by L. T. Ryan
Seth took a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. His lips flapped together. Sounded like an eighteen-wheeler blowing out a tire. “I didn’t break in,” he said after a few moments, shrugging and holding out his hands.
“The back door was unlocked when you returned?”
“No, Detective.” Seth brushed his open hand across the table. “It was open.”
“Unlocked?”
“I mean wide open, man. I stepped in and the little bit of light there was glinted off the floor. At first I thought the rain had gotten in. I bent down, stuck my fingers in the puddle. Knew right then it wasn’t water.”
“What’d you do?”
“There’s a junk drawer by the sink, next to the door. I found a cheap flashlight in there. Switched it on. Sure enough, kitchen floor was covered in blood. Tracks and trails, leading from the hall to the back door.”
“You sure about this?”
“Of course I’m sure. I saw it.”
“Was this the first time you saw it? You don’t recall a time lapse, anything like that?”
“You think I blacked out and killed all of them?” Seth pushed back from the table and stood.
Pennington mirrored him. Cervantes exited the room and joined his partner.
“Seth said ‘all,’” I said, not sure if Cassie had rejoined us yet.
“And?” Cassie said. Whoever had grabbed her attention was gone.
“What was he doing in Alice’s room? Trying to find a clue or something? Mourning her? Jerking off?”
After some shouting by Cervantes, the situation in the interrogation room returned to normal. Seth sat back down. So did Pennington. Cervantes remained in the room by the door with his hand where his pistol normally resided.
“I saw all that blood,” Seth said. “And I panicked.” He chuckled softly. “I freaked out is more like it. Ran out of there, tossed the knife into some hedges about a block away, and just ran until I reached a park, where I took shelter in the bathroom with some homeless guy until the storm let up.”
Pennington asked a few more questions, but they led nowhere. Finally, he cuffed Seth.
“What’s this?” Seth asked. “Are you arresting me?”
“You won’t have to worry about where you’re staying for a few nights,” Pennington said. “We’re keeping you on suspicion.”
“Suspicion of what?” Seth thrashed against the man. “I told you, I didn’t do nothing. Let me go.”
“Get him out of here,” Pennington said to his partner.
Cervantes escorted the yelling man out of the room. His shouts faded a few moments later. Pennington joined us behind the glass.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I dunno, man,” I said. “Lots of probable cause from what he told you. Then he admits entering the house with a weapon and intent to kill.”
“I know. His DNA is all over that place, too. Practically every room. But he’d been going there for months, so that’s easy for the defense to write-off.”
“Was it on the women?”
Pennington shook his head. “We weren’t that lucky. It’s one of the reasons we’ve been hesitant with him.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Maybe the story about the other guy isn’t the truth. Maybe they were working together.”
Pennington shrugged and then reached out for Cassie’s arm. “What about you? You buy what just happened?”
“It makes sense,” Cassie said. “On a couple levels. His rage, I can see, I guess. But why kill all the women? Alice was the one who fueled his rage. And if you charge him, are we to believe that Alice is dead? And why would he go back to the house?”
“You gotta find that knife, Pennington,” I said. “If what he said is true, that he chucked it, it’ll provide an answer. Even if only a partial one. Something will be left behind on it if he used it on the women.”
“I’m with you, Tanner. I’ll get a group together to search once he gives up the location. In the meantime, you two get going. We’ve got a ton of paperwork, so nothing to do here for a bit. I’ll be in touch soon.”
We parted with Pennington in the hallway. Cassie led me to the rear parking lot. It was midday, and hot as hell. The sun beat down on the asphalt. Smelled like walking through a tar pit. I had to check and make sure the soles of my shoes weren’t melting to the ground.
“Always this hot this time of year?” I said as we got inside the sweltering car.
“No,” Cassie said. “Nothing like this.”
I put the AC on full blast and rolled down the windows. All it did was push hot air around. At least there was the promise of cooling off soon.
“It’s been a rough one,” I said. “Want me to take you home?”
Cassie adjusted her vent, looked at me, said, “No, I want you to take me out to eat.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cassie picked a historic place on the outskirts of town, an old Victorian converted into a restaurant. The wide plank flooring wasn’t level and after a long day had a funhouse effect as I followed the hostess to our table. There were hundred-year-old portraits on the walls above panels that appeared to be aged copper, pounded into a pattern. We were seated next to a window that overlooked a manicured garden.
The menu was full of low country favorites and overpriced drinks, which we both indulged in. The second one went down easier than the first. My shrimp and grits arrived after I’d had my fourth vodka and soda.
“You gonna take it easy now?” she said.
I waved her off. “I’ll be all right. Rehydrating is all.”
We were silent for the next several minutes while we ate. Afterward, we both ordered coffee. I filled her in on a few of the details about my life. She listened, and offered little in return about hers. About what I expected.
Waiting for the check to arrive, she said, “I forgot how much I hated this place.”
“Why? Seems all right by me. Maybe a bit pricey, but I suppose any place in a touristy area will be so.”
“The food’s fine.” She looked up and smiled, softening her features. At times I failed to recognize how attractive she was. “It’s the extracurricular activity that goes on here. It’s an old building and has seen a lot. I get lots of visitors here. That can be distracting when all I want to do is enjoy the human company sitting across from me.”
And that was something else I failed to recognize, or even think about. What was the world like through her eyes? Even if the shit wasn’t real, she saw it, which I supposed made it real enough. A life sentence of wandering souls pestering her.
“Does that happen a lot?” I asked.
Sipping from her mug, she offered a slight shrug. “Sitting across from a human I want to talk to? No, not really.”
I offered her a smile. “That is intriguing, but I meant the ghost thing.”
She sighed into a soft smile in return. “Sometimes it does. Other times, it’s like they’re off bothering someone else. I can go days without a visitor. Then, boom, they’re all over me. Everyone needing something different. I have to prioritize who to help, which, if you knew me before I was nearly killed, was not something I was ever good at.”
“A bit disheveled in your former life?”
“You have no idea.”
I noticed the patrons at a nearby table glancing over. “You’ll have to tell me more about that. But not today. It’s time to take you home. Let’s get going.”
The alcohol enhanced the funhouse effect of the flooring. We exited the cool, dim foyer, out into the heat again. Did it ever let up? Even with the sun setting it felt the same as it had a couple of hours ago.
We drove across town to Cassie’s place. I threw the car into park in front of her house and left the engine idling.
“You gonna be okay?” I asked.
“I guess,” she said.
Seemed like something was bothering her. The reality of the attack could be settling in, but not having time to process it, she couldn’t speak about it. Or p
erhaps it was the event she experienced during the interrogation.
I placed my hand over the ignition. “Want me to come in for a while?”
“Yeah, that might help.”
I cut the engine and followed her across the yard. Birds occupied a nearby tree, whistling with the breeze. I caught a whiff of chicken burning on a grill. Dark clouds filled the western sky. The descending sun cast an orange hue around the grey. The Spanish moss hanging from the trees stood out.
Cassie’s house was cool and dark and quiet. The heavy front door swung shut, separating us from the madness of the day. She disappeared into her bedroom as I made my way to the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee. I was still feeling the effects of the drinks, and it was too early in the day to keep that chain going.
About the time the pot was finished brewing, Cassie stepped into the kitchen. Her hair was damp. She walked past me, leaving me in a wash of her fresh scent. She had on a new pair of gym shorts and a plain blue t-shirt with a pocket stretched over her left breast.
“Feel better?” I asked.
“I guess in some ways.”
“And in other ways?”
“Worse.”
“The ambush?”
“Yeah.” She stretched to her tiptoes and reached into the cupboard. Her shorts hiked up a couple inches. She pulled down two mugs and filled them both. Turning to me, she said, “What if he’d been armed, Mitch? I held my own for those thirty seconds between him knocking the wind out of me and you guys showing up, but if he’d had a weapon, there’s no telling.”
“There never is,” I said. “Could have gone any number of ways. And a weapon might not be needed. He could’ve snapped your neck, stepped on your throat, collapsed your trachea.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes widened as she handed me my coffee.
“Sorry, I know that’s the last thing you need to be thinking about.”
Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. Our gazes traveled around the room, meeting every so often, each holding the other’s for a second or two before moving on again. I marveled at how ignorant I was to her beauty, especially with her hair wet and combed back, falling to the sides. That smell, too. Like an angel recently descended.
She lifted her mug to her mouth, but stopped about an inch short. Her lips formed a smile.
“What?” she said.
“What what?” I said.
“You’re staring.”
“I was?”
She rolled her eyes and took a drink. “Anyway, you have that postcard on you? The one from your son?”
I reached into my pocket and traced the edge of the thick card stock. “Sure do.”
“I’d like to see it again.”
Would she find something different now, considering what she’d been through today? Did the chaos have an effect on her where it cleansed her palette, so to speak?
I pulled out the postcard and set it on the table. My fingertips lingered on top, at around the middle where Robbie wrote my name. Cassie reached out. Her fingers grazed mine. We glanced at each other, our gazes steady for a moment. I don’t know who looked away first.
She slid the postcard toward her, stopping at the edge of the tabletop and laying her hand over it. I looked up again. She’d closed her eyes. Her breathing was rhythmic, slow and steady. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Her French roast-scented breath washed past me.
What did she see? Hear? Feel at that moment? Robbie’s laughter? It rang out clear as any day I’d heard it in my ears. Me and him and Ella Kate, playing on the floor. Wrestling. They were winning. Had me pinned down.
“May I?” she asked, her thumb and forefinger pinching the corner.
“Of course.” My heart pounded. Had she heard something that left her unsure? Would holding it, reading it, help?
The house ticked with every second that passed over the course of five long minutes. Cassie barely moved. She was so deep in her trance, it looked as though she’d stopped breathing. I didn’t dare move out of fear of bringing her back to this world. What if she’d made contact? What if she was unlocking the secret? I questioned myself for asking those questions, but to hell with it. I had no other hope outside of Cassie.
She took a deep, loud breath. Opened her eyes. She forced a smile as she set the postcard down again.
“Well?” I asked.
“Sorry,” she said. “There’s too much clutter. I can’t tell what’s going on right now, or where he is.”
“Clutter?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know how else to explain it. It’s like watching television through thick static. You can kind of see what’s happening, but it would be really easy to misinterpret it, too.”
“I got you. I figured it’s a long shot, anyway.” I tried to hide the disappointment from my expression. It wasn’t her fault, and I didn’t want her to feel like it was.
She reached for my hand. My skin tingled at her hot touch. “I’ll keep trying, Mitch. Maybe after this murder investigation is sorted, it’ll be easier for me.”
“I hope so.”
We both rose. I reached for the postcard. She reached for my hand again. We stood there for a moment, me looking at the table, her looking who knows where. I wrapped my fingers around hers, pulled her closer. I couldn’t place the smell of her skin. It was soft and herbal. Her hair, too. Her lips tasted of the coffee at first.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I said, pulling back.
“I know,” she said, leaning forward.
We kissed again. Our hands traveled along the other’s body. She pulled me out of the kitchen and into her room, where we retreated to her bed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
We lay there for an hour, talking about nothing in particular. I kept thinking that I’d butchered a professional relationship I’d built for a decade. Perhaps Cassie read my mind, because she said a couple times this wouldn’t change things. How could it not? Even if we never laid down together again, it would always be there between us. But there was no use in arguing that point at the moment. Because if the opportunity arose again, I’d take it.
“You should probably go soon.” She lay on her side, the sheet barely covering her breasts. She traced her finger along my chest.
“Kicking me out already?”
“You know it wouldn’t be good for Pennington and Cervantes to show up here in the middle of the night and discover you in my bed.”
“They have that kind of open door policy with you?”
She smiled and lifted an eyebrow. “You’ll never know.”
I laughed at the suggestion. “Guess I should be on my way then. With the hard-on Cervantes has had for me, I don’t want to be in the room like this when he shows up.”
She planted her palm firmly on my chest, pinning me to the bed. “There’s not that much of a rush.”
I surrendered to her again.
Two hours later, I was finally on my way. The sun had long since set, but the humidity remained. The clouds had thickened across the night sky. I walked through dim pools of light cast down by the streetlights while the cicadas trilled like ancient warriors rushing a city. I scanned my surroundings, looking and listening for anything out of place. Footsteps. A ticking muffler. A sudden silence. There was none of that.
Driving through the city with the windows down was a different experience at night. The air had cooled enough that it felt chilly at forty miles an hour. It rushed through the car, encasing me in an invisible tomb, dulling Cassie’s scent on my skin.
A parking spot remained in front of the house where I was staying. I hadn’t pulled in and cut the engine before the old woman stepped out onto the stoop. I glanced up and saw her hugging on her beau. She playfully shooed the man away, then called for me after I stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Mr. Tanner?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?”
What did she know? And how did she know it?
“How do you mean?”<
br />
She trekked down the stairs, smiling, and came up to me. “Been gone a long time today. And what’s that smell? A woman’s perfume? Either you were shopping and trying out a new lifestyle, or you’ve got a lady friend here in Savannah.”
“I’ve got a lady friend in lots of cities, ma’am.”
She slapped my shoulder. “Mr. Tanner, I’m an old woman. I can’t take hearing that kind of talk.”
“Oh yeah.” I jutted my chin toward the gentleman walking away from us. “I guess you and your fella were just playing bridge then, huh?”
“And with that,” she said, “I’ll be retiring for the evening. Breakfast is at seven if you are interested.”
I stayed on the sidewalk until she’d made her way back inside the house. Voices rose behind. I turned and saw a group of people waiting at the light at the end of the street. Despite the late hour, the intersection had enough traffic that they decided to wait for the signal to walk.
The apartment was cool and smelled of the old woman’s dinner. Some kind of pasta dish. I felt a pang of hunger and pulled out a half-eaten burger from the small fridge. After washing it down with a glass of water, I turned in with plans of joining the old lady upstairs for breakfast at seven.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Spanish moss danced in the breeze like lost souls floating down Hades’ river. Cassie reached up and let it glide along her palm. The physical feeling matched the psychological impact her visitors had on her. She looked down and saw that the ground beneath her had disappeared. A black void threatened to suck her in. She clutched at the moss, twisting her hand in an effort to wrap it around her wrist. It wasn’t that far to the tree trunk, which was still rooted in the earth.
But the moss gave way and she dropped fifty feet in an instant. A stifled attempt at screaming gave her pause for a moment. Overhead, dozens of crows ascended from the old oak tree, leaving behind barren branches. There had been leaves there a moment ago. Or had that been the silhouettes of the birds?
“Think it through,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve been through this before.”
