Shue felt his stomach muscles contract. His eyes fell on a silver-plated frame of a photograph of his family at Hilton Head last summer. Chelsea looked so little. Sandra, so beautiful.
“What, exactly, is it you think you saw?” he asked quietly.
“The company car,” Kathy Sue hissed. “You used the company car! I had to get the office lap top out of the trunk...”
Shue saw in his mind the mud-encrusted shoes. Saw the gaping trunk, the blanket, the empty wine bottle...
“...Jesus, there was even a map to Bon Chance! I looked everywhere for the murder weapon. Where’d you hide it? Was it in with the tire jack?”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you--” he began.
“Oh, give it a rest! It’s over, Bob! I’m calling Burton and Kazmaroff tonight! You bastard! You were going to let them hang me for it!”
“I didn’t kill her, you stupid girl!” Shue whispered harshly into the phone, his eyes on the door to the den. “I was fucking her. Are you so far removed from that sort of thing you can’t see it when it’s displayed in front of you?”
“I...uh...”
“We had a rendezvous, you idiot. At the barn. Did you see the blanket? The wine bottle? I was having an affair with Jilly.”
“But, I...the map...” Kathy Sue whimpered.
“Tell a single soul what you saw and you can forget copywriting...I’ll see to it you never get a job proof-reading in this business, do you understand? Make trouble for me and my family...falsely accuse me...and I’ll hurt you in ways you cannot imagine. Are your fingerprints on the company car now?”
“Well, I had to get the laptop out of the--” Kathy Sue was nearly in tears.
“I think we understand each other.”
Shue hung up the phone.
5
Margo pointed to the image of Mark Travers in the group picture on the wall of her office.
“We were together then.”
“I thought he was married to Jilly at the time.”
“That’s true.”
“Jilly ever find out?”
Margo eased herself into her desk chair.
“No.”
“So you were in love with Mark Travers as well?”
Burton reached for his coffee; instant, in a chipped mug with the words ‘I’d rather be riding’ imprinted on it.
“I thought so at the time. Truth is, he was using me to get back at Jilly.”
“Rather ineffectively if she didn’t know about it,” Burton observed, still scrutinizing the photograph.
“Yeah, well. He certainly didn’t have the balls to let her know about it. I think it was an internal thing with him. You know, ‘She treats me rotten, but the joke’s on her’ kind of thing.”
“Man’s a moron.”
Margo laughed involuntarily.
“Yeah, I guess he is. I cannot imagine he had the spine to kill her, though.”
Burton shrugged.
“We’ll see.” He turned to Margo and set his cup on her cluttered desk. “So, you are bisexual?”
Margo made a face.
“I don’t know what I am. I know I loved her. I know that much. You’re not getting a complete picture of her, Detective. She wasn’t a monster. She had depth and--”
“Did she love you back?”
Margo sighed.
“In her way,” she said.
“In that non-monster like way of hers.”
“You’ve made up your mind about her, haven’t you?”
Burton picked up a horseshoe paperweight and put it back down.
“I’m still making up my mind,” he said.
“I tell you, she was too complicated to be defined in just one way. There was much more to Jilly than the fact that she could be cruel.”
The phone rang. Margo picked up, said a few words and handed it over to Burton.
“It’s for you,” she said.
“Burton, here,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“Finally.” Kazmaroff’s voice crackled over the phone line. “Jack, we got a body down here at the Lindbergh rail station. I been trying to get a hold of you for the last hour.”
“What the hell’s it doing at an in-town train station? Have the docs examined it yet? How’d you find it?”
“We got an anonymous call.”
“Get Travers in to I.D. her,” Jack said. He picked up a pencil and tapped the desk with it. From Margo’s office, he could see the parking area for the barn. He scanned the lot for Tess’s car. “We’ll be able to shake him up again while we’re at it.”
“I don’t think Travers would qualify as next of kin, Jack.”
“You’re not thinking of getting Justin to come down--”
“Look, man, I’m sorry, okay?”
Burton could hear the tightness in his partner’s voice. He dropped the pencil on the table, his eyes continuing to search the parking lot outside. Burton had the impression that he had stepped outside the scene and was now standing on the perimeter, watching. Waiting.
“...wasn’t Jilly, Jack. We thought so too at first. This really sucks, Jack. You got to come down here. It’s Tess.”
Chapter Nine
1
Kazmaroff picked up his notebook and stared at his handwriting on the page. He glanced at the clock in the squad room. It was a little after ten p.m. Jack should be back from the morgue any minute.
He put his hand on the telephone, debating about whether or not to call and cancel his late date or try to make it.
Burton had been controlled and cold when he arrived at the murder scene.
So what else is new?
But he’d been somewhat vacuous at the same time. After Jack had ID’d the body and questioned the police agent, Kazmaroff had had to remind him where he’d parked his car when it was time to follow the body down to the morgue. He’d actually found himself feeling something--what? sympathy?--for the old bastard.
Suddenly, the door to the squad room swung open and Burton walked in. He looked at Kazmaroff as if he didn’t recognize him.
“You still here? Thought you had plans tonight.”
Had he mentioned his date? He must have.
“You okay?” Kazmaroff hadn’t intended to say it, surprised himself when it came out of his mouth.
Burton seemed to tense up but his reply was noncombative enough.
“Like you said, it sucks.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“Anything else come in?” Jack remained standing, as if he intended to leave quickly.
Kazmaroff stood up and snapped off his light.
“The copywriter at Jilly’s agency called.”
“Kathy Sue.”
“Yeah, she accused Robert Shue of killing Jilly. Said she found the murder weapon in his car.”
“You check it out?”
“As we speak. We can talk to her tomorrow. She’ll keep.”
Burton cleared his throat. Kazmaroff suddenly found himself intensely uncomfortable in the squad room. He began to envision himself out the door, down the stairs, and racing toward his patiently-waiting date in his car.
“Anything on tonight’s murder?” The words were mumbled.
“No, man. We got the tip. Male voice, about where to find her. The coroner says she was...” Kazmaroff hesitated.
“It’s okay,” Burton said, smiling woodenly. “They told me the important bits. Strangled, but not to death. Finished off with a heavy blunt object.”
“Yeah, well, that’s about all I know.”
“She was supposed to meet me at the barn tonight.”
Kazmaroff nodded. He hadn’t known. He wasn’t surprised.
“Doc says she was killed sometime yesterday,” Dave said.
“I couldn’t reach her yesterday,” Jack said.
No one could’ve.
“I’m taking off now,” Dave said.
“Yeah, me, too. I’ll walk out with you.” Burton snapped off the overhead light. The two walked silently to the parking lot and parted witho
ut another word.
2
The next morning they questioned Kathy Sue at her apartment.
“I told you it wasn’t me,” she said as she let them in. “You saw the stuff in his trunk? I’m not surprised he killed her. They were having an affair, you know.”
Burton and Kazmaroff moved into the living room but didn’t sit.
“We’re checking it out, Miss Rappaport,” Kazmaroff said.
“The map? Did you see the map? And the muddy boots?”
“Who’s in the kitchen?” Burton asked, still standing.
Kathy Sue snatched up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table.
“Well, this should end it, right? Have you arrested him?” She asked.
Burton moved to the kitchen and motioned for Ned to join them in the living room.
“I was just bringing coffee, officers,” Ned said, carrying a tray of steaming mugs in his hands. Burton thought the man looked edgy. Hard to tell the reason for it. He and Kazmaroff just naturally made people nervous.
“We’ve got a few more questions,” Kazmaroff said, peering out of the living room window.
“Questions?” Kathy Sue smoked and looked from detective to detective. “You’ve got your man--”
“We have another murder, Miss Rappaport,” Burton said, tightly, “that we believe is connected to the first, and for whom Mr. Shue has an alibi.”
“I don’t believe it!” Kathy Sue looked bewildered.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon from one to six p.m.?” Kazmaroff studied his notebook as he spoke.
Kathy Sue looked helplessly at her fiancé.
“In a client meeting,” she said, finally. “Downtown.” She stubbed out her cigarette in disgust. “Shue was in it, too. Is that his alibi? Me?”
“You and the nine other people in the meeting,” Burton said. “We’d like to ask your fiancé a few questions.”
Kathy Sue snapped her head up.
“What for? About me?”
“With you or without you,” Kazmaroff said, his impatience beginning to show. He got eye contact with Ned. “It’s your call.”
Ned set his coffee mug down and picked up Kathy Sue’s hand.
“Babe?” he said. “Let me have a minute with the detectives. Nothing’s going to happen,” he said, waving away the beginning of her objections. “You go on upstairs and finish getting ready and I’ll see them out. You’re a bundle of nerves, sweetheart.
“Here, take your ciggies...” He handed her the pack of cigarettes and pulled her to her feet. “Go on, honey. Let Ned handle it, okay?”
Kathy Sue gave the policemen one last, distrustful look and began to walk out of the room.
“I don’t care where the bastard was yesterday afternoon,” she said. “I know he killed Jilly. I know he did.”
The men in the living room waited while she climbed the stairs. Burton remained standing. Kazmaroff sat and took a sip from one of the coffee mugs.
“Hey, this is good,” he said.
“Colombian roast,” Ned said. “I grind it myself.”
“How long were you sleeping with Jilly?” Dave asked.
Ned didn’t answer. He picked up his own coffee mug but didn’t drink. The silence grew among them.
Finally:
“It was just the one time,” he said, staring into his coffee.
“Does your fiancé know?”
“I confessed everything.”
“I thought Jilly Travers was such a nasty slime-bag?”
Ned shook his head.
“She was.” He looked at Kazmaroff as if expecting more sympathy from his direction. “She was also very seductive.”
“She seduced you?”
“I take full responsibility for my behavior,” Ned said firmly. “Kathy Sue has forgiven me and it’s in the past.”
“How recently in the past is it, Mr. Potzak?” Burton spoke quietly.
“Months ago,” Ned said. “Maybe five months ago.”
Kazmaroff stood up.
“And your own where-abouts yesterday?”
Ned licked his lips.
“I was at work,” he said.
The detectives moved to the front door.
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about,” Burton said.
3
Burton got into the passenger side of the car, surprising Kazmaroff. He buckled himself in and stared straight ahead through the windshield.
“What do you think?” Kazmaroff asked as he started the car up.
Burton shrugged. They drove in silence for a few miles.
“Check out his alibi.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m going back to the barn.”
Kazmaroff frowned.
“What for?”
“I’m going to retrace the route of the ride that the three women took when Jilly disappeared.”
“We did that, man.”
“Not from horseback.”
“You’re going to...?” Kazmaroff accelerated on the entrance ramp to Georgia 400. “You want company?”
Burton turned and looked at his partner.
“You ever been on a horse?”
“Everyone’s been on a horse.”
“Not these kind of horses. They’re not as understanding as the rent-a-ponies at the amusement parks. I’d end up carting you back in a make-shift stretcher.”
“It’s nice to know I wouldn’t be left on the trail.”
Burton looked at Kazmaroff.
Is something happening here? Dave was behaving a lot less obnoxiously these days.
The thought sort of made him nauseated.
“Just drop me at my place,” Jack said. “I need to pick up a few things.”
“We’ve never talked about...you know...Tess.”
“What’s there to say?”
“Well, for one, like, why was she killed? Who did it? How is it connected to Jilly’s murder?”
“It’s connected.”
“I think so, too,” Kazmaroff said. “If the same person killed Tess that killed Jilly, then maybe Jilly was killed for a totally different reason than just being the biggest bitch on earth.”
“The thought occurred to me.”
“So, who did they know in common? And what were they into?”
“I think the key is the horses,” Burton said.
“But that just doesn’t make sense,” Dave said. “How could a horse--unless it was a triple million dollar stud or something--be the cause of two violent murders?”
“Don’t forget Margo,” Jack said. “She was nearly killed herself. All three attacks are connected to the barn.”
“Maybe we should get her some protection.”
“That’s a good idea. Do it, will you? This is my exit.” Burton pointed to the exit ramp.
“What about Shue? We did find lots of interesting evidence that he’d been to Bon Chance.”
“Dave, he was screwing Jilly; naturally he’d been at Bon Chance. On the basis of the evidence we found in his trunk, we’d have to suspect any one of forty boarders at the barn. We didn’t find a murder weapon, did we?”
“You know we didn’t.”
“We need to have Travers picked up,” Burton said.
Kazmaroff picked up his cell phone and tossed it into Burton’s lap.
“Police harassment or a warrant this time?” he asked.
Burton picked up the phone, trying to decide how he felt about how it got there, and finally punched in the number for HQ.
“We don’t have to decide right away,” he said.
4
He hadn’t slept the night before.
Dana had called from Florida and seemed surprised to find him there. The conversation had been brief and, although pleasant, unpleasurable for both of them. She would stay in Florida through Thanksgiving.
Jack tossed his Dockers onto the bed and pulled on the jeans he usually wore to work in the yard. November had finally shown itself with a bite in the air this morning th
at hadn’t dissolved as the day continued. He pulled on a clean sweatshirt and made himself a pot of coffee.
Outside on the back deck, he stood drinking the coffee, observing the birds in his back yard. He watched the nuthatches bob along the ground, looking for something to peck at, and heard the big old pileated woodpecker drill into the far side of the dead sourwood tree at the middle of his yard. He watched the tree closely to catch a glimpse of the showy woodpecker.
She must have seen something, he thought. She must have seen the murderer when she went back to the clearing. He took a long, scalding sip of his coffee.
And possibly the murder itself.
The woodpecker peeked from around the tree looking like a segment from a Woody Woodpecker cartoon. He disappeared again and began his rat-a-tat-tatting noise even more loudly.
If she was killed because she saw Jilly’s killer, then she kept quiet about it because she knew Jilly’s killer. For some reason, she hadn’t felt endangered by him. Burton forced an image of Travers to mind. It just seemed so unlikely to him that that wimp could have killed two women with his bare hands.
A rose-breasted grosbeak performed a touch-and-go on the chain-link fence Burton shared with his neighbor, then disappeared into the tree branches.
If she wasn’t killed because of something she knew or saw, then the second murder could only mean one thing:
They had a serial killer on their hands.
Burton tossed the dregs of his coffee into a bush below his deck and put the mug down on the old, splintered picnic table on the deck. He waited for the woodpecker to reveal itself again. The bird was still thumping wildly away; the sound seeming to reverberate in the morning air, like a mini-construction crew at work in the back yard.
This was no serial killer. Her murder was a clean-up murder. A messy detail tidied up from the first murder. She had seen too much; and now she would never be able to speak too much. The pileated woodpecker flapped noisily away, and Burton watched him settle onto the roof of his neighbor’s split-level. The jack hammering began again.
Was it only Monday when he had seen the sandhill cranes? When he had pointed out their lovely flight to Tess?
Tess.
The name came to him in a slow, snaking rhythm of pain and hunger. He sat down hard on the edge of one of the picnic table benches with the sheer force of it.
Walk. Trot. Die Page 13
