The Tease (The Darling Killer Trilogy)

by Pill, Nikki M.

  I arrived at home, parked and trudged towards my building. I shouldn’t have asked about the photos. It pushed him away. I shouldn’t have asked. Her figure is so much cuter, and she doesn’t ask about crime scenes.

  I stumbled up my stairs, wrestling with the question of an entrée. I could make garlic-rosemary chicken with spinach, so I could at least get some nutrients in my body, or I could order pizza. I wasn’t actually hungry, though. I just wanted to muffle the hollow feeling in my stomach. How could he want someone else so soon? Did anyone deliver chocolate? Some rich dark chocolate to counter the taste of the salty chips would be perfect. I’d wake up with a stomach ache, but even a few hours of numbness would be –

  A sparkle caught my eye as I fished for my keys. As I got closer, I saw there was another necklace hanging from my doorknob. A silver, Celtic knotwork pendant.

  Just like Katie used to wear.

  I dropped my grocery bag, the wine bottle crunching the chips and making a soft thunk on the carpet.

  I don’t know how long I stood there before I heard Caprice’s funny little two-syllable meow inside the door. “Rrew-ROW, mrrrew-ROW.”

  Panic surged through my body, but I kept my feet glued to the floor. Think. Think this through. I wanted Caprice. I wanted to get her out of there. I wanted this all to vanish, wanted some way I could take it all back.

  How does he know where I live?

  Caprice’s paws scrabbled against the inside of the door.

  I fought the impulse to run. If he was inside my apartment, Caprice would be hiding under the bed.

  I hoped.

  I reached for the doorknob and stopped myself. The necklace was evidence. If I touched the doorknob, I could smudge prints.

  Maybe it won’t hurt anything.

  Or maybe I’ll screw up the one chance they have to catch him. Maybe this is the one time he was ever careless.

  I sighed and sat down next to my door, hugging my knees to my chest. I desperately wanted to go down to the lobby so I wouldn’t hear Caprice’s meows, but I didn’t want anyone to take the necklace.

  “RAW-eww. Meeer-er-ew.” Caprice’s meows grew more plaintive, and my guilt grew stronger. What if he is in there? What if he hurt her?

  I unlocked the deadbolt, and then I stuck the key into the doorknob lock. I turned it experimentally. The entire knob turned, opening the door.

  Caprice trotted back a few steps, looking at me expectantly.

  “C’mere, kitty,” I whispered, heart in my throat. “Caprice.” I crouched down and held my hand out.

  She looked suspiciously at the hall.

  I glanced at the darkness behind her. He could be in there. He could be—

  “Caprice, please,” I said.

  She trotted over to sniff my hand. I petted the top of her head and she pressed against it, so I grabbed the scruff of her neck and yanked her to me. She made an indignant mrrrrrp sound as I bundled her into the crook of my arm, grabbed my keys, and yanked the door shut.

  I left my groceries where they were, grabbed my purse strap, and headed down the hall, close enough to make a run for the lobby if I had to. I sat down with Caprice in my arms, petting her to keep her calm. Then I dialed Detective Brack. She answered immediately and told me not to move or touch the necklace.

  I waited, my mind whirling. I couldn’t picture Kevin standing above the body. Sociopaths are charming.

  I heard the lobby door open. Two men headed towards me, looking grim. I fought the impulse to run. They had the purposeful stride of police officers, but they were in street clothes. Then it registered that they were both wearing the same style of vest, and I noticed gun holsters and badges at their belts. How did they get here so fast? Of course. A stakeout. They knew he’d be back.

  “Anna Zendel?” one of them asked. He was tall, probably mid-thirties, with skin so dark it was almost ebony. His eyes were dark too, almost like Kevin’s when the pupils swallowed them. His partner was also tall, with the solid, unhurried gait of a weight lifter, which his shoulders and neck confirmed. He had spiky brown hair and blue eyes.

  “Ma’am?”

  I’m staring. Is this what it feels like to be in shock? Did you tell Detective Brack I came home last night? I should’ve stayed. He wouldn’t have kissed Tish if I stayed.

  “Call me Anna,” I said absently. Just stopping my brain to utter that one sentence took a surprising amount of effort. Caprice struggled to get away. I grabbed her scruff and held her still, wincing as her back claws dug into my stomach. “And I’m sorry, you are?”

  “Officer Gibson,” he said, “and that’s Officer Bryant. What happened, Miss Zendel?” he asked.

  “I came home and found another necklace on the door,” I said quietly, surprised at how level my voice was. How did he get past you how did he get past you how did he get past you—

  He looked at Caprice.

  “I used the keys and didn’t touch the doorknob. I couldn’t just leave her in there.”

  He and Bryant made eye contact. I couldn’t read it. “Did you go inside the apartment?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Is there a rear entrance? A fire escape?”

  “No. There are doors to the balcony, but no fire escape.”

  “We’re going to go clear your apartment,” he said.

  “Do you think he’s still in there?” I asked.

  He glanced down the hall. “I couldn’t say, ma’am,” he said. I’d invited him to call me Anna, and he wasn’t. Maintaining professional distance. Got it. “A hunch isn’t worth your life. Which door is yours?”

  “Two thirteen. It’s unlocked.”

  Caprice hid her face against me, which was her favorite strategy for the vet. If I can’t see you, maybe you can’t see me. I felt her little paw pads sweating, which meant she was nervous. Me, too, kitten.

  They put on Latex gloves. Then they pulled guns, which I was not expecting. Bryant motioned with his head for me to stay back, then opened the door.

  At the sight of the open door, Caprice dug her claws into my stomach and struggled mightily. I stifled the urge to yelp, but I swear she turned boneless and slid out of my grasp. She shot across the hall and into the darkness of my apartment.

  I didn’t think. I just took a step to chase her. Bryant’s arm shot out and blocked me. His face was stern, but his blue eyes were soft. He knew something about love. I nodded and stepped back.

  They stepped into my apartment and flicked on the light. After the longest few minutes of my life, I heard Gibson say, “Living room clear.” Later, I heard, “First bedroom clear,” “Second bedroom clear,” and “Bathroom clear.”

  I leaned back against the wall, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I’d held.

  I heard the door open down the hall. Detectives Brack and Santiago strode in with another uniformed officer carrying a satchel in tow. As terrifying as Brack’s dead eyes were, I was relieved to see her. They nodded to me, and Gibson and Bryant filled them in.

  Detective Brack stalked into my apartment, a motion wholly different from her confident stride down the hall. She moved with authority and grace, and silence. I wanted to train with her. The officer zeroed in on my door, and Detective Santiago walked up to me.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Alive,” I said.

  He nodded. “We’re lucky,” he said.

  “Can I go in now?” I said. “I want to make sure my cat is ok.”

  “She’s under the bed,” Bryant said.

  Of course they checked under the bed. I hope I didn’t leave any socks under the bed, too—

  “Thank you,” I said. “You might think I’m silly…”

  “I don’t,” Santiago said. “I have the best dog in the world. I’d go crazy if something happened to her.”

  I couldn’t say anything else. Caprice might ham it up a little for food, but she never lied or held a grudge. She would nestle into my arms and lean against me with complete trust. That little cat was the only creature
in my world whose love was simple and uncomplicated. I looked at the evidence technician, who took a photo of the door, and then a close-up of the necklace. He put on latex gloves, lifted the necklace from the doorknob, and put it in a small manila envelope. Then he put a fine black powder on the door and started transferring prints onto clear strips of plastic which he likewise put in manila envelopes.

  Detective Brack strode into the hall. “Miss Zendel,” she said icily. “I’d like to speak with you.” She turned and walked back into my apartment.

  I followed her, my heart pounding. How is this the scary part? I wondered.

  She stopped in my office corner. “What’s this?” she asked, pointing at my murder board.

  Crap. I swallowed hard. I couldn’t help glancing at it again to make sure my cryptic notes didn’t directly reference Max. Kevin’s sketches were lying face down on my desk. I hoped he wouldn’t get into some sort of trouble if she saw them. “I just…” I trailed off. I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “You just what?” she asked quietly.

  “I just wanted to make sense of it,” I mumbled.

  She put her hands on her hips. With her hair drawn back, her face looked cold and austere. “Have you heard of the CSI effect?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “People on juries watch crime shows,” she said. “Which leads them to ask for evidence that doesn’t exist, tests that aren’t conclusive, and lets criminals go free.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I asked.

  “You’re a social worker,” she said.

  “I’m a counselor,” I said.

  “You’re a glorified social worker.” She said it like another person might say “janitor” or “prostitute.” “You’re not trained for this.”

  I set my jaw. “It’s my life,” I said. “If I want to understand—”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “You need to let us do our jobs.”

  Detective Santiago walked in. “Hey, partner,” he said to her. “What’s up?”

  “She’s decided to catch the serial killer herself,” she said.

  “I’m not trying to catch anyone,” I said.

  “Then what is that?” She pointed at the murder board again.

  I picked my words carefully. Trying to figure out if my client is guilty or not? Trying to figure out if something, anything will help? Or just a colossal display of hubris? “It’s coping,” I said. “I’m just trying to understand.”

  Her greenish eyes searched my face, her mouth a grim crack. “You’re in over your head,” she said.

  “I’m not in anything,” I flashed.

  She shook her head. “Fine,” she said. “Keep your crayons. But you’re not getting yourself killed on my watch. Is there somewhere else you can stay for a few days?”

  “But—” My cat my computer my clothes my studio my murder board—

  “He knows where you live.”

  “Miss Zendel,” Detective Santiago said. “He’s been here twice, okay? Twice. For your safety, you really should stay somewhere else for a while.”

  “The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior,” I said dully.

  Detective Brack nodded.

  It won’t cost me anything to give in, I thought. It’s better to be effective than to be right. I thought about my dad, and then thought about how worry exhausted him. How he curled into a grey apostrophe in the chair next to my mother’s hospital bed. How slowly he ate after she died, as if he had to will each forkful of food to his lips. How his usually sparkling blue eyes dulled to flat, vacant puddles. I couldn’t burden him with this.

  “I’ll call a friend,” I said. I pulled out my phone to call Monica. It showed a missed call from Kevin. God. It was like an echo from another lifetime. How many kinds of ruined could I be?

  I sighed and dialed.

  “Hey, Sweetie!” Monica’s voice rang over the phone. “How are you?”

  “OK,” I answered mechanically. “How are you?”

  “I’m great! What’s up?”

  “Um… can I stay with you tonight? I’ll bring snacks.” I looked ruefully at my bag of crushed chips, still discarded in the hallway.

  “Of course,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  My voice wavered. “Everything,” I said. “Can I bring Caprice?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Monica lived in Andersonville, on a street where houses and apartments huddled together as if sharing secrets. Caprice complained about her accommodations on the entire drive. For ten heart-wrenching minutes, I left her in the car while running into a Jewel to buy a disposable litter pan. Don’t ask me why that’s what freaked me out most. It just was.

  I found street parking, hauled my suitcase and cat carrier out of the car and to the door, and rang the bell. She buzzed me up. I felt Caprice jump inside the carrier. I lugged the poor cat up the flight of stairs and down the hall, struggling with the rolling bag and grocery bags.

  “Hi, Sweetie!” Monica said, opening the door of her condo. “Let me help you with that.” She took the suitcase from me and rolled it in so I could hold Caprice’s carrier from the bottom.

  “Hi,” I said, walking in and sighing with relief. I set Caprice’s carrier down, and Monica enveloped me in a hug. Then she stepped back and said, “What do you need?”

  I loved her for being so real. For being so still and centered in the chaos. She was wearing a long, black skirt and a brown, knit top with a rich sequined design at the left shoulder. A brown sequined headband pulled her wild, brown curls away from her forehead, and they rampaged in a halo at the back of her head.

  “I need to change,” I said. “And to finally open this chocolate.”

  “Gotcha,” she said. “I’ve got your chaise set up here. I mean it’s the same old sofa, but I think it counts as a chaise if you lounge on it.”

  I laughed.

  I stumbled into her bedroom, washed off my makeup, and changed into a silky, red nightgown. It made me feel marginally better. I fished the grocery bag out of the suitcase where I’d arranged its contents carefully at the top, as well as a bag of cat treats for Caprice. I zipped it closed and rolled it back into her living room.

  We set up the litter pan in her bathroom and coaxed Caprice out of the carrier with a few treats. She complained a little, allowed Monica to pet her, and dashed away to hide.

  “Have you had dinner yet?” Monica asked.

  I glanced at the clock and saw it was after eight. No wonder I was so crabby.

  “Not yet,” I said. “I brought an entree.” I held out the wine bottle.

  “So it’s been that kind of day,” she said. She brought it into the kitchen to open it. I heard the sounds of a second bottle being opened, then the sounds of pouring. I opened the box of chocolates and the bag of chips, then arranged them on the coffee table. She came back bearing two glasses of wine – the red for me, and a white for her. I assumed it was Muscato D’Asti. She kept a rack of the stuff. It tasted like soda pop to me, too sweet to bear. She loved it.

  We sat down, and she said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I thought again of Detective Brack and her clipboard, her piercing eyes, the story rolling off my tongue over and over. “I do,” I said, “in a minute. I’m sick of the inside of my own head. Can you tell me about your day?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  As she spoke, I took a swig of wine. It was full and slightly acidic, washing over my mouth with hints of blackberry and chocolate and desire. I ate a chip, letting the salty tang fill the corners of my mouth, and then another sip of the wine. Then a bite of chocolate, which sent velvety tendrils of pleasure throughout my body.

  “It was a good week,” she said. “No one died. This terrific foster family adopted a really gorked baby, one who was born with meth withdrawal, so that was good. And then another baby who was born with his lungs on the outside survived the surgery, and he made it through the day, so that was good too. Oh, an
d then Judy, she’s the chaplain – I love her, but she just doesn’t have much in the social skills department – I was by the fish tank, and you know, there’s not a lot for kids in the PICU to look at, so that’s kind of the water cooler for the NICU and PICU kids. And she says really loudly, ‘Monica, you do pole dancing, right? That’s what you do on the weekends?’”

  I laughed and took another chip. I was still wound up like an E-string, but Monica’s easy chatter was beginning to work its magic.

  “So I’m guiding her away down the hall, because Indoor Voice isn’t really her strong suit, and I explained that I bellydance, which is different, and that confused her. So I explained that I keep my clothes on and I don’t use a pole. And she looked confused, and said ‘How do they take their clothes off when they’re on the pole?’ Ooooh, I see a Caprice!”

  Caprice hesitantly came into the room. Monica coaxed her over and got down on the floor, petting her and making nonsensical sounds of adoration. Caprice stretched and rolled over. “Oh, kitty belly!” Monica said. “I just want to bury my face in it! Kitty! Kitty!”

  A wave of sadness crashed over me. A few days ago, I would’ve been on the floor with Monica, playing with the cat and making nonsense noises. Instead, I was pouring chips and chocolate into a yawning emptiness in my gut, images of Katie and Lisa and Kevin and Tish in an awful jumble over and over.

  I took another sip of the wine. Hell. I drained the glass, went to the kitchen, and returned with the entire bottle. I poured another serving into the glass and stared into the maroon depths of it. “I’m sorry to invite myself over like this,” I began.

  “It’s no problem, Sweetie,” she said. She got up and sat down next to me.

  “The police think – maybe – my life’s in danger.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

  I poured my heart out about the show, Grant, Kevin, Tish, and even Max, though I was careful to omit Max’s name, as well as anything that could identify him. I finished, and she waited in silence for a few moments.