by Bird, Peggy
“Where’s home?” Danny asked.
“I live in the southwest, off Macadam Avenue.”
“After you had drinks with your friend, were you with anyone who’ll vouch for you?” Sam asked.
“No. Collins, my partner, isn’t here right now.”
Sam persisted. “You didn’t stop anyplace else on your way home?”
Liz stood up and looked out into the gallery, as if she heard a noise.
Sam repeated the question.
“Drinks, dinner, home. That’s about it.” She sat down without looking directly at either detective.
“Anything else you think we should be aware of about Eubie Kane?” Danny asked. “Any enemies? Anybody who disliked him intensely enough to want to harm him?”
“Not that I can think of. He was always playing the tortured artiste, which was boring and annoying, but I can’t think of anyone who truly hated him.”
“So, who found him annoying?” Danny asked.
“Most recently? Me and another gallery owner, Sophie Woods. I talked to her right after he was here that Monday, and she was steaming about how much time she wasted talking to him when he knew he couldn’t sign with her.”
They asked a few more questions before winding up the interview, thanking Liz for her time. As they walked to Sam’s truck, a young man with dark hair and a couple small Band-Aids on his face, as though he had cut himself shaving, walked past them, stopped close to the gallery and stared at them. Sam returned the stare until the man broke eye contact, knocked on the door of the gallery, and Liz let him in.
Danny stood by the driver-side door while Sam unlocked it. “She’s not telling us everything,” she said. “She skipped a step or two about what she did after she had drinks.”
Sam nodded agreement. “And she must be six feet tall and left-handed from the way she picked up that coffee pot. She could have done what it would have been hard for Amanda to do. But would Robin Jordan have let her into Bullseye? And where’s the motive? Would she kill the goose that laid the golden — or in this case, glass — egg? And fighting with Jordan that way? Killing her? I don’t see it.”
Danny didn’t seem to be paying attention to Sam’s musings. She was looking across the street. “That car over there. The guy working across the street from Bullseye that night not only saw Amanda’s Highlander, he saw Eubie Kane’s van, a beater Toyota Corolla, and what he called a classy looking silver or gray car, a BMW, he thought. That silver Beemer across the street from the gallery — wanna bet when I run the plate, it belongs to Liz?”
“She was there, too? Christ, what was going on at Bullseye, free beer night?”
“Liz strikes me as more the wine type but, other than that, I agree with you. After I see who owns that car I’ll go back and ask her one more time where she was,” Danny said, “before I go on to my next appointment.”
“If you can let me know … ” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“I’ll try, Sam. I promise.”
• • •
Liz Fairchild let Mike Benson into the gallery and locked the door before she said, “You’re not due to work today, Mike. And frankly I’m surprised you showed up at all. It’s not often a thief returns to the place he robbed.”
He handed her a fistful of bills. “I’m not a thief. I came by to give you the money for the bracelet. It was marked $95. It’s all there. I shouldn’t have taken it before I paid you but I had this hot date and wanted to give her a present. It was her birthday.”
Liz took the money. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have let you take it and pay me later. You didn’t have to steal it.”
“I didn’t steal it. You’ve been paid for it. You were on the phone when I left, remember? I didn’t have a chance to ask you. And I had to get home to change.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said. Before she could say anything else, there was a knock on the door. Liz turned yelling, “We’re not open until … ” but stopped, mid-sentence, when she saw Danny Hartmann. “God, now what?” she muttered as she walked to open the door.
“What else can I do for you, Detective Hartmann?” Liz said when she let the officer back in. As the two women faced off in the middle of the gallery, Mike Benson disappeared out the front door. Neither woman paid attention.
“It’s about your car over there,” Hartmann said.
“It’s legally parked, isn’t it?”
“I don’t do parking enforcement. I’m interested in whether you and your car were at Bullseye on Tuesday night.”
“No, that’s not the gallery I went to.”
“I’m not talking about their gallery on Everett. I meant the Resource Center in the southeast.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Around the time Eubie Kane and Robin Jordan were killed, a man across the street from Bullseye saw a silver car parked out front that sounds a lot like yours.”
“You think I killed them?”
“Not necessarily. But if you were there, you might have seen something that will help us figure out who did.”
“I told you, I had drinks with a friend, went to a gallery over on the eastside, had dinner at Doug Fir, then I went home.”
“You were at a gallery and a restaurant on the eastside, where Bullseye is? You didn’t say that before. You were there — when? For how long?”
“It’s not real clear. Maybe about seven, eight. For an hour or more, I’d guess.”
“Which puts you driving home about nine. You could have been the Beemer owner who swung by Bullseye.”
“I don’t remember doing that. But then, I’d had several drinks.”
“You sure that’s the answer you want to give me?”
Liz didn’t respond for a moment. “I’ll call you if I remember anything else.”
“You do that.” Hartmann handed Liz a business card. “Here. For when your memory improves. I hope that happens soon.” She was on the sidewalk before Liz could respond.
Chapter Ten
While Sam was doing all he could to figure out who had murdered two people, Amanda was paralyzed by anxiety. Her conscience told her she should tell Sam about the letters left when her studio was ransacked — but that was exactly what the note said would put Sam in danger. She couldn’t have that. So, she ignored the voice and tried to work it out by herself.
In the end all she could do was a little office business and a bit of work on her propane torch. Moving stringers through the flame and watching drops of molten glass fall onto the table in perfectly rounded pieces was soothing. Or inhaling propane fumes was. She wasn’t sure which and didn’t really care, as long as it worked.
Then Felicia called and said the Resource Center had been cleared to reopen. Amanda shut off her torch, shook off her torpor, went to Bullseye and dropped a small fortune on sheet glass, hopeful that having supplies to get back to work with would get her out of her slump.
When Danny Hartmann arrived at her studio, she was unpacking and storing her precious cargo. They had an awkward conversation. Amanda tried to explain why she omitted — her word — her presence at Bullseye that night, saying she didn’t think she’d seen anything worth reporting.
From the number of times and the variety of ways the question was asked about why she lied — Hartmann’s word — Amanda knew Sam’s partner didn’t believe her. She tried to explain how frightened she was because of the similarities between what had happened last year and this latest horrible event, but she didn’t think Hartmann was convinced.
Amanda didn’t have the nerve to ask — or maybe didn’t want to find out — if Sam knew she’d been there.
After Hartmann left, Amanda considered going home and hiding herself under the quilt on her bed. Instead, she buried herself in work, her lethargy gone with the need to clear her
mind of what happened. She finished storing her purchases, cleaned out kilns, scraped shelves and painted them with kiln-wash so she could fire glass on them, and readied the bins of ruined work for trash pickup. It was long after dark when she finished her tasks, but for the first time in days she felt like she’d gotten real work done.
As soon as she had the last trashcan out on the sidewalk, she locked up the back door, shut off the lights in her work area, and walked toward the front of the studio. The only illumination came from the three glory holes. Normally she found the glow of the molten glass comforting. But tonight, something was off.
Mid-studio, she stopped and looked around, trying to figure it out. Everything looked normal. Nothing was out of place.
Wait. That sound. Was it wind against the metal building? No. There wasn’t any wind. A neighbor putting out trash? The sound hadn’t come from the direction of the street.
When it happened again, she recognized what it was — the metal door near her worktables being carefully rattled, as if someone were trying to see if it was open.
“Who’s there?” she called.
There was no answer.
She tried again. “Who’s at the back door?”
Still nothing.
Her cell phone rang. She jumped, then rummaged to find it at the bottom of her purse. It was Sam.
“Where are you?” he said. “I’ve been trying to find you.”
“I’m just leaving the studio.”
“You didn’t answer when I knocked.”
“Is that you at the back door? Why didn’t you say so? You scared me when you didn’t answer.”
“It was a half hour ago, and I knocked at the front.”
She heard the sound again. “Somebody’s rattling the door. I better go.”
“Someone’s banging on your back door? Can you see who it is?”
“There aren’t any windows in the back.”
“And whoever it is didn’t respond when you asked?”
“No.”
“Where are you parked?”
“About four blocks away.”
“That’s too far. Don’t hang up. I’ll call for a patrol car. Wait for them, then go to your car and lock yourself in. Let the officers look around. Understand?”
“I can take care of calling the police.”
“For chrissake, Amanda, just do as I say … ”
She heard the sound of the phone receiver being dropped. Heard the low murmur of his voice as he spoke to the dispatcher on his cell phone. Heard the continued rattling of the back door. Standing in a deeply shadowed space between two kilns, she took a long, slow breath to calm her heart rate. Then she sidled toward the front door. She unlocked it, pulled her keys out of her purse, ready to run to her car when he got back on the phone. If he ever got back on the phone.
“Amanda?”
Finally. “What took you so long? You have me really scared,” she whispered.
“A couple patrol cars are on the way. They won’t run sirens but at least one of them will have lights flashing so you can identify them. I’ll stay on the phone until you see them.”
A crash, the sound of metal being smashed, came from the back of the studio. “I can’t wait for them. The back door was just broken open.”
“Get the hell out of there and run to your car.”
She flung open the door and sprinted into the dark as fast as she could. She punched the remote for her car but in her panic, accidently pushed the emergency button. The lights on her Highlander flashed and the horn blew, raising her anxiety.
However, the officer in the patrol car who pulled up alongside her SUV a few seconds later told her how smart she was to identify her vehicle that way. Amanda didn’t bother to correct the officer’s impression of her intelligence. When she was safely inside the patrol car she got back on the phone with Sam.
“The patrol car’s here, Sam. I’m with Officer … ”
“Jefferson,” the man said. “Officer Lopez is on his way. Is that Detective Richardson?” He put his hand out for the phone.
Amanda gave it to him. There wasn’t much to hear from his end of the conversation other than the occasional, “uh-huh.” When the conversation was finished, Jefferson handed the phone back to her. “How about we go see what’s going on and lock up your studio? Lopez should be there. After we get that taken care of, one of us will follow you home. Detective Richardson will meet us there.”
Back in the studio, they found a dented door and a broken lock. The office had been quickly searched, if the papers and boxes all over the floor and the open drawers and cabinets were any indication. Nothing in the studio itself was disturbed and nothing appeared to be missing.
With the officers’ help, she jury-rigged the door shut. They barricaded the back with the desk and a worktable before locking up the front door. As requested, Officer Jefferson followed Amanda home where Sam was waiting.
After he talked to the officer, Sam joined Amanda inside. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’ve had better days.” She motioned to him to take off his jacket.
He hesitated before removing it and handing it to her saying, “Yeah, me, too.” He looked weary, all of his thirty-six years evident in the lines in his face, which were deeper than usual. “Jefferson says nothing was missing. That true?”
“Sam, I … ”
“Is that true?” he repeated.
She didn’t answer for a bit, trying to read his expression. Finally she said, “Nothing seems to be missing, even the petty cashbox was intact. It may be time to move the studio — three break-ins in less than a month. That’s some kind of record.”
He didn’t comment. She looked down at the floor, unable to face him. “Sam, I have to tell you something.”
Turning away, he started for the door. “I know what you have to tell me, but I’m not sure I want to have this conversation tonight.”
“You don’t think I … ?” She couldn’t even say the words.
“Killed Robin Jordan and Eubie Kane? Of course I don’t. But you lied about being there. If you don’t believe it’s stupid to lie to the police, I’d have thought you trusted me enough not to lie to me.”
The word “lie” hit her like a fist each time he said it. “I can explain. Please. Sit down for a minute. Just listen.”
He followed her into the living room and sat facing her on the opposite couch, his face stony. “I’m listening.”
“Of course I should have told you — told the police — I was there. But I felt trapped. Eubie Kane was on a rant about me. Leo’s gun with my fingerprints on it killed him. I was only three blocks away. Motive, means, opportunity. It’s like location, location, location.” She looked up at him, but he didn’t seem amused at her attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
“I couldn’t say I’d been there. I knew what it looked like and I knew what you — what the police — would think. I would be presenting them with a neat little package that wrapped up their case. Just like last year. It was all back again. I couldn’t be involved again, not when I hadn’t done anything. So, I didn’t tell anyone, figuring you’d find out who did it and I wouldn’t have to. I should have known better but I was scared.”
“Why were you there, Amanda?”
She moved a pillow from behind her and clutched it to her chest before she answered. “I’d agreed to meet him at my studio but I finished up earlier than I expected. I, uh, decided to go see him. He’d said he would be at Bullseye. I figured he was taking a class; that’s the only reason anyone’s there at night. And classes usually end by nine. I thought maybe I’d have a chance to snag him when it was over.” Her voice trailed off.
“Okay, you went to see him. Go on.”
“I got there and saw cars parked in the covered area near the front door s
o I thought my guess that he was in class was right. But when I got to the door, it was dark inside. No one answered when I knocked. I didn’t expect it to be open. It never is when there’s a class. But I banged hard enough that if someone was in there, they would have heard.”
“The man who saw you says you went south on Twenty-first.”
“Toward the factory, yeah. I knocked on the door to the office. No one answered. So I went around the block to see if I could find anyone. When I couldn’t, I got in my car and came home.”
“That took you ten minutes?”
“I have no idea how long it took me. I wasn’t exactly timing myself.”
“You didn’t see anyone who can verify what you’re saying?”
She broke eye contact with him and plucked at the corner of the pillow she was holding. “No one will verify it.”
“Why’d you call Kane later?”
“To tell him I wouldn’t be at the studio if he showed up.”
“Why? You knew he wasn’t at Bullseye like he said he’d be.”
“I thought maybe he was in-between and I’d just missed him. It was raining so hard I could have driven right past him and not noticed. Anyway, I got no answer.”
“And that’s all?” He got up and walked over to her, tipped her chin up with his forefinger so she was looking at him. “Are you sure?”
She pulled her face away.
He watched her for a moment before rubbing his hand across his face. “It feels like you haven’t told me the whole story. Like you don’t trust me.”
“I do trust Sam Richardson, the man I … the man I’m involved with. But I’m not sure I feel the same about Detective Richardson, the one who’d have to tell his partner what I said. But I swear to you, I didn’t do anything wrong at Bullseye that night.”
“Well, both Sam Richardson and Detective Richardson are happy to hear that, Amanda.” He shook his head. “But, for future reference, it’s a package deal. I can’t be split in two.” He went to the hall, grabbed his jacket, and went out the front door.
