Our dinners were served and River grew quiet until the waiter had left. She lowered her voice. “How did they kill him? The writer?”
“A garrote, Pete says. Kind of a strange one. It apparently had triangular metal pieces in it. They bit into his neck while he was being strangled.” I shivered slightly, just thinking about it. “That’s what made the red line I saw in the vision.”
River didn’t say anything. That was unusual. I stared at her face. She seemed to have gone pale beneath her stage makeup. I reached across the table and touched her hand. “River? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Baba Yaga,” she said. “Baba Yaga.”
“What? I don’t understand. What did you say?”
“Oh, Lee, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . the teeth. The pointed metal teeth.”
“I don’t understand,” I repeated. “What teeth?”
“The marks on that man Dillon’s throat. They’re like the marks Baba Yaga’s teeth would make.” Her color was returning to normal and her voice had grown stronger.
“River, who . . . or what is a Baba Yaga?”
“She’s a witch. Of course it’s just an old Russian fairy tale. I mean she isn’t real. Right?”
“Right, I guess. But, River, does this Russian fairy-tale witch bite people? Kill them?”
“Yes. That’s the legend. Sorry for acting so dumb. I’ve been listening to too many witch stories.”
“Interesting, though, that you should mention that.” I told her about the chief’s old newspaper clipping about the murdered baker. “The weapon was similar. Pete has a picture of it. The paper said that some people back then blamed a witch for the baker’s murder.”
“Was he—the baker—Russian?”
“Yes.”
“Those people must have heard the same spooky stories I did. Of course it’s all nonsense.”
“Of course it is.” Changing the subject from pointy-toothed witches seemed like a really good idea at that moment. This was definitely not good mealtime conversation. “Tell me what’s going on at the station. Scott seems to be getting a lot of airtime.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that. Of course you know I never watch that stuff. Anyway, I work so late I don’t see much of the daytime staff. Your old friend Marty does camera for my show. Rhonda’s still the receptionist, and Wanda still does the weather. Nothing changes much around there.” She lowered her voice and glanced around the room. “Marty says something’s going on with Scott and Pete. She saw Scott getting into Pete’s car one afternoon. You know anything about it?”
“I do, but I don’t think I should say anything right now. Don’t worry though. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“It’s okay. I understand. Dating a cop means you have to keep quiet about some things. Same as reading cards or tea leaves. I don’t tell everything I see.”
“Speaking of things occult, I had my palm read yesterday.”
“No kidding? Don’t tell me you had Stasia read you.”
“I did. And she may not be as—um—strange as she looks.”
“How was the reading? As good as mine?” She pouted prettily, and put down her fork.
“Of course not, silly. Very basic. She admitted she knew who I was and already had some information about me anyway. I guess it was from watching Nightshades. I think I learned more about her than she did about me.” I told River about Grandpa Nick and naturally that led to the story about Pete and me crashing the McKennas’ backyard party.
“You have been busy, haven’t you?”
“That’s nothing. I haven’t even got to the part about the Russian Tea Experience and my aunt dating a ‘person of interest.’” I looked at my watch. “But it’s getting late. I’ll save that story for next time. You have to get to work.”
We both passed on having dessert. River got a coffee to go. “I need something to keep me awake through the movie,” she said, picking up the red velvet cape she’d tossed over the back of her chair.
“I see Ariel’s collection of velvet capes is still useful.”
She settled the soft fabric around her bare shoulders. “Yes. I like wearing them. Warm and comfy, and I like that they were Ariel’s, you know? Her being a fellow witch and all.”
Enough talk about witches!
“I’ll walk back to the station with you,” I said. “I parked in the employee lot. Hope nobody minds.” We split the check and the tip and began the short walk along Derby Street to WICH-TV’s waterfront office block. River hurried up the steps, tapped a code into the security panel and pushed the heavy front door open.
“Good night, Lee. If you want to watch the show, the movie is The Ship of Monsters. A real classic!”
I laughed and headed around the corner of the old brick building. “Thanks anyway. I’ll watch your intro, but I’ll probably pass on the scary, old movie.” The lot was nearly empty at that time of night. I could see my ’Vette, silhouetted against moonlit Salem Harbor at the rear of the station property. I hastened my steps, regretting my decision to park in my onetime assigned space close to the back door of the TV studio, adjacent to the granite seawall that held some bad memories for me.
Lighting was dim. No surprise there. Bruce Doan, the station manager, was notoriously thrifty, and adequate outside lighting had never been one of his priorities. I squinted into the darkness, sensing a slight motion beside the automobile. I stopped walking and stood still, listening to the nighttime noises, the hum of passing Derby Street traffic, the distant low moan of an offshore buoy and—something else. It was the click of a lighter, followed by the tiny, round red glow of a cigarette. Another silhouette took shape. A tall man, facing in my direction, was leaning against the driver’s-side door of my car.
I spun around and sprinted for the sidewalk, hoping that the front-door code hadn’t changed since I’d stopped working there. Once safely inside, I’d call Pete or a cab or my aunt to come and get me. I wasn’t about to chance another bad experience beside that seawall.
Footsteps pounded behind me.
“Lee! Hey, Lee Barrett. Is that you?” The voice was familiar. I stopped running.
“Scott?”
He reached my side and flicked the cigarette away. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry.”
My near panic turned to anger. “Of course you scared me, you big jerk! Standing there in the dark, leaning on my car, watching me. Don’t you ever even touch that car again! Are you crazy? What the hell are you trying to do?”
He grasped my elbow. “I’m really sorry.”
I pulled my arm away and pushed my hand hard against his chest. “Get away from me, Scott. What do you want anyway?” I wasn’t even trying to control my temper. I hadn’t been this angry in years. If we’d been a little closer to the seawall, I would have shoved the SOB overboard.
“Jeez, Lee. I said I was sorry. I just need to talk to you about something.”
I was about to tell him to use the telephone, when I realized that maybe he was going to tell me something Pete might need to know, so I took a deep breath and tried to think calm thoughts. “Okay. What’s so important that you have to scare me half to death?” We approached the front of the building. “Shall we go inside and you can tell me whatever it is?”
“No. Not in there. Everybody is too damned nosy. Anyway, none of them even know that Eric was staying at my place. Want to go over to the Pig’s Eye and have a beer with me?”
Of all the things in the world that I didn’t want to do just then, having a beer with Scott Palmer topped the list.
“Sure,” I said, pasting on a big, fake smile. “Why not?”
CHAPTER 20
“Hi, Lee. Back again so soon? Hi, Scotty.” The bartender welcomed us.
Scott led the way to two stools at the empty far end of the curved bar. “You still drink light beer?” he asked.
“I’ll just have a Pepsi, thanks.” I looked at my watch. “Can we make this quick? It’s pretty late.”
&nb
sp; He ordered our drinks, then waited until they were served, and the bartender had moved away, before he spoke again. This time it was in a quiet, un-newscaster-like monotone. “When the police came over to my place to pick up Eric’s things, I told them that I’d given them everything he’d left there. It wasn’t a lot. Mostly clothes and shampoo and deodorant, stuff like that, and some Salem souvenirs he’d bought to take back to Illinois He took his laptop and his camera with him when he went out that night.” He looked up from his beer. “Your friend Pete said those weren’t in the rental car. I think they thought I kept them.”
“Did you?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t going to hear a confession.
“Of course not.” He scowled. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
I let that question go unanswered.
“I did keep one little thing of his. I let them search my apartment, you know. It was in my bookcase, but Eric’s name wasn’t even on it, so they probably wouldn’t have noticed it anyway. Honest to God, Lee. I didn’t think it was important.”
“If you brought me here to ask what you should do, you already know the answer. Give whatever it is to the police.”
“I can’t. It’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
He put his glass down and put both hands on the edge of the bar. He didn’t look at me and his voice was so low I had to lean toward him to hear. “When Chief Whaley handed out those pictures this morning, I damn near keeled over. It was him. The bearded guy. I think he grabbed Eric’s notebook.”
“Wait a minute. You’ve lost me.”
He exhaled loudly, as though he’d been holding his breath for a long time. “I thought it was his address book, you know? I mean, it had names and numbers in it. Eric knew all the heavy hitters, the important people back in Illinois. I figured these were the kinds of contacts I’d need when . . . if I decided to go back there.” He shrugged. “I’m not getting anywhere here. Covering high-school football games and supermarket openings. Crap! And chintzy pay to boot.”
“Tell me about the man, Scott.”
“He must have known about the notebook. A little leather book, kind of beat-up, with a leather tie holding it closed.”
“Go on.”
“I figured it wouldn’t do any harm to keep it, you know? I mean, Eric was a friend of mine. If I’d asked to see it, he probably would have handed it right over. That’s what I figured. Before I left for work, I took it out of the bookcase. Put it on the front seat next to me. I thought I’d check on those addresses, call some of the phone numbers, you know? Maybe see what else was in there that I could use.” He took a long swallow of beer.
“The man, Scott. What about the man?”
“I drove to the station the same as I always do. Parked where I always park. I got out of the car, picked up the notebook and stuck it in my pocket. I started for the back door of the station and this big guy—guy with a beard—bumped right into me. Knocked me over. He’s a really big guy.”
“Did you get hurt? What did you do?”
“It was no big deal. I just lost my balance is all. Anyway, he helped me up, tried to brush off my jacket. Said he was sorry, over and over. Hard to understand. Had a real thick accent.”
I saw where he was going with this. “He picked your pocket?”
He looked down, embarrassed. “Yeah. I didn’t realize it was gone until after I’d done the noon news. You know what I think that book really is? I think it might be some kind of a codebook. I’m thinking that if this creep had Eric’s computer, he needed that book to figure out what was on it. That’s what I’m thinking.” He gave a kind of self-satisfied nod and took another long swig of his beer. “What do you think?”
“You were robbed, Scott. Didn’t you call the police?”
“Couldn’t. They’d know I was—what do you call it? Withholding evidence in a murder case. And another thing, Lee. There was something familiar about the guy. Like maybe I’d seen him, or at least seen a picture of him a long time ago. Now I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do.” I said it as gently as I could, remembering the Barbara Walters technique. “You know exactly what to do. Would you like me to call Pete, ask him to come here so you can tell him all about it now?”
He put his elbows on the bar, holding his head in his hands. “Shit! I don’t know. I guess so. Yeah. Go ahead. Call him. Let’s get it over with.”
Pete answered on the first ring. “Hi, babe. Just dropped the boys off. Took ’em out for pizza after practice. My sister gave me hell for keeping them out so late. What’s up?”
I explained what was going on as briefly, and considering the state of mind of the man sitting next to me, as impartially as I could. “He’d like to talk it over with you now, Pete, if you could come down here.”
“Okay. On my way.”
Pete must have realized that I wasn’t really as calm as I’d tried to sound on the phone. Less than ten minutes had passed when I saw the Crown Vic round the corner. Pete appeared in the doorway, wearing his red-white-and-blue Police Athletic League T-shirt and hurried across the room to where Scott and I sat. He gave me a fast peck on the cheek and took the stool next to Scott and ordered a Coke. Scott was on his third beer by then, while I sipped on my second Pepsi.
Pete gave the slight motion of his head, which I’d learned meant that I should leave them alone for a while. I took the not-unwelcome hint. “Time for a powder room break,” I said, “excuse me, please.” I headed for the ladies’ room. I dillydallied around in there for as long as seemed plausible, then peeked around the corner to see what was going on at the far end of the bar. The two men still appeared to be in deep conversation, and Pete was scribbling in his notebook. The TV was tuned to River’s show and several bar patrons had gathered in front of the set. I joined them, pretending interest in The Ship of Monsters, which involved some women space explorers in skimpy uniforms who were busy gathering male specimens from each planet they visited. There was a singing cowboy too, and a cow named Lollabrigida. I realized that I needed to get back to Pete and Scott, whether they wanted me to or not, when the plot began to make sense.
By then, Pete had put his notebook away, and Scott was concentrating on his cell, so it seemed like a good moment to rejoin them. This time I took the seat next to Pete, glad of his comforting presence. There was an awkward moment of silence among the three of us. I broke it by stating the obvious. “Getting late, you guys.”
Scott put his phone into his pocket and stood up. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ll go back over to the station and help Marty put Tarot Time to bed. Thanks for listening to me, Lee.” He held out his hand to Pete. “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, right, Detective?” The two shook hands and Scott put a few bills on the counter, waved to the bartender and headed out the door onto Derby Street.
I watched him leave, then turned to Pete. “How’d that go? Did he tell you about the notebook? And the man with the beard?”
“He did. What about you? Are you okay? I was worried when you called. You sounded nervous. Scared, almost.”
“I was a little scared, but mostly ticked off once I found out it was him.” I told him how Scott had frightened me, leaning on my car in that dark lot. “I couldn’t see who it was, lurking there, watching me.”
“What a moron. No wonder you were scared. What did you do?”
“Turned around and ran.”
“Good girl. But you got us some useful information. Scott’s coming down to headquarters in the morning to make a statement, and to file a belated robbery report. You’d make a good cop, you know.”
“I think you’ve mentioned that before. No thanks. But, seriously, are you going to charge Scott with anything? He said he was worried about being accused of withholding evidence.”
Pete shrugged. “Well, there is that little detail, isn’t there?”
“He told you all about that codebook, didn’t he?”
“I guess so. It’s hard to say whether Palmer tells all about an
ything.”
“Did he tell you that he felt as though he’d seen that bearded man somewhere before? A long time ago?”
He frowned. “No, but I’ll talk to him about that tomorrow for sure.”
“It sure would be helpful, though, if we could find that book, wouldn’t it?”
Pete smiled, and put his arm around my shoulders. “If we could find it?”
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I do. You can’t be running around playing girl detective on this one, Lee. I’m serious. There’s a killer out there. Leave the detecting to the professionals, okay?”
“Okay, but, Pete, Aunt Ibby’s the one who needs a lecture on minding her own business. She’s found a kindred spirit in your blond person of interest, Karl Smith.”
“What do you mean? A kindred spirit?”
“They’re both writing cookbooks and she wants him to help cater a charity high tea at the library next month.”
“I’ll talk to her. Come on.” He stood and motioned for the bartender. “Where’s your car?”
“In the station parking lot. Down by the water.”
He paid the tab and steered me toward the door. “I’ll drive you over there, then follow you home.” We were both quiet on the short ride to where I’d parked. Pete pulled up beside the Corvette and asked for my keys. “Wait here a minute,” he said, climbed out and opened the door of the convertible. Poking his head inside, he inspected the interior. What was he looking for? He was worried about something. Worried about me? A murky sea fog had moved in, hovering over the shadowy expanse of the near-empty parking lot. I shivered.
“Okay. Let’s go home,” he said, taking my hand as I got out of his car and started toward mine. “Your hands are freezing. Still a little shook-up?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. I pulled out of the lot, checking my rearview mirror every minute or so, just to be sure he was still there. I put the ’Vette into the garage, next to the Buick, and Pete parked in the driveway.
We walked together to the back door. “Would you feel better if I stayed here with you tonight?” he whispered.
Murder Go Round Page 13
