“With pleasure.” Kyle touched something on her chest. “What’s this?” He lifted the silk cord that encircled her neck.
“An amulet. Madame Tatiana gave it to me.”
“Must have broken when you hit the ground. Too bad.”
Indeed, each of the white tubes knotted along the front of the chord had been shattered.
“I’ll find the attending physician, get you checked out.” Kyle performed a theatrical spin, the detective was nearly punch drunk with exhaustion. He slipped through the curtain, leaving Jake and Sky alone.
Jake stood next to the bed rubbing the stubble on his cheek. When he finally spoke his voice was calm, unemotional. “That was a stupid stunt. In the middle of a murder investigation.”
“You’re right,” Sky agreed. Something in Jake’s face made her uneasy. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“I’m putting a uniform outside your office. You’re under police protection for the next twelve hours.”
Sky groaned inwardly. How could she operate with a cop hanging around? She rummaged through her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell, hoping for a missed call or text message from Ellery.
“I got that court order,” Jake said. “We found Nicolette Mercer’s cell phone in Templeton’s condo. We’re taking it to a grand jury.”
“A cell phone?” Sky scoffed. “Hardly sufficient.”
“It’s enough. For now.”
“It’s a stupid waste of time.” The words just slipped out and she bit her lip.
“I don’t get it, Sky. What’s this bizarre preoccupation with Porter Manville? Professor Fisk doesn’t have an alibi but you don’t seem too worried about him.”
“The professor? You can’t be serious. The man couldn’t even wrestle a rubber rat out of my hand.”
“That’s not my point.”
“I spent time with Manville tonight. I know how he thinks, Jake. Tomorrow I’ll interview him, I'll –”
“No,” Jake cut her off. “I’ll interview Manville.”
The note of finality in his tone signaled that the subject was closed for discussion but Sky couldn’t let it go.
“I’ll make a prediction,” her voice rose in anger. “Manville will have some half-assed alibi. He’ll say he was working with his secretary the night of the murder.”
“So what?” Jake came close, his face so near that Sky could see the vein pulse in his right temple. “Manville saved your life tonight. Do you understand? What if he hadn’t been there?” Jake let his words hang in the air for a few seconds. When he resumed, he spoke slowly, as if Sky’s resistance were simply a matter of presentation. “Nicolette Mercer terminates her relationship with Ellery Templeton. Nicolette Mercer turns up strangled the next day. Templeton’s got means, motive, opportunity. But he’s without alibi.”
“Manville’s hustling you.” Sky grabbed Jake’s arm. “He’s hustling Kyle. Don’t fall for it.”
“You’re the sucker, Sky. Falling for that guitar player’s bullshit. The man is a liar.”
“Okay, he’s a liar. But he’s no killer.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Are you still in love with him? Is that what’s going on?” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve carried a torch for Templeton all these years and now you can’t see what’s right in front of you?”
“What about Theresa Piranesi?” Sky blurted. “Just tell me.”
“She’s pregnant.”
Sky drew her hand back and slapped Jake hard. Her fingers stung and she felt like puking.
Jake took the hit without flinching, just stood there. But something in his face felt familiar. It was the same lost look he’d had after her miscarriage. Sky watched a welt appear, a perfect red imprint of her hand on Jake’s cheek.
“You and the baby were everything to me. After the car accident …" Jake cleared his throat, he seemed to have difficulty talking. "You went to Nantucket, I didn’t know what to do with myself. When you showed up at the crime scene I thought ‘She’s back. We can make it work.’”
Sky started to say something but Jake put a hand to her mouth.
“I'm no saint. I fucked up. A friend’s wedding, Theresa made a move, I was drunk …” his voice trailed off. "Theresa isn't the problem."
"I don't understand."
“You need to quit blaming yourself, Sky.”
“For what?”
“For the baby’s death. It wasn’t your fault. You need help, babe. Professional help. There's nothing I can do for you.”
Sky didn’t know what to say. Jake’s voice was so strange. Why was he talking about Sky when the issue was Theresa?
“I can’t do my job when I’m worrying about you. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow, Sky. You’re off the case.” Jake was out of the room before she could respond.
Sky wanted to run after him but she stayed in the hospital bed because she didn’t trust herself to stand. She watched the curtain sway and grow still. Male voices from the other side grew louder, sharp but indistinct. Someone giving orders, someone taking orders.
Sky collapsed into the bed.
There was no point in pretending. Jake had moved on, Theresa was pregnant. It bordered on the absurd, it was almost laughable. It explained the odd look on Teddy Felson’s face. And the confident tone of Theresa’s recorded message on Jake’s cell phone.
Sky squinted at the blue curtain and conjured an image of Theresa Piranesi with a baby bump. What else was Sky wrong about? She felt like a fool.
“Let’s blow this joint, darling.” Kyle flew through the doorway followed by the attending physician.
“Watch her.” The doctor spoke with stentorian authority. “Bring her back if you see any changes in behavior, any new symptoms. Confusion, that kind of thing.”
Sky saw something of Jake in the doctor’s attitude. A man in command of his empire. Jake’s decision to remove her from the Mercer case was curiously disorienting. Sky knew more about Nicolette than anyone. How could Jake be so cavalier with so much at stake?
“You must not strain yourself.” The doctor peered at Sky as though she were a specimen. “Rest is of the utmost importance.”
“Don’t sweat it, Doc. We’ll be watching her like a hawk for the next twelve hours.” Kyle winked at Sky over his wire rims and handed her the Reeboks. Something in the detective’s kind face told her he knew. Jake must have told him that Sky was off the case.
She put on the running shoes with difficulty, which was embarrassing because the doctor was watching her every move. Sky fumbled with the shoestrings; her fingers were still tipped in Dior gold but they didn’t seem to be working right. She finally managed to get the shoes tied and dangled her legs over the side of the hospital bed.
Jake was right. Nicolette’s phone in Ellery’s condo was evidence. What would the grand jury do? Fear for the musician made her hesitate over her cell keypad. She punched the icon. No text messages, no missed calls from Ellery. Sky slipped the phone into the pocket of her North Face jacket and pulled the pink stocking cap down over her ears; she had to stifle a cry because the lump on her head shrieked.
“For the pain,” the doctor said, scribbling something on a prescription pad. “Stay ahead of it.” He tore the script off and added it to the sheaf of release papers. “Keep all activities to a minimum.”
Sky slid off the bed with the chess set in her arms. A fresh scar on the wooden box caught her attention and she stroked the gouge with her finger, trying to wrap her mind around Manville’s sudden appearance at the pond, and the astonishing rescue.
Maybe she was wrong about Manville, too.
Hugging Whip’s treasure to her chest with both arms, Sky nudged the blue curtain open with an elbow and led Kyle out past a knot of nurses to the ER exit. The doctor trailed behind, issuing directives. “No running. No flying," he ordered. "And absolutely no driving.”
What did that leave? Walking and crawling?
Sky left the ER to face a bleak April dawn. Sullen clouds promised a gray day. She hunc
hed her shoulders against the cold and climbed into the Crown Vic.
Traces of frost on a few patches of grass were all that remained of the night’s snow squall. But a storm raged in Sky’s head as her thoughts cycled from one obstruction to the next. First there was the matter of Theresa Piranesi’s due date. The timing of the pregnancy seemed so suspicious. The initial shock of Jake’s cell message was over and Sky considered the circumstances from a more logical perspective. Would Jake allow a woman to record his phone message? Sky had her doubts. The message was catty, something a woman would dream up. A small nasty thought formed in Sky’s mind: Theresa had the instincts of a piranha but she wasn’t too bright.
And then there was Ellery. Sky couldn’t allow Jake to railroad Ellery out of some ludicrous sense of jealousy. She pictured the guitar player in the basement of Genuine John’s tavern, unable to give her a telephone number or an e-mail address for the alleged guitar dealer. Means, motive, opportunity. And without alibi.
Sky hooked an index finger around the silken chord of Madame Tatiana’s amulet. Who was trying to kill her? Manville reported seeing a red dot on Sky’s back, but that was a singularly useless piece of information. Anyone who could field-strip a gun could install a laser in five minutes, the technology was that good. Sky was mildly encouraged by the fact that the alleged shooter’s car engine was loud. That suggested an amateur, no professional assassin would be so obvious. It was cold comfort to know her instincts had been right about being followed.
Kyle steered the Crown Vic out of the lot and headed east. There was no conversation, they were both exhausted. The tallest spire of Our Lady’s came into view before Sky thought to turn around and look. There it was, police protection, just as Jake had promised, a black and white trailing one car length behind the cruiser.
As they passed the wrought iron fence of Our Lady’s, Sky placed a hand over the throbbing lump on her skull and wondered if the verdigris angel was still watching.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sky slept eleven hours straight and woke to Tiffany’s snarl. Someone was knocking on the door.
The police officer stationed outside her office poked a head in. “Teddy Felson to see you,” he said with irritation. “You want to see him?”
Sky nodded.
“Some suit by the name of Manville delivered that a couple of hours ago.” The officer flicked a finger at a blue gift bag on Sky’s desk. “I checked the contents. It’s safe.” He nodded at Tiffany. “I tried taking that dog out twice while you were sleeping but she bit me both times.”
“I’ll take care of the dog.” Sky’s body felt like one giant bruise. She pulled Tiffany to her lap and planted a kiss on the dome-shaped head. “You’re very bad,” she murmurred.
The wall clock read 5:30 which meant she’d slept most of the day. Outside her office window the light was weak, soon it would be dark. Sky probed the tender knot above her left ear and switched on the floor lamp.
Teddy Felson walked in holding a large black garbage bag in one hand and a smaller white bag in the other. The police officer kept his eyes on Teddy a split second too long before he shut the door.
“What an asshole,” Teddy snorted. “Typical Newton cop.” He laughed at his own joke and dropped the bags to the floor with a flourish. “Your wish is my command. Manville’s office trash. Also garbage from his house.” He gave Sky the once-over. “You look pretty good for someone who spent the night in the ER. I only got the word a few minutes ago. Holy shit, gunfire at Bullough’s?” Teddy pointed to the garbage. “Manville to the rescue? What’s up with that?” He didn’t give Sky a chance to respond. “Heard Jake yanked you off the Mercer case. Guess it gave him a convenient excuse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just sayin’,” Teddy raised a defensive hand. “Theresa’s been breathing down Jake’s neck ever since you got back. Which can’t be too pleasant. That woman hates you with the fire of a thousand white hot suns. She threw a party last year when you left town, for Christ’s sake. Did you know that?” Teddy grimaced. “Theresa scares me, to tell you the truth. There’s something creepy about her. Even when she was a kid. Sure, she’s good looking in a Cruella Di Ville kind of way. I’d keep a close eye on that dog.” His sardonic smile faded when he saw the look on Sky’s face. “Sorry, boss.”
“Not your fault.” Sky hugged Tiffany tight, which was tricky because she was so round. The tiny brindle dog snorted with pleasure and made a clumsy effort to lick Sky’s chin.
“I suppose you want your money back, now that you’re off the case.” Teddy reached for the wallet in his back pocket.
“Keep the money, Teddy. I’m still working the case. It’s just more complicated now.” Sky pointed silently to the door to indicate the police detail. “Consider yourself on my payroll.”
Teddy exhaled loudly. “That’s a relief. This crappy economy is hell on my business. Jeez, only a year ago I was turning clients away. Now I’m lucky to get a skip-trace once a month.”
“Did you have any trouble getting those bags?”
“Nah. I got to Wellbiogen early, paid off the security guard. Only cost me a C-note. Just can’t get good help these days.” Teddy pointed to the white plastic bag. “That particular stash I got from a leather waste basket in Manville’s private office.” Teddy spread his arms in a gesture of incredulity. “The guy has a twelve point buck mounted on his wall. I counted the antlers. Fucking weird. I took a picture of it.” Teddy pulled his cell phone out and clicked to the snapshot. “See?”
“Manville’s from Texas. Must be a hunter,” Sky said, studying the beautiful stag’s dead eyes.
“Never been further south than Foxwoods, myself.” Teddy slipped the phone back into the pocket of his blue parka. “I was throwing the trash bag in my car when a red Lamborghini pulled into the parking lot with Manville at the wheel. Talk about cutting it close. He went into an underground garage and I figured he’d be there for a while so I drove straight to his place in Weston. Lives there by himself, as far as I can tell.” Teddy shrugged a beefy shoulder. “Pretty modest place, considering the address. Your basic ranch-style domicile. I yanked that big bag from a garbage can next to the house.” He shook his head. “Highest property values in the fucking state but they have to shlep their own garbage to the dump. Go figure.”
Sky poked around until she found an old newspaper. “Spread this out on the floor,” she instructed. “I’m taking the dog out.”
She carried Tiffany down the east staircase and directly across Watertown Street to a small park next to Dunkin’ Donuts. Trees and park benches dotted the tiny patch of green. The police officer accompanied them with a stony look on his face.
Tiffany squatted for nearly a minute and Sky marveled that a small creature could display such spectacular bladder control. Where did she keep it? Sky was reading a memorial plaque, names of Lake residents who’d lost their lives fighting the first World War, when someone shouted from across the street.
“There is a god.” Angel Butera stood next to the red, white and blue helix of Salvi’s barbershop pole wearing a brown suit and a nasty sneer. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled, “Off the case, Doctor Stone?” He stepped from the curb and lumbered across the street in a graceless waddle.
It was day three of Butera’s ten-day Burglary reassignment. Magnus had orchestrated the transfer for Sky’s benefit and it was an ironic twist that Angel Butera would be back in homicide in a week while Sky was excluded.
Tiffany finished her business and Sky picked her up, hoping to make a quick exit. But Butera beat her. Panting from exertion, he stood next to the war memorial and gave the duty officer a cursory wave before locking his small eyes on Sky.
“Now you’re on the outside, looking in. How does it feel, Golden Girl?” He issued a hostile laugh and rubbed his balding buzz cut. “Where’d you get the rat?” He peered at Tiffany and the dog answered him with a snarl.
Ignoring Butera, Sky carried the dog across the street.
She tried to walk faster, but every muscle in her body ached and the detective moved apace.
“My niece and Jake are talking marriage.” Butera slipped into conversational mode. “Any tips on wedding locations? I’m mulling over Gore Place, what do you think?”
Sky’s face grew hot. Butera had hit a nerve.
Not that long ago, Sky and Jake had looked in vain for a wedding spot that would satisfy both families. Izzy’s Brahmin standards and Jake’s Lake roots seemed impossible to reconcile until Sky discovered Gore Place, an early 1800’s estate barely a mile from the Lake. Forty-five acres, front gardens, north and south lawns. Plenty of room to accommodate her grandmother’s absurdly extensive guest list. ‘One of the loveliest Federal period mansions in New England,’ Izzy had declared with rare approval. The sprawling estate even boasted a small sheep and goat farm.
Marry in late July, that was their plan, two months after the baby was born. In the beginning, Sky had refused Jake’s marriage proposal, she tried to convince him that marriage was an archaic social convention. But Jake was old-fashioned in so many ways. And very persuasive. In the end, because she couldn’t resist him, she said yes. Yes.
Sky reached the other side of the street and paused in front of Kildare’s Pub to catch her breath. The chain of thoughts sparked by Butera’s dig led Sky to a startling realization: if it weren’t for the car crash, she’d be celebrating her ninth month of marriage to Jake. The baby would be nearly a year old.
Butera searched Sky’s face in the gathering dusk and smiled, happy to see that his arrow had hit its mark. He turned a lumpy brow toward the two identical stone carvings of bare breasted women on either side of the pub entrance.
“A beer sounds good. You have a nice night, Doctor.” Butera tweaked the nearest stone nipple with sausage fingers and swaggered into Kildare’s.
Teddy was lounging on the sofa when Sky got back to the office.
“You don’t look so good,” he said, straightening up. “What happened?”
Sky set Tiffany on the Persian carpet and fought the impulse to grill Teddy. He would certainly know if Jake and Theresa were talking marriage. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask. It was too humiliating.
The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) Page 24
