Crimes of Passion

by Toni Anderson

  “Mary, it’s Bradley. I’m downstairs pounding on your door. Get down here and open the door or I’m letting myself in.”

  “Bradley,” she whispered.

  Blood pounding in her temples, she skirted the tracks on the floor and quickly made her way back down the stairs. She could see his tracks on the sides of her steps—mimicking her earlier attempt to walk up the stairs noiselessly. She reached the kitchen and felt a cold draft from the open kitchen door.

  “Mary! Mary! Answer the damn door,” Bradley shouted from the other side of the front door.

  She moved away from the kitchen, backing away from the open door and ran quickly to the front. She unlatched the deadbolt and threw open the door.

  “Hey, sorry,” Bradley said, when he saw what she was wearing. “I didn’t realize…”

  Then he saw her face and her grip on the gun.

  “What happened?” he said, closing the door behind him and instinctively moving in front of Mary.

  She took a deep breath. “He was here,” she said, her breath coming out in hitches. “He was in my bathroom. He was watching me while I was in the shower.”

  “Shit,” Bradley swore. “Stay here, I’ll check the house.”

  Mary shook her head. “He’s gone. Back door. He must have heard you.”

  He pulled out his phone and punched in some numbers. “I have a 10-25—Breaking and Entering,” he began, repeating Mary’s address. “I want a forensic unit here immediately, along with some officers to scour the area for any suspicious persons. Alden. Out.”

  He put his phone away and turned to Mary. She was standing in the middle of the living room, clasping the towel to her breast and looking lost.

  “How are you doing?” he asked softly.

  She shivered and shook her head. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed,” she replied.

  “Yeah, I can imagine,” he moved over to her. “Cold?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, a little.”

  “I don’t want you to go upstairs just yet,” Bradley said. “We need to check for prints. Do you have anything down here that you can put on to keep warm?”

  Mary motioned to the hall closet. “I have an overcoat in there,” she said.

  Bradley moved to the door. “Mary, do me a favor and stand over in that corner,” he motioned with his head, moving her away from the line of sight of the closet, just in case her intruder really hadn’t left the house.

  He pulled the door open, his gun ready, and found no one in the closet.

  “Which coat?” he asked, amazed at the number of different options hanging before him.

  “This one,” she said, coming up beside him, tugging a London Fog trench coat off a hanger, slipping the coat over her towel and tying it securely.

  “So, the bad guy isn’t in my closet,” she said, taking a deep breath and trying to calm her nerves.

  He nodded. Yeah,” he replied, glancing around the room.

  She knew what he wanted. He wanted to check the rest of the house. He knew, as well as she did, that the intruder could have only made it look like he had left. Waiting for another opportunity to get to his victim. And she was the potential victim.

  She sat on the arm of the recliner to hide the weakness in her knees. She knew Bradley wanted to search, but she wasn’t quite ready to be alone yet.

  “Do you want me to sit someplace safe so you can check out the rest of the house?” she asked.

  He looked at her; she could see the doubt in his eyes. “And you would you be willing to do that?”

  She actually smiled, feeling slightly better. “No, but I would be happy to back you up while you do it.”

  He nodded. “Just until my guys come,” he said. “Then you have to pretend that I’m in charge.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Michael Strong had a secret. A secret he had worked hard to keep. He did everything that was expected of him. As a young man, he had done an exemplary job on the senator’s campaign. That experience, and his family’s connections, had moved him up quickly in the financial and political community. He had married well and had taken his rightful position in society.

  Mike was President of the Freeport State Bank. He was on the board of a number of charitable organizations in town, as well as an advisor on a few municipal task forces. He was bright, charming, well-liked, and, he reminded himself, easily recognizable.

  He drove through the poorer section of town, keeping to the side streets until he merged onto the Beltline that led over to Highway 20. He accelerated and entered the Highway, heading west for only a mile or so. Then he exited on Highway 75 and continued north.

  The darkness of the rural road comforted him. No one would be able to recognize him or his car. The softly falling rain encouraged him. No one would be out on a night like this. No one would learn his secret.

  He thought about his wife, tucked into bed, waiting for him to get home from a late meeting. She didn’t suspect anything. How many years had he being lying to her?

  He stopped himself. He wasn’t lying. He was keeping this from her to protect her, protect his family, and protect his position in the community. Really, this was all for them, he reasoned.

  The neon lights from Flagstaff’s Bar and Grill glowed with welcome warmth. He felt the tension leave his body. This was his place; he knew he was always welcome here. They understood him here.

  He pulled up onto the rough gravel parking lot. The neon sign reflected in the puddles and the rain poured down the side of the building where the gutters had long since disappeared. He walked to the door, caught his reflection in the glass.

  He had been the wonder boy. Tall, athletic, blonde and intelligent. He was every high school girl’s dream and he had taken advantage of their adulation, as had been expected.

  His parents had expected so much—demanded so much. He had a name to carry on, a reputation to honor, and a legacy that bore responsibility.

  But no one asked him what he wanted. No one asked him how he felt. If they had known, he would have been ostracized and abandoned. His schooling, his position and his future would have been jeopardized. He couldn’t have that—so he lived a lie.

  The lights were dim inside the bar. There were booths discreetly placed so private conversations were indeed private. He walked to the bar and placed his order. “The usual, Mac,” he said with a smile.

  Mac understood that the success of his business depended on his ability to be discreet. Mike understood more than most that money was a great motivator.

  “Sure thing, Mike,” Mac replied. “There’s someone waiting for you at booth nine—you want me to bring it there?”

  Mike nodded, a little intrigued. “Yes, certainly. That would be great.”

  He walked across the room, slipped into booth nine and gasped in surprise at the man sitting across from him.

  “I never knew,” Mike said.

  The gentleman cut him off. “You still don’t,” he replied. “And if you want me to keep your dirty little secret, you’ll never mention this meeting to anyone.”

  He was soaked to the skin and muddy. There was dirt on his face, and if he hadn’t known him for more than twenty-four years he would have never recognized him.

  “Hank, how did you find out about me?” he asked.

  “I knew you were gay from the moment I met you, way back when we worked on the senator’s campaign together,” Hank replied. “It’s not that hard to see.”

  “But if you know, who else…?”

  Hank cut him off again. “Most people don’t see the way I do,” he said. “Your secret is safe, as long as I want it to be.”

  Mike leaned across the table. “Don’t joke about this Hank,” he said. “If people found out…if my parents found out…”

  “You’d send them to an early grave,” Hank chuckled. “And then you’d finally get all of their money. You should have outed yourself a long time ago.”

  ”Hank, this isn’t a laughing matter,” Mike replied.

  Han
k stopped laughing. He sat back in the booth, hidden by the shadows as the bartender brought Mike his beer. “You need anything else?” the bartender asked.

  “No. No, Mac, we’re good. Thanks,” Mike replied.

  “What do you want from me?” Mike asked, once the bartender had walked away.

  Hank reached over and pulled Mike’s beer across the table, took a sip, fiddled with the tall glass for a moment and then pushed it back to Mike.

  “I need you to do me a favor,” Hank replied, “that’s all.”

  “Just a favor? Why did you have to come out here and ask me? You could have just as easily stopped by the office.”

  Hank shrugged. “We both have our reasons to keep certain areas of our lives private,” he said pointedly. “Don’t we, Mikey?”

  Mike felt his skin heat with the flush of anger. He had always hated that nickname and, as he recalled, Hank had always enjoyed using it.

  “What do you want?”

  “I need some help, some financial advice, that’s all,” he said.

  “I do this and you never mention seeing me here?” he questioned. “Right? You never even hint about it?”

  Hank smiled and Mike shivered, reminded of the alligator at the zoo—cold, calculating and patient.

  “If you do this, you will have enough on me that you won’t ever have to worry about me,” he said. “Of course, that’s the risk I take. But I trust you Mike. I trust you with my life.”

  Maybe he had misjudged Hank. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he just needed a friend.

  Mike nodded. “Yeah, I can help you,” he said.

  Hank stood, keeping his face in the shadows. “Okay, I’ll leave now. You finish your drink, I don’t want to interrupt your down time. Why don’t you drive over to my office once you’re done here?”

  “It’s awfully stormy out there,” Mike added, hesitating. “Can’t we do this on another night?”

  Hank shook his head. “No, it really has to be tonight.”

  Mike sighed and took a sip of his beer. “Okay, I’ll be there. Let me just finish this.”

  Hank smiled. “I knew I could count on you.”

  THIRTY

  The sun was barely peeking through the curtains when Mary woke up the next morning. She stretched her arms over her head and groaned. She was stiff and sore. Her entire body ached.

  She shifted her position and got caught up in her clothes. What am I wearing? she wondered, and looked down to see her trench coat wrapped around her, definitely looking like someone slept in it.

  Memories of the night before rushed through her mind. The police had been understanding and professional. Her entire house had been dusted for prints, photographed and searched in record time. The initial report had determined that her intruder had known what he was up to and left no evidence except for the muddy footprints. She almost felt that he had left those on purpose. Psychological warfare.

  She remembered that after they had done all they could, Bradley had volunteered to make her a cup of tea while she sat on the couch. That was the last thing she remembered.

  She got up and walked to the bathroom. The muddy footprint, still visible on her white tiled floor, stopped her at the door. She stared at the print with a mixture of fear and resentment.

  Who was this monster that violated her most private space?

  What were his thoughts when he was standing there watching her?

  What would he have done if Bradley hadn’t knocked on the door just when he had?

  Her hand crept to her throat and her face paled as she imagined the possibilities.

  “Good morning.”

  Mary jumped and spun around. Bradley stood leaning on the bedroom doorframe. “I wondered when you would finally wake up,” he added.

  “Wake up?” she stammered, confused.

  “It’s after nine,” he replied. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

  “You’ve been here all night?”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Do you honestly believe that I would leave you alone after last night?”

  She smiled sheepishly. “Thanks… For everything.”

  He shrugged. “No problem,” he said. “Now, you need to move out of the way.”

  “What…?”

  She was actually speechless when she saw Bradley retrieve a mop and bucket from the hallway and carry it past her.

  “What are you doing?” she finally asked.

  “I’m mopping your bathroom,” he replied simply, putting his words into action.

  “But why?”

  “Because you don’t need this reminder to haunt you any longer,” he paused and smiled up at her, “if you’ll forgive the pun.”

  She smiled back at him. “But I could…”

  “Of course you could,” he interrupted. “But I wanted to do this for you.”

  She looked around the room, not sure what she should do next.

  “Why don’t you go downstairs and use the guest bathroom?” he suggested. “I’ll be done here in a few minutes.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, I will.”

  She grabbed her toiletries and a change of clothes. She hesitated at the top of the stairs and saw, to her relief, that the other traces from the night before had already been removed. Courtesy of Bradley Alden, she was sure.

  Bright sunshine streaming through her kitchen windows dispelled the rest of the shadows. Mary actually smiled as she walked through the kitchen to the guest bath.

  A half-hour later she felt like a new woman. She walked out of the bathroom to the smells of breakfast.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Bradley stood at the stove with a pan of bacon frying on one burner and some eggs scrambling on another. “Has anyone ever told you that, for a private investigator, you ask some pretty stupid questions?”

  She laughed and it felt good. “Actually, I used to ask much better questions before…”

  “Yeah, I know. Before you died.”

  “No, before I met you,” she said.

  “So, I have the ability to create chaos in your thought process?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows roguishly.

  She laughed. “I think it might be that you are constantly surprising me.”

  “Keep ‘em guessing. That’s what I always say,” he quipped, as he moved the bacon from the pan to a waiting platter. “Now sit down, breakfast is almost ready. The cup of tea I owe you from last night is on the table.”

  Mary slid into her chair and took a sip of the warm tea. “So, what happened to me last night?” she asked. “The last thing I remember is sitting on the couch waiting for my tea.”

  Bradley smiled. “Well, I was trying to impress you with my version of scintillating conversation… So naturally, you fell asleep immediately.”

  “How incredibly rude of me,” she replied.

  “Yes, I thought so too,” he agreed, placing two full plates on the table. “But considering your day, I let it pass.”

  “That was gracious of you,” she said, biting into a piece of crisp bacon.

  He sat down across from her and smiled. “Yes, once again, I thought so too.”

  “And then you slept downstairs?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied, rubbing his neck. “Your couch is more comfortable than your recliner, but really, you’re going to have to invest in something that’s a little longer if we’re going to keep this up.”

  She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. “I don’t know if I said this last night, but thank you for being at the right place at the right time several times yesterday.”

  He nodded and stared at her for a few moments, then slid his hand out from beneath hers. “You were lucky. We were both lucky. And we can’t rely on luck anymore, Mary. You’re going to have to let me in on this one.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I agree.”

  He stopped, speechless. “Just like that? You agree?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I figure you’ll up the odds in my favor.”r />
  He smiled and scooped some eggs into his mouth. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  “I thought it might be a good idea to review the case and just lay low,” Mary answered. “I’d like to enjoy a day without being someone’s target practice.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “I need to go back to my place and get my laptop, but if it’s okay with you, I’ll plan on working here all day.”

  Mary didn’t want to feel the relief his statement gave her. After all, she was a one-person show, a loner, a private eye—she shouldn’t look forward to working with someone.

  “And I’ll bring lunch,” he offered. “I make a mean pot of chili.”

  Mary smiled and decided not to question the current circumstances, just enjoy the camaraderie. “That sounds great, I love chili. But it doesn’t seem fair, since you made breakfast.”

  Bradley stood and picked up both plates. “So you’ll owe me. Big!”

  “Yeah, I will,” she laughed. “If you ever need to locate a ghost, give me a call and I’ll give you a discount.”

  The laughter quickly went out of his eyes when he turned back. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever need that,” he replied.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded, quickly, too quickly. “I’m great,” he said, sitting down once again. “Now let’s talk about this case.”

  An hour later, Mary had given Bradley an overview of all of the different aspects of the situation. Bradley pushed back in his chair, tapping his hand on the table. “You’ve done a great job of getting the information pulled together,” he said.

  Mary smiled. “Thanks, but what I really need is to be able to go over all the pertinent data to see if anything clicks.”

  Bradley nodded and then glanced at his watch. “Okay, I need to change and pick up the ingredients for lunch,” he said. “I’ll park the cruiser at my place and walk back. That way it looks like you’re alone, in case anyone wants to come by unannounced.”

  Mary winced.

  Bradley stood up and leaned over toward Mary. “But you won’t be alone,” he said. “I already have an unmarked car watching your house.”