“This isn’t over, you know. We could still charge any or all three of you, and we will if we find any discrepancies in your stories.”
She didn’t react, just gave him a curt nod and strode out of there. Her next stop was her office, where she asked her boss of six years for a private conference. Then she told her what part she’d played in the photo being taken and sent. “I’m not proud of what I did,” she said, “but I wanted to tell you everything I told the police, I know this could reflect poorly on Omega, and I apologize.”
Her boss was disappointed but said she appreciated Felicia’s honesty. “And while you didn’t exercise the best judgment, you didn’t break any laws. Still, maybe it would be best if you took vacation until this matter with the police is settled. We’ll talk again after I’ve had a chance to confer with the executive board.”
Felicia nodded in resignation and thanked her. Dry-eyed and numb, she went back to her office, and while she was loading up her manuscript bag, Felicia thought of the nude photo. In case the police searched her office for some reason, she didn’t want that tidbit to be found and traced back to Jerry. She opened the bottom drawer and withdrew the picture, then retrieved a pair of scissors from her desk and proceeded to cut it into tiny slivers. With each slice, she felt as if she were cutting some kind of hold that Jerry had had over her. When the last unrecognizable scrap fell into her trash can, she exhaled the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Apprehensive, but more clearheaded than she’d been in weeks, Felicia took a taxi home and wondered if Tallie and Jané both had cast guilt her way during their interview. Jané…Felicia tapped her finger against her lower lip. Something about the woman had always bothered her. The whole searching for her identity gig—it was so…eighties. When she got home, she was going to do a little research…make a few calls. Perhaps Jané was hiding something. They had gone years without seeing her, and then she’d shown up at The Bottom Rung with a grudge to grind against Jerry. And a few days later, he was dead.
Maybe she’d set them up.
Her mind clicking, Felicia barely glanced at Del as she walked past and onto a waiting elevator.
“Ms. Redmon, the police—”
But she allowed the doors to close—she didn’t want to talk about the police questioning him about Phil. She was doing everything in her power to block that event from her memory. But when she opened her door, she realized that Del was trying to tell her something else…that the police were searching her condo.
Frustration and a sense of violation welled in her chest at the sight of a half-dozen gloved officers systematically turning her neat-as-a-pin home upside down.
“You’d better have a search warrant,” she said to the officer standing in the kitchen with a clipboard. He handed her a copy of the form and went back to cataloging the items that were bagged on her counter—her German knives!
“You can’t take my cutlery,” she said. “Those cost me a fortune.”
“Sorry,” the guy said, clearly not sorry. Then he pointed to the smallest set of serrated knives—her favorites. “There’s one missing, do you know where it is?”
She counted them…seven. “They should all be there.”
“I checked the dishwasher,” he said.
“You don’t put good cutlery in the dishwasher,” she admonished.
He gave her a “diva in the house” look, then went back to writing.
She rubbed her temple, her heart pounding faster. Where could the other knife be? Had someone taken it? Used it to kill Jerry?
“Found this in the bedroom,” a man said in the doorway. She turned to see him holding up Jerry’s scarf by a pencil. Her pulse kicked even higher. The black “JK” monogram was undeniable. Mr. Clipboard joined him in the next room, but she could hear them talking. “From the strength of the cologne on the fabric, I’d say he left it here within the past week or so.”
She closed her eyes—that one little relapse was going to land her into even bigger trouble. Damn you, Jerry.
“Bag it. What else you got?”
“I found this wool coat with a stain on the front, looks like it could be blood.”
Tallie’s coat. “It’s coffee,” Felicia said loudly. “It belongs to a friend of mine—I offered to try to get the stain out for her.”
The men looked her up and down, from her caramel-colored kid boots to her black suede dress jacket with richly embroidered lapels. One guy scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
She folded her arms, thinking they’d probably never believe that she’d done all this embroidery herself. “How do I know what you’re taking?”
“I’ll give you a copy of the list,” Mr. Clipboard said.
“And when will I get my things back?”
“When it’s determined that the items are no longer relevant to this case.”
“Ballpark estimate?”
“A year—two years, tops.”
She pressed her lips together. Jerry’s scarf she had planned to throw out, and she could buy Tallie another coat…but taking her German cutlery—that stung.
“Here’s your copy of the items we’re taking, ma’am.” Mr. Clipboard handed her an almost unreadable carbon copy. Then they gathered up the bagged items and left, not bothering to straighten anything. Tears filled her eyes—it would take her days to get her condo back to normal. On the heels of Jerry’s memorial service, the sense of being violated was overwhelming.
She stared at the list—knives, monogrammed scarf, stained coat. Collectively, she admitted the items were a tad on the incriminating side. And Detective McKinley had made it clear that she was still a suspect. For a few seconds, she gave in to a feeling of resentment toward Tallie—if she hadn’t left that message on Ron’s cell phone, the police probably would never have connected them to the crime. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hating herself for blaming Tallie. If their friendship dissolved, she would be so…lonely.
The phone rang, breaking into her thoughts. The caller ID displayed the lobby. She sighed. “Hello, Del.”
“Visitor for you, Ms. Redmon. Says his name is Jag?”
Jack Galyon? Felicia pursed her mouth—what could he want? Probably his book back, she thought…maybe he’d given it to her for an excuse to see her again. One side of her mouth lifted. The man deserved points for planning. “Send him up, Del.”
“Will do.”
She opened the door as Jack Galyon was walking up, dressed in full courier garb, his chin strap swinging.
“Hi,” she said, realizing with a start that her smile wasn’t forced—she was glad to see him.
“Hi,” he said, then made a rueful noise and reached into the large courier pouch at his side. “This was addressed to you at Omega so I tried you there, but your assistant said you’d gone home. I thought it looked…suspicious, so I thought you’d want to see it right away.”
A tiny part of her was discomfited that he was there on business and not a made-up excuse to see her.
He pulled out an envelope that had the same bogus address that had been listed on the first envelope containing the nude photo. She took the package with a shaky hand and used the pull tab to tear open the envelope. Turning discreetly, she parted the cardboard envelope so she could see what was inside. Her stomach flipped—another photo. She opened the envelope wider to see the photo—her again, nude again. She inhaled sharply—a message from the grave?
She snapped the cardboard envelope shut and turned back to Jack, who stood waiting patiently, concern on his handsome face.
“When was this dropped?” she asked breathlessly.
“Friday.”
“Not Thursday and mailed on Friday?”
“Right—it was dropped at the same location on Friday for overnight delivery next business day.”
She covered her mouth with her hand as a terrible realization dawned.
Jerry couldn’t possibly have sent this photo…so he probably hadn’t sent the first one, either.
Ch
apter 31
“Lieutenant Wages will give you a ride home,” Detective Riley said.
Tallie sat still for a few seconds and considered asking them to lock her up on the spot rather than face Keith. He didn’t look any happier with the prospect than she felt, and the only conversation he offered on the way out to the car was, “You can ride up front.”
She did, but they had to roll the windows down for the first few minutes to dispel the faint odor of throw-up in the air.
“I’m assuming you don’t want to go back to your office,” he said.
“The day’s almost shot anyway,” she said, wondering if she would have a job to go back to.
“There was a bug in your phone at work, too,” he said.
She laid her head back. Of course there was. “I’m sorry.”
There was a pause, then, “About what?”
She turned her head to study his profile. “About not confiding in you.”
One of his big shoulders lifted. “I told you that I’d have to report knowledge of a crime being committed. I would’ve had to turn you in.” He stopped for a red light, then glanced over. “Of course, you know this means we can’t…er—”
“Sleep together?” she asked wryly. “I know that much from watching television.”
He nodded. “The detectives are only letting me stay on the case because they know they can trust me.”
She frowned—just like a man. “I’m not going to try to tempt you to compromise your ethical duty, Keith. Last night was fun, but let’s don’t make a big deal out of it.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he didn’t respond.
She stared out the window, feeling slightly nauseous and mostly miserable. She needed to talk to Felicia, to apologize for bungling everything, and to thank her for not having thrown her under the bus when the police had shown up. Her heart squeezed with affection for her friend—she had risked her own job and reputation by coming forward. And Jané…
Anxiety knotted her stomach. The woman had been willing to let her face the firing squad alone. Upon closer examination of everything that had happened that night, Jané had been the driver. She and Felicia weren’t any less to blame for the outcome, but when she started replaying that night’s conversation in her head, it had been Jané who had been intent on retaliation, Jané who had made the phone call, Jané who had been late to their meeting place.
“Tallie?”
She started out of her reverie.
“We’re here,” he said, nodding toward the windshield.
And so they were. A police van sat in front of her building, parked on the sidewalk. “What’s going on?”
He made a rueful noise. “They might be executing a search warrant.”
“On my place?” she asked, incredulous. “I thought the detectives believed our story.”
“Tallie, they have to do their job. I’m sure the other women’s apartments are being searched, too.”
She opened the door and climbed out, feeling a little woozy. Little sleep, unaccustomed physical activity, scant nourishment, and a police grilling were a poor combination. “What are they looking for?”
He closed the driver’s door. “Primarily, the murder weapon. Outside of that, maybe a calendar or photographs.” His mouth was a thin line. “Your office will probably be searched, too.”
“Maybe they’ll confiscate some of my slush pile,” she said wryly.
When she opened the door to her apartment, she gasped. Two uniformed officers were systematically going through every drawer, shelf, and container. Furniture sat askew, the tabletops and counters were jam-packed, with papers hanging out of drawers. It looked worse than before she had cleaned. Mr. Emory stood surveying the action, dressed in a tight, yellow sweat suit and holding a thick ring of keys. He pointed at her as he walked out the door. “You are too much trouble.”
She closed her eyes. Great—now she’d probably have to find a new place to live, too.
The officers acknowledged Keith and said they were almost finished. She sidled through the living area and peeked into the bedroom, grimacing at the chaos.
“I realize it looks bad,” Keith said behind her, “but I know these guys and they’re pretty gentle.” His gaze fell on the open shoebox on her disheveled bed containing a lifelike vibrator, a nicely identified set of Ben Wa balls, and various “hotstuff” lotions.
Tallie reached over to replace the lid. “This would only be better if my mother were here.” She turned to look at Keith. “Would it be too much to ask you not to—”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your mother won’t find out from me.”
“Thanks.”
“All done,” one of the cops said from the doorway.
She and Keith walked out, and she surveyed the bin of items they had amassed.
“My computer?” she cried. Along with all the printouts of the news stories about Jerry’s death. Then she saw they had bagged Felicia’s nice coat. “Wait—that’s not even mine.”
“It’s ours now,” one of the guys said with a shrug.
Why they would want Felicia’s coat was a mystery to her until she saw another item in a small baggie…the cocktail napkin on which Felicia had written out their step-by-step plan to humiliate Jerry. She must have left it in her coat pocket. Once again, Tallie had inadvertently handed more evidence to the police. Her stomach twisted.
Keith walked the officers to the door, then came back with a copy of the list of items they’d taken. “Well, at least they didn’t find the murder weapon,” he said lightly.
She stared at him. “You didn’t think they would…
did you?”
He gave a little laugh, then shook his head. “No. I don’t think you’re capable of that kind of violence.”
Her heart dipped a little, and she gave him a sardonic smile. “If provoked, I could take a man down.”
His expression changed subtly, and he nodded. “You certainly could.” Then he straightened. “I guess I’d better be going.”
“Actually,” she said, “there is one more thing I could use your help with.”
“What?”
She sighed. “I need the Gaylord Cooper manuscript that I took to Kara Hatteras. I don’t mean to sound crass and I’m terribly sorry about what happened to her, but I need to get that manuscript before some well-meaning friend or relative cleans out her apartment and tosses it in the trash.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Tallie. As far as the detectives are concerned, that manuscript is the link between you and Kara Hatteras. It’s probably considered evidence.”
She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes briefly. “Okay, if we find the manuscript, you could arrange to have a copy made and delivered to my boss if you don’t want to give it to me, and keep the original for evidence. Would that work?”
He hesitated.
“Keith, this manuscript is worth over a million dollars. I’m already in enough trouble without adding that kind of liability to the list.” She swallowed her pride. “Please help me.”
His shoulders dropped an inch. “Let me make a phone call.”
While he talked on the phone, she brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, reapplied powder and liptick, and ran a comb through her hair. The gray hair refused to lie down, and to her horror, she noticed another one nearby—it was gathering recruits!
“Ready?” Keith called.
She walked out and nodded. “It’s okay?”
His glance was admiring of her improvements. “Yeah, as long as we don’t disturb anything at the scene.”
But “the scene” was disturbing all on its own—apparently Kara had been working. The items on her desk were askew…a coffee cup overturned and the stain soaked into the blotter, a tumbled pencil holder and its contents on the floor. A straight-back chair lay on its side. A few feet away from the desk was a crude outline of the woman’s body in white tape on the dark carpet. Tallie had to cover her mouth. It was easy to visualize what might have happene
d—Kara had probably been sitting at her desk and the attacker had come up behind her. They’d struggled and she’d fought for a few seconds, moving away from the desk before falling to the floor. A shiver shook Tallie’s insides.
“They don’t have any suspects?” she whispered. Then she frowned. “Other than me?”
“They’re looking into old boyfriends,” Keith said, then scratched his temple. “Apparently, she had a few…including the doorman.”
Tallie wasn’t surprised, although she was still sorry that the woman had met such a violent end.
“Let’s get this over with,” Keith said, stepping toward the desk.
Tallie followed, surveying the stacks of manuscripts, reference books, advance reading copies, galleys—there was a lot to go through. But hopefully, the Cooper manuscript was somewhere close to the top of the pile. The outside envelope would be the most telltale item, but Tallie didn’t see it. She pulled out the trash can and poked around, finding a piece of packing tape with manila paper fibers still attached and the letters G.C. written on it in her handwriting. “This came from the envelope,” she announced. “So the envelope and the manuscript have to be here somewhere.”
Two hours later, they conceded defeat. Keith even allowed Tallie to poke around in Kara’s bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and various large purses. “It’s not here,” Tallie said.
“Could it be at her office?” Keith asked.
“What was the estimated time of death?”
“Sometime Saturday afternoon.”
“I can’t see Kara going into the office on Saturday, but I guess it’s possible,” Tallie murmured as they left the apartment. Anxiety billowed in her chest. On top of everything else, this was the last thing she needed. That cursed manuscript was going to be the death of her.
The death of her.
She looked up at Keith, her eyes wide. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“The manuscript…that’s why Kara was killed…
someone wanted the Cooper manuscript.”
Keith frowned. “Enough to kill for it? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Tallie said, shaking her head, trying to process all the thoughts flooding her brain. “But it might explain why my phones were bugged—maybe someone knew that Ron was giving me the manuscript and wanted to keep tabs on me.” A memory clunked into place, and she touched her forehead. “Omigod.”
Whole Lotta Trouble Page 24
