Annie Seymour 01-Sacred Cows

by Karen E. Olson

  This was surprisingly easy. There had to be a catch.

  “I’ll send someone over to the dorm to meet you,” she added. “This is really stupid of you two to do by yourself.”

  “Christ, Paula, she’s a twenty-year-old college student. What the hell could she do to us?”

  “Annie,” and I was pretty sure a lecture was coming, but then, “Nicholas Curtin just told us Sarah killed Melissa Peabody.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Holy shit,” I said softly. “Do you have proof?” “No,” and I could hear the fatigue in her voice. “He wants to cut a deal, so we’re not even sure if it’s true. But just in case, we were about to send someone over to pick her up. If you get there before we do, try to keep her there, but be careful.”

  “I’ll call you when we know something,” I said, ready to hang up.

  “Wait.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Something else about Curtin. That knife he held on you, he didn’t cut you, did he?”

  “No, he just pricked me a little but didn’t draw any blood. Why?”

  “There’s blood in the grooves on the handle.”

  She hung up and I stared at the phone in my hand. If anyone had told me what my day would be like, I wouldn’t have believed him. I’m a reporter, which means I usually just watch what goes on, then sit down at my little computer and write about it. That’s the gist of it. I am not the news. I am an observer of the world. Christ, now I sound like Dick Whitfield.

  But all of that was before Melissa Peabody’s body was found in the street. Before Mark Torrey decided to rip off my mother and the publisher. Before the cows.

  All of those things had set off a chain reaction that somehow was ending up in my lap, with my life hanging in the balance.

  For a nanosecond I thought about calling Marty. This was one big fucking story, and that Pulitzer might well be within my reach if I approached it the right way.

  But with my luck, someone would say I was lying, like that chick who wrote the story in the Washington Post about a heroin-addicted kid, or Jayson Blair, the New York Times reporter who made up shit about pretty much everything. Because this was all too weird to actually be happening.

  “You okay?” Vinny was asking as we crossed State Street and went up Chapel.

  I told him what Paula told me.

  “Well, Melissa Peabody wasn’t stabbed, so it isn’t her blood,” Vinny said.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I started, but then I knew. Allison. It could be Allison’s blood on that handle.

  And then another thought hit me in the gut like a lead balloon. Allison was killed after I talked to her. Maybe Curtin killed her because he found out she’d talked to me. Christ, I hoped that wasn’t it. I didn’t think I could live with the guilt.

  I didn’t have much time to dwell on that at the moment, however, because we were easing into a parking space on High Street. There were no cops in sight yet. We hopped out of the SUV, and I pushed all thoughts about Allison from my head. I needed to be focused on Sarah now.

  The gate was propped open. Someone was expecting someone, and I hoped Sarah wasn’t on to us. Vinny and I slipped through the gate and I led the way across the courtyard to Sarah’s dorm. There were lights in every window except one. We stepped into the stairwell and heard a door slam somewhere above us. Vinny grabbed my arm and pulled me into the shadows.

  Footsteps bounded down the stairs, and when we saw the figure in the doorway, Vinny and I stepped in front of her.

  “What are you doing here?” Sarah looked from me to Vinny, shifting her backpack across her shoulder. If she was surprised to see us, she didn’t show it.

  “Going somewhere?” I asked.

  “The library,” she said.

  “Saw you earlier, with Matt,” I continued. “Had a little altercation with your friend Nick.”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “Nick. Nick Curtin. He’s the one who killed Allison, did you know that?” Okay, so it wouldn’t hold up in court unless there was more evidence, but she didn’t have to know that right now.

  This surprised her. The backpack fell off her shoulder and landed with a thud. I heard something roll across the floor, and I looked down at the small bronze Buddha I’d held in her room.

  Vinny was faster than I was. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up.

  Sarah reached for it, but he pulled it away and held it out to his side, inspecting it. “Pretty cool,” Vinny said.

  “Just give it back,” Sarah said gruffly. “You know, you really should be talking to Matt.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t have anything to do with this. It was Matt. It was all his idea.”

  “What was his idea?” Vinny was asking as I saw something else on the ground that had fallen out of her backpack.

  I picked it up. “Airline ticket? Going somewhere?”

  The light was dim, but my eyes aren’t that bad yet, so I could still read it. “Tweed to Philadelphia to Paris?” I turned to Vinny. “Is Mark Torrey in Paris?”

  Vinny shrugged.

  “This has nothing to do with him,” Sarah said, standing up a little straighter, her voice a little more self-assured. “My parents are there, I’m going for a week.”

  “But this is a one-way ticket.” I leafed through the documents. “When are you coming back?”

  “She’s not.”

  The voice startled us, and Vinny and I turned to see Matt Minneo slumped against the wall.

  It was enough of a distraction that Sarah grabbed the Buddha out of Vinny’s hand, pushed me aside, and ran into the courtyard. But Matt was too quick for her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back to us.

  “I can’t believe you said it was all me,” he growled at her. “Tell them the truth.”

  Her eyes moved from Matt’s face to mine to Vinny’s. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Sirens in the distance were getting closer, and I knew the cavalry was on its way.

  “It was you guys, wasn’t it, who mugged me that night,” I said to both of them.

  “If your stupid friend hadn’t come to your rescue, we would’ve had all this over with a long time ago.” Sarah couldn’t keep the ugliness out of her voice. She really could do with a makeover.

  “What threat am I to you?”

  Sarah struggled, but Matt was strong. The sirens stopped just outside the gate, but we couldn’t see anyone yet.

  “Tell her,” Matt demanded.

  “She killed Melissa, didn’t she?” I said.

  Sarah’s head whipped around and she stared at me. “Who told you that?”

  “Nicholas Curtin told the FBI earlier. That’s why the cops are here.” And now they were coming, across the lawn, but it was too soon. I didn’t have any answers yet.

  “Nick?” Sarah asked in a very familiar way, and an image came into my head of Sarah leaning toward the Toyota, looking as if she’d lost something. Curtin must have been with her, saw me during her fight with Matt, and left her behind while he tried to kill me. That’s why he didn’t have his own car. That’s why he said what he did about my not noticing him.

  “What were you and Curtin doing near Wooster Square tonight? Were you going to kill me, too?”

  Sarah frowned. “He was going to take me to the airport. When I saw he was gone, I figured I’d wait for him here.”

  “Because he must have gotten to me, right?” I asked sarcastically. “Get rid of me and then run his errands.” She didn’t contradict me. Something else dawned on me. “Are you the girl who set up me, Vinny, and Hickey last night at the diner?” I asked.

  Sarah blinked a couple of times, and I knew she was.

  I snorted. “You know, Sarah, I didn’t suspect anything about you until tonight.”

  Matt took the Buddha from her and held it up. “She thought you knew,” he said.

  What the hell did the Buddha have to do with this? But as I sta
red at it, I remembered holding this little Buddha, turning it over in my hands, and it very likely may have been what had crushed Melissa Peabody’s skull.

  “Why? Why did you kill her?” I asked, although there was little time and I didn’t expect her to be forthcoming.

  But she surprised me. “They were in bed when I got to the apartment.” She started to sob. “He was telling her he loved her. I thought he would be alone.”

  Tom and about four other cops heard her and stopped a few feet away. Sarah didn’t seem to notice.

  “Hickey didn’t mention that you were part of the equation. How long had you worked for him?” I asked.

  Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t work for him. I met Mark when he came to pick Melissa up one night and she was late. We talked for a long time, and he really listened to me.” Her voice got softer and she started twirling a strand of hair near her ear. “We met whenever we could. He told me he loved me, that I wasn’t like Melissa, he could talk to me, and that made our relationship even better since it wasn’t just sex.” She blushed again, and I could see she’d been a virgin when Torrey decided to use her. Against my will, I began to feel sorry for her.

  “Jesus, Sarah,” Matt said softly.

  Sarah sighed as she looked at him, and I could see she did care about this guy, too. But he never had a chance with her once Torrey came on the scene.

  “So what happened that night?” I asked.

  Sarah hung her head. “The door was unlocked. I heard them and waited,” she said. “They came out of the bedroom, laughing. He looked so damned happy with her. So I grabbed the Buddha off the end table and went after her. I don’t know what happened after that, she was on the floor, dead. It was his idea to dump her over the balcony, he thought people would think she committed suicide.” Her arms hung limp at her sides.

  Matt let go of her, a look of disgust on his face.

  “And you thought I figured it out when I saw your Buddha? That’s why you mugged me? That’s why Matt pushed that note under my door?”

  Sarah nodded. I had another thought. “Why keep the Buddha?”

  She bit back tears. “My grandmother gave it to me. I gave it to Mark. He kept it at the apartment. He told me to get rid of it after Melissa died, but I couldn’t.”

  Vinny began to laugh sarcastically. “Isn’t this a sad story? Shame on you. Don’t you know that Mark Torrey has been holed up in Europe with another woman while you’re covering his ass here at home?”

  Her eyes grew wide.

  Tom stepped forward then. “That’s right. He’s not waiting for you in Paris. He was there, but Nick Curtin gave him up. He’s in Madrid, being arrested there right now.”

  “You’re lying,” Sarah said, her face bright red.

  Tom shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not.”

  Her face contorted, tears spilling down her cheeks. Jesus, Torrey really fucked up her life. Even though she’d killed Melissa and tried to kill me, I did feel bad for her. She was just a kid.

  Vinny stepped back in. “You know, I think Torrey set this whole thing up. He wanted you to catch them in bed. He wanted to see how far you’d go for him.”

  Her eyes were uncomprehending.

  “Torrey’s been using dummy accounts to shift his money from one place to another. That’s where Melissa came in. Torrey would deposit large amounts of money in an account he set up for her. She thought all the money was for her, but then she discovered it was disappearing as fast as it was showing up. And she threatened to tell someone, so he had to get rid of her.”

  “This is on Hickey’s tapes?” I asked.

  Vinny nodded. “It was a little cryptic, but I put two and two together.”

  Tom moved toward Matt and Sarah, indicating they both should be handcuffed after he read them their rights. He turned to Matt. “You’re an accessory, in that you knew about the murder and you threatened and tried to abduct Annie.”

  Matt nodded as a tear slid down his cheek. I could see that the enormity of what he’d done had finally caught up with him. He looked at me. “I can’t believe I let her talk me into this. I’m sorry if we hurt you.” He paused. “I couldn’t let her take me down with her.”

  But he already had.

  Tom sighed, and I knew what he was thinking. It’s sad what trouble a guy’s dick will get him into.

  We watched them being led back across the lawn. I turned to Vinny. “So you also have copies of the deposits into all those accounts?”

  “Yeah. They’re in that envelope you’ve got.”

  “And Hickey? What’s going to happen to him now?”

  Tom chuckled. “Hickey’s been around the block. Cooperating will probably help him, but he’s looking at some jail time.”

  “So David Best was innocent all along,” I mused.

  Tom looked a little embarrassed at that, but I didn’t blame him, since the evidence had pointed in David’s direction.

  “You might want to tell Paula to check if the blood on Nick Curtin’s knife matches Allison’s,” I told Tom.

  “It’s the same blood type,” he offered. “We’ll be doing more tests to make sure, but it looks like it.”

  “She got killed after I talked to her,” I said.

  Tom nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  I felt Vinny’s arm snake around my shoulders. “That’s not your fault,” he whispered.

  But I would always think it was.

  I struggled again to put it out of my head. “So have you found Albert?”

  Tom chuckled, although I could see he was keeping an eye on Vinny and didn’t seem happy about how close we seemed to be. “He was packing up his stuff in his apartment when we went over there.”

  “Dumb as a box of rocks,” I said.

  “We’ll need to talk to you,” Tom was saying to Vinny, who nodded. “Tomorrow morning?” It looked like he wanted to say something to me, too, but after a second or two, he turned and walked away, leaving me with Vinny.

  “You okay?” Vinny asked as we made our way back to his SUV.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t sure how I was.

  “You know, now you have to call the cow doctor.”

  “Fuck you,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  “You’re feeling better, I see.”

  “So you’re in kind of a pickle about Mark Torrey,” I said as we climbed into the Explorer.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t find him. The FBI did. So do you get paid?”

  “There are other Mark Torreys around. By the way, Bill Bennett did not rape your pension fund.”

  I stared at him and said nothing, letting it sink in.

  “Your mother had me do some checking. He apparently told her you’d virtually accused him of that, and she wanted to make sure. And I don’t think it was just to help you out. She’s being cautious.”

  “So he suspended me for no reason, took me off my beat, made me cover the cows. Why, if he had nothing to worry about?” I could hear my voice getting louder and louder as the indignation set in. “That just sealed it for me, made me think he was guilty.”

  Vinny shrugged. “He did invest some of his own money, and some money for some friends. Maybe he thought if you started publicly talking about it, other people would think the worst, too.”

  “So it was easier to get rid of me.”

  Vinny chuckled. “He should know it’s easier to get rid of cockroaches.”

  He moved close, and even in my exhaustion, I could feel his heat. He touched my cheek, the side of my head that was tender from falling on the rock. I shook him off. “No, Vinny.”

  He ignored me and kissed me for what seemed like days before he finally started the engine and took me back to my brownstone, making sure my downstairs door had properly locked him out before leaving me alone.

  So I was not only exhausted and beat up, but sexually frustrated and I had a date with the FBI and the cops tomorrow. Life’s never easy.

  EVEN THOUGH I was exhausted, I wasn’
t sure I could sleep. I pulled my robe around me as I padded into the kitchen in the dark, managing to pour myself a half glass of brandy. Sipping it, I moved through the living room to the window overlooking Wooster Square.

  I’d forgotten about the damned cow, and the streetlight offered a pretty brutal sight. Pieces of cow were scattered like little bits of pepperoni on a pizza. I wondered if that cow doctor would come in a little white ambulance and take it away.

  My mother’s Mercedes was gone, and the yellow crime scene tape was flapping in the breeze. I drained my glass and turned away.

  I’d barely gotten under the covers when the phone rang, startling me. I stared at it a second, wondering if I should bother. But it might be Vinny. I grabbed the receiver off the bedside table, but not without wincing as pain from my shoulder shot across my upper back. “Yeah?” I asked gruffly.

  “Annie?” My mother’s voice was soft, worried. Shit, I should’ve called her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured her.

  “Vinny just called me, told me what happened. He also said Mark Torrey’s been arrested in Europe.”

  “I hope you can get your money back,” I said, staring at the ceiling. My bed was warm, the brandy was working, and I felt my eyelids drooping.

  “I don’t care about that, as long as you’re safe,” she said.

  I smiled to myself, ready to hang up; then she added, “Bill’s here. He wants to talk to you.”

  My eyes snapped wide open. Bill?

  “Annie?” The publisher’s voice resonated in my ear. I stayed mute, uncertain what to say, which was an invitation for him to keep talking. “I’ve spoken with Marty. Dick Whitfield’s going to do a quick piece tonight about the arrest at Yale, but we’ll do a bigger piece about Torrey for Sunday. Because of your involvement, and your mother’s involvement, we don’t want to risk any sort of impropriety, so you won’t have a byline, but I’d like you to work closely with Dick on it. Marty tells me Dick may need some hand-holding.”

  That was an understatement, but I was back on the story, byline or not. I’m sure my mother had something to do with it, too, and I was still going to have to work with Dick, but as long as I wasn’t going to lose my job, it didn’t matter.