DRIVEN: A Rita Mars Thriller

by Webster, Valerie

  “Let go. I’ve got you.”

  Karin tried to let go with one hand, but didn’t have enough strength to hold with just one. The sudden dropping weight of her body jolted Rita and banged her into the window cutting her lip.

  “Grab the sheet,” she called to Karin. “Hold onto it. I’ve got you.”

  In seconds, Karin was on the porch roof. She untied the sheet and tugged it to let Rita know it was free. Rita slid down the sheet, the cotton burning her hands as she fell.

  Karin held her face in her hands and cried.

  “It’s ok.” Rita held Karin so that her head rested on her shoulder. She could feel the tears through her nightshirt. “We’re safe,” Rita said as she tried to calm her own trembling hands.

  ♏

  The fire department stampeded through the house like buffalo in hip boots. They vented the roof with axes and were perplexed by the lack of dense heat and flames.

  “They can’t find a source,” the battalion chief told Rita. Karin was sitting in a warm squad car.

  Rita had commandeered a fire coat to ward off the cold, and she stood with Chief Juarez by the hose truck.

  “Magic flames?” Rita asked.

  “No, but it’s strange,” the chief said.

  A fireman approached from the house. He was shaking his head.

  “Arson,” he said. “Rags soaked with accelerant in the heating ducts. It’s a good thingyou ladies had a smoke detector. We need to get the cops involved in this.”

  “Rags in the heat ducts?” Rita asked

  “Yes, ma’am. Soaked with a mix of detergent and black powder.”

  “Homemade napalm,” said the battalion chief. “Nasty business.” He turned to Rita. “You’ve got somebody who’s taken a serious dislike to you.”

  Rita nodded.

  “I’ve got to report this.”

  Rita nodded again as he walked off to his car and radio to call in the report.

  She shivered as she looked around her, beyond the smoky house, beyond the busy firemen. She was looking for Douglas Sevier.

  “Ok, you bastard,” she said. “No more Ms. Nice Girl.”

  Chapter 13

  The night clerk at the Inner Harbor Hyatt gave them only a passing glance. Two women; one in a fur coat and bed slippers. The other wore baggy sweats and running shoes without socks. They both smelled of smoke.

  The one in the fur coat was nervous. Karin kept changing her overnight bag from hand to hand. She shuffled her feet as if she were trying to hide the fact that she was wearing bedroom shoes.

  “Just the one night?” the clerk asked.

  “That’s right, Jim.” Rita stared the clerk in the eye and dared him to comment further.

  “Luggage?”

  “We had a fire.”

  “Sorry,” said the young man. He handed the plastic key card to Rita.

  As she and Karin turned to the elevators in the empty lobby, the clerk called out to them. “Need anything? Toothbrushes, toothpaste?”

  “No, thanks,” Rita called back.

  “If you think of anything . . .”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the thought.” Rita held the open elevator for Karin who ducked in and stood in the corner.

  The door closed.

  “Do you think he thought you and I . . .” Karin said.

  “We don’t care what he thought. Do we?”

  “No.”

  The doors slid open on the eleventh floor. The corridors were empty. It was well after midnight. Rita led the way to the room.

  “Hey, look.” Rita went to the window. “He gave us a great view. Guy can’t be all bad.” She stood with her arms on her hips overlooking the lights of the city that sparkled on the dark shiny harbor waters.

  Karin came up behind her.

  “We could have been dead,” she said.

  “Yeah, but we’re not.” Rita was smiling when she turned around. “And we’re not going to be.”

  “If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have gotten out.” Karin slapped her arms against her sides in her frustration. “I was scared. I was turned around in my own house. I . . .”

  “Hey.” Rita reached for Karin’s wrists. “We are fine. We are here. The night is beautiful—and trust me, I was as scared as you were.”

  “You got us out.” Karin looked into Rita’s face. Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “We got us out,” Rita pulled Karin toward the window and gently turned her to the view.

  Karin leaned back and rested against Rita, who took a deep breath.

  “It’s good to be alive,” Karin said.

  “Yes, and I think we need to get some sleep now.” Rita grasped Karin’s shoulders and eased away.

  She stood staring at the king-sized bed. “Well, I guess I’ll ask for a room change.”

  Karin continued to enjoy the view. “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “You didn’t see the bed I take it.” Rita hit the Front Desk button on the phone.

  Karin rushed to the night table and punched down on the switch hook. “I saw it as soon as I walked in.”

  Rita stared.

  Karin went over to her overnight bag. “I’m going to brush my teeth again,” she said and went into the bathroom.

  Rita placed the receiver back in its cradle. “I’m going to brush my teeth again,” she whispered her exaggerated imitation of Karin.

  “Did you say something?” Karin called from the bathroom.

  “Not me,” Rita said. “Far be it from me to say anything.”

  At breakfast Rita and Karin sat near the window in the Hyatt coffee shop. Rita’s eyes were red. Karin looked as if she’d been on vacation.

  “Coffee?” asked the waitress.

  Rita shoved her cup toward the woman without a word.

  “Thank you.” Karin smiled and took a sip. “Look at the sunlight on the water.”

  Rita pulled her sunglasses out of her jacket pocket and glanced toward the harbor. “Nice day.”

  “You didn’t sleep well?” Karin asked.

  “No.” Rita left her sunglasses on. “I’m not used to . . .”

  Another waitress appeared at the table to take their order. Karin ordered fruit and a bagel. Rita ordered bacon, a croissant, and fresh orange juice.

  “Not used to what?” Karin asked when the waitress left.

  “Excuse me?” Rita burned her lip on the hot coffee.

  “You started to tell me about why you didn’t sleep well.”

  A long pause followed.

  “I’m not used to sleeping with anyone.” Rita looked over at the harbor again.

  “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to pry,” Karin replied.

  Rita shrugged.

  Karin reached forward and gently removed Rita’s sunglasses. “Are—are you crying?”

  Rita dabbed her eyes with the linen napkin from her lap. “Of course not. The smoke last night irritated my eyes. That’s all.”

  “I see.”

  The waitress arrived with their food then. Rita slathered butter and strawberry preserves on her croissant.

  Karin carefully divided her bagel into quarters and picked up the first morsel to spread with cream cheese.

  “It must have been very painful,” Karin said.

  Rita bit into the croissant. “What?”

  “The end of your relationship. “

  “It had been dead a long time. It was a matter of proper burial.”

  “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful. You must have cared about this person very much.”

  “I did.” Rita took another sip of coffee. “Past tense.”

  “What was she like?” Karin asked as she put down her bagel.

  For a moment, Rita said nothing. Then with a deep breath she said,” She was the best of times, the worst of times.”

  The waitress drifted by with the coffee pot. Karin waved her on. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

  Rita’s voice softened. “I wasn’t implying that. She was li
ke that. She could be incredibly kind, caring about people in one moment, slashing their throats with verbal razors the next.”

  “You fought?” Karin asked.

  “No, not often. The anger wasn’t directed at me, mostly at others. She had no skill in dealing with other people’s feelings. She was traumatized by the careless nannies her mother hired. She grew up shy and afraid of Mom’s judging. Sadly, frightened people are always the most dangerous.”

  “I agree with you there.”

  “She was exceptionally bright, but had no sense of humor. Sometimes that was maddening.” Rita sipped her coffee.

  “For you that would have been deadly.”

  “She had focus and vision and purpose, the likes of which I have never seen and which I certainly have never been close to achieving.” Rita stuck the sunglasses back on her face. She turned to the glass wall that overlooked Baltimore Harbor.

  “I’m sorry,” Karin said.

  Rita shrugged. “Some things work and some things don’t. This didn’t.”

  “Then I’m sorry that it didn’t,” Karin offered.

  “Maybe there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Rita said. “I hung on way too long. She was a woman compelled to view everyone as a conquest. I got tired of stitching the fabric of the relationship back together, even when it became a worthless rag. It was not an endeavor to my credit.”

  “I understand that,” Karin said.

  The waitress drifted past again. This time Rita waved her over to warm both cups on the table.

  When the waitress left, Karin asked. “So, what do we do now? I mean, I need to hire somebody to repair the damage to the house and . . .”

  “Not until the arson boys get finished with it,” Rita interrupted, “and I’m calling in a friend of mine who retired from the FBI arson squad to help me with this. And after I’ve made that little phone call, I’m going to visit Dr. Douglas Sevier, put him on notice. This failure to confront the guy is starting to get on my nerves.” Rita snatched up the remainder of her croissant and took a fierce bite.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Karin put down her bagel and shot a worried look across the table.

  “Oh, he might get mad and try to kill us?”

  “And I’ve got to find a place to stay,” Karin said.

  “You have one.” Rita motioned for the waitress and stood up.

  Karin gulped a last swallow of coffee and grabbed her purse. “I do?”

  “You’re moving to the country. You’ll love it.” Rita scribbled her name across the bottom of the check and marched toward the hotel lobby. Karin hustled after her.

  ♏

  Dr. Douglas Sevier taught Clinical Psychology 401: Weirdness Personified on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 1 p.m. in Maryland Hall. Rita wore jeans, her pea jacket and a pair of boots and clutched a notebook to her chest. She was doing her best imitation of a graduate student and keeping an eye out for Sevier on his way to class from his office.

  She blended in well. Students passed without giving her a second look. She kept wondering if that was a good or bad sign.

  The classroom was small, down the narrow corridor on the left. Rita hung around the main entrance that opened out on the quadrangle. She expected Sevier to come through this door; his office was directly opposite the quad.

  The hallway grew less and less crowded. Classroom doors closed. She could hear the murmur of lectures through the walls. Sevier could not have passed without her seeing.

  Rita pretended to study the notes on the bulletin board at the door for a moment and then sauntered toward the room where he was supposed to be teaching. All the doors had windows and Rita casually glanced in as she passed. A young woman was sitting at the professor’s desk up front. Before her was a jumble of desks with ten students scribbling madly in blue test books.

  “Damn,” Rita said to herself. The woman was probably his teaching assistant. There was no need for him to present himself for something as lowly as a mid-term exam.

  Rita pulled up the collar of her coat and went outside. A fierce November breeze rattled the limbs of the naked oaks and made her wish she had remembered to bring gloves.

  The office building was silent. She saw only one other person on the first floor, and he was locking his office to leave. Rita headed for the marble steps and the third floor where Sevier’s office was located.

  Her boot heels echoed through the dimly lit corridor where most of the doors were closed, offices dark. She was looking for 327. A door was open at the far end and a light was on. Rita heard classical music; baroque set her teeth on edge.

  Douglas Sevier sat at his desk, peering over half glasses at his computer screen. He did not look up as Rita walked just inside his doorway.

  He was taller than she estimated from the pictures Karin had shown her, 6’2” maybe. He had little grey in his hair and was obviously athletic. Karin had said that he was a cyclist. In a quick glance, Rita could picture Karin attracted to this man, but in lingering, she noticed there was something about his eyes. They were grey and cold and penetrating, like a raptor’s.

  “I’ve been expecting you.” Douglas Sevier looked up from his computer and locked onto to Rita’s eyes.

  She never blinked. “I’m so glad. I aim to please.”

  For a moment they continued the stare-down. When Sevier saw that she wasn’t going to move, he eased back in his chair. “And now that you’re here—what?” His lips curled in a taunting smile.

  Rita approached the desk, placed her hands square on top and leaned in to face him. “You are not going to get away with your nasty little game. I’m going to catch you. It’s a matter of time.”

  “It’s personal for you now, isn’t it?” Sevier studied her face.

  Rita could think only of Hannibal Lechter in Jody Foster’s movie.

  “It’s always personal when somebody tries to kill you.” It was her turn to watch for reaction.

  Sevier raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Rita wanted to leap across the desk for his throat. She thought the vein in her temple might explode. “You are despicable.” She had any number of more appropriate terms flying around in her head and it was all she could do to keep herself from just screaming at the man.

  “I believe you are becoming hostile, Ms. Mars.” Sevier reached for the phone on his desk.

  Rita’s teeth were clenched as she managed to say, “I will stop you. I will expose you. I will show everyone who has ever seen you what a psychopath you truly are.”

  Sevier was cool. He picked up the receiver and punched a button. Rita grabbed for the phone, but Sevier was quicker.

  “Security, room 327, hurry.”

  Rita ripped the line out of the jack. “You won’t be able to blow your nose or eat your lunch or sleep without my knowing what the hell you’re doing.”

  “Stalking me?” Sevier stood up and brushed the papers around on his desk. A few fell on the floor. He flattened himself to the wall behind his desk chair.

  Rita understood his plan. She stood up straight, but not before two uniformed campus police rushed the room. They instantly gripped Rita by each arm. She did not resist.

  “This woman has been threatening me, gentlemen,” Sevier said.

  Rita’s instinct was to kick both of these men and then hammer Sevier, but she knew she would only succeed in making it worse on herself. With brute force, she willed herself calm as the guards dragged her from the office.

  “I intend to press charges,” Sevier called after them.

  ♏

  The Baltimore City Booking Center was touted as a high tech, state-of-the-art holding facility. But for all the PCs and the sunshine yellow walls, it was a jail after all. Rita had been in more than a few, though usually on the other side of the bars, but the smell was unmistakable.

  She sat on a wooden bench with Vonzella, who had been snatched off the streets while soliciting an undercover vice agent. She chewed gum incessantly and re
eked of sweat and cheap perfume. Rita suspected Vonzella also harbored a hundred dollar a day heroin jones. She sat on the floor at the back of the cell in the corner, rocking back and forth. Her eyes had rolled back in her head.

  The clang of opening gates caught Rita’s attention. She heard approaching footsteps and the accompanying jeers and catcalls from the other prisoners.

  In the lead was an overweight guard whose blue uniformed belly preceded him. Behind was a police captain in demure pumps. Beside her was an elderly man in a seven-hundred-dollar Armani suit. He had beautiful white hair and fierce blue eyes that kept their fire in spite of his age.

  The jailer stopped in front of Rita’s cell. Vonzella was singing to herself now, still rocking and oblivious to the rest of the world.

  “Well, well, well,” said Mary Margaret. “You and the working girls. What a lovely way to spend an afternoon.”

  “Mars,” the guard said and unlocked the cell door. “Step out.”

  The elderly man’s eyes twinkled as a smile wavered across his thin lips.

  Rita sighed and walked out of the cell as the guard secured the world from the threat of Vonzella.

  “I was just—” Rita started.

  “Can it, Slick, until we get finished with the arraignment.” Smooth marched ahead to join the guard.

  “Not to worry, my dear.” The elderly man patted Rita’s arm. “I have it well in hand.”

  Rita stood on her toes to peck his cheek.

  ♏

  Mary Margaret Smooth lived in a twenty-story high rise on St. Paul Street. On the eleventh floor, she had a perfect view of the harbor. Her place was packed on the Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve; she had a ringside seat at the city fireworks displays.

  She and Rita stood in the elevator with a widow and her poodle, a maintenance man, and a Jamaican cleaning lady. Mary Margaret carried two double cafe mochas. Rita clutched the bag of macaroons from Kline’s bakery.

  “You can’t just waltz in and start threatening people,” Mary Margaret said.