by Lee, Rachel
“Pretty obvious,” Frank remarked. “No rigor yet, so it must have happened in the wee hours.”
“Log me in, Frank. I want to take a closer look.”
Everyone who entered a potential crime scene was logged in so that anything they left behind unintentionally, from fingerprints to stray hairs, could be ruled out as evidence.
The first thing he did was scan the carpet. Vacuumed frequently, but not recently enough to tell anything. Footprints were all over it. Making his way across the living room, he bent down to peer at the man’s left arm. A drop of congealed blood clearly marked the needle site at the vein.
“Told ya,” Frank said.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“Well, there’s only one fresh needle track.” Gil turned a little and checked the other arm. “More tracks on the right arm, but they’re old, and there’s only a few. Like he’s maybe had blood tests a couple of times.”
“So maybe he’s an occasional user.”
“Possible. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody’s checked out on the first try.”
But he looked at the man’s left arm again and was troubled. The setup looked experienced. The arm didn’t show any practice jabs, the kind you often saw when somebody wanted to test how it felt before doing the whole thing. Very skilled. And why were the rest of the needle marks, as old as they were, on the right arm?
He straightened. “Was he right-handed or left-handed?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think anybody asked.”
“Okay. I’m gonna walk through the rest of the house.”
“Nothin’ to see. The guy came home, jabbed himself, and died. Plain and simple.”
It should only be so easy, Gil thought as he wandered through the rest of the tiny house. Two bedrooms, one turned into a study or office with two messy desks and stacks of textbooks. The guy was either a student or a teacher. Same with the girlfriend, he’d bet.
The bedroom showed only a freshly made bed. So, whenever he’d decided to juice up last night, he hadn’t slept first. All-night worker, maybe?
The kitchen was a little messier. Dishes in the sink, holding the remains of a fast-food burger and cereal. A coffeemaker, nearly empty, turned off. And a pan on the floor. Judging by its location, the girl had knocked it down when she’d reached for the phone to call 9–1-1. No sign anywhere of a real disturbance.
Put a fork in it, Gil, he told himself. It’s done.
But he wasn’t really sure of that. He stepped out just as the crime-scene team came up the walk with their boxes, cameras, and vacuums.
“Be extra careful,” he told them, knowing how they’d brush over things if they thought the case was self-evident and no trial was going to be involved. “It’s not as simple as it looks.”
“Sure,” Henry Beaudry replied. “Not an O.D.?”
Gil shrugged. “Something isn’t right.”
“Gotcha. We’re on it.”
He trusted Beaudry.
The woman was still sitting in the back of the cruiser, crying again. This was the part Gil hated most of all, but there was no way around it. He needed information only this woman could provide, and he couldn’t wait for her memory to cloud.
He opened the door of the car and squatted. “Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Detective Gil Garcia.”
A pretty young woman with wavy chestnut hair and brown eyes sat hunched on the seat. Even though she was heavy, youth helped her carry the extra weight beautifully. She dashed a hand over her eyes and glared at him. “He didn’t do drugs. Eddy never touched the stuff. He said it was stupid.”
“I believe you.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m serious. But you’re going to have to help me figure it all out. You need to tell me everything you can so I can find out what happened.”
“I know what happened,” she wailed. “Somebody killed him!”
She dissolved into sobs, and Gil straightened, leaning against the side of the car while he waited for her to calm down. The day was growing warmer by the minute, and he began to think of chucking his jacket. The two uniforms had retreated to the shade of an old oak tree, but he wasn’t so lucky. The car sat in the sun, and he stood there with it, waiting.
His thoughts flitted back to Trina, and he wondered what the hell was going on with her. With each passing day, his daughter was turning into a bigger mystery to him. She had thoughts and dreams behind her snapping dark eyes that were shut off to him. He found himself wishing she were seven again, and every thought in her head would come tumbling out on her next breath. Perhaps because he wasn’t with her all the time, this growing wall between them seemed ominous to him.
He told himself it was natural for a teenager to behave this way. Of course she would want a more private life now. But he couldn’t help thinking of all the dangers she could get into, especially since he was a cop and intimately acquainted with all the possibilities.
His ex had used to complain about that. That he thought too much, worried too much, that he couldn’t live a normal life because he spent too much time in the underbelly of society. Maybe she’d been right. Certainly she didn’t seem to be worried about Trina.
The sobs coming from the car were beginning to slow down, and he leaned over to look in at the woman. “How are you doing?”
She nodded and dashed more tears away. “I’m sorry.”
Gil squatted again so he was nearly at her eye level. “It’s okay. You’ve had a terrible shock and a terrible loss. But I need to talk to you to find out what really happened. And the sooner we talk, the better.”
She nodded again and sniffled once more.
“I’ll just ask you a few questions now, okay? We can talk more at the station later. At least it’s air-conditioned.”
A bleary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You look awful hot.”
“Nah, I’m used to it.” Liar. Nobody got used to this, dressed the way he was dressed. It was T-shirt and shorts weather. He pulled a pad and pen from his pocket.
“What’s your name?”
“Carole Efrem.” She spelled it for him.
“And your boyfriend?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth trembled. After a moment, she quavered, “Eddy Malacek.”
“Was Eddy right-handed or left-handed?”
Her eyes popped open. “What difference does it make? He was left-handed though.”
Gil made a note of that, keeping his outward cool as inwardly a nervous twitch started in his stomach. He recognized the feeling. The hunt was on. “And you say Eddy never did drugs?”
“Never, not ever. Jeez, I tried them a couple of times. Everybody does. It’s no big deal. But Eddy didn’t even want to hear about the stuff. He said it was a waste of time and money, and dangerous besides.”
“Did he have any friends who used drugs?”
“Not around Eddy. At least as far as I know.” She turned her face toward him, tears hanging on her lower lashes. “Eddy was a dweeb. He liked to hang out with a local Star Trek group all dressed up like Mr. Spock. A Vulcan wouldn’t use drugs.”
“Of course not.” He knew something of the mythology, having been a bit of a fan back in high school. However, that argument wouldn’t stand up in court. “What else did he like to do?”
“Oh, he loved to play Dungeons & Dragons with some people who meet on Saturdays at a hobby shop over in Tampa. And sometimes he played Warhammer.”
An escapist, Gil thought. That might fit in with drug use. Or not. Eddy, after all, was relatively young. “Later,” he said gently, “I’ll need all the details about who he hung out with, okay?”
“Sure. But I don’t think any of them would… would… kill him!” The last words came out on a wail, and he waited for her to settle down again.
“Probably not,” he said to soothe her. “But they might know about some people you don’t know about.”
She nodded and wiped away
her tears with her hands. “He’s a sweet guy. Nobody’d want to hurt him.”
“What did he do?”
“He’s a student, and he works nights as a security guard on campus. Just two or three nights a week.”
Gil scribbled some more down. “Which campus?”
“USF.”
“Okay. And you were away last night?”
“I was away for two days.” She sniffled. “I went to see my dad. He lives in Melbourne. Anyway, I left way early so I could be here when Eddy got home this morning. He gets off at 8 A.M., you know?”
He nodded encouragingly.
“But I was late and I got here at nine and there … there he was… and I couldn’t wake him up….”
Gil patted her shoulder as she started sobbing again, then straightened and signaled to one of the uniforms. Some new guy he’d seen around a couple of times.
R. Ortiz. Ramon. Yeah.
“Hey, Ramon, could you see that Ms. Efrem gets down to the station? I need to talk to her more, and we might as well be comfortable. And get her someone to sit with her, will you? This is rough.”
“Sure,” Ortiz said readily enough.
Gil leaned down to Carole Efrem again. “If you have any family or a friend you want to be with you, tell Officer Ortiz here. He’ll help you call them, okay?”
Carole reached out and grabbed Gil’s hand. “He didn’t kill himself. He didn’t.”
“I believe you.” And he did. Because no left-handed person was going to use his right hand to stick a needle into his left arm. No fucking way.
Looking back at the house he could almost hear his absent partner say, “What foul deed’s afoot?”
“Verily,” he heard himself mutter in response, “I haven’t a goddamn clue.”
CHAPTER THREE
Anna awoke late, feeling almost as good as she had in childhood, waking on the first day of summer vacation. Stretching luxuriously, she loved the way her muscles felt, the way the smooth percale sheet touched her skin. It was great to be alive.
Last night’s success had left her glowing. Her first exhibit as head curator, and it had been a smashing success. At least as far as the benefactors were concerned. The next months might tell a different story.
But she didn’t want to think about that now, didn’t want to think about the financial risk the museum was taking with this expensive visiting exhibit. She’d suggested it, yes, but the board of directors had conducted long studies into the feasibility, and had concluded the show would at the very least break even.
But who would remember that if it didn’t?
She brushed the troubling thought aside and savored the memory of all the congratulations she had received last night. It had been good.
Sitting up, she hugged her knees tightly and grinned into the dim bedroom. A few pale streamers of sunlight found their way around the wood blinds like a blessing.
Thirty-two and her first major triumph. Until a few months ago, as an assistant curator, she’d been little more than a gofer, handling the minutiae of the museum’s permanent exhibit.
The Museum of Antiquities had been founded by a university professor who had discovered a sunken Spanish treasure ship off of Key West. Professor Veronica Coleridge, who was an independently wealthy archaeologist, had endowed the museum as part of the university, providing a trust fund sufficient to construct the building in which it was now housed. She had also provided all the original artifacts from her discoveries. Other benefactors had joined the rolls over the past few years, since the founding, and two years ago they had moved into their new home on land provided by the university.
As items were brought to the surface and cleaned, they were shipped to the new museum for storage or display. Anna had handled a lot of the cataloging and arranging, and had even once managed to break through the density of her predecessor by suggesting a major display to show visitors just what was involved in the discovery of these artifacts.
The additions she had suggested had been so successful that, when her boss retired, the board had without hesitation made her head curator. Which meant she was in charge of all the exhibits. And now there were two.
But only temporarily. And today another shipment was coming in from Key West, so she’d probably spend her day overseeing the unpacking and cataloging. But that was okay. The Pocal exhibit wouldn’t need her constant oversight anymore. It was up, it was running, and it was fantastic.
Now she needed to focus on the permanent exhibit, and come up with ways to bring the same magic to it. Excitement bubbled inside her as she considered some of the possibilities. For now she could dream. Later, when she went to work, she’d face the reality, which was that making any of these changes would be a lengthy process, starting with persuading the board of directors. But now was the time to start pressing, while they were all glowing about their success.
For a few moments her hand hovered over the telephone as she thought about calling her identical twin sister Nancy to share the good news. Nancy lived out in Austin, working as a computer geek for some high-tech company. She was weird, but she was also wonderful, and the two of them could share their deepest secrets, and their greatest joys.
After their father’s death in the earthquake when they were sixteen, their mother’s twin sister had moved in with them to help out, a situation which had only added to the craziness level around the house. Nancy, who took after their mother and aunt, had thrived in the atmosphere. Anna, who had more of her father’s serious nature, had grown more serious in compensation. Not that it mattered; there had been a level of warmth and affection in the household that nothing could dim.
But… no, she shouldn’t call. Nancy would already be at work, and it was getting time for Anna to leave, too. Tonight they could talk longer, unfettered by time restraints and bosses.
When she arrived at the museum an hour later, she was pleased to see visitors entering in a small stream. The morning papers must have published a good review of the exhibit. Part of her wondered what Reed Howell had said—he was good at making jabs—but the rest of her didn’t want to know. This was a time to savor. She’d worry about critics later.
Inside, the lobby was busier than usual, and up a flight of steps to the mezzanine she could see a group waiting for the next screening of the introductory film. The seats were about half-full, pretty good for a Wednesday morning. Over the next few months would come the busloads of schoolchildren, and the private organizations that had made reservations, but she was most interested in the walk-ins. Only time would tell if this level of interest would remain steady or grow.
Humming quietly under her breath, she waved to other museum employees as she passed them and made her way to her office. Her door was open, but that didn’t surprise her. Her assistant, a tiny dark-haired student name Vicki Leong, usually arrived just before her and opened it. As usual, the mail was sitting on her desk, envelopes neatly sliced open. Unexpectedly, however, there was a large, colorful flower arrangement beside it.
But what hit her, as she stepped through her doorway, wasn’t the mail or the flowers; it was the memory of the dagger she had found last night and how it had disappeared sometime during the evening.
Then she had dismissed it as a poor joke, and put the whole thing from her mind, easy enough to do when she was as busy as she’d been, and as high on success. But with the bright morning light pouring through the slats of her blinds, she found it wasn’t as easy to shrug off.
Last night, when they’d found the dagger missing, Detective Tebbins had collected all the wrappings and taken them with him, but she’d gotten the distinct impression he didn’t expect to learn a thing. In retrospect, it bothered her even more this morning that he’d seemed disturbed by the dagger’s disappearance.
Up to that point, she had thought he was merely an intrusive cop who was making more of the dagger than was warranted because he had nothing better to do. But then something in his manner had changed and she sensed that he’d become much more
concerned. She’d felt it, but had ignored it. Every time she looked at that waxed moustache of his, all she could think of was Hercule Poirot, and it was hard to take him seriously.
Except that really wasn’t fair. Moustache or not, he was a real detective, and this morning, without any champagne in her system, she could feel uneasiness creeping coldly along her spine.
Moving on legs that felt strangely reluctant, she rounded her desk and sat in her chair. She had to be making too much of it, she told herself. The dagger hadn’t been a threat, and neither was its disappearance. A prank. Just a stupid prank.
But still her hand trembled as she reached for the card on the flowers. What if it was another empty envelope? The idea that someone might be stalking her turned her uneasiness to a cold chill.
Her fingers were stiff as they lifted the flap and opened the envelope. There was a card inside. All of a sudden she realized she’d been holding her breath. Good grief, she wasn’t usually this paranoid. Or paranoid at all for that matter.
Disgusted with herself, she pulled out the card and groaned. It was from Peter Dashay, her would-be suitor. Congratulations! Dinner tonight? Peter
She’d been telling him no for six months now, after their one dinner date when she realized she wasn’t attracted to him at all and that he wouldn’t settle for just being friends. Since then he hovered over her as often as possible, trying to make himself part of her life simply by refusing to go away. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Unfortunately, people as dense as Peter pretty much needed someone to take a pickax to them before they understood.
Vicki popped her head in, smiling. Straight chin-length dark hair framed her face, and her brown eyes were bright.
