Killer Heels

by Sheryl J. Anderson

  But then I looked back at the policemen again and saw the second guy and realized why Cassady’s antennae were up. He couldn’t have looked better if he were backlit and walking in slow motion. It was a chain-store suit and his shoes were a couple of years old, but he was breathtaking. Square jaw, tousled hair that got that way honestly and not because of seventy-five bucks worth of product, and amazing blue eyes. The little clarity I’d been able to summon threatened to evaporate, but I took a deep breath. Cassady also gave me a firm jab in the ribs, which is always good for focus. “Dibs.”

  “This is a murder scene, not a nightclub.”

  “The story will delight my grandchildren.” Cassady flashed me a quick smile, then quickly turned back to watch the two new arrivals come across the room to us. Officers Jankowski and Hendryx were obviously filling them in on the situation and their attention was focused on poor Teddy. In fact, the older man peeled off to go look at Teddy and the young hunk came straight to us. How nice.

  “Ms. Forrester, Ms. Lynch, I’m Detective Edwards, Homicide.” Cassady and I stuck our hands out like two debutantes in a receiving line. Detective Edwards missed half a beat, which increased his desirability quotient considerably. He then shook my hand first, which got him even more points. Cassady sniffed loud enough for me to hear.

  “My partner, Detective Lipscomb, and I will be handling this case. The officers tell us you two found the body.” He looked us both over carefully, but in a forensic, not a foreplay, sense. He stopped when he got to our feet. More precisely, to my feet. “You came into the office barefoot?”

  “No, but I stepped in the blood and they asked me to leave my shoes there.” I tried to sound businesslike, but the almost-shrill thing was happening again. I could’ve sworn I’d be better than this in a traumatic situation.

  Detective Edwards glanced at the officers for affirmation, then over at Teddy. “I know you’ve already been interviewed, but we’d like to talk to you after we look around. You don’t mind waiting, do you?”

  Cassady sat, pulling me back down into my chair while she was at it. “Not at all, Detective. Anything we can do to help.”

  Detective Edwards looked us over again, a little less forensically this time, and went over to his partner and Teddy. Officers Jankowski and Hendryx trailed along behind.

  “Have you ever been at a murder scene before?” I asked Cassady. We’ve known each other since freshman year of college, but we didn’t get to be best friends until we both came to the city after graduation, so I don’t know everything about her. Besides, she’s a girl who knows how to keep her secrets.

  “No. They don’t come up very often in my kind of law.” Cassady isn’t a criminal lawyer, though I’ve always thought she’d be great at it. Besides the fact that she looks awesome in those Ally McBeal suits. Instead, she’s counsel for the Coalition for Creative Expression and Enterprise, also known as C2E 2. They’re this wonderful, funky public-interest group that’s into all sorts of issues where creative expression and business crash into each other—stuff like Internet privacy and intellectual copyrights. They try to get the two sides to work together to find mutually beneficial solutions, but sometimes Cassady has to take people to court to get their attention. “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Because I would think you’d find it fascinating.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you’re bored.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you have one cop’s phone number in your pocket and you’re already salivating on another one.”

  “You’re projecting. You’re a little more emotionally involved here than I am, but that’s a function of circumstance and nothing I need to be punished for.” All of which I would have taken more to heart if she’d said any of it looking at me, instead of staring at Detective Edwards the whole time.

  But I had to admit—to myself, not to her—that I was having a harder time with this than she was. I realized that it was mainly because I knew Teddy and she didn’t, but there was a little professional angst going on, too. As wholly inappropriate as it might have been, part of my brain was whining because I was in the middle of what could have been a great story if I were working for the New York Times and not Zeitgeist. Not that I don’t love my job at the magazine, but it’s not exactly where I intended to wind up.

  See, I’m a news junkie. Blame my parents. My father couldn’t eat dinner without Walter Cronkite intoning in the background because it was every American’s responsibility to stay informed. My mother put my playpen in front of the Watergate hearings because she thought it would be stimulating for me. I guess it was, but I also get this really weird, tingly feeling whenever I see a man with big, bushy eyebrows. I haven’t brought that up in therapy. Yet.

  Anyway, you can see why I thought the whole news gig would be pretty cool. But I realized it wasn’t all style, it was substance, too. So I did the well-rounded liberal arts deal, then marched out into the world of journalism to seek my slot. I was going to offer insightful commentary on the events that shape our world, enlighten the populace, and make the world a better place. And I sort of do. But not as much as I’d like to.

  “You’re the advice columnist?” The detectives had returned from their inspection of Teddy and were questioning Cassady and me. Detective Lipscomb said it in a completely non-judgmental way, but it still stung a little. Especially since I was sitting next to my drop-dead gorgeous public-interest lawyer best friend. Put me in bunny slippers and a quilted bathrobe: I’m the advice columnist. It’s not a field that the Pulitzer Committee is paying a whole lot of attention to. This year. But I don’t plan to be doing this until I drop in my tracks, God bless the dear departed Ann Landers. I’m barely over thirty (no need for specific numbers) and I’m always looking for the opportunity that’s going to take me closer to real news.

  And this is actually a sweet setup: I do a lot of my work at home, so I get paid to sit in my pajamas and tell people how they’re screwing up their lives and what I would do were I in their situation, which I am so eternally glad I am not. I enjoy it most of the time, though some of the letters make me fear for the future of the human race. I mean, my God. Write to me about delicate shadings of ethics and etiquette, but think for yourself occasionally! How can you focus long enough to type Dear Molly, I’ve been sleeping with my brother-in-law for the last six months and the sex is great, but I’m starting to feel guilty and still feel the need to ask, Should I come clean with my sister? Like any reasonably intelligent, self-respecting woman who survived high school doesn’t know that given a choice between keeping a secret and sharing the truth, you lock up that diary and throw away the key.

  “Oh, man,” Officer Hendryx blurted. “I shoulda known. Molly Forrester. ‘You Can Tell Me.’” He grinned at me the way I thought guys only grinned at professional athletes.

  Cassady arched an eyebrow at him. “You read Molly’s column?”

  “Not really,” Officer Hendryx confessed. “My girlfriend basically reads it to me. It’s her favorite part of the magazine, and she’s always saying, ‘Ohmigod, Davey, you gotta listen to this!’ She’s gonna be so amazed I met you.”

  “We’re all very happy for you, Officer,” Detective Edwards said, just firmly enough for Officer Hendryx to straighten up and shut up. Detective Edwards swung those very impressive blue eyes back over to me. “And why are you and your lawyer here after hours, Ms. Forrester?”

  “She’s not my lawyer. She’s a lawyer, but not my lawyer.”

  “She’s also in the room,” Cassady pointed out. “We’re friends. We were having drinks and Molly said there was a hideous piece of art here in the office that I had to see.”

  “Is it still here?” Detective Edwards looked around.

  “Ohmigod, you don’t think Teddy interrupted some sort of art theft?” It came out before I’d really thought it through and they all looked at me in varying degrees of surprise.

  Detective Lipscomb tried to sound patient, but
he made sure the effort showed. “We have to consider all the possibilities at this stage.”

  “Not that one. Teddy wasn’t exactly the heroic type. If someone came in to steal the monstrosity, I bet Teddy would’ve held the door open for them. Not that Teddy would have been in on it or anything …” Maybe if I kept talking long enough, my brain would catch up with my mouth. But right now, my mouth had quite a good lead. Maybe it was time to go back to bobbling.

  The detectives exchanged a look, then Detective Edwards put his hand on my arm. I’m sure it was meant to calm me, but it didn’t. “Can you show me this piece of art?” I nodded and started to walk past Teddy and all his new companions, then stopped, very conscious of my bare feet. I looked down and so did Detective Edwards. He nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry about the shoes, but we’re going to have to keep them for a while.”

  “Not like the blood’s going to come out of them,” Cassady muttered behind us. I looked around, surprised that she was following us. “The statue’s the whole reason I’m here,” she explained. “I’m damn well gonna see it, if it’s not gone.”

  It wasn’t. It was still squatting on its pedestal outside The Publisher’s office. It was called Muse 47. According to The Publisher, the artist said it was the embodiment of the urge to create. To me, it looked like a disfigured gnome straining to pass a kidney stone. Detective Edwards looked at it for a few minutes, taking in the statue itself, then examined The Publisher’s reception area, even checking the carpet for footprints and other trace evidence. The carpet and furnishings in this part of the office are just as bland as the ones in our part of the office, but you can tell they cost more. The chrome shines more brightly or something. Detective Edwards didn’t seem particularly impressed by any of it. I stood as quietly as possible, watching his every move. Cassady frowned at the sculpture. “Modern art’s such a joke.”

  “Pretty sweeping statement,” Detective Edwards countered, continuing his inspection.

  “Unless the law has changed since I left my office, I’m entitled to my opinion.” It’s always an education to watch Cassady sizing up an opponent, deciding whether he can be consumed in one bite or two.

  “Y’know, we tried really hard to take away everybody’s civil liberties today, but we couldn’t work it in, what with the murder rate climbing and all. So yes, you can have an opinion for another day or two.” He stopped inspecting and looked at us, waiting for a reaction.

  Cassady was expressionless, hanging tough, so I seized the moment. “I happen to love Jasper Johns.”

  Cassady rolled her eyes. Detective Edwards grimaced a little, so I could tell we weren’t going to bond on this one. But I could also tell he knew I was trying to help and that he appreciated it. Lord knows, I get tired of all the whining and shrieking that I have to listen to in the course of my job, and it’s all on paper or a computer screen. Imagine the stuff a homicide detective in New York City has to put up with in the course of a day, and I’m not counting having to actually solve the crimes. The least I could do was deflect a little of Cassady’s scorn. And I do like Jasper Johns.

  “This area seems untouched, but I’ll have the forensic guys check it out. Thank you,” Detective Edwards said, gesturing us back to the bullpen. Cassady led the way and I hung back a little, not anxious to see Teddy again. Detective Edwards walked beside me, but he looked like he was concentrating, so I figured I should stay quiet. Especially since I couldn’t think of anything helpful to say. You gotta figure “How could this happen?” is something a homicide cop gets sick of hearing pretty early in the work week and I couldn’t push my bobblehead much past that.

  Detective Lipscomb was waiting for us. Detective Edwards shook his head. Detective Lipscomb nodded. “No sign of struggle in the office. Blood spatter looks like it all happened out here. Wallet and watch are gone.”

  Detective Edwards’ frown deepened. “Odd place for a robbery. Lots of locked doors between here and the street.”

  “Security guys are pulling the records. We’ll see what that points to. Not much here otherwise.” Detective Lipscomb held up an evidence bag with the knife from Teddy’s throat in it. The inside of the bag was streaked with blood and did this weird stained-glass-window thing when Detective Lipscomb held it up to the light. “Kitchen knife.”

  “It’s Teddy’s. He was trying to lose weight and ate a lot of fruit in the afternoon. Liked to slice the apples and said the knives in the kitchen weren’t sharp enough, so he kept that one in his desk.”

  Detective Lipscomb glanced over to Teddy, who was being placed in a body bag. “Guess this one was sharp enough.”

  Detective Edwards winced. “You’re buying breakfast.”

  Detective Lipscomb was highly offended for some reason. “I am not.”

  Detective Edwards shook his head at his partner and turned to us to explain. “If somebody starts to sound like a wisecracking TV cop, he has to buy breakfast.”

  “You punish him?” I asked, not sure I saw the logic.

  “Best way to break a bad habit,” Detective Edwards explained.

  Detective Lipscomb wasn’t enjoying this and held the knife bag up again, refocusing everyone. “You’re sure this is his?”

  “Yes. I borrowed it a couple of times. It really is better than anything we have in the kitchen.”

  Detective Lipscomb walked over to stand in Teddy’s office doorway, bag still in his hand. “So he’s working late, hears a strange noise, grabs the knife to arm himself, walks out and …” We all looked down at the blood on the carpet and filled in the rest for ourselves. In my version, Teddy wrestled with a shadowy intruder twice his size, the intruder wrenched the knife away, and suddenly Teddy was on the floor, bleeding. I imagined the detectives’ version was a little less noir than that. And probably, given Teddy, closer to the truth.

  Cassady’s face was expressionless. I think she’d had enough.

  “Ms. Forrester, did Mr. Reynolds have enemies?” Detective Edwards asked after the silence had stretched on a little too long.

  “Oh, sure.”

  Detective Jankowski gave me a perturbed look. “Ma’am, you told me no.”

  “You asked me if I knew anyone who’d want to hurt him. He asked me about enemies.”

  Officer Jankowski opened his mouth to protest, but Cassady was quicker. “Definitely two different lists in my life. There’s a big difference between someone you’d like to see dead in the business sense and someone you’re willing to hurt literally.”

  “Teddy could be nice, but he could also be really difficult,” I admitted. “All depending on what you wanted from him. You could probably split his Rolodex in half between the people who’d vote ‘sweetheart’ and the ones who’d go for ‘bastard.’ But I can’t imagine a single one of them doing this.”

  Detective Lipscomb rubbed his forehead. “We’ll take that into account.” He turned to Jankowski and Hendryx. “Go get with the security guys. Make sure you get the full rundown on cleaning crews, night messengers, standard traffic.” The officers nodded to us and hurried out. Cassady waved Officer Hendryx’s business card at him in farewell.

  “You think it was a stranger, an intruder?” I pressed. Cassady shot me a warning look.

  “We see a lot of this. Somebody comes into the building on so-called legitimate business, then takes advantage of a situation.”

  I was trying to picture the world in which killing someone was taking advantage of a situation. “So you think this was a robbery or something?”

  “No, I think it was a murder,” Detective Lipscomb said quietly and Detective Edwards shot him a warning look. There was no breakfast at stake here. Detective Lipscomb was getting angry.

  I plunged in anyway. “It’s just … the knife is so personal. You’d have to get close to him …” I wasn’t sure where I was going with this, but I got the sense that the detectives were about to veer off in a direction that wasn’t going to help Teddy much.

  Detective Edwards took a step forward to distr
act me from his glowering partner. “We appreciate your input. I’m sure this is overwhelming for you and we don’t mean to keep you any longer than absolutely necessary.” He pressed his business card into my hand.

  I had more to say, but Cassady grabbed my arm and almost bolted for the door. “I know an exit cue when I hear one. Thank you very much, gentlemen. You know where to reach us if you have any more questions.”

  I leaned back, like a toddler resisting her mother’s efforts to put her to bed. “Wait.”

  “No, Molly,” Cassady insisted, “it’s time to go.” She managed to walk me past where Teddy was being loaded onto a gurney for his trip to the morgue.

  “But I want to help.” I hated how my voice sounded, all thick and unstable, but it stopped Cassady.

  She gave me a pained smile and let go of my arm. “I know you do, Moll, but we should leave it to the professionals. You’ve done everything you can here.”

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve been emotional and vague and made a miserable impression. I always thought that if I ever found myself in this sort of situation, I’d rise to the occasion, be brilliant and insightful. Maybe even get a feature article out of it.”

  She dug her phone out of her purse and started dialing. “Even if you have been daydreaming about something like this, which is a whole separate problem, the reality is obviously very different. Trying to look at this as some sort of career opportunity is just your way of ignoring the pain of losing a colleague.”

  Since I couldn’t think of a proper comeback, I asked, “Who are you calling?”

  “Now I’m calling Tricia. I think we should meet her for many drinks. Don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  Wary that she was missing a joke, Cassady proceeded carefully. “Why? What else do you have to do tonight?”

  “I need to solve this murder.”

  2

  “I come bearing shoes.” Tricia slid a shopping bag onto the table and me into her arms in one elegant move. Being momentarily engulfed in blue merino can be quite soothing. She smelled great, too. Chanel No. 5 since she was twelve years old. Tricia goes for the classics and makes them work.