Val Campion owned a small apartment building off Bridger Avenue hidden in the hollows of the dusty hills at the edge of town.
Antelope hoped to find Sharnelle alone in the apartment she shared with Campion. He hadn’t invited Pepper Hunt to come along for this interview. It wasn’t because he didn’t want the benefit of her insights; what had kept him from asking for her assistance this time was personal, not professional.
The Doc had been right on when she’d said sexual chemistry could make it harder to keep focused on the job at hand. He didn’t want her witnessing anything that might pass between him and Sharnelle.
He stepped onto the sagging wooden porch and knocked on the door after noticing the cut wires on the doorbell. A growling dog slammed against the inside of the door. Behind the blinds of the window to the right of the door, its front paws clawed and scratched.
A high-pitched whistle silenced the pit bull, and he heard a door slam in the house.
A minute later, Sharnelle unlocked the door and opened it an inch, keeping the safety chain on. “He’s not here. Try at the club.”
He held out his ID card for her.
She looked at it and a smile came and went like a cloud over her face. “I see you there sometimes.”
“I have some questions on a case I’m investigating. Can I come in?”
“Wait. I’ll come out.”
She closed the door and locked it again. He waited on the porch and listened as the dog went on barking and scratching behind a closed door somewhere in the house. If he lived in this place, he’d feel trapped by the ugly neglect.
A few minutes later, she came out. It was a hot day but she wore jeans and a black hoodie—the uniform of the abused female, every inch of skin covered up, the bruises hidden.
Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the door to the club across the alley. At any moment Campion could walk out the door, and it was clear the idea made her nervous.
“I’m not here about your domestic violence case. I won’t cause you any trouble.”
“There’s no case.”
“No. Unless you press charges.”
She nodded at him and her breathing eased a little. Her skin was fine and thin and the pulse in her neck throbbed too fast for a woman standing out in the sun. He wanted to reassure her, but there was nothing true he could say. His presence here could mean trouble for her later. But that couldn’t be avoided.
“Okay,” she said. “I don’t know anything, but ask me what you came here to ask.”
“I understand you returned home on Friday. Did you sleep here Friday night?”
“I came home, like you just said. Where else would I sleep?”
“You live with Val Campion.”
“I live in his building.”
“Do you stay in the same apartment?”
“Yes.”
“What time did he come home Friday night?”
“At two the club closes and he comes here.”
“And last Friday night, could you say for certain he was here?”
“No. I was sleeping in my own bed.”
“So you can’t provide an alibi during the hours when the murder took place?”
“Why would he kill her?”
“She’s the one who got you into the safe house. She’s the one who advocated for you to go to court and file charges.”
“You said you didn’t come to talk about my domestic.”
“I’m talking about the murder of a woman who tried to help you.”
“She gets paid for it. I won’t go to court. What’s the point?”
“To stop Val Campion from abusing you.”
“You got your story wrong. It wasn’t Val.”
Antelope tried to hide his surprise. Toni had said she listed her place of residence as belonging to Val Campion. She’d never filled in the name of the perpetrator. They’d just both made the assumption it was Campion.
Sharnelle looked frightened.
“Who hurt you bad enough you went to the safe house?”
“If Val thinks I named him, I’ll be on the street with nothing.”
“He won’t stop, you know.”
“Val never hurt me,” she insisted. “It was the young one, Jack. When I saw on the news that he’d left, I came home.”
CHAPTER 39
Max left his therapy session with Dr. Hunt relieved she knew the truth about his drinking. Besides Kelly, she was the only person he felt he could trust, and he knew that had to go both ways or the relationship would eventually crash and burn. If a quasi-normal life was in the cards for him, therapy would get him there.
The emotional work drained him just as much as his physical workouts at the gym. He’d been awake for two days, and was feeling an exhaustion that threatened to tank him. At the Dewar Drive stoplight he nodded off and only woke up when some asshole hit the horn behind him.
As he approached the gym parking lot, the turn signal ticked hypnotically and he dozed off again—but snapped awake almost immediately, the sun too bright in his eyes, the sight of the shopping center, his gym included, just a pile of worn, shabby real estate.
A sour taste in his throat, a claw in his gut—he opened the door, bent over and spewed vomit onto the curb. Eyes closed, he sat in his truck, wiped the sweat from his face, and waited for his wrecked body to tell him what to do next.
He could skip the gym; there was no reason to open up, he’d cancelled all personal training sessions for the week and the sign on the door, CLOSED DUE TO DEATH IN THE FAMILY, said it all.
He’d worked out so hard the day before; he could do some real damage if he worked out again so soon. Of course, the option of exercising different muscles existed—but that wasn’t his style. Nothing less than 100 percent effort for him, all day, every day.
Except when he relapsed and lied to his therapist about it.
Maybe he didn’t have to destroy his life in order to bring balance into his world. He decided to take it one small step at a time and see what happened when he let himself get close to the place where it all happened.
He parked a ways down from Our Lady of Sorrows. For some reason he could not explain to himself, he did not want anyone to drive by and see his truck in front of the church.
He opened the heavy wooden door and entered the church. The Mass was in progress, Father Todd Bellamy on his knees on the altar for the opening prayers.
Max slipped into a pew at the back on the right side of the church, in the shadows behind a pillar. He wanted to watch the man do his thing, unsuspecting, until the end of the Mass; only then would he stand and show his face, let the priest know he was being watched.
As soon as Max opened the church door, he spotted the Sheriff’s Department Dodge Ram parked in front of his truck. He thought about heading off in the other direction, leaving the truck and walking home. Screw him for hunting him down in church. Old, self-righteous feelings instilled by years of religious education sprang up, surprising him. So vivid and intense, these things he once believed.
He came back to reality fast—him being in church had nothing to do with anything good.
At a break in the traffic, the Dodge door opened and the detective stepped into the street.
He’d hesitated too long. Might as well get it over with; whatever the man wanted to talk to him about, he wouldn’t quit. Their eyes met and the two of them began walking toward each other.
“I didn’t know you were a churchgoer,” Antelope said.
“I’m not usually. Grief does strange things.”
“I saw your truck, decided to wait out here rather than try to track you down. Your place is closed.”
Max nodded. “Did you get a break in the case?”
It didn’t occur to him before he spoke the words that the detective might be there to report on the progress of the investigation. Instead, his only thoughts were of his own guilt, of others’ suspicions and mistrust of him because of his damaged mind.
“That’s not why I�
��m here.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s an active investigation. Unfortunately, nothing I can talk to you about. You made a statement on Saturday, and I since learned it’s not accurate.”
“Saturday was a rough day. I’m not surprised if I didn’t perform perfectly as a witness. I guess you get that a lot, especially after you tell people their loved one’s been murdered.”
“Your mother said you and your sister had some kind of falling out and didn’t see each other for a while. You denied that at the time. Do you want to stand by that statement?”
“She called you too?” He snorted. “Mother’s been busy. The problem is, she has a hard time remembering what’s true from one day to the next. Since she doesn’t seem to have a problem throwing me under the bus, I guess I’m free to do the same. Can I ask, was she drunk when you talked to her? After five o’clock, you can’t believe anything she says.”
“I spoke with her an hour ago.”
“Good to know; even sober she’s out to get me.”
“Where did you go when you left Stacey and Connor at Johnny Mac’s Tavern Friday night?”
“I stopped at the Liquor Mart for a bottle and went home and drank it. While some evil bastard was busy strangling my sister, I was blacked out on my kitchen floor. The only bright side of that tragic story is that she didn’t call me for help.”
“She didn’t call you, but you called her. Why?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Bullshit.”
“I told you, I blacked out. I don’t remember anything from that night.”
“Is that your alibi? You don’t remember driving to Cedar Street and strangling your sister?”
A black rage like toxic smoke filled Max’s body. He wanted to let it loose right there in front of the Church, ignite the hallowed ground with his righteous anger. If he had alcohol on board, the detective would already be bleeding on the ground. But he hadn’t had a drink that morning, even though he’d wanted one badly.
He walked to his Jeep and drove away. In the rearview mirror, he saw the detective still standing on the sidewalk, watching him leave.
CHAPTER 40
The DJ blasted “Cat Scratch Fever” as frenzied blue and pink strobe lights flashed in front of her eyes. Fans called out to her, “Here, Kitty, Kitty.” Some of them purred, some meowed, and others barked. The house was full and hot; she felt trapped in a furnace, stoked by the heat of the men below her.
It was her favorite routine but her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t want to work, didn’t want to do anything except escape into oblivion.
That was a lie. She wanted Max again. He’d made love to her the night Stacey died, and it had torn her heart open. Every day since, she’d been a bleeding, hot mess of feeling.
She hated the sweating, leering, lecherous men who watched her as she moved on the stage. At what point would one of them lose control? It was a chance she took every time she got on stage. Impossible to trust that the same men who surrendered to their sexual and voyeuristic impulses would control other, more dangerous impulses.
The shoulder strap of her silver top cut into her shoulder. She wanted to take it off and be naked in bed with Max, who was no part of this life.
Legs around the pole, her body moved in sync with the bass. The lights blinded her to anything beyond the stage and she pretended she danced for someone who loved her, not the gross strangers who paid for the pleasure of seeing her body.
The music stopped, the strobe shut down, and the stage lights dimmed. She bowed and raised her arms to her audience.
When she looked up, she saw Max.
He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, laser-focused eyes dark with fury.
She left the stage and headed toward the bar, where her job was to get men to buy her a drink and maybe inquire about something more.
The pressure of a hand on her back; she turned around and smiled. “Well, hello there, this is a nice surprise.”
The fake flirtatious voice came automatically: she was still in performance mode. But it didn’t play well with Max, who glared at her and grabbed her by the arm.
“Knock it off, Kelly.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came for you,” he said. Cold fingers pressed deep into her flesh.
“Take your hand off me, Max, or you’ll be on your ass. They’re watching.”
He let go and thrust his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. As he did, she saw the Smith & Wesson holstered there. “Walk out with me. You’re done here for tonight.”
She walked alongside him toward the exit, but turned toward the dressing room before they got there.
“Hold up, where you going?” Max demanded. “I said we’re out of here.”
“I want my things—”
“Let’s go. Now.” He grabbed her by the arm again and pushed her toward the door. Two security guards broke loose from the crowd and made their way toward them from across the room.
Max propelled her over to his truck, yanked the door open, and pushed her roughly inside. They took off just as the security guards came out of the club.
“How’d you know to find me here?”
“I didn’t. I came in to get my mind off things.”
“You said you came for me?”
“I called and texted, went to your house. I called Connor thinking you might be with him.”
“What’s wrong? What’s the emergency?”
“Let’s go to my place. I have to calm down.”
She thought of Campion and shuddered. “You probably got me fired.”
“You shouldn’t be there. You don’t belong there. You have a son at home.”
“Who are you to remind me of my parental duties? And for the record, he’s with my parents on vacation.”
He took off his jacket and threw it across the seat at her. “Here, cover yourself up.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a prude! You of all people, who are you to judge?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Your perversions, your deviant sexual acts, and the things you need.”
“You were the prude. What happened to you? How did Miss Vanilla Sex end up in a brothel?”
“It’s not a brothel; it’s an adult night club.”
“With strippers and prostitutes.”
“Exotic dancers. You didn’t see me take my clothes off on stage.”
They were at his trailer now. He parked the truck and gave her a long look. “I know you, Kelly, and I didn’t like seeing you there.”
“Let’s be honest. It’s been a long time since either of us has been able to say we know each other.”
“I’m still pissed off. You can’t tell me not to be. It’s been a hell of a week and this, seeing you undressed up there in front of those creeps, it put me over the edge.”
“I’m not undressed.”
“Barely.”
She dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice softer now.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Come on, I’ll make us dinner.”
When they got inside, he went into his bedroom, came out with a T-shirt and a pair of socks, and handed them to her. “Here, put these on.”
She slipped them on over her dance clothes.
While he put the spaghetti on to boil and sliced garlic cloves into oil, she chose a playlist from his CD collection. Max felt his mood lift as John Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme” filled the air, a soulful soundtrack for his life. Kelly sat cross-legged on his futon, her hands resting in her lap, her head back, and her eyes closed.
They ate dinner in silence, surrendering to the music and the mood it created.
She helped him clean up and when they were done, she took him by the hand and led him to the futon. He bent to kiss her but she stopped him.
“Not yet. Sit down and close your
eyes.”
She put on another of his favorite artists, Sam Smith, singing “Stay with Me.” When she told him to open his eyes, the room was dark except for the candles she’d lit. The T-shirt and socks were on the floor. She stood before him in her silver dance clothes.
“This dance is for you, only you,” she said. When the song ended, she crawled onto his lap. “You can kiss me now.”
They made love twice, and the second time she told him he could do whatever he wanted to her. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
Before she could fall asleep, he lit a joint and they smoked together. For the first time since his sister died, he felt like it was going to be possible to live.
“Is that why you needed to see me so bad?” she said.
“For sex? No. I didn’t plan on sex.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“What is it with women? You always want to talk after. Way to ruin a mood.”
“Don’t play with me, Max. Something’s bothering you and you couldn’t stop until you found me. What is it? Don’t shut down like you always do.”
He sat up and turned on a light. The rain came down all at once and made a hard sound above them, drilling into the old roof, running in fast, fat coils down the rattling windowpane.
“I’ve been seeing my therapist every day. Partly because of Stacey, partly because for whatever reason my mind is deciding now is the time to spew out everything. It’s kind of overwhelming. Today’s session was intense.”
“You want to tell me about it?”
“It stays between us until I decide what I’m going to do, all right?”
“Sure. Of course I won’t tell anyone.”
“Because I don’t know if I’ll ever do anything with it or if it means anything. I’m still figuring it out. But the way it’s making me feel, it must be important. I mean more than the actual fact of it. Like it’s bad enough as it is, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg, a fucking big iceberg. You know what I mean?”
“I think so.” Kelly nodded slowly. “Why don’t you tell me what you remember?”
On a Quiet Street Page 15