“Right, the gun walked downstairs on its own, and Maggie followed to find out where it was going.” Dan took a big bite out of a pastry and licked the cream cheese off his lips with his tongue. He added, “How about the conspiracy theory? Anyone get out of prison lately who might want to get back at Maggie for putting him away? Defense attorneys like Archie Gale love to blow smoke about that kind of shit.”
Abel scoffed. “There’s nothing like that. I’ve got people running down her old cases, but so far, the violent perps she put away are all still behind bars or dead. Cases don’t come much more straightforward than this. Stride’s the one who wants this to be some mystery, because he can’t accept the fact that Maggie did it.”
Dan leaned forward. “Is Stride interfering?”
“He was at the crime scene before anyone else. I don’t like that, but I don’t think he actually touched anything or helped her clean up.”
“If he gets in the way, or sticks his nose into this, I want to know immediately.”
“You personally?”
“Damn right. I wasn’t in favor of bringing him back, you know. As far as I was concerned, K-2 should have kept you in the top job, but Stride and K-2 are as thick as thieves. If Stride does anything that compromises this investigation, I will personally see that his ass gets kicked out of the lieutenant’s chair.”
Abel didn’t know how to respond to that. “I wouldn’t want it back even if K-2 offered it, and he won’t.”
“Never say never.”
Abel didn’t like game-playing. He wasn’t going to be a pawn. He knew Stride was permanently on Dan’s shit list because of the blown election, but if Dan was burning to take him down before he left the city, he could do it on his own.
He heard the muffled ringing of Dan’s cell phone. Dan reached into the pocket of his bathrobe and retrieved it.
“Erickson,” Dan said into the phone.
Abel watched Dan’s eyes do a nervous dance. Dan snapped his fingers and gestured at the door, and Abel was glad to take the hint. Time to go.
Whatever the call was, it was bad news.
“Hello, Dan. Do you know who this is?”
There was a moment of dead air as Dan wrenched his way from one reality to the next. Every victim was like that.
“Yes,” Dan replied, his voice forced.
“Tonight’s the night. Is Serena ready to make the drop?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.” He added, “But you know this is just a down payment, right?”
“That’s not what we discussed.”
“You’re right, it’s not, but things have changed. A lot’s happened this week, Dan. You think I don’t read the papers? The price has gone up.”
“That’s not acceptable.”
He chuckled long and low. “I love lawyers. Always negotiating. You’re right, Dan, why don’t we just forget about it. Hand the phone to that cop who’s there with you, and I can let him know what’s been going on.”
He waited as Dan stewed. Targets like Dan were the easy ones. They’d chew glass rather than risk public embarrassment. Or jail.
“What did you have in mind?” Dan asked finally.
He smiled. “Let’s wrap up the first deal, and then I’ll check in with you again. I’d hate to see your big move to Washington get tanked.”
“Give me the details,” Dan snapped.
“Call Serena,” he instructed. “Tell her to be at the Park Hill Cemetery off Vermillion Road at ten o’clock tonight. Alone. With the money.”
“Why there?”
“Let’s just say I like the idea of being surrounded by dead people.” He thought about the river stench of the rising waters in Alabama and added, “The truth is, Dan, I’m a ghost.”
THIRTEEN
Stride felt sorry for the guy from Byte Patrol, who was seated in front of the store computer at Lauren Erickson’s dress shop, Silk. The store manager, Sonia Bezac, jabbed her razor-sharp nail dangerously close to his eyes and wouldn’t have thought twice about digging in and gouging one out. The techie had a giant physique that made his neon purple T-shirt look as if it had shrunk in the wash, but Sonia may as well have been wearing black leather and cracking a whip.
“This is the third time in a month I’ve had you in here,” she snapped at him. “Each time you tell me it’s fixed, and each time the fucking machine freezes up again.”
The tech shrugged his craggy shoulders, and his neck disappeared. “Have you tried rebooting?”
Sonia threw her hands in the air. She was tall and extremely thin, with a narrow face, prominent chin, and a slightly drooping nose. With her hands over her head, and her red hair blazing like sunshine, she looked as if she were rearing back to fire off a lightning bolt. “Rebooting? Do I look like an idiot? Don’t you think I would turn the goddamn thing off and on eighteen times before calling you?”
“I have to ask,” the man said.
“Don’t ask. Just get busy. I need my files back.”
She swung away and expelled her breath loudly as if she were spitting out a gristly piece of steak. The techie caught Stride’s eye and winked at him.
Sonia stopped dead when she saw Stride standing in the middle of the dress shop, watching her. He knew he looked out of place, the way any man would, surrounded by glittering evening gowns and cocktail dresses. He could see himself reflected in half a dozen mirrors. He wasn’t sure how he would feel, seeing Sonia again, and it didn’t help when she immediately stalked up to him, cocked her head to one side, and kissed him on the lips.
“Soft lips,” she said to him. “Thirty years later, and I still remember that.”
He had dated Sonia exactly once, when he was a junior in high school. Stride was wild with grief because his father had just died, and Sonia was on a quest to rob as many teenage boys as she could of their virginity. She smuggled a bottle of Stoli out of her parents’ house, and the two of them spent three hours in a parking lot near Gooseberry Falls, drinking shots until they were sick. They undressed each other through a fog of alcohol but wound up vomiting on the highway shoulder before they had sex. Neither of them was in the mood after that.
A month later, Stride met Cindy, and he never went out with Sonia again. He had bumped into her in the city off and on over the course of three decades. Sonia wound up marrying a urologist named Delmar Bezac, and Stride remembered Cindy joking about whether Delmar or Sonia had seen more penises in their days.
“It’s hazy to me, Sonia,” he told her. “All I remember is a cold night and warm vodka. Or was it a warm night and cold vodka?”
Sonia dabbed her lips, as if checking her lipstick to make sure she wasn’t smudged. “I bet you remember more than that.”
“No comment.”
“You became a cop. I see you in the papers all the time. You know what they say. Cops carry big guns.”
Stride ignored that. “You’re working for Lauren. I’m surprised.”
“What, the rich bitch and the slut?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Never mind, you were thinking it. This place is just a tax write-off for Lauren. I run the store.”
“How’s Delmar?” Stride asked. “I understand the man is a whiz with a catheter.”
Sonia giggled. “You always were fucking funny.”
“Is that the way you talk to your customers? Do mothers of the bride like a girl who swears a blue streak and has a temper like a cannon?”
Sonia swept her long mane of red hair out of her eyes. “I control myself with customers, thank you very much. Except for the young girls. These new brides, they pretend to be sweet little girls for their mommies, but you should hear the stories they tell me.”
“Do you have kids?”
“Two. Boys, thank God. They’re both away in college.”
Stride looked around at the dresses hung on the white plastic bodies of the mannequins. Sonia herself wore a glittering lilac dress that clung to her long, slender lines and would have looked stylish at a symphon
y ball. Her makeup minimized the tracks near her eyes and lips. In her heels, she was nearly as tall as Stride. Sonia noted his eyes and spread her arms, inviting his gaze. The dress fell low across her pale, small chest, and Stride realized he could remember vividly, even so many years later, how her breasts felt in the calloused grip of his teenage hands. Her skin didn’t have the taut freshness of youth anymore, but she was still attractive, and she had smoothed some of her rough edges.
“I clean up nicely, don’t I?” she asked, guessing where his mind was going. “Not bad for a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“I can’t picture you in a place like this, Sonia.”
“You mean because all my prom dresses wound up with grass stains?”
“No comment again.”
“You’re here, so let me give you the tour.” Sonia slung an arm through Stride’s elbow and steered him around the shop, which was lushly carpeted in a royal blue and had track lighting illuminating the racks. One sparkling chandelier was hung in the center of the ceiling. Sonia rattled off the names of Italian designers whom Stride had never heard of and had him run his fingers along fabrics that slid off his skin like skates on fresh ice. His hands came away with glitter.
Silk was located on Superior Street in the heart of the brick-lined streets of downtown. Nearby, there were funky gift shops and coffeehouses offering tarot card readings designed to lure tourists out of Canal Park and New Age students from the university. For the lawyers and suits at the courthouse and in the banks, there were also jewelers and investment brokers. An upscale dress shop in downtown Duluth relied mostly on proms and weddings for its business. It was also the only place in town where the women of Duluth’s small upper crust, and trendy young singles with money, could find name fashions that didn’t come with a zip-out hood.
“Does Lauren plan to keep the shop after she and Dan move to Washington?” he asked.
Sonia shook her head. “I’m trying to get Delmar to buy it for me.”
“Good for you.”
“Yeah, except Lauren is trying to screw me on the price. The woman is fucking cold-blooded, you know?”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Stride said.
“Oh, yeah, I saw the papers last year. She had her knives out for you. It’s lucky you’re still alive.”
Stride smiled and didn’t reply.
“I guess you’re not here just to remember the good old days,” Sonia said.
Stride shook his head. “Tanjy.”
“Sure. I still haven’t heard from her.”
“Tell me about her,” Stride said.
“You probably know her better than me. I mean, because of all that craziness with the fake rape in November.”
“I don’t feel like I know her at all,” Stride admitted. “Were you the one to hire her?”
“Yeah, she was perfect for the store. She has those amazing mulatto features and a great eye for fashion.”
“Did you know anything about her sex life?”
“Why, because sex is my specialty?” Sonia grinned in a way that led Stride to think she was still competing with Delmar for access to the private parts of Duluth males. “There’s nothing wrong with a little sin from time to time, Jon. Maybe you should take a walk on the wild side.”
Have you two ever done anything… strange?
“Meaning what?” he asked.
“Meaning not everyone is satisfied with once a week in the missionary position, you know? I may be past forty, but I’m as horny as I ever was.”
“That’s a scary thought.”
“Why don’t we have dinner, and I can tell you what I mean.”
“Pass,” he said.
“Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Let’s get back to Tanjy,” Stride said. “Did you know about her rape fantasies?”
“No, around me, she’s very conservative, very Christian. Maybe she has a multiple personality thing going on, who knows. Not that I’m judging what she does in bed. I sure wouldn’t want to see my sex life in the papers.”
“Men seem to fall for her hard.”
“Oh, God, yeah. It made me a little jealous. Look, I’ve been with a lot of men, and I never get any complaints, you know? But no one’s offered to bronze my pussy.”
“Nice,” Stride said.
“I’m just saying, Tanjy was in a whole other league.”
“I talked to Mitchell Brandt today,” Stride said. “Mitch is a friend of yours, right?”
“You could say that,” Sonia said with a tiny smile.
“You introduced Tanjy and Mitch?”
“It was more like Mitch saw Tanjy in the store, and I led him over to her by his cock.”
“Did he tell you about the rape stuff while they were dating?”
“Not the gory details. He just said she was an animal in bed. I was pretty surprised.”
“Mitch says she dumped him for another guy.”
Sonia smiled. “Poor Mitch. He’s never alone for long.”
“Do you know who Tanjy was seeing?”
“No, it was pretty obvious she was having a big romance, but she kept it quiet. I asked her about it a few times and got nothing.”
“Any idea why?”
“I figure he was married.”
“Was this before or after the rape charge?” Stride asked.
“Before.”
“What happened after she admitted the story was a fake?”
Sonia caressed her chin with her fingertips as she thought about it. “I think the rape thing killed the romance. There weren’t any more secret lunches. I guess the guy figured he was dating a nutcase, and he was probably worried the affair would come out.”
“So she wasn’t dating anyone lately?”
“Not that I know of.”
Stride was surprised.
“You never saw her with anyone in the store?”
Sonia shook her head. “We don’t get many men in here. Just husbands who sit and read Esquire while their wives try on dresses. Most of them aren’t the type to catch the eye of a girl like Tanjy.”
“She never talked about being stalked or followed?”
“Not to me.”
“Did you know Eric Sorenson?”
Sonia’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Sure. Why?”
“Did you ever see him with Tanjy?”
“No.”
“Could he have been Tanjy’s mystery man? The one she dumped Mitch Brandt for?”
“No.” Sonia tugged on one strap of her dress and played with her hair.
“You sound pretty sure.”
“I would have known if it were him, that’s all.”
“Why?”
Sonia shrugged and didn’t reply.
“How do you know Eric?” Stride asked.
“Socially.”
“Were you having an affair with him?”
“That’s none of your business.” Her red hair fell across her cheek. “What are you, a cop or a goddamn gossip columnist?”
“You think I like asking these questions?”
Sonia whirled away and planted herself in front of the store window. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest. “You don’t know who I am, Jon. You’ve hardly seen me in thirty years. How dare you come in here making judgments about my life. You don’t know anything about me.”
“This isn’t personal,” Stride told her.
“Well, it sure as hell sounds personal.”
“Look, there are only two things I want. I want to know where Tanjy Powell is and what happened to her. And I want to know who killed Eric Sorenson.”
“I have nothing to say about Eric.”
Stride swore under his breath. “Then tell me about Tanjy,” he said.
Sonia swiveled her head to look at him. “What about her?”
“You told Lauren that she left early on Monday.”
She tossed her hair back. “That’s right.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.”
It was like coaxing drops of wine out of an empty bottle now, trying to get her to talk. “What happened that day?” he asked.
“She took a break about three o’clock. When she came back, she was upset.”
“About what?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did she say anything?”
“No.”
Stride was frustrated. “How long was she gone?”
“Maybe half an hour.”
“Do you know where she went?”
Sonia shrugged. “When she came back, she had a cup of coffee from Katrina’s place down the street. Java Jelly.”
“Katrina?”
“Katrina Kuli. She owns the coffee shop. Talk to her, not me. Maybe she knows what the hell happened.”
FOURTEEN
Java Jelly, where Tanjy got her coffee on Monday afternoon before her disappearance, was three blocks down Superior Street from Silk. It was a twenty-something hangout and a haven for folk musicians on the weekends, with warped wood floors, mismatched antique tables, and black-and-white publicity photos taped on the walls. The ceiling was low, and black pipes wobbled on loose brackets overhead. He saw a few students using WI-FI on their laptops and nursing lattes. He smelled roasting beans and old sweat socks.
The woman working the counter was heavyset, at least two hundred pounds, with brown hair bunched into two pigtails. She wore a tie-dye shirt that let three inches of her bare stomach bulge out over the belt of her jeans. Her navel was pierced, and so was her upper lip, and she had a barbed wire tattoo wound around her neck.
“Help you?” the woman asked him. Her voice was polite but cool. She was in her early thirties and older than she looked. As a university town, Duluth had its share of ex-students who never grew out of their hippy phase.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions go better with a muffin, don’t you think?” she asked, wiping the counter.
“Sorry, I’m not hungry,” Stride said. He added, “I’m with the police.”
“So what? Is there some kind of no-muffin-when-I’m-on-duty rule?”
“Okay. Blueberry.”
“Yah shoooor, blooooberry, the state muffin of Minnnnnnahhhsooodddaa.” She grabbed a plate and snagged a muffin from the rack behind her with a pair of tongs.
Stalked Page 9
