Killer Chameleon

by Chassie West

  There was a moment of pained silence as we waited for her reaction. It was not what we expected. She burst into laughter, the sound echoing hollowly against the concrete walls.

  “Oh, Dillon, don’t be ridiculous. Just because I can’t find her doesn’t mean anything. Claudia’s never where she’s supposed to be and when she is, more often than not, she’s late. She’ll turn up.”

  “She already has,” Duck said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She’s probably been here since sometime this afternoon.”

  “Dillon.” Clarissa pulled herself to her full height, a no-nonsense-brooked expression across her face. “Enough is enough. Claudia is not dead. She couldn’t be. We’re twins. I’d know.”

  Duck’s eyes met mine. He shrugged, defeated. “Find Tina,” he said. “Come with me, honey.” Arm still around her shoulder, he escorted her through the group.

  “Where are we going?” The first traces of fear lent a tremor to her voice.

  I squeezed past Thackery, relieved at having a legitimate excuse to escape. The Explorer hadn’t moved but was vacant. Surprised to see the ubiquitous yellow tape stretched across the entrance, I ducked under it and was stopped outside by a youngster in uniform.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but no one’s supposed to leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m looking for the couple who came in the Explorer. Really tall, bald dude with a woman a third his size.”

  “Oh.” He jerked his head toward the street where a cruiser blocked the driveway into the garage. Tank stood, his back against the passenger door, Tina in his arms, her face buried against his chest.

  I counted to ten, then approached them slowly. “Tina, Clarissa’s in there. She’ll need you.”

  She spun around. Her face, illuminated by a nearby streetlight, glistened with tears. “Auntie Clar? Here? Oh, Lord!” She sprinted toward the garage and zipped under the tape.

  Tank watched her go, then gazed down at me. “You okay, Leigh?”

  “To tell the truth, I’ve been better. And poor Clarissa.”

  “Yeah. This is gonna be rough for her. Look, what Tina said in there, she didn’t really mean it. Well, she meant it, just not the way it came out. I’ll let her explain. Who called Clarissa?” he asked, moving away from the cruiser.

  “Nobody. It’s a long story, and a big mess.” We stopped just outside the entrance while I repeated the story Clarissa had told us.

  “Terrific.” Tank scrubbed at his bald pate. “Now on top of losing her twin, Clar will have to deal with feeling guilty for letting Claudia stand in for her. She really shouldn’t have. Claudia is . . . was a lot of things but she damned sure wasn’t reliable anymore. Then there’s Tina, who’s feeling guilty for referring Clar to Duck to begin with and for yelling at you. They’re long on guilt, the whole family. This is not gonna be fun. Come on.”

  I ducked under the tape again. Tank stepped over it.

  While a pair of technicians scoured the surrounding area for clues, others were packing up, the medical examiner, removing his gloves as he huddled with the plainclothes crew and Duck. A pair of men were about to remove Claudia, the body bag ready and waiting. Tina and Clarissa, heads together, sat in the backseat of the cruiser blocking the entrance at the opposite end of the garage.

  Duck beckoned for us. “A curious development,” he said, speaking softly. “She may have died of natural causes. I repeat, may have.”

  “In the trunk of my car?” I asked, incredulous.

  He gestured for me to keep my voice down. “There’s not a mark on her. The examiner can’t be sure at this stage but wonders if she might have had an asthma attack. She has an inhaler in her pocket. Or she died of fright. Clarissa says she was severely claustrophobic.”

  “Jesus.” Tank glanced toward the Chevy and winced. “That would do it for her. It’s another reason Tina’s so upset, Leigh. She says Claudia fell into an abandoned well when she was a kid on that farm Tina mentioned to your grandmother. They didn’t find her for hours. She’s been terrified of the dark and small spaces ever since. And along with asthma, she had a dicey heart and a million other medical problems. She just might have freaked out in that trunk and from there—” He broke off, leaving the rest to our imaginations.

  “Better tell the M.E.,” Duck suggested. “They’ll still open her up, but it may simplify things for them.”

  “Yeah. I reckon,” Tank said, clearly not relishing the task. He strode away and pulled the medical examiner to one side.

  Other movement caught my eye, and I turned to see Mrs. Luby trying to snag our attention. Duck left to see what she wanted, and after an agitated exchange with his neighbor, wiggled a finger for me.

  “Something else wrong?” I asked.

  “Oh, Leigh, I’m so sorry.” One of Mrs. Luby’s chins quivered with anxiety. “I didn’t know, you see. It was just a glance, but I really did think it was you. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble with the police.”

  I squeezed her hand, which was icy cold. She shivered, her flimsy nightwear offering little protection against the December chill. “It’ll all be straightened out eventually. I’ve got witnesses to my whereabouts, at least for most of the day, so I’m covered. But they—and I, for that matter—will need as detailed a description as you can give us of the woman on the elevator. It would be helpful if you could jot down what you remember while it’s still fairly fresh.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll do that.” Her head bobbed with each word. “In fact, right now. I’ll slip it under your door, Dillon.”

  “A good idea.” He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Now, you’d better skedaddle. A man can only stand so much, and those flimsy pajamas of yours are testing my self-control.”

  “You dog,” I whispered as the elevator door closed.

  He managed a tight smile. “She’s a good old soul. I’ll miss her.”

  That startled me. I’d completely forgotten about the house and our earlier conversation. There was a good deal of hashing over to do yet it would have to wait. There was still the question of how Claudia Hitchcock had wound up dead in the trunk of my car.

  “Well, that’s quite a story,” Thackery said later, pinching the bridge of his nose as if we’d given him one hell of a headache.

  We had retired to Duck’s apartment, where coffee was now percolating, the aroma beginning to waft from the kitchen into the living room. There were only seven of us, all in various stages of collapse, but the atmosphere was so heavy that it felt as if there were three times as many in the room. Tina sat on the couch with Clarissa glued to her side, their fingers locked together in Tina’s lap. Clarissa seemed to have shrunk, as if all vital fluids had been siphoned out of her. She emanated pain; it radiated from her in waves like an outgoing tide. There was room for another rear end on the couch, but with everyone’s tacit agreement, we left it to them. Tank perched on Duck’s rolling desk chair, leaving the two easy chairs for Thackery and Evans. I’d maneuvered my desk chair in from the guest room, and Duck straddled one from the kitchen.

  “And you have no idea who this woman might be,” Evans said, for the first time addressing me as if he’d deleted me from his list of suspects.

  “None.” I was so tired of talking about it, of wondering and worrying about what this hellion might do next.

  “What about someone you arrested or testified against? You were in uniform long enough to have made more than a few women unhappy.”

  The prospect was enough to boggle the mind. “I guess it’s a possibility. But most of the females I brought in were streetwalkers. They weren’t bothered at all. For them, being arrested was an occupational hazard. There were a few shoplifters, a few assault and batteries.”

  “Catfights?” Evans asked dryly.

  “Essentially.” I decided to ignore the chauvinistic dig. I wasn’t sure he even realized it was one. “A few were domestic, oddly enough, wives beating up on their husbands. As for testifying, I can count those cases on one hand. Tw
o of them walked—lack of evidence. A third got thirty days, and the fourth is behind bars for the duration.”

  “Hmm. Except for the lifer, doesn’t seem to be much to get het up over.”

  The coffee smelled as if it was ready, so I retreated to the kitchen to hide my dismay at having the most fulfilling years of my life reduced to a series of petty incidents. At least that’s how it had sounded.

  It had not included, however, the number of people I had helped, I reminded myself, those who’d simply needed the sight of a uniform to prove that someone cared, or a warm body to talk to. It had not included the ones an inch from trouble who I’d convinced to try another way. It was those faces I remembered most, those moments I prized the most. To me the arrests were an occasional necessity because the truth was I hadn’t had to take someone in all that often. What I’d valued most was being of help, and no one could ever take that away from me.

  My scales in balance again, I filled a tray with cups and saucers, sugar and creamer, ready to play hostess and face the continuation of the inquisition.

  Duck caught me as I was about to leave the kitchen. “You okay?” he asked softly. He stroked my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You looked like you were about to slide into a navy-blue funk back there. Evans didn’t mean to belittle your record, babe. He’s concentrating on the negative because it’s the logical thing to do.”

  I felt my eyes begin to sting and blinked them dry. Trust Duck to sense how Evans’s slant on things had affected me.

  “I’m fine, now. Just needed to regain some perspective. Why don’t you bring the coffeepot. And something to put under it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Leaning in, he rewarded me with a peck at the corner of my mouth. “We’ll get through this, babe. Together.”

  I pecked him back, no other response required.

  Evans continued his train of thought as if I’d hadn’t left the room. “We’ll request a search on your arrest record, look to see if there’s anything you might have forgotten. People out there are so crazy these days, you might have simply stepped on her toe accidentally.”

  “Well, hell, I’d have apologized,” I protested.

  “You might not have sounded sincere.” He extended his cup.

  Thackery eyed the coffee service with the attitude of a drowning man being thrown a lifesaver. “Christ, that smells good. Decent java, for a change. Not sure my system can take it. Black for me, please.”

  Clarissa shook her head. “None for me. I won’t sleep, as it is.” She sniffed behind a tissue and sat up straight. “When can I have Sister’s body? I have to make arrangements, take her down home. We have plots there.” She had turned some kind of emotional corner, at least for the time being.

  “If you’re planning a local service, you might want to consider a memorial.” Evans’s features seemed to have thawed considerably, whether because of the coffee or sympathy for Clarissa was open to debate. “We’ll do what we can, but the way things are backed up at the, uh, medical examiner’s, they may not get to your sister until next week. We’ll let you know as soon as it’s completed, of course.”

  “I’ll help you, Auntie Clar.” It was the first time Tina had spoken. “Whatever you need done.”

  I was pouring for Tank when someone knocked.

  “Probably Mrs. Luby,” Duck said, coming in with napkins, which I’d forgotten.

  “I’ll get it.” Tank opened the door for her. “Ma’am,” he said, stepping back to let her in. She had abandoned the shorter robe for a lilac one of full length, its top button missing.

  She pulled its collar closed with one hand, several sheets of paper clutched in the other. “I wrote down the description like you said. And made enough copies for everyone.” She distributed them, reminding me of a teacher passing out test papers. “I called Zenia and asked what she remembered, but she only got a quick glimpse before the elevator door closed.”

  “Typed.” Surprised, Evans set his cup down and fished for reading glasses.

  “Printed,” Mrs. Luby corrected him. “I did it on my computer, so I can give it to you on a floppy, if you prefer.”

  Scrutinizing her with new respect, he seemed to consider it. “No, this will do for now. But don’t erase the file, in case something else comes to mind.”

  Duck, remembering his manners, offered her coffee, but she declined. “It’ll destroy my beauty sleep. I’d best get back across the hall. Clarissa, I’m so sorry. You let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  I could tell she’d have paid cash money to stay, but with no invitation forthcoming, she left with a smile of regret.

  Her contribution took center stage for the next few minutes. She’d employed an unorthodox method to describe the person she’d seen.

  Height: a little taller than Leigh, I think.

  Weight and build: a little heavier, but not by much. Perhaps broader across the shoulders. At least that’s the way her coat made her look.

  Age: thirties, early to mid–.

  Complexion: lighter than Leigh. At the time I thought it was because of the lighting in the elevator.

  Eyes: too far away to tell. They didn’t impress me as any different than Leigh’s.

  Hair: dark, curly, and short but longer than Leigh’s. I hadn’t seen Leigh in a while, assumed she’d decided to let it grow.

  Wearing: white car coat with hood. Could not see what kind of top under the coat because of the box. Jeans, tall boots, perhaps riding boots.

  Comment: she looked enough like Leigh for me to assume it was her. The fact that I assumed the woman with her was Clarissa may have influenced my view.

  “A sharp lady, your Mrs. Luby. And that reminds me.” Evans peered at me over his lenses. “There was a cardboard box in the trunk behind the . . . behind Ms. Hitchcock. We’ve already dusted the car for prints but we didn’t see the box until we’d removed the body. We’d like to take it in to see if there are any prints on the tape. It looks as if it’s been opened and resealed.”

  Rage ripped at my composure. Another corner of my life invaded, in this instance all my bills, receipts, tax records. The damage she could do . . .

  Pulling my thoughts back into line, I responded to Evans.

  “We may get lucky. I used good packing tape. If she tried peeling it free, hoping she could just press it back into place, she found out that wouldn’t work. She would have to use fresh tape.”

  Clarissa must have changed her mind because she removed the last cup from the tray and filled it with a steady hand. There was a studied calm about her now, as if she held herself together with pure force of will. Clearing her throat, she took the floor with a manner of someone accustomed to it.

  “Listening to everything everyone has said, it sounds to me as if this woman may have only superficial resemblance to Ms. Warren. The only person to see her who knows Ms. Warren well is Mrs. Luby, from a distance at that, and only for a moment. She admits she assumed it was Ms. Warren—”

  “Leigh, please,” I interrupted, tired of the formality.

  She gave me a trace of her usual cherubic smile. “Leigh it is, then. Then there’s the receptionist at the travel agency. The only face she’d lock in on would be someone who comes in frequently. You said you’d been in twice?”

  “Three times. The first time to tell her where we wanted to go and when, then twice more to change the dates. Come to think of it, Dolly wasn’t there the second and third times. So she only saw me once, long enough to show me back to Margie’s cubicle.”

  “Then you understand what I mean. Unless she’s the kind who remembers faces, she’d have only a vague picture of you. And Sister . . .” She paused, blinked, swallowed. “Sister said that picture of you in the bedroom wasn’t a very good one because it didn’t look much like you.”

  “In comparison to the other woman,” Thackery said, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

  “It was the hair, you see. In the picture, it’s the same length as she’s wearing it now. The wom
an Claudia saw wore her hair longer.”

  “The one that puzzles me,” Duck said, hunkering down backward in his chair, “is the incident in the Silver Shaker.” He was still simmering about that, incensed that I hadn’t mentioned it before tonight and wouldn’t have, if only to keep Eddie out of it. But Claudia’s death changed things.

  “We’re talking about professionals here, trained officers,” he continued. “If it’s the same woman and they mistook her for Leigh, then she must bear a fairly close resemblance to her.”

  Tank imitated Clarissa’s method to get our attention by clearing his throat. “And yet none of Leigh’s neighbors decorating the tree mentioned it. They’ve known her long enough that they’d have said something to somebody. I suggest we don’t get hung up on appearance and stick to what we know.”

  “There is no ‘we.’” Evans drained his cup and stood up. “I appreciate the fact that you three, sorry, you four,” he amended, nodding at me, “are professionals, and involved in one way or the other, but leave the investigating to us. If this woman is responsible for the death of Ms. Hitchcock, we won’t rest until we’ve found her.”

  “And if she isn’t?” Duck’s voice was soft. “Directly responsible, that is?”

  Evans’s eyes became that flinty gray again. “It’s still our job, our case. Willard’s working the prank call. As for the vandalism to Ms. Warren’s car, I’ll make sure he gets the word. He may be able to tie both events together. Otherwise, you know the drill, all of you. Stay out of it and let the ones assigned to it do their jobs. You ready, Thackery?”

  Five minutes later, with business cards distributed and telephone numbers exchanged in case they needed to get in touch with us, they finally left. A good deal of tension left with them. It seemed easier to breathe.

  Everyone sat back but seemed hesitant to speak. I hadn’t said it, and it was past time.

  “Clarissa, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  She sat up straight, managed a ghost of a smile. “Thank you. I wish you and Claudia had met. She’d have liked you.”