She threw off the blanket and stood. “I want to come.”
“No, you stay here.”
“Maybe I’ll remember something. Please, I need to go. I need to . . . know.” She looked at him with eyes full of fear, but fighting desperately to control it, the corners twitching slightly.
“You don’t get out of the car, you understand?”
She nodded and slipped on her shoes—the only piece of her clothing he’d been able to wipe the blood off of. As soon as he could, he’d get her some new shoes and burn the old ones with the rest of her clothing.
Taking side-streets and driving through alley-ways, neither of them spoke. After a half an hour, they saw the caution tape.
Two police cars blocked the alley behind Static. A crowd peered over the tape, kept back by a uniformed officer. A news-media van was pulling away from the curb. Mitch parked a half a block away.
“Stay here. I’ll find out what happened.” He waited for her response. When he raised an eyebrow and said, “Eden, you stay here,” she finally agreed with a quick nod.
Twenty feet from the car, he heard her door open behind him. “Damn it, go back.”
She didn’t. She jogged up to him, shaking her head. “I can’t.”
He could drag her back to the car, but with the crowd within sight, he’d just bring more attention to them. The point was to just check things out, scratch this site off the list and keep looking. He turned around and started walking again, with her at his side. “Do not say anything. No talking, crying, screaming, nothing.”
They joined the group, and Mitch pushed his way in. Eden followed through the opening his not-so-polite elbows were creating within the mass of gawkers. Thirty-feet beyond the line of tape, more police—some in uniform, some not—and the coroner were standing over a body, now covered with a sheet. Not a good sign. Whoever had covered the body had been lazy—a dirty tennis shoe stuck out.
Small. A woman’s.
He held Eden’s arm and squeezed a warning. One of the plain-clothed investigators glanced back. It was good ole Detective Nick Landon. Recognition flashed in his eyes and he walked toward them.
Damn it. As badly as Mitch wanted to throw it in reverse and get the hell out of there, it would only peak the detective’s curiosity more.
“Well, hello there, Turner. What are you doing here?” He held out a finger. “Wait, let me guess. You were going out for brunch and just happened upon our little crime scene here.”
Mitch dropped his grip on Eden’s arm. No need to draw attention to her.
“What? You lose a contact or something?” The detectives hid none of his condescension. The crowd pulled back from them.
“I’m just here to gawk like everybody else, Officer,” Mitch said.
“Uh-huh. Sure. It’s a pretty gruesome scene. Kinda like another I’ve seen in pictures recently. What do you know about it?”
“Well, I’m guessing that the plastic sheeting isn’t covering someone’s pet. And that the city’s finest aren’t going to be available for brunch any time soon. Am I right?”
“Where were you last night? Between”—he checked his notes—“eleven and one o’clock.”
Mitch sighed with relief. He had an alibi, and the cop hadn’t noticed his companion yet. “Babysitting some clients. We were drinking at Heavenly until the place closed down. They make a mean martini. You should try it.”
“I might do that. Head over after I’m done here. Check the place out. Think they remember you being there?”
“I’m sure they remember my credit card. And me signing the bill. Will that do?”
Landon clenched his jaw. “Should do. So, what, you’re just taking a mid-morning stroll with your date?” He threw a pointed glance to Eden.
Damn, why couldn’t he have dealt with one of the other detectives? One of the more jaded and less-observant ones. “Just taking her home.”
“Were you with him at the bar last night, Miss . . .?”
“Yup, she was.”
Landon stood close to Eden, staring down at her. “What’s your name, Miss?”
“Eden,” came out as a whisper, but she matched the intensity of the cop’s gaze, pound for pound.
“Will anyone remember you, Eden?”
“I don’t—”
“She’d be hard to miss,” Mitch said. “Don’t you think?”
After a quick glare at Mitch, the cop looked down to what Eden was wearing. “Nice outfit. Not really up to the dress code at Heavenly though.”
“You interested in ladies’ fashion, Detective? I never knew.” Mitch’s words brought Landon’s eyes back to where Mitch wanted them—away from Eden. “I don’t judge, don’t worry. But red wouldn’t bring out your eyes. You should stick to the blues, maybe greens.”
“I like you, Mitch.” He smiled when Mitch grimaced. “I think I will try one of their martinis. It’s tough to find a place that makes them right.” He glanced back toward the crime scene, and then turned to Eden.
“Give me your phone number. Just in case I need some fashion advice. No offense to yours, of course, Mitch.”
“None taken, Nick.”
Landon’s pen was ready and quickly jotted down the number Eden gave. Damn it, she’d probably given him the right one. There was absolutely no reason to make the cop’s job of researching her any easier.
“I spoke to that ex-client your secretary told me about,” Landon said. “What was her name again? I forgot.”
Mitch wondered if the playing-stupid thing worked well for the cop. Maybe he’d have to try it for himself sometime. “Jolie told you about Leanne, I believe.”
“Hmm . . . was that her name?”
“I don’t trust anything that anyone says either, Nick.”
Landon smiled, not bothering to look guilty. “Right. Leanne, Leanne Tate.”
His chest tightening, Mitch looked at the body again. Was that Leanne’s body under the sheet? Is that what the cop meant?
“Something wrong, Mitch? You look pale.”
He swallowed. “I’m fine. I just don’t know how you do it, Nick. Deal with death every day.”
“It’s tough, but I try to stay focused on the good I’m doing. Taking down the evil, you know?” He paused, studying Mitch’s face. “I’m about to leave. Would either of you like to have a drink with me at Heavenly? Think they’re open this early?”
“Not gonna happen. But thanks anyway.”
“That’s too bad. I was hoping to have a casual drink with a friend.”
“A friend.”
“Sure. I’d like to discuss which politician my friend has in his pocket.”
What did that mean? “What are you talking about?”
“Do you think I’m stupid, Turner? When I get a call to drop your sister’s case, wouldn’t you think I’d be just a little bit curious about why?”
Mitch paused. What the hell was going on? “So someone else is investigating the case?”
Landon’s mouth pinched together as if he was tired of this game. “No, Mitch. The whole case. Congratulations, it’s done.”
That made no sense. He didn’t know any politicians. And he sure as hell hadn’t done anything anyone would owe him for. “Why?”
The detective shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Who’d you call in a favor from?”
He shook his head. “No one.” He wasn’t a suspect anymore. That should make him happy, shouldn’t it? Not chucked a stone of paranoia into his belly. How long had he been silent? Too long, obviously, since the cop looked as confused as Mitch felt. “I guess I have a secret admirer.”
“Sure you do. I’ll be checking really hard on that alibi. Then maybe we’ll see if your secret admirer helps you out on this one as well.” Landon bowed a short dismissal and walked back to the body.
CHAPTER XIV
The drive back to Mitch’s house was a long one. Somehow, what had only taken a short time to travel the first time seemed an eternity to Eden now.
Mitch’s fi
nger tapped the steering wheel. “You know you didn’t do it, don’t you?” he blurted.
She kept her eyes on the road. “I didn’t, but maybe she did.”
“She? Your other self?” He waited while she slowly nodded. “I need to figure something out, but right now, I don’t think she did it either.”
She. Her not-better half. Yes, she—her other personality. With symptoms Wikipedia didn’t mention. Hurray, she’d get to add them to the website’s list of screwed-up things to look for if you think you might be going insane.
“A few days ago you thought I was faking,” she said spitefully. “And now you think you know what she’s capable of? How’d that happen?”
“I just do. I don’t know what’s happening with you, but I can’t imagine this other personality would go that far. She’s never shown any signs of violence, other than—”
She whipped her head to look at him. “Other than what?”
“Never mind,” he mumbled.
“No, you need to answer the question.” Eden was so sick of his half-answers, half-truths, half-bull. “Other than what?” she yelled.
He nodded stiffly, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Okay, fine. She’s kinky. She likes it rough. She’d live on all fours if she could, waiting for someone to spank her and tell her how naughty she’s been. Are you happy now?”
Her hands clutched the armrests, knuckles white. “No, I’m not ‘happy now’! She may have left someone dead in an alley. How could I possibly be ‘happy now’?”
“Stop yelling at me,” he said, breathing hard. “All I’m saying is that I just don’t think she could. She’s more of a defensive player, someone who goes after what she wants. But she doesn’t get violent. Because she gets what she wants without it.”
Eden threw herself back against the seat, disgusted. Whatever she’d done to him didn’t seem important compared to what she may have done to that body in the alley. Whatever it was had left him standing. Breathing. And still endlessly frustrating.
“Well, I’m glad you seem so sure,” she said through a clenched jaw. Eden didn’t know how she felt yet. Her brain couldn’t reconcile the idea that any part of her would be capable of that—even subconsciously.
“You need to get some help, Eden. Some psychiatric help. Did you ever call that number I gave you?”
“I thought I could deal with it on my own.” Which wasn’t true, now was it? She’d been hoping Carter and Mitch could deal with it for her. “Plus . . . the shrink didn’t have any openings for a week.” Eden fully realized that he’d given her the card well over a week ago and if she’d have made the appointment back then, she might already know what was going on with her. And all of this might not have happened at all. I need to seriously re-evaluate my decision-making skills.
“Let me call and see if I can get you an appointment.”
What would happen if she let someone into her head? Someone who would have to notify the authorities if her other side confessed to murder. At least if Eden was in prison, then she couldn’t hurt anyone else. If she had been responsible. “Okay.”
As they pulled into Mitch’s driveway, Eden asked, “What is that cop going to do when he finds out I wasn’t with you last night? You shouldn’t have lied.” I shouldn’t have let him. “Are you going to get in trouble?”
“Nah. You look enough like Jolie to make it plausible. She was there for most of the night.”
“Wearing red?”
“Yep.”
“Quick thinking. You’re a very good liar.”
“And don’t you forget it.” He parked the car and waited for her to follow him before going into the house. “You should stay here tonight. Carter’s a worse babysitter than I am.”
§ § §
Mitch told himself Eden didn’t do it. She couldn’t have done it. Her teary eyes, pale skin and slumped shoulders told him she didn’t have the strength to pull someone down and kill them. Chastity, her other personality, wouldn’t have either—unless she fucked them to death. And, even if he was wrong, he couldn’t do anything about it anyway. Here and now, Mitch. What can you do here and now?
The girl needed help. Why he was offering to do it, he had no clue. Another bad idea. A habit he didn’t seem to be able to break around her. He already had the detective’s attention and now he was acting as if that just wasn’t enough. Sure, let’s go wandering through crime scenes involving murders similar to the one you’re a suspect for. Of course, why didn’t I think of that sooner? What a great fucking plan!
Even more bothersome was not knowing who had told the cops to back off Shelly’s case. He felt his control slipping—the control over his life. That other people were determining his fate was abhorrent. Some unknown person had stopped the police from investigating him. Who the hell would care enough about him to fix a mess he’d created? He had no fucking idea how to find his silent benefactor.
And this girl. This girl who couldn’t help herself was making him feel protective, making him care, making Hyde push harder against Mitch’s gut to be free. She needed to go away. Before the beast came out and hurt her.
This was more than playing with fire. This was playing chicken with a lit fuse, deluding himself that, when it reached his skin, it wouldn’t burn him and everyone around him.
No, it was time to pass her off to someone else. Someone who actually could help her with the let’s-talk-it-out part of it, the craziness-in-the-head part. He took his phone into the backyard, past the pool, and into the pool house. Hiding in his own fucking territory.
He dialed Margaret’s personal line.
The psychiatrist answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Doc. It’s Mitchell Turner. I need your help.” Ugh, that felt awful.
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear those words come out of your mouth, Mitchell.”
He imagined her sitting in her office, lightly laughing at him. “Me neither. But I do.”
“Would you like to set up an appointment?”
He’d given up on psychiatry long ago, at least for himself. Even Margaret Simonetti couldn’t help him dispose of anger issues he didn’t want to get rid of. Couldn’t get rid of. Especially when everything he’d told her had been a necessary lie. “No. Well, yes. But not for me.”
“Is it for Leanne again? I don’t think she’ll want to come back, Mitchell. She wasn’t particularly happy in therapy.”
Mitch thought about the last person he’d referred to her. The same person Jolie had given the cops as a possible suspect in Shelly’s murder. The same person who might have started today lying under a coroner’s drop cloth. He swallowed. “No, the appointment is for someone else.”
“Another client of yours?”
“Kind of, but this one’s not crazy.” He scratched his head. “Not technically crazy, just the normal kind. And she sure as hell isn’t obsessed with me. Well, not in the same way.”
“I’d be happy to meet with her. But I’m also concerned with you and why you seem to attract this type of women into your life.”
He knew she was teasing him. That’s why he’d held onto her number—she could deal with his personality without wanting him dead. At least, he thought so.
“It’s my get-the-hell-away-from-me attitude that drives them nuts.” Sometimes literally. “I’m considering that as my next book. A guide for men.”
She laughed. “Sadly, I’m sure it would be a bestseller. Does this woman want to come see me, Mitchell?”
“’Want’ is a strong word. Sees the potential benefit? Yeah. I think she might be a multiple.”
“Really? A D.I.D.?” Her voice was bright, as if he’d just presented her with diamonds. “What makes you think so?”
“She can tell you all about it. What kind of meds do you use for that?” His hands traveled to his gut and punched. Hyde, his ever-present, never-welcomed companion was aching to get out. “Never mind, I’ll let you deal with her. I’d like to wipe my hands as soon as possible. When can you get her i
n?”
After he hung up, he flipped on the news, looking for any information on whoever had been murdered in the alley. His thumb punished the up-arrow as he cursed the stupid cable company for offering too many damn channels. He stopped when he saw the backdrop of a local news station. Headlines from across the country were ticker-taping across the bottom of the screen, but all he saw was the alley. The alley he’d just left.
And then a shot of a face, a mug shot. The woman looked emaciated. She had spiky bleached hair, pasty skin, dark circles under both eyes, and a ring through one nostril. At one point, she might have been attractive. But not in this picture. It was as if she’d tattooed ‘Junkie’ on her face, chest and arms. The police’s number placard was tilted, possibly too heavy for her to hold straight. The message under the picture was a name, not one he recognized. Didn’t recognize the face either. When the screen changed back to a shot of the alley, Mitch raised the volume.
Hyde, an Urban Fantasy Page 11
