Silent victim s-2

by C. E. Lawrence

  "What took you so long?" asked Detective Butts.

  "Oh, you know, the whole rush-hour train thing," she said, slipping into the booth across from the homely detective. Kathy liked the plainspoken Butts-his lack of pretension was refreshing. Her father moved in elite circles in Philadelphia, and sometimes Kathy found his friends irritating, with their expensive wines and trendy restaurants-or at least as trendy as Philadelphia could claim to have. She enjoyed mentioning her frequent trips to New York, knowing that inside most Philadelphians is an envious would-be New Yorker.

  Impulsively, she gave Butts a kiss on his pockmarked cheek, and his already florid face turned a deep cherry red.

  "Let's get you a beer," he said, looking around for the waiter, though she suspected it was so she wouldn't notice his embarrassment. "You got a lot of catchin' up to do."

  "What's everyone drinking?" she asked.

  "There's a special on this Belgian brew," he said, signaling to the waiter for another round. "It's really not bad."

  "Sounds good," Kathy said, looking around the room, which was beginning to fill up. Friday night was prime time for the East Village, but it didn't begin to really heat up until around ten. She and Lee always tried to be indoors by then, away from the roaming mobs of drunken bridge-and-tunnel teens.

  "So," she said, turning to Lee, "what did I miss?" There was an awkward pause as Lee looked to Butts, who said, "Nothin' much-we just been talkin' shop."

  "I see," said Kathy. "I'm not allowed in on it." "Well," Butts said, beginning to sweat, "see, technically speaking-"

  "Technically speaking," Lee interrupted, "I'm not even officially in on it."

  "Yeah," Butts said apologetically. "See, it's my case, but I probably shouldn't be talkin' about it."

  "But if you're talking to him about it, why can't you talk to me?" she said.

  Butts picked at the bumpy skin on his chin. "Yeah, well, I probably shouldn't' a even said anything."

  "Well, you already have, so are you going to let me in, or am I just going to sit here all evening in suspense?"

  Butts frowned and chewed on his lower lip. "Okay, okay-seein' as how you're a professional, too, I guess it couldn't hurt. But you can't tell anyone I told you," he added quickly, "or my ass is grass, you know?'

  "Understood," Kathy replied. "Maybe I can be of some help."

  "I dunno," Butts said. "It's not the science that's wacky on this one, it's the psychology."

  "Ah," said Kathy. "So that's why you confided in Doc Campbell here."

  Lee rolled his eyes. He was a PhD, not an MD, but Butts had insisted on calling him "Doc" ever since they first met. He wasn't sure whether Kathy was making fun of him or Butts-or both of them.

  "We're not even sure there's a connection yet," Butts said, lowering his voice as the sleek young, white-aproned waiter delivered their drinks. "But there's a coupla pretty weird deaths within a week, both staged to look like suicides-but badly staged, y'know, suggesting they weren't no suicides."

  "That's why you think they're linked?"

  "Yeah, maybe-or maybe not. The two vics are real different, and as far as we can make out, there's no other connection between them. Didn't know each other-weren't even the same age or profession."

  "What about race?" Lee asked. "You said they were both white."

  "Yeah, sure, but that's not much to go on. We're still lookin' into their backgrounds, but so far we got bubkes."

  "So what are the details?" Kathy said, gulping down a swallow of beer. It was delicious-cold, a little sweet but with a nice bitter edge.

  Butts told her the puzzling particulars. Two men, both dead, one electrocuted and the other drowned-both clumsily staged suicides, "phony as a tuxedo on a rooster," as he put it. Kathy had no idea where he got his sayings-he had a gift for odd metaphors.

  "Chuck Morton hasn't called you yet?" she asked Lee.

  "Nope," he replied.

  "That's odd," she said. "It's right up your alley."

  "That's what I'm sayin'," Butts agreed. "Hey, I'm starvin'-you wanna order?"

  They did. Butts ordered a steak, and Kathy got the same thing she always did-the Moroccan chicken. It was terrific as ever-tangy, spicy, and a little sweet, but the real winner was the spinach fettuccine in lemon caper sauce that Lee ordered. After trying one bite Kathy kept looking at it so longingly that Lee finally threw his hands up and pushed the plate toward her.

  "Go ahead-have the rest. I can tell you want it." He turned to Butts and laughed. "She always does this. No matter what she orders, she always wants what I have."

  "I do not!" Kathy protested, but she gobbled up the rest of the fettuccine greedily.

  "Hmm," Butts remarked, chewing on his steak. "I guess you suffer from pasta envy."

  "Touche," Lee said, poking Kathy in the ribs.

  Butts smiled broadly, obviously pleased with himself. Kathy pretended to be irritated with both of them, but in truth she was feeling good-a little tipsy, full of excellent food, sitting in this charming restaurant with a man she loved. Happiness filled her like helium; she was buoyant as rising dough. She wished she could always feel the way she felt right now. Later, she would think back to that evening and wish she could have stopped the hands of the clock right then and there.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As soon as Lee unlocked the dead bolt to his apartment door, the phone rang. He rushed through the living room to answer it, but he wasn't quick enough-by the time he reached it, the phone had stopped ringing.

  "Damn," he muttered, throwing his coat on the couch. He looked at the caller ID, which read UNAVAILABLE. That meant someone was calling from a blocked number-or that they had dialed*69 before calling him to hide their identity. Either way, he wouldn't be able find out who it was and call them back.

  Kathy trailed in behind him, closing the door after her.

  "Just missed it?" she said, sinking down on the couch.

  "Yeah," he said. "They blocked caller ID, too, so I don't know who it was."

  "Who would be calling you at this hour?"

  "My first thought would be my mother," he replied, "but she doesn't even know what caller ID is, let alone how to block it."

  "Maybe they'll leave a message." She rubbed her stomach and grimaced. "Oh, I am so full. I can't believe I finished the rest of your fettuccine. I'm terrible, aren't I?"

  Lee laughed. "One of these days I'm going to order something you really hate, like liver, so I can eat the whole thing myself."

  She threw a couch pillow at him. "Sadist."

  He dodged out of the way, then picked it up and threw it back. "Glutton."

  She hurled it back at him. "Poseur."

  He aimed at her head, then, as she ducked, threw it at her torso. "Nympho."

  "Oof!" she said as the pillow hit her stomach. "Got me right where it hurts." She bent down to pick it up off the floor, then stopped. "What's that smell?"

  "What smell?"

  "Like lilacs," she said, sniffing their air. "It smells like lilac perfume."

  "Oh, that," he said, feeling guilty, though he had done nothing wrong.

  She threw the pillow back at him. "Do you have a mistress?"

  He threw his hands up in surrender, letting it hit him. "Okay, you caught me."

  "I knew it! What's her name?"

  "Promise not to tell anyone?"

  "Cross my heart and hope to die."

  He sat down next to her and whispered in her ear. She hurled another pillow at him at close range.

  "Ow!" he said. "That hurt!"

  "Serves you right," she said. "Leading a girl on like that."

  "Well, you are my mistress," he said. "Or my girlfriend, or whatever you want to call it."

  "Seriously, though, was someone here wearing lilac perfume?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "Who was it?"

  "Well, I guess since she wasn't here as a patient, it's all right to tell you."

  He had known two things about Kathy Azarian soon after meeting her
: that she was courageous and that she was willful, someone you would want nearby in a crisis. But it was as impossible for him to put a finger on what exactly he was drawn to as it was to pluck a single drop of water from a running stream. Her slim androgyny hid a femininity so profound that he felt in touching her, he was touching all women. It was as though his atoms had been perfectly formulated to resonate with hers.

  He told her the story of Ana's visit, including her past as his patient-though he neglected to mention her attempt to seduce him years ago. Kathy didn't seem to be the jealous type, but he had no desire to test that theory.

  Kathy listened, frowning. "Do you think she's telling the truth?"

  "I don't know what to think. I was thinking that might be her calling when we came in."

  "Maybe it was a wrong number. Why don't you see if they left a message?"

  Lee went over to the phone, but as he reached for it, it rang again. He picked it up immediately.

  "Hello?"

  "Lee, it's Chuck." "Hi, Chuck."

  When she heard that, Kathy began waving vigorously from the couch.

  "Kathy says hi," Lee said.

  "Yeah, thanks-uh, listen, have you got a minute?"

  His friend sounded disturbed, preoccupied-from the tightness in his voice, Lee could tell this call was all business.

  "Sure, go ahead," he said.

  "Okay. We got a really strange situation here, and if you're free, I'd like to have your input on it." "Go ahead-shoot."

  Chuck Morton proceeded to tell him about exactly the same case Butts had laid out before him over dinner, and Lee pretended to listen. Or rather, he pretended he had never heard any of this before, which was hard, since Butts had covered it quite thoroughly. Still, he managed to ask some leading questions, and thought he pulled it off pretty well. The last thing he wanted was to get Butts in trouble for spilling the beans about a case-even if it was to Lee, Butts could still catch hell for it, and even more since Kathy was there, too.

  Strictly speaking, case details were to be spoken of only with the officers directly involved, lest something should leak out that would compromise the investigation. Of course, things were leaked all the time, and Lee suspected there was a fair amount of pillow talk that went unreported. He couldn't imagine a marriage of any substance without a few slips here and there. He thought of Chuck and Susan Morton in bed together. He had once shared a bed with her, and now… he forced the image out of his head.

  "Okay," he said when Chuck had finished. "You're right-it does sound intriguing."

  "It's damn perplexing, that's what it is," Chuck grumbled. "And that's why we need you on board. If you have time, that is."

  "Sure," said Lee. "You clear it with brass, and I'll be in your office Monday morning."

  "Great," said Chuck, sounding relieved. Lee could hear a woman's voice in the background, and Chuck called to her, "Just a second, all right? Okay, I will." Then, into the receiver, he said, "Susan sends her love."

  "Thanks," Lee said, feeling his throat tighten. Whatever

  Susan Morton was sending, it wasn't her love. Her lust, perhaps-maybe her desire, her need, which was bottomless-but hardly her love.

  When it came to men, Susan Morton was a piranha-she ate them up. Junior year at Princeton she set her sights on Lee, after having chewed her way through most of the underclassmen on the rugby, soccer, and rowing teams (she favored those with brains and brawn, though not too much of either-she wouldn't touch football players or physics majors). Blessed with a body that needed little improvement on what nature had given her (or so she claimed), straight blond hair (Lee always suspected it was bleached), and bewitching green eyes, she only had to wiggle her pert little hips or flutter her expensive false eyelashes to have men drooling like doddering idiots.

  Lee fell for her act for a while-then, after a particularly nasty fight over which restaurant they were going to (for her, the more expensive the better), he decided he'd had enough. Without even pausing to wipe the smudged lipstick off her pretty little mouth, she turned around and seduced his roommate and best friend, Chuck Morton. If she felt awkward about the situation, she didn't show it. In fact, Lee thought it was the ultimate power play for her: he might reject her, but look!-she could have the very next man she set her sights on.

  And she had him, all right. She tugged on every heartstring poor Chuck had, and since Susan gave him the false impression that she had left Lee-and not the other way around-he could hardly point out her flaws to his friend, who might think it was just sour grapes.

  They dated all throughout junior year, and when Chuck left Princeton early to support his mother after his father's sudden death, they were married within a few months. And now there they were, with two children and a house in the tony suburbs of Essex County, in north Jersey. And Lee saw the look of disbelief on his friend's face when they were in public together-as if he still couldn't quite understand how he ended up with such a beautiful woman.

  "Hey! What are you doing, standing there with that grim expression?"

  Kathy's voice brought him out of his reverie. He set the remote receiver down on the phone charger. Susan sends her love. Yeah, right, as his niece would say. As if.

  "Didn't Chuck just ask you to join the team?" Kathy said, now on her feet, plucking at his shirt sleeve.

  "Yeah, he did."

  "So what's with the long face, ya crazy mug?"

  They both liked black-and-white movies from the thirties and forties, and enjoyed imitating the way the characters spoke. It was one of those little private jokes that keep happy couples from being all alike.

  "Aw, cut it out, will ya, you crazy dame?" Lee responded, but his heart wasn't in it. His stomach was beginning to churn, and it wasn't just because of his close encounter with Susan Morton. He had a premonition that nothing good was about to happen.

  On impulse, he pulled the slip of paper from his pocket with Ana's cell phone number on it and dialed. The call bounced immediately to voice mail. He frowned and tried a second time, with the same results. He folded the paper and put it carefully on top of the mantel. Of course, it could mean nothing-she could have turned off her phone. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something very bad was about to happen.

  "You okay?" Kathy said, wrapping her arms around him.

  "Yeah," he said. "Sure."

  But even as he said it, he knew he didn't believe it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In you go, nice and easy. That's it, slide right in. Don't be afraid-the water's fine. Don't struggle, now-there's no point. The drugs should make you feel all nice and sleepy, so this shouldn't hurt a bit. If you had been a better girl, there would have been no need for this, no need, but some women are just born bad. It's sad, but that's the way it is.

  Caleb stood and watched as she floated away, looking so peaceful, her limbs spreading out from her still form, her white-blond hair blooming like water lilies around her head. His father would be so pleased. He could still hear his father's voice in his head, as if it were only yesterday.

  "Your mother was born bad-wicked and evil and bad. So this is what you do to bad women. Watch, boy-no, don't turn away! And don't cry. Only sissy boys cry. No son of mine will turn out to be a sissy boy, not if I can help it. That's better-be a man, and take it like a man. Only women cry-don't you ever forget that. And women are bad-nasty, evil creatures. They have this thing between their legs that makes them bad-this bleeding, gaping thing that will eat you up or bite off your manhood if you 're not careful."

  This one had nice hair-so pale and thick, like a white halo around her head. Just like Ophelia, floating down the stream.

  Oh, yes, Ophelia killed herself out of love, my dear, didn't she? Well, that was a bit of inspiration on my part, I must admit. A nice touch-I hope they like it when they find you. Of course, you won't look so pretty when they find you, will you? Not pretty at all-you'll be bloated like a watermelon, I should think, all white and ghastly and gruesome. Maybe some young policeman will
even throw up when he sees you-some of them do, you know. I've seen them. That would be too bad, but you only have yourself to blame. I could have taught you some manners, but it's too late now, I'm afraid. Well, it's getting colder out, so I'm going to have to leave you. Bon voyage-sweet dreams.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lee arrived at Chuck's office in the Bronx Major Case Unit a little before nine on Monday morning, feeling tired and worried. Tired because Kathy had spent the weekend-they were still in the early stages of their romance, and didn't want to waste time sleeping when they could be doing something together. For their first months together, that most often meant sex-Kathy had an unexpectedly voracious libido.

  And he was worried because he had tried all weekend to reach Ana on her cell phone, with no luck. He even called the Swan in Lambertville to see if she had shown up for work, but was told she had requested that weekend off. That made him feel a little better-maybe she and her boyfriend had gone on vacation and she had turned off her phone. But she hadn't mentioned that when she came to see him, and under the circumstances, it seemed an odd omission.

  He walked through the station house, which was unusually quiet for a Monday morning. The young desk sergeant tried vainly to stifle a yawn as he waved Lee through to Chuck's office, and the weary-looking policewoman talking to a thin young Latino man in purple rayon pants looked like she could use another night's sleep. Lee knocked on the door to his friend's office, and to his surprise, a woman's voice answered. "Come in."

  He paused a moment to register what he had just heard, then swung the door open cautiously. He didn't know what he expected to find, but he certainly didn't expect what he saw. Instead of Chuck was a woman, perched next to his desk, one hip resting on the windowsill behind his scarred old captain's chair.