by Edie Claire
"You need a good sliding deadbolt," he said when he got a chance. "There are ways around them too, but it can't hurt. Are you okay with sleeping there tonight?"
The question at first seemed odd, then gave rise to a creeping fear. Leigh hadn't given much thought to the fact that her apartment had been breached so easily. When she had arrived this morning, she was much more annoyed at having a sea of policemen, in particular Detective Gerald Frank, rooting around in her stuff and disturbing her cat; the original intruder was more theoretical. It occurred to her now that this original intruder—almost certainly Kristin Yates—was still very much out and about. And had probably taken her keys for a reason.
A knock on Warren's door interrupted her thoughts, but only for a second. Kristin. She had gone out of her way to frame Leigh for Stacey's murder. Why? Tanner had been arrested; Kristin wasn't even a suspect. Could it be that a prison term for Tanner didn't jibe with her plans? Or, surely much, much, less likely, that she enjoyed watching Leigh squirm?
"Good evening, Miss Koslow," said a familiar voice that did nothing to lessen her chill. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner, but it's important that we talk. I've been looking for you all afternoon."
"Oh," she said offhandedly, stuffing in her last bite of taco. "How inconvenient for you."
Frank's superficial smile seemed tightened with resolve. "I'm not here to spar, Ms. Koslow. I'm here to make sure that whoever killed Carmen Koslow gets what's coming to them."
Leigh swallowed the mouthful and looked straight into Frank's beady black eyes. Maybe she was being overly optimistic, but she could almost believe he meant that.
"Have a seat," she offered, slightly more pleasantly. "Sorry, but the takeout's gone."
He sat in the chair where Warren directed him, but refused all offers of food or drink. A wise habit, Leigh figured, when dining with one's arrestees.
"I don't believe Leigh should be speaking with you without her attorney present," Warren said firmly. "If you intend to ask her any questions, I'll give Ms. Bower a call."
Frank waved his hand dismissively. "Call whomever you want. I can wait." He smiled pleasantly at Leigh. At least, he probably thought his smile was pleasant. She would liken it to a crocodile's.
"What is it you want, Frank?" she asked impatiently. The idea of his smiling at her for the half hour it would take Katharine to arrive was not appealing.
"I told you already," he answered, still smiling. "I want justice."
She smirked, still unconvinced. "Isn't that a little too 'Joe Friday' for you, Detective?"
He didn't answer, but the smile faded, which made her a little more comfortable. "The knife we recovered from your apartment this morning came back clean," he said simply.
"Clean?" she repeated, eyebrows raised. "You mean, no prints at all?"
"That's right."
"Leigh!" Warren interrupted quickly, hanging up the phone. "Katharine will be here shortly. Until then, let me do the talking, okay?"
"The blade was stained with blood matching that of Stacey Tanner," Frank continued. "Yet the handle had been wiped clean. Odd, don't you think, to wipe down the handle and not the blade?"
"Not at all," Warren answered quickly, cutting Leigh off with a fierce warning glance. "Not if you're trying to frame someone. Keep the blood, lose the prints—especially if they're yours."
Frank looked at Warren. "My thoughts exactly, Mr. Harmon. Except that the person in possession of the knife needn't be the killer. The person in possession of the knife could, in fact, be someone close to the killer. Someone who wanted to prevent the killer from being convicted—quite possibly by taking the knife and removing his prints, then planting it elsewhere."
It took a second for Leigh to digest Frank's suggestion, but it took less than a second for her to make up her mind.
"Get out, Frank," she said coldly. Ignoring both Warren's verbal and nonverbal reprimands, she rose and pointed to the door. "I thought for a moment you were starting to see the light, but obviously I was wrong. You've got no right coming in here just to fish for more evidence against me. You want to question me again, you make me go to the bureau, with my lawyer. You were invited in here; now you're uninvited. Goodbye."
Frank's dark eyes looked her up and down, and for a brief moment, a ghost of the crocodile smile returned. He wasn't as angry as he should be, Leigh thought as she glared at him. In fact, he seemed almost amused. No matter, she decided, her own gaze hardening. He was leaving without whatever it was he came for.
The detective didn't resist, but got up from the table, nodded to them both, and walked out the door. Warren looked at Leigh with a mixture of frustration and annoyance. "I really wish you hadn't done that," he said tightly.
"I refuse to apologize for being to rude to the man who's currently ruining my life," Leigh defended. "He came here under false pretenses."
Warren studied her. "You think you know why he came here?"
"Of course. To hassle me about the knife. To trick me into thinking he believed it was planted, to get my guard down, then get me to trip up. I never even thought about being accused of taking the knife to protect Tanner." Now that she did think about it, the theory made a certain kind of sense. No—no, it didn't either.
"That's nuts," she thought out loud. "The police in Butler county searched me and my car. How could I have taken the knife away from the cabin? And who would have called in that anonymous tip? Not me, and not Tanner, who I was presumably trying to help. That scenario's far more cockeyed than the real killer planting the knife on me."
"I agree," said Warren thoughtfully. "Yet Frank suggested it to you. Why?"
"I told you, to get me to trip up," she said disgustedly.
"Or to gauge your reaction," Warren argued. "If you had taken the knife yourself, or known about it, you might have acted nervous or scared. You would hesitate to talk to him. But you didn't, because you were hoping that he was coming around. But when he starting accusing you again, you got angry. Not scared—angry."
"You're giving him far too much credit," Leigh sighed. "If he could read me that well, he never would have arrested me in the first place."
"Maura says you acted guilty after Carmen's murder, that you were—to use her words—'messed up in the head' because of how you felt about Tanner. Maybe he misread you before, but now he's getting a clearer picture."
Leigh sighed again. "Harmon, you're too much of a bloody optimist. Frank is a misogynist. And he's not that smart." She glanced at the phone. "Don't you want to call Katharine off? Maybe you can catch her before she leaves."
He shook his head, his eyes lost in thought. "I'd like to see her, actually," he said distantly.
Inexplicably annoyed, Leigh threw away the trash from her dinner and prepared to leave. "Fine. You and Katharine have a nice evening. But remember, it's a school night."
When she opened the door, Warren snapped out of his reverie. "Are you sure you want to stay in your apartment tonight? You can sleep here if you want, until you get a better deadbolt."
Leigh imagined herself tossing and turning on Warren's lumpy sofa bed, and declined. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. The locks have been changed, and the manager assured me there'll be no more door-propping. When Katharine gets here, you can tell her I've got news for her tomorrow, about a little talk I had with Tanner. Right now, I'm going to sleep, an activity I missed out on last night. Which reminds me, we've got to do something about Maura's mom."
Warren nodded. "I know. Mo can't go on like she has been."
"Have you talked to her about a personal care home or something?"
He nodded. "She's found one in McCandless that she could live with—they have a special wing just for Alzheimer's patients, and it has an excellent reputation."
"But?"
"But it's expensive, and aside from the Alzheimer's, Mary is healthy as a horse." Warren sighed. "Which is great, except that she could easily outlive Maura's ability to pay for her care. I've been over the Polanski's finances, and
there's only so much to draw on."
"The house?" Leigh said hopefully.
"It's paid for," he answered, "but it's not worth much, and Maura's dad had been letting her aunts live there for free, so if the house were sold the two of them would be forced to pay rent somewhere else—as would Maura."
Leigh sighed. "There's got to be a way."
"I'm working on it," Warren said reassuringly. "Don't worry about Mary tonight. Get some sleep. And remember—the offer stands. You can even have the bed if you want. I'll take the couch."
His concern touched her, but she declined again. Katharine Bower was already on her way over, and Leigh wasn't up for any more legal wrangling tonight. Nor did she care to be a third wheel. She had just started out the door again when a thought occurred to her.
"Hey, Warren?"
"Yes?"
"Did Katharine happen to tell you what the problem is between her and Frank?"
He smiled wryly. "I think that's mainly Frank's doing. Apparently, Katharine cut her legal teeth on some divorce cases."
Leigh's shoulders slumped. "Please don't tell me she represented Frank's ex-wife."
"Okay," Warren obliged, "I won't tell you."
Chapter 19
Leigh traipsed up the stairs, stuck her new key in her new lock, and detached a yellow sticky note from her door.
Leigh, your mother sent me. You're welcome to come home for a while. Call tonight either way. Dad.
She smiled. Dear old Dad. He had a way with words—or lack thereof. She knew the real translation.
Leigh, your mother has been calling your apartment every five minutes since she heard about the break-in, and I can't get her any more valium without losing my DEA license. She sent me over to drag you back home using any force necessary. If you don't want to come that's fine with me, but you'd better call soon or I'll be sleeping at the clinic again. Dad
She opened the door on an apartment that looked fine, but didn't feel right. There was a certain aura of violation that came with a break-in, the feeling that your stuff was somehow not yours anymore. She walked through the whole apartment quickly, opening closets and peering under the bed. Satisfied that the only other mammalian occupant was a sleeping Mao Tse, she locked the new knob and bolt. Had the cat been fully alert, she would almost certainly be complaining about the irregular schedule Leigh had been keeping. But Mao had a thing about being awake for more than four consecutive hours, and the morning had been a rough one.
Leigh took a deep breath and tried to relax. They would be fine here. Why shouldn't they? Kristen had wanted to frame her, but that deed was accomplished. She wouldn't be dumb enough to come back now. Tomorrow Leigh would buy another deadbolt—or some other pick-proof contraption. In the meantime, perhaps a small barricade? One sofa, an end table, and a Niagara Falls souvenir bell later, she felt better.
Her answering machine had collected five more messages, and she listened to them dutifully. One from Frank, two from her mother (where was a fast-forward button when you needed it?), one from Katharine setting up their next appointment, and one from Jeff Hulsey asking if she could make it to the office early tomorrow afternoon.
Deciding that Katharine and Jeff could have their wishes and that Frank could go to hell, she picked up the phone, plastered a fake smile on her face for mental preparation, and dialed home.
***
She was back at the zoo, cleaning up after the bison. It was cold, and wisps of steam rose from the gargantuan brown patties. The wheelbarrow was full, and so heavy she could barely move it. Someone was blocking her way out the gate.
"Move," she yelled, agitated. "Can't you see this is heavy? Get out of the way!"
The figure reached out a booted foot and kicked the handles out of Leigh's hands. Foul-smelling smudge sloshed out of the wheelbarrow, splashing over her face and arms. She looked up, furious.
Horse-faced Kristin looked down at Leigh from an impressive height, her thin lips curled. "You got my shoes dirty," she said sinisterly. "Nobody gets my shoes dirty."
A rising panic spread over Leigh, and she abandoned the wheelbarrow and started running. The zoo hospital was in sight, but no matter how hard she ran, she couldn't seem to reach it. Her knees were weak, her legs heavy. Every footstep seemed glued to wet ground.
"Where you running, girl?" came a voice inches from her ear. Kristin didn't even sound tired. The pursuer wasn't running, she was floating. Floating right over Leigh's shoulder. "Gonna see your boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend!" Leigh yelled vehemently, stopping and whirling around. She couldn't see Kristin anymore, but she knew she was there.
"Damn right he's not," came another voice. Leigh strained her eyes to see through the heavy fog. She was still sinking into the wet ground, up to her knees now.
"He's mine. And he always will be." Carmen stepped out into clearer air, raven hair billowing around her lithe form. "You understand that, don't you Leigh?"
Leigh nodded frantically. "You can have him, you hear me! Take him! Just go away, both of you. Go away and leave me alone!"
Carmen tilted her head, an endearing mannerism Leigh had forgotten she remembered. "I like you, Leigh Koslow. You make me laugh. You think maybe we're cousins or something?"
As Carmen spoke the last words, a flash of metal shone over her shoulder and a giant saw blade cut across her shoulders.
"Take that!" said Kristin, now towering like a giant. Carmen's head rolled toward Leigh, entangling itself in its own mass of black hair. Leigh tried to recoil, but couldn't move. The cold wetness of the ground was seeping around her waist, crawling up to her armpits.
"It won't do you any good to run," said Carmen's head, looking at her sympathetically as it leaned against her ribs. "She'll find you, you know."
Leigh sat straight up in bed, her breath coming fast. She lunged over to turn on her bedside lamp.
It was her room, it was fine, and she was only dreaming. It was just a nightmare. A dumb nightmare.
Her breathing slowed, but only a little. She had known it was a dream while it was happening—she usually did. But that didn't mean the fear wasn't real. Or that it would go away easily. She reached for Mao Tse, who whined plaintively at being disturbed from her place on the other pillow, but soon mellowed and began to purr.
1:54 AM. Only a few hours since she'd fallen asleep. There were plenty more to go till morning. She sat bolt upright, trying to rationalize away the lingering fear. Kristin was not coming back. Why should she? She wasn't out to get Leigh. She had killed Carmen because…because why? Over Tanner? Over money? Over some other personal argument?
It was a hard sell. Cat fighting was one thing. Dismemberment was another. Why would Kristin throw Carmen to the tigers? Poetic justice? Was Kristin even bright enough to understand poetic justice? Leigh doubted it. And Stacey…did she kill Stacey because Tanner still loved her? Did Stacey accidentally intrude into Kristin's hideout, or had Kristin lured her there? And if Kristin really loved Tanner, why wasn't she trying to be with him?
Or maybe she was. Maybe framing Leigh was just an attempt to get Tanner off the hook. If that was the case, Leigh wasn't in any real danger now, right?
Right. Kristin was a perfectly rational human being who had no intention of hurting anyone. Stacey had probably backed up onto the knife accidentally and Carmen had asked to be fed to the tigers because the zoo was out of cat food. Leigh was perfectly safe. It wasn't like Kristin knew where she lived. Or how to pick locks.
Leigh had thought enough. Now she started moving. Mao Tse squawked in protest as she was swept up and out of the bed, her middle clutched in a viselike grip. Cat in hand, Leigh threw a robe over her sweats, pushed aside her barricade with one arm and a hip, and locked the door behind her. Within seconds, she was knocking on Warren's door.
It took a while, but eventually footsteps pounded inside, followed by a pause—undoubtedly for a look through the peephole. The door swung open to reveal a wide-eyed Warren, looking GQ as usual in departme
nt-store pajamas. "Leigh! What's happened?" He pulled her inside, walking backwards towards the phone as he spoke. "Did someone try to break in again?"
She shook her head, embarrassed.
"Then what?" he said, stopping.
She didn't answer for a moment. She had gotten him up in the middle of night and scared him to death—for nothing. Why was she here?
Because she was petrified, that's why. She dropped a grateful Mao Tse onto a chair and avoided Warren's gaze. How embarrassing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come down. It's just—I just had a nightmare, that's all."
Warren let out a sigh of relief. "Oh. You had me worried there for a moment."
"I know, " she said miserably. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Warren said as cheerfully as one could at 2:00AM. "I told you you were welcome to stay here. I kind of meant all night—but that's all right. You want the couch or the bed?"
"The couch," Leigh said quickly. "I don't want to put you out. I probably won't sleep much anyway."
He looked at her thoughtfully. "What was the dream about?"
She tried to put it into words in her head. Well, I was scooping bison poop, and Kristin was there, and there was this fog…"It was just stupid stuff," she said dismissively. "Quicksand and decapitated heads—the usual."
Warren didn't look convinced. "It might help to say it out loud. The stupider it sounds, the easier it may be to forget."
Leigh shook her head. She knew exactly how stupid the dream was—and she still wasn't going back to her apartment.
Warren dumped a pillow and blanket on the couch, took Leigh's keys out of her hand, and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" she asked, startled.
He chuckled. "I wish I could say I was riding off on my white horse to slay your dragon, but you know I'm not the athletic type. Don't worry, I'll be back in five minutes."
He was back in three. Leigh sat tensely on the edge of the couch as the door reopened and he slid around it, carrying Mao's litter box under one arm. She resisted a smile. "Now, come on. Was that really necessary?" she teased.
