should I trust you? How can I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Meet with me and decide for yourself. I swear to you, I mean you no harm. If at any time you feel the least bit threatened, you can always have that bodyguard butler of yours throw me out.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
“Does that mean you’ll grant me a meeting?”
“Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
The conversation ended with the resounding click of a quick disconnection. Tom withdrew the receiver from his ear and lowered it to the cradle. He sank to the sofa with his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands.
“Well?”
Tom felt like he was in a daze as he looked up to find Marsha standing over him. “I have a meeting with Merideth Chandler tomorrow morning.”
“Tom, that’s wonderful. Do you think she’ll really be able to help?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
He got up and stepped to the window. The surveillance car that had been there the night before and early this morning was missing. He released the curtain and put on his coat. As he went to the door and stepped outside, Marsha was on his heels.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, hugging herself in the cold doorway. “Lunch is ready.”
“I’ll be right back. You stay with Kelly.”
Tom walked the perimeter of the building, but found nothing resembling a replacement team. As he returned to the apartment, his frown deepened when he glanced up and saw that the cloud cover had condensed into a heavy white blanket tinged with gray. It seemed to press the air, trapping it against the earth. Sounds had become muted and there was a sense of expectation, like fate was holding her breath. He climbed the steps, unable to suppress the shiver that crept up his back, along his arms and across his scalp.
Marsha carried a tray with a bowl of soup toward the bedroom, but stopped in mid-stride when she saw him.
“What’s wrong?”
His shoulders bobbed in a dismissing shrug. “Probably nothing
,” he said. “Is that for Kelly?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll take it.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll take care of Kelly. Your lunch is on the table. Now eat.”
“Later. Right now, I want to see Kelly.”
“She’s okay, Tom. I checked on her a few minutes ago. She was sound asleep.”
Tom followed Marsha into the bedroom to find Kelly curled in the same fetal position as before. Her breathing was sound and regular. A soft flush stained her cheeks. He smoothed the hair away from her face, and his touch brought her eyes open. His relief was immense when he saw recognition in their bruised depths.
“Tom.”
Her voice was hoarse, but it was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. “Welcome back.”
She gave him a weak smile then gestured for an embrace. Tom gathered her up and squeezed tight. She felt warm and alive, and his mind rebelled at the thought of ever losing her.
“I love you, Kelly. Please, don’t ever leave me.” His whisper was a caress against her ear, and he felt her arms tighten around his neck.
“Okay, you two. Are you going to make me stand here and hold this tray forever?”
“Nope,” Tom said, releasing Kelly. “As a matter of fact, I’ll bring my food in here and we’ll have a picnic.”
He helped Kelly sit up and plumped the pillows behind her back.
“Please,” she croaked, “I really don’t think I can eat.”
“Honey, at least try. If nothing else, something warm might soothe your throat.”
She agreed with a hesitant nod and Tom trotted from the room. A moment later, he returned with chicken noodle soup and a grilled ham and cheese and positioned himself on the bed facing Kelly. Tom watched as she took a minuscule sip of broth, before taking a long, noisy slurp of his own. His heart rejoiced when his childish antics brought a smile to her lips. He managed to coax her into taking a few more spoonfuls before her eyelids began to droop, begging for sleep.
“I’ll get these out of the way.”
Marsha stacked the dishes on the tray. When she was gone, Tom helped Kelly back beneath the covers, then stretched out beside her. He gathered her in his arms and held her while her breathing took on the steady rhythm of a deep sleep, lulling him into dozing.
Portrait of Rage (The Marcel Experience Book 1) Page 27