“That doesn’t sound so bad. I win!” She patted his cheek twice, and then was gone.
David pushed open the door to Larch Avenue with liveliness in his step, and a smile on his face.
Chapter Twelve
At five o’clock, after a couple of hours spent working and a forty-five minute stroll with Johnson, David was ready for a quick shower before the two of them walked to Genevieve’s house for dinner. The streets of Shady Grove were busy, as they should have been on a weekend afternoon as summer’s approach began to seem more like a reality than a dream. They had begun by meandering down to Easton Avenue, but had quickly veered north, the encroaching desolation of the town’s southernmost street proving an ill match for David’s ebullient mood.
He had only taken three steps into the Rainbow Arms’ lobby before that mood was punctured and deflated.
“Mr. Wilcott. I’ve been wondering how long I would have to wait for you.” Detective Ormsby had returned. He’d been studying the names on the building’s mailboxes, but pivoted as David entered.
“Detective.” David nodded to him. “What can I help you with?”
“Oh, quite a lot. Quite a lot.” Ormsby smiled, but the effect was more chilling than comforting. David understood that this was undoubtedly his intent.
“Why are you here? Why do you live here?” he began.
David noted that he hadn’t pulled out his notebook or automatic pencil. “How exactly could my answers to those questions be relevant to your investigation?” he asked.
An eyebrow rose. A breath was taken. Detective Ormsby waited, patiently. David breathed carefully as well, attempting to keep his pulse, as well as his anger, in check.
A woman stepped into the lobby from the common area, took one glance at the two men staring each other down, and hurried outside. David recognized her: Patty Fisher, from 2E. But he hadn’t acknowledged her. He intuited that Ormsby was searching for weaknesses, looking to strike at any Achilles’ heel David happened to reveal.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. This is ridiculous! he thought as they passed the 30-second mark. What kind of policeman utilizes these sorts of playground tactics?
Ormsby cleared his throat. “Do you have an answer for me?” he asked, his steely voice tight, “or are you still trying to think of one?”
“I live here because I do!” David burst out, unable to tamp down his ire. “I have to live somewhere, I wanted to live in Shady Grove because of my Grandpa. Why would I need to think up a different answer?”
“I’m not sure. Why would you?” was thrown right back. And then, “Why this building? Why the Rainbow Arms?”
“Why does it matter?”
Ormsby took a step forward. He practically towered over David at this distance. “Because it does. I told you on Thursday, no piece of information is useless in a murder investigation. For example, I’ve discovered that you and Janice Templeton are friends, a fact you must have conveniently forgotten to mention to me on Thursday.”
“You didn’t ask me on Thursday!” David wanted more than anything to back up and reclaim his personal space, but didn’t dare.
Ormsby cocked his head. “I don’t know, Wilcott. I tell you that a man’s been murdered, I tell you in which unit, and which tenant is on the lease for that unit. It might have occurred to you at some point in our discussion that to bring up your friendship with the deceased’s girlfriend might be a good idea.”
“It wasn’t exactly a friendly discussion, and I honestly didn’t think it mattered.”
A meaty finger flew straight at David’s chest. He gasped sharply at the sting, stepping backwards while trying not to tread on Johnson, who’d begun to growl. David gripped the leash tightly.
“It’s not your job to determine what matters or doesn’t here,” Ormsby said, his words drenched in derision. “And my sincerest apologies if you didn’t feel our talk was friendly. I do my best to be a civil police detective, but on occasion I actually have to perform my duties, which don’t always involve being a Mr. Goody two-shoes. That undoubtedly works well in your line of business, but not in mine. Now! Why did you choose to live at the Rainbow Arms? An educated man like yourself, opting to live down on Piston Avenue? I’m not seeing this clearly.”
David’s breathing pattern was accelerating. Johnson looked up at him, obviously concerned about the interactions taking place above, never mind the words.
“I needed a place to live,” snapped David. “I found one. Beginning of story, end of story.”
Another neighbor walked by, one of the Martinez kids from 2A, heading out for the evening. A swift peek at the two men, and then his head was down and he was out of there.
“How would you characterize your relationship with Janice Templeton?”
“We’re neighbors who are social. Friends might be a bit strong. But if you want to call it that, it’s fine with me.”
“Do you spend a lot of time alone with Janice?”
“What? No!” David gave his head a shake, trying to think clearly. “But yes, on occasion we have been alone together.”
“Well, which one? Yes? Or no?” Ormsby demonstrated no visible pleasure at having caught his adversary in a distortion.
David drew a long breath. “We see each other in the courtyard – the garden out back – reasonably often. We sit and chat. About nothing. And everything. Stupid stuff, neighbor stuff.”
“Were you ever a visitor in her apartment?”
David hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes. We had a Coke and crackers, or something like that. We talk, just like in the courtyard.”
“How often has this occurred?”
“Which? Talking in the apartment or outside?”
“Inside. And how exactly did your neighborly chats get upgraded to indoor status?”
“The weather. If it was cold or rainy, we’d talk inside.”
“Do you have a regular appointment with her? Is this an ongoing thing? And you didn’t answer my question about the frequency of these cozy little confabs.”
David closed his eyes for a few seconds, wondering how the hell a single day could include such incredible highs and lows. And then he faced Ormsby again. “We have no appointment. If we run into each other, we talk. We’ve been friendly for probably six months. I’ve been inside her apartment perhaps seven or eight times.”
“The last time being?”
David thought. “A week ago. A few days before it happened. The murder, that is.”
“Janice didn’t do her dishes too often, did she?”
“How the hell would I know?”
Ormsby’s smile was back. “We found a set of your prints on a glass in her kitchen. You had a Coke. Straight. Some nuts, too.”
“My fingerprints? What is this? Am I a suspect now?”
The smile evaporated. “You always were, Wilcott. We lifted your prints from your own front door, by the way, so don’t get your panties all in a bunch.”
“But…” David was entirely befuddled. “I read in the paper today that Heck was killed probably because of some drug connection! That the two guys – the two who came to the building – ”
“Deke and Thickman?”
“Yeah, them. The drug guys! That they… they had maybe killed him because of some money he owed them!”
“A lot of maybes and probablys in there, Wilcott. You read your newspaper good. Except that in the Courier, the word ‘allegedly’ was used about fifty times today. How well did you know Heck?”
“Heck? Not well at all. We just knew each other to say hi or nod.”
“Did you know he beat Janice? Had been doing so for years, in fact?”
David’s eyes found his mailbox. “Yeah. I knew that. A few of us did. Their relationship was… pretty crappy.”
“Pretty normal, you mean, for a lot of folks who live this side of town. What’d you think about that, about Heck beating the crap out of Janice on a regular basis?”
David shifted so he could glare right
up at Ormsby. “It sucked. All right? I thought it sucked. But what was I going to do, tell him?”
The detective shrugged. “Maybe you did. Perhaps last Wednesday, around noon or so.”
David gritted his teeth. “I wasn’t even here then! Which you already know, since you visited Culpepper Mills to ask about my whereabouts that day!”
“Don’t get tetchy. Remember, this is my job. I’m merely serving the public interest.”
David wasn’t tetchy, he just wanted to drill the detective a new one to serve his own interest.
“Did you know she had a crush on you? That she considered you a Good Samaritan of sorts?”
“No! How would I know that? All we did was talk. Nothing else!”
Yet another resident of the Rainbow Arms strode into the lobby, and David felt himself turning red. Was he going to be questioned and bullied in front of everyone for the rest of the evening?
Detective Ormsby had followed his line of thought. “Why don’t we step into your apartment for a few minutes?” he said. “More private. I just have a few more questions to ask, and then we’ll be through.”
“Ask them here.” David’s tone was as harsh as anything he’d heard come out of his mouth in years.
Ormsby pursed his lips. “Well, to be honest, I was going to ask if I could take a quick look-see around. I could get a search warrant by Monday if I had to, but it would be so much easier…”
David rolled his eyes at the casually dangled implication. “What? You’re hoping you’ll find the murder weapon in my apartment?”
“We don’t have it yet.”
“Yeah, I read that too! A blunt object, probably stone or steel, with a slightly rounded edge. Perhaps you’d like to examine my rock collection?”
“Do you have one?” Ormsby actually looked excited by this prospect.
“No! No, I don’t!” David was torn, though, as to whether giving in to the detective or making him get a warrant, if that was what he was truly planning to do, was the simpler means of ending this inanity.
“Fine. Go look around,” he finally said, and then he and Johnson headed for his apartment with Ormsby trailing behind.
David unlocked and pushed open the door. “Have a ball,” he stated dryly.
As Johnson growled and attempted to lunge at him, Ormsby wordlessly stepped by the pair. After a brief survey of the living room, he headed for the kitchen and began opening cupboards. David turned his back, knelt, and tried to calm Johnson as he listened to his belongings being pored through and pawed over.
Three minutes passed before the detective was back. “You need to do laundry,” he uttered with deadpan delivery.
“Are you through? Can I be crossed off the suspect list now?” David asked.
Ormsby shook his head. “If and when that happens, I might let you know.” He waited a few seconds, and then feigned disappointment at David’s lack of response to his joke.
David stood to the side so Ormsby could step back into the common area.
He didn’t move. “Don’t worry, Wilcott. Almost done here. One more question: does your girlfriend know about your relationship with Janice Templeton?”
But at that, David lost it. With Johnson right beside him, he pushed himself directly into Ormsby’s face. “You leave Genevieve out of this! I know that you know her. She told me how you’re friends with Todd. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but that’s well outside the bounds of what’s appropriate.”
“This isn’t a game, Wilcott.” Ormsby leaned forward until his chin was practically touching David’s nose. “But a word of advice. A woman like Genevieve MacGuffie deserves better than you. If I find evidence of anything, anything inappropriate that might have happened between you and Janice, it’s going on the public record. Understand?”
David glowered upwards, pure hatred flowing through him like molten fire. This time, though, it was Ormsby who backed off first, calmly, taking a single reverse step before striding into the common area and heading out through the lobby.
David resisted the urge to slam his door shut with all his strength. He had already drawn enough attention from the neighbors this afternoon.
Chapter Thirteen
A long, hot shower hadn’t been enough to purge the distaste regarding his encounter with the detective from David’s thoughts. He’d pounded the stall’s tiles a few times just to release some of his negative energy, but all this had accomplished was to bring Johnson into the bathroom, the same inquisitive look on his face each time.
“Goddamn it all!” David muttered to himself, not even sure what it was that he was angriest about. Ormsby’s cavalier superiority? His absurd allusions? His tenuous connection with Genevieve, along with the ridiculous threats to expose David should he unearth some impropriety with Janice?
But there hadn’t been any! What had they done, other than talk, and share the courtyard, and eat a few afternoon snacks together while she disclosed cautious hints about her dreadful relationship with Heck?
Of course, the last couple of times they’d been together, her caution had been absent, and she’d made quite a few upsetting disclosures.
But a crush on him? From what source had that supposition been dredged?
David turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and began to dry himself. And then he poked his head into the bedroom and winced: it was 5:45 already. So much for a leisurely perusal of the wine selection at the liquor store en route to Genevieve’s.
He dressed quickly, and did his best with his hair. And then he packed a backpack: sneakers, a tee shirt and shorts, and a handful of dog treats. While he had managed to slip a toothbrush and razor into a drawer at Genevieve’s house without upsetting the applecart, his minor encroachments into her closet space had been firmly rebuffed.
“You ready to go out again?” he asked Johnson. Johnson leapt off the couch to paw at the front door. “All right, let’s go.” David closed and locked the door behind them, and was halfway to the lobby before he performed an about-face and headed for Apartment 1D.
“Let me just see if she’s home,” he said to his dog, who appeared confused.
But knocking on Janice’s door yielded no response. Her doorframe still had shreds of yellow and black Do Not Cross tape dangling here and there, and where a doormat should have lain was a welter of jumbled footprints.
Fifteen seconds later, David found himself bounding up the stairs to the second floor, only his third foray to the Rainbow Arms’ upper level in nearly two years.
Knocking on the door of 2B, though, where Clair and Mrs. Rushen resided, was also unfruitful. What David would have said to either one of them was a mystery, even to David, but he felt a strong urge to ask Clair if she could explain things to him.
Which was insane. She was a child. She was in first grade.
David closed his eyes for a few seconds before turning to descend the stairs. What was going on at the Rainbow Arms? A man murdered; David an alleged suspect in that murder; the relationship of the victim’s girlfriend to David under a microscope. Janice had been visiting her mother when the incident happened, and a strange little girl with a freaky nutjob of a guardian had apparently told her that she should do so. And just as when Clair had stated so forthrightly that she liked Genevieve’s name, or that she didn’t like Detective Ormsby, David felt disoriented, out of his depth. As though he was unknowingly on a precipice, directly above something that was far beyond either his powers of observation or understanding to decipher.
“Hey ya. Ya headed out?” David blinked, and found himself facing Bill Lopes, halfway down the walkway to Piston Avenue.
“Yeah. Uh, yeah.” He shifted his backpack as Bill reached down to rub Johnson’s head. “Going to Genevieve’s for dinner.”
“Oh. Guess I’m gonna have to finish all these by myself, then.” Bill grinned, and raised the paper bag he was carrying a few inches. David heard the tinny clunks of a pair of six-packs nudging against one anoth
er.
“Yeah. Wish I could. It’s been a crappy afternoon.” Which wasn’t quite true. It had been a fantastic afternoon until he and Johnson had returned from their walk.
“Ormsky, eh? Yuh, he was lookin’ for ya. Asshole.”
“Did he come after you, too?” David asked.
Bill turned, and with precision, shot a stringy loogie about ten feet, straight into a bare patch between two geranium bushes. “He had some questions. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle. He wanted to know ’bout you and Janice. I told ’im ya barely knew each other, that maybe ya sat and talked a few times out back. He wanted to know everyone’s schedule for comin’ and goin’, how many nights a week Heck stayed, if those two thugs that maybe did ’im in had been ’round before.”
“And you could answer all that?” David wasn’t sure if he was aghast or impressed.
“Hell, no! I just gave him the easy ones, nothin’ that’d rub up against what anyone else’d say.”
“Has…” David adjusted the backpack again. “Has Janice been back? I haven’t run into her since it happened.”
Bill lifted his bag to tuck it under an arm. “Yuh. She’s pretty skittish-like, though. Ducks in, ducks out. I helped her clean up the mess. Good thing it were in the kitchen, would’ve been hell if it’d been on the carpet. Finally fixed her sink, too. She’s been botherin’ me for a couple weeks ’bout it leakin’ down below.”
“Is she doing all right? I mean, about Heck?”
Bill rolled his eyes. “She feels guilty. Like it were her fault it happened. I pointed out that if she hadn’t gone to her mother’s, she would’ve been at Bargain Bin instead. Same result, more trouble with the cops.”
“Yeah. And Clair told her to go.” David scratched behind Johnson’s ears; the dog was being patient, knowing that they were about to take another long walk.
“Creepy Clair, creepy Clair,” Bill said, but that was all he had to offer on the subject. He shifted the beer again. “Might not be able to knock all this down tonight. Feel free to drop in tomorrah if ya want.”
A Shiver of Wonder Page 6
