by Mary Burton
He leaned back in his chair wondering why the murderer would set fire to the shelter. Had someone in the shelter seen him dump the body? Or was the killer sending a message? “Any of the residents test positive for accelerant?”
“No. They were all clean. And none so far have any arson priors or reasons to burn the place.” Her Black-Berry beeped. She glanced at it but ignored the caller. “Any word on your Jane Doe?”
“I’m headed to the medical examiner’s office in a few minutes. She’ll be doing the autopsy in an hour. No match on prints yet. And so far no missing-persons reports match her description.”
“You’ve got yourself a puzzle, Garrison. And as I remember, you like puzzles.”
He grinned, hoping to dodge the personal stuff. “Sure, why not?”
She studied him a minute. “That’s why we didn’t work. I’m just too straightforward. An open book. No mystery to be untangled.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Not in our case.”
He tensed, unsure why she’d chosen now to revisit the past. Not sure what to say, he said nothing.
“Have you ever wondered why we didn’t work? That’s a puzzle I’ve never been able to crack.”
It hadn’t worked with Macy or anyone else—not since his wife had died. Life with Susan had been a roller coaster—ups and downs. And in the beginning it had been great. Then the mood swings became more pronounced. She either couldn’t sleep for weeks on end or would crash and not be able to get out of bed for days. Taking care of Susan had become a job unto itself. And still he’d loved her and tried to make it better. They’d been married fourteen months when he came home and found her dead. She’d committed suicide. That had been a decade ago, but since then he’d not been in any relationship for the long haul.
“I never lied to you, LaPorta.” And he hadn’t. He’d also never promised what he couldn’t deliver. A normal life. A family.
“You have a way of drawing people in and making them believe they’re special.”
An awkward silence settled between them. “I’m not sure what to say. ”
Macy usually didn’t struggle with emotions and it surprised him she did now. “Nothing to say, I guess.”
“What’s this about?”
Suddenly she straightened, as if realizing her terrible slip. “Sorry. Don’t know where that came from.” Color flushed her cheeks as she rose. “I’ll keep you posted if I find out anything more about the fire.”
He stood. “Great. Thanks.”
As Macy left his office, Garrison listed all the attributes that made Macy perfect for him. Smart, logical, independent. He respected and admired her, but had never loved her. Maybe Susan’s death had damaged him and left him no good for anyone.
His mind took an unexpected turn back to Eva Rayburn’s sharp eyes and smoky voice, which had remained with him all day. She was like a cool, smooth pond, but he suspected the waters below the surface were deep, murky and even turbulent. But was she a firebug or a killer? That he didn’t know.
A puzzle.
Macy was right on one score.
He liked puzzles.
Butterflies chewed Eva’s stomach when she knocked on the door of Mark Givens, director of financial aid at St. Margaret’s College. She’d sat in on a few classes and had discovered just how much she’d missed college and learning. She’d done some studying on-line in prison, but it had not been the same as sitting in a room full of students or talking directly to a professor. So on a whim six weeks ago, just days before the spring deadlines, she’d applied to the college and to the scholarship program, knowing without help she’d not be able to afford full-time college.
She’d been accepted two weeks ago to St. Margaret’s, but had yet to hear from financial aid. She’d been dreading this visit for days.
Eva pushed open the door. “Dr. Givens.”
Dr. Givens raised his dark gaze up from a stack of papers on his desk, peering over horn-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes to owlish proportions. He’d shorn his dark thinning hair close to his head and his white button-down shirt and black slacks exactly fit his trim body. As always, he studied her as if trying to peer into her brain.
“Eva Rayburn,” she supplied. “You said you might have news on my grant application today. ”
“Rayburn. Yes, I have your file.” He pretended to not quite remember her name, but she sensed he’d not forgotten the ex-con. Few did. He turned to the bird’s nest of papers on his desk and rooted through them. Several seconds passed before he found her paperwork. “Have a seat.”
Eva held the strap of her backpack so tight her knuckles ached. For so many years she’d told herself that wanting too much was dangerous. Much like venturing off the porch and racing to the car before the neighbor’s pit bull attacked.
But in the last six months, she’d found it harder and harder not to want more. She wanted to go to school, wanted a real college education, wanted a normal life. Still the memory of her year at Price haunted her. She’d reached and been punished for it. For ten years she’d licked her wounds, fought off anger and resentment and in the darkest hours of night dreamed again of what might be. Those dreams had grown hungrier and hungrier with each year and now it seemed they were demanding to be fed.
And now she was reaching again. And she’d never been more terrified.
“Has the committee decided on my scholarship?”
He nodded. “You have excellent college board scores. Perfect, in fact. I first assumed the results were wrong but you took them twice. Scored perfectly both times. That doesn’t happen often.”
“I’m good with tests.”
“And we received your transcripts. You earned all A’s throughout your first and only year of college. Excellent essays on your application.”
“Yes.”
“The only thing working against you of course is your criminal record.” He peered over the edge of his glasses. “We don’t get many students who have served time for manslaughter. ”
Eva lifted her chin, refusing to cower. She’d served her time. “No, I suppose not.”
“Your manslaughter conviction gave the committee pause.”
Eva sensed “The But” coming and had to fight a crushing wave of disappointment. She’d heard all the reasons she couldn’t be hired in Richmond or why she couldn’t rent a room. But instead of cowering or showing any sign of sadness, she trained her gaze on his wanting a direct connection when he rejected her. “What are you saying?”
“Your paperwork said that you killed a young man from your college, Price University.”
She’d been up-front about all the details. “Yes.”
“I spoke to the warden and to your parole officer.”
No doubt he’d asked about all the gruesome details that most were afraid to ask her directly. Why did you kill that boy? He raped me. How did you kill him? I don’t remember. They say I hit him in the head with a fireplace poker. Why did you burn the house down? I don’t remember.
She had the vague sense of an old scab being scraped open. “And?”
“Both had very good things to say about you. They believe you deserve a second chance.”
The breath she’d been holding seeped from her lungs. The warden had been kind to her, recognizing her need to learn. Her parole officer had given her used books to read.
Eva nodded, again fearing her voice would crack with emotion. Maybe she’d read him wrong.
“We are progressive here at St. Margaret’s. We’re not a big university but we believe what we do here has value. And we believe in second chances.” He smiled and he held out his hand. “You’re one of the strongest applicants we’ve had in years.”
Hope flickered. For an instant, her future flashed bright and shiny. “Does that also mean I get the scholarship? ”
He sighed. “You did not get the award.”
Her lips flattened as she choked back hurt and anger. “You just said I was your strongest applicant.”
&n
bsp; “You are, and if it were up to me you’d have gotten the money. But we have a very conservative board of admissions. Some were uncomfortable about your past.”
“They accepted me to the school.”
“Yes. You are smart. No doubt. But the committee decided other students deserved the scholarship more.”
Bitterness twisted in her belly. “More deserving.”
He grinned, oddly reminding her of a clown she’d once seen at the circus. Clowns were supposed to be happy, funny creatures, yet the one she’d seen had given her nightmares for a week. “You’ve been accepted. There must be another way to find financing.”
“Without the money, they might as well have denied me.”
“We can defer your admission up to three years.”
“At the rate I’m saving, it’ll take twenty years before I have enough. “ Suddenly the walls in the room closed on her. Her chest tightened and for a moment the crushing confinement of prison returned.
Eva extended her hand, wondering how long her past would haunt her. When did people forget about the past and just let you live? “Right. Thanks.”
His smooth palm wrapped around her hand. “If it means anything, you had my vote.”
“You’re not on the committee.”
“No.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Eva pulled her hand free and left his office. As she climbed down the building’s stairs she could feel her anger growing. For so long she’d refused to dream or want. And now that she had opened the door to the future, her past had again slammed the door in her face.
She paused at the bottom of the stairwell, her hand on the door. She’d been branded a murderer and done her time for the crime. But in those lost moments, doubt taunted her. Are you sure you killed him? Are you sure?
For so long, she’d simply accepted. But acceptance had not only cost her ten years, it had also gnawed into her future. The time had come to reach into the shadows and embrace doubt. Good or bad, she needed to know what happened in the moments leading up to Josiah’s death.
Eva yanked open the door, wincing as bright sunshine slammed her. She had to pause, as her eyes adjusted to the harsh glare. When her vision cleared, she headed for her truck, her long strides determined.
Twenty minutes later, grim determination had replaced the butterflies as she climbed the staircase to the second-floor computer lab at the college. She clutched a bag of fresh doughnuts as she walked to the teaching assistant’s office. She knocked.
“Yep. Come in.” The deep baritone voice had her spine straightening.
She summoned a grin. “Jeremy, I brought glazed doughnuts.”
Jeremy’s chair squeaked as he turned from a desk piled high with bits and pieces of computers. Long black hair skimmed narrow stooped shoulders and framed a narrow face. His large green eyes, accentuated by the blackness of his T-shirt, bulged a little when he laughed. He reminded Eva of a hobbit. “Back again?”
“We bad pennies keep turning up.”
He laughed. “You must want a favor. Another computer lesson?”
Smile widening, she handed him the doughnuts. “No lesson this time. I just need a little computer time.”
He dug a doughnut out of the bag and sniffed it. “You know the way to my heart.”
Eva kept her stance casual. “Is that ayes?”
Jeremy bit into the doughnut and closed his eyes in sheer pleasure. “Sure. What are you looking for?”
“Just doing a little poking around.”
“No chat room this time? ”
“Don’t really have the time for it now.” The chat room had been a fascinating world to her where it seemed no one judged her and accepted her at face value. She felt free when she surfaced. ‘Just searching.”
“Swear.”
“I do.”
“Have at it,” he mumbled as he extended his hand toward a laptop in the corner.
Eva had met Jeremy a few months ago when she’d been sitting in one of his classes. She’d not had much access to computers while she’d been in prison and she’d soaked up all he’d offered about computers. She’d figured out quickly he had a weakness for glazed doughnuts and came armed with a dozen when she picked his brain. Soon she was doing advanced searches on her own and even helping him.
She sat down in front of the computer and typed: “Sorority House Murder.” Seconds later her search gave her a list of choices to choose from.
“Have you considered college?” Jeremy said.
“Sure. But the money is holding me up.”
“You’re smart. I bet you’d get grant money.”
“Maybe.” She’d not told him about the scholarship and now was glad. Explaining why she’d been rejected meant explaining the past.
She selected an article and waited while it loaded. The article had been written over a decade ago and featured a picture of the sorority sisters who had testified against her. Sara. Lisa. Kristen.
They were the key to those missing minutes because they’d been there. They had testified that Eva had swung the fireplace poker and hit Josiah hard enough to kill him. They’d been so certain, so unified in their stories. They couldn’t, wouldn’t have lied. Would they? They’d been her closest friends.
“So who are those chicks?” Jeremy said.
She clicked out of the article, hit the print button and glanced back at him. His lips glistened with doughnut glaze. “Ancient history.”
“The look on your face said otherwise.”
“What’s that mean?” She grabbed the printout from the printer and tucked it in her pocket.
“Babe, you look like you could kill.”
Garrison and Kier arrived at Wellington and James just minutes before six. They showed their badges to the security camera and the receptionist buzzed the front door open.
“Pretty bad when you need security to protect you from your own clients,” Malcolm said.
Garrison scanned the reception area’s lush interior. “Everything has its price.”
The receptionist escorted them back to the conference room where Angie Carlson stood at the head of a long mahogany table. Dark circles hung under her eyes and she stood stiff and straight like a nun ready to dish out penance. “I haven’t heard from Mr. Danvers yet.”
“I have the deal. And it took some doing considering your client’s record.”
“I represented him a couple of months ago. He’s not my client now,” she said. “I called you because I thought he could help.”
Malcolm snorted. “Mighty generous.”
Carlson’s gaze flickered to Malcolm and for a moment Garrison imagined he saw sadness in the icy depths of her eyes. “Would you gentlemen like to have a seat? Mr. Danvers isn’t the most punctual.”
The detectives sat, as did Carlson. She drummed neatly trimmed fingers on the polished table. On the wall, a clock ticked. No one spoke, but the tension between the three could be cut with a knife.
At a quarter after, Garrison checked his watch. “How late does he usually run?”
“It’s hard to say. Let’s give it a half hour.”
“Sure.”
Malcolm settled back in his seat. “What’s your angle on all this, Carlson? ”
“No angle, Detective. Like I said, I thought I could help.”
Malcolm leaned back in his chair and knitted his fingers together. “I find that hard to believe after you put that scum Dixon back on the street.”
A muscle tensed slightly in her jaw. “I’ve no angle on this case.”
Garrison understood his partner’s anger, which mirrored his own. But the goal here today was to get information from Danvers, not get a pound of flesh. “We appreciate your help, Ms. Carlson.”
“Thank you.”
Malcolm raised a brow but kept his comments to himself.
At six-thirty Garrison and Malcolm rose. Normally, they’d not have waited for anyone this long. But this wasn’t about them but the victim. “Do you have Danvers’s last known addre
ss?”
She nodded and from her jacket pocket pulled out a slip of paper. “His girlfriend and he have an on-again, off-again relationship. Give her a try. If I hear from him, I’ll call you.”
He flicked the edge of the paper with his thumb. “Thanks.”
In the car Malcolm said, “She’s jerking our chain.”
“I don’t think so.”
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the brick apartment complex located on the west side of Alexandria, not far from Interstate 95. They parked in front of the building and crossed the sidewalk to the building’s front door, which surprisingly was unlocked. They pushed through the entryway, found the apartment number 3-B and climbed to the third floor. Hard rock music blared from the apartment’s interior. Garrison knocked and when no one answered, he pounded his fist on the door.
“Okay. Okay.” The woman’s voice mingled with a guitar solo. Her voice sounded rough and heavy. Seconds later the music shut off and footsteps moved toward the door. It opened partway thanks to a chain on the inside. “What do you want?”
The woman had a wild tangle of black hair and wore an oversized T-shirt and pajama pants. “We’re with the Alexandria Police. I’m Detective Garrison and this is my partner, Detective Kier. Your name is?”
“Tracy Henderson.”
He held up his badge so that she could see it. “Ms. Henderson, we’re here to see Lenny Danvers.”
She cocked a plucked brow. “He ain’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I’m not his mother.”
Garrison didn’t trust anything Danvers had told him and wanted to test some of the statements. “You bailed him out this morning.”
“I did not. That bastard knows I’m not putting another nickel into him.” The heavy scent of tobacco drifted around the woman. “I haven’t seen him in days.”
“Where do you think he went?”
She shrugged. “How do I know? He never tells me anything.”
“Who do you think bailed him out?”
“Likely he’s got another girlfriend.”
“Mind if we search the place?”
She lifted a brow, her expression teetering between amusement and annoyance. “Have at it.”
