Out of Body

by Stella Cameron

  Marley had heard the scratching, too, but she was preoccupied.

  Fisher looked down on Winnie, who attempted to flatten herself to the wall beneath the row of windows. Her wrinkled face pushed up between round eyes so moist, anyone could expect tears, and she gave him a stare filled with an appeal for mercy. She raised first one front foot, then the other, as if abjectly apologetic and expecting to be told off.

  “You shouldn’t leave her outside,” Fisher said. “Anyone could take her.”

  Drawing in a short, furious breath, Marley waited until the man—and he was tall, muscular, and moved with purpose—dropped back into his seat.

  “Winnie wouldn’t let anyone take her,” she said, her voice soft and low. “Winnie is an operator and she just worked a number on you. She wanted in here, and here she is.”

  He shrugged and found his tatty little notebook again.

  “I’m going to tell you exactly what happened,” she said, breathless. “Please just let me say everything before you interrupt.”

  What she was about to do was reckless. “The abduction happened—”

  “Which abduction?” Fisher said.

  “Liza Soaper. It happened early in the morning. Of course, I didn’t know who she was then. I happened to be about because I couldn’t sleep and I like to walk when I think.” Partly true. Mostly untrue. Marley’s mind scrambled. “Liza was, er, kidnapped. I think she was lured into a car. I jumped in a cab and had the driver follow.”

  “What kind of car?” Archer said. “You got the license?”

  She was sinking. “I’m not good at cars and I don’t see well when I’m upset. I think it was a black car, a big one. I didn’t think to look at the license plate.”

  “Great,” Archer said.

  “It was still dark and I was so busy trying to keep the other car in sight, I didn’t notice where we were.”

  It’s so much easier to tell the truth, Marley. That way you never have anything to explain or get embarrassed about. Great, now Mama Leandra’s voice wanted to twist the knife. Her parents—on the rare occasions when she saw them—remained full of pat wisdom, and Papa Antoine usually let his adored wife do most of the talking.

  “Are you reconstructing what happened?” Archer said.

  Marley looked at the makeshift candy dish and swallowed rapidly. “Do you suppose I could have one of those?” She pointed. “I, er, haven’t eaten enough today.”

  A little noise to her left annoyed Marley. “I’m glad you find me funny, Mr. Fisher.”

  “Call me Gray. I was thinking you don’t look as if you ever eat anything much.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t say you don’t look great. Perfect, in fact.”

  Fisher cleared his throat and Marley figured it was his turn to feel awkward. Not that she didn’t like the compliment.

  Archer held the bowl under her nose and she managed, with great effort, to pick up only one candy.

  “Have more,” Archer said. “Wish I had a sandwich or something.”

  Looking at him, she smiled and took a handful of Tootsie Rolls.

  Fisher sputtered and she looked at her hand. The bowl had been withdrawn and she was left with a fist crammed so full that some candies stuck out between her knuckles.

  Marley laughed at herself. “Overkill,” she said. She got up and dropped the extra candies back into the bowl. “Thank you,” she said and stuffed several pieces into a pocket. This was not a time or a place for fainting. She unwrapped two candies and put them in her mouth, packing one in each cheek. Her energy was fading again.

  “By the time the big car stopped, I was frantic.” She shifted to the front of her chair, chewing and gulping as fast as she could. “I threw money at the cab driver and raced after Liza and whoever was with her. I was so agitated and it was so dark, I rushed behind them—being careful to stay out of sight behind, er, bushes, and managed to sneak through the same door they used to go into the building.”

  “What building?” Fisher said.

  Damn him. “I don’t know. Not the faintest idea. That’s where the cops come in. They’re good at that stuff. Now let me finish. I’ve got to get Winnie out for a run.”

  Neither man commented. Good, off-the-wall comments could be used to shut them up.

  “As I was saying, I slipped in behind them when they weren’t looking.” And? “They got ahead of me and I thought I’d lost them. It was pretty scary in there. Just concrete walls and floor—dirty and damp. Then the locker—big locker—opened in the corner and a woman in red—I mean, black, with black fishnet hose and very high shoes—came out. She was frightened, I could see it.”

  “This was another woman?” Archer squinched up his eyes. “I thought you meant—”

  “Liza Soaper? I did. Only I didn’t know it was her then. I didn’t know until I saw the picture of her on the TV today. I saw the mole above her mouth, too.

  “She looked terrified and when she saw me, she reached out. But that voice came. Just like black molasses dripping into a puddle on a shiny floor.”

  “You have a way with words,” Fisher said.

  “Please just let me get through this, Mr. Fisher.” She should only have put one Tootsie Roll into her mouth.

  “Gray,” he said shortly and bowed his head. He bowed his head but looked behind him at the same time.

  Marley heard a familiar slithering sound and soon Winnie came into view. Flattened (as flattened as a solid little Boston terrier could get) to the floor, she pulled herself forward, inch by inch to join the party.

  “No,” Marley said, but wished she could gather up her faithful friend and hold her close. “Back you go, please, Winnie. I’m having an important conversation and you do have a tendency to distract me. Do go and sit where you were before and wait until I’m finished.”

  Another strangled sound came from Mr. Fisher.

  “What now?” she snapped.

  “Nothing. I was surprised by his level of comprehension, is all.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Her. Just as I don’t believe in baby talk for children, I don’t like it for animals, either. Back, Winnie. Now, can we continue?”

  Fisher wore jeans that rode below his waist, and a black T-shirt. The T-shirt shouldn’t have to be so tight. Surely he could find one big enough for all those muscles. Men could be like that. They liked showing off what studs they were.

  “Liza had a mark on her neck,” Marley said and her eyes widened. She hadn’t remembered that until now. “A round, red mark right in the front. I thought it was blood, but I don’t know for sure.”

  Fisher snickered. Complete with bone, Winnie had dragged herself beside him and rolled onto her back. She lay there with all four feet in the air, displaying her pink tummy.

  Absently, Marley pulled another candy from her pocket. Her dog was a floozie, letting a strange man scratch her belly.

  “Can we stay with the program?” Detective Archer said.

  “Happily.” She was amused at how easy it was to ward off Fisher’s attempts to read her thoughts. “As soon as I got closer to Liza, the voice got more intense.”

  “What was he saying to her?”

  Marley concentrated on the detective. “Honestly, just like I said before, I couldn’t see him and I couldn’t make out everything he said, except he wanted her to come to him. That was obvious. I think he was hiding in the locker.”

  “So, you just heard sounds really?”

  “More than sounds.” She frowned at Fisher. He petted the dog, but his motions were jerky. Twice he stopped to rub his hands together. Marley looked at her own hands. They remained cold. The nail beds were blue.

  “And?” Fisher said.

  Archer shrugged and grinned at Marley. “I told you he keeps forgetting he’s not a cop anymore.”

  “And?” Fisher repeated. He had an unforgettable voice himself. She didn’t doubt it could be mesmerizing in the right circumstances.

  “You think this guy was mesmerizing Liza?” F
isher said.

  Stunned, Marley barely stopped herself from shooting to her feet. He had heard her think about a voice being mesmerizing. At least, he’d picked up that idea and twisted it a little, even if he didn’t realize it. “He could have been,” she said tightly. She had never encountered anything like this before.

  “I’ve never believed in that,” Archer said.

  “Well, you ought to,” Marley said. “There’s a great deal more in this world than meets the eye.” She had to stop getting goaded into careless statements.

  “Liza backed into the freezer or locker or whatever it was and the door shut.”

  “Did you try to get her out?”

  She looked back at Archer with a horrified feeling. “Yes, but I couldn’t. I had to leave.”

  “You were frightened?” Fisher said. “More frightened than ever. That’s understandable.”

  “No,” she cried. “That’s not it. She stayed in that place and she must be dead. I know she is. I felt her die.”

  The office door opened and Marley slumped in her chair, relieved by the interruption.

  A uniformed officer entered, handed a folded piece of paper to Archer and left again.

  But Archer didn’t take his eyes off Marley. “What do you mean, you felt her die? You’re sure she’s dead, aren’t you? How about Amber Lee?”

  “I don’t know.” She swallowed. “I don’t really know what’s happened to either of them. If I try to explain, will you promise not to disregard everything I’ve told you?”

  “Your report will be checked out,” he said. In other words, there was no commitment.

  “There wasn’t a car or a cab. I made that up because I was afraid you wouldn’t believe the truth.”

  He raised his brows, but didn’t interrupt.

  “I traveled there.”

  Still he listened without speaking, but he did look at the paper in his hands. Probably trying not to let her see his impatience.

  “You see, I…Well, I’m psychic, but I also have out-of-body experiences. I saw each of them, Liza and Amber, when I was away from my body.”

  5

  “Give me a minute here, please,” Archer said, buying time while he decided what to say next.

  He unfolded the piece of paper that had been delivered earlier.

  Most medical examiners would have picked up the phone. Not Blades. He preferred using other methods so that he didn’t have to answer questions until he was ready.

  Archer, Blades’s fax started.

  Get over to the morgue in the morning. Make it 8:30. Still got a lot to do.

  Preliminary:

  Shirley Cooper.

  White female.

  Age: 28.

  No water in lungs. (This means victim was dead when she was put in the water.)

  “Thanks for the education, Dr. Death,” Archer said under his breath. Immediately, he looked from Gray to the crazy lady fate had visited on him. They both watched him expectantly.

  He returned to Blades’s cryptic note:

  Extensive damage could be consistent with alligator attack postmortem. Looking for further substantiation.

  Provisional cause of death:

  Crude removal of larynx.

  Extensive blood loss.

  Shock.

  “Oh, my God,” he said, and was tempted to reach for the Bong vodka again. The beast who murdered her had cut out her voice.

  6

  Finding out the name of the club where Amber had sung with her partner, Sidney, had been harder than Marley expected. The club wasn’t well-known and only after making call after call had she caught up with the duo. Marley didn’t expect to find out much, but she had to start somewhere and Scully’s Club seemed her only choice.

  “You want me to wait?” the cab driver said.

  Marley looked through the car window, making up her mind. “No, thanks,” she said finally and got out, paying him off quickly. It was really late and she might have been better waiting until the morning, but for Liza and Amber, every minute could count.

  The entrance to Scully’s at the Hotel Camille was set back from the sidewalk just off the foot of Canal Street. Marley heard live music through the closed doors.

  Not far from the river and barely on the edge of the Quarter, this had to be a minor foot-in-the-door place for fledgling musicians.

  Her stomach squeezed, and letting the cab go didn’t seem such a good idea anymore, but she pushed on a polished brass handle and went in.

  Inside the club, laughter and conversation came in bursts. Scents of beer, booze and perfume made her nose itch. The light was low, but not so low she couldn’t see clearly enough.

  The bar dominated the middle of a big room decked out in green-and-white stripes, heavy chintz fabrics, crops of British hunting scenes on every wall and an overstuffed Victorian atmosphere. Men turned to look at her but Marley had expected that, coming here alone at almost midnight. But she was only blocks away from home and she’d get another cab when she left.

  Accompanied by a pianist, a woman played a guitar and sang the blues. Nice voice. Not remarkable, but nice and mellow. She looked and sounded melancholy. The pianist was worth listening to on his own.

  Marley went to the bar and climbed on a stool. She would rather have hidden herself in one of the curtained alcoves at the far end of the room, but that would not be the way to do what she’d come for: to find out what she could about Amber Lee.

  Scully’s had been Amber’s last gig before she disappeared. The place wasn’t famous and neither were Amber and Sidney, but Marley had tracked them all down.

  “This’ll help you make up your mind,” the bartender said with an Irish brogue. He opened a list of drinks in front of her. “Unless you already know, colleen.”

  She smiled at him and decided he was about her age, but his worldly brown eyes had probably seen much more…of this world.

  Marley looked at the list. “Only martinis?” She laughed. “Every kind of martini.”

  The bartender put his elbows on the counter and crossed his forearms. “And every kind of gin. But if you don’t drink gin, try me with whatever takes your fancy.”

  “I’m having one of these,” she said. “Kiwi and sour apple martini. That sounds good.” She wanted to fit in, preferably to just about disappear.

  Sitting sideways on her stool, Marley watched the singer. Someone behind her tapped her shoulder and Marley glanced around.

  A blond man, maybe in his forties, smiled at her from the next stool. “Is it okay if I hit on you?” he said, and giggled at his own brilliance.

  Marley smiled politely and turned back to the singer.

  Another tap on the shoulder.

  This time she ignored him.

  The bartender slid a large martini glass filled to the brim with a pale green drink toward her. In amber-shaded light the contents of the glass reminded her of other things, like a tunnel she’d swum through, and its consistency was as if it had been mixed with light oil. Pretty in a way.

  A big hand shot out from beside her to throw down a fifty. “The lady’s drink is on me, Danny,” the blond man said. “Take it out of that.”

  Marley rallied quickly and looked Danny in the eye. “I’ll be running my own tab,” she said, pleased that she could sound as if she did this sort of thing regularly.

  “You’ve got it,” Danny said, ignoring Blondy’s money.

  “What’s the singer’s name?” Marley asked.

  Danny squinted, appeared to become distant. He looked past Marley. “That’s Sidney. She got the pianist for tonight. Amber, that’s her partner, she plays the keyboard—and sings, mind you. Now that girl’s got the voice of an angel.”

  Marley turned back to stare at the singer. This was the Sidney of Amber and Sidney. Right there. It was far more than she had hoped for. She had to know where Amber lived, who her friends were, and at least something that would be useful in helping to find the woman. The police probably already knew the details, but they woul
dn’t be sharing any information with her.

  After making the mistake of being direct with him that afternoon, Detective Archer had treated her kindly enough, if a virtual pat on the head and a warning not to let what she saw on television fool with her imagination were kind.

  Archer had warned Marley that people who tried to get attention by pretending to know something about a crime could get into big trouble. The tingling embarrassment she had felt then made a return appearance and she hunched her shoulders.

  A cloth in Danny’s hands squeaked around the rim of a glass. When Marley looked at him, he was staring at her and frowning. He threw down the cloth and crossed his arms on the bar again, leaning closer to Marley. “It’s late,” he said. “Can you call someone to come and see you home when you’re ready?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She smiled, liking him for the concern. “I’ll get a cab.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Having a martini,” she said. So she stuck out like a nun at a Chippendale show.

  “Okay, have it your own way, then.”

  “Thank you, though.” She smiled at him. “Does Sidney…Do Amber and Sidney sing here every night?”

  “They used to,” he said, noncommittal. “Most nights, anyway.”

  “When did they come back?”

  “This is Sidney’s first night back since…Amber—you’ve heard of Amber before?”

  “I have.” Nothing would be gained by pretending otherwise. “And I know she’s missing, but you talk as if she’s still here.”

  He gave her a speculative stare and moved away to serve several other customers. For the time of night there was plenty of business around.

  Sidney had a face not easily forgotten. Latin features and olive skin. Dark arched brows, large, heavily-lashed brown eyes, a narrow-bridged nose, fine, high cheekbones and jaw. Her hair shone honey-colored, but Marley didn’t think it was the natural color—it ought to be black. A lovely woman with a lovely figure—and something markedly aloof about her.