I was weak and sweaty, but I felt more alive than I’d ever felt in my life. By the time I looked up, the silent screaming and the terrified eyes were gone. His head had slumped to the right and I saw the extent of how much I’d cut. The blood had stopped spraying, had stopped boiling.
The dead don’t bleed, I thought as I wiped some of the sticky wet from my hands against his clothes. I stared at my first murder victim for a long time, admiring the deed. Proud. I’d rid the world of a bad man and stayed until I felt I didn’t have to stay any longer.
My hands stayed sticky, his blood drying on them. I tried wiping them against the gravelly pavement, but it didn’t help.
“Bottle of water or wipes would be better,” I mumbled, fixing a mental reminder for when I’d do this again. As my heart eased into a normal rhythm, I finally felt what I should have felt when the man first attacked me: afraid.
A whole new sensation took over my body. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, a frightening and overwhelming sense of being caught filled me, capturing me. My hands grew clammy and my lips trembled at the thought of being convicted and sent to prison. It wasn’t just the thought of living behind bars that scared me—it was losing Snacks and Michael and the love of my life, Steve.
I gripped a handful of small stones, spitting onto them with every last drop I had in my dry mouth. I squeezed my hands around the tiny pebbles until my knuckles hurt. I cringed at the pain. I used the stones like a rough sponge, to wipe my hands clean. I threw the handful of stones down the alley. The small rocks skittered and bounced over the pavement like pattering feet—thrown far and wide, spreading and eliminating any possible collection of evidence.
When I stood up, my head felt as heavy as if I’d been drinking. A glint of light from below drew my eyes toward it. The knife lay waiting, ready to be taken from the scene and not left behind. Surely my fingerprints couldn’t be dusted for—not here, and certainly not on that handful of pebbles or against the wall. I grabbed a piece of crumpled newspaper from the garbage bin behind me, wiping my hands on it some more, and wrapped the knife before stuffing it into my purse.
I gave the homeless man one last look before leaving the alley. From the sidewalk, it looked like he was sitting in the same frozen position as when he’d first called out to me, supposedly seeking help. I guess he didn’t know that it was me he’d be helping.
THIRTEEN
MY CAR FELT damp and cold, as if I’d left a window open during the night. And no matter how far into the red I threw the thermostat’s needle, I couldn’t seem to warm up. I sighed. Tears of exhaustion pricked my eyes. I was crashing. Only this wasn’t like the crashes I’d experienced drawing up the Killing Katie designs. I’d hit a new high. I’d committed murder.
I drove away from the library and the alley, keeping my purse tucked beneath my arm. My hand slipped inside, touched the blade I had used to open the man’s neck. A fluttery lift came into me, giving me enough of a titillation to continue. Neshaminy Creek lay between my home and our small town. But it was a creek by name only—it was easily wide enough to be considered a river. My headlights closed in on the approach to the bridge. I slowed when reaching the apex of the span, knowing that I’d have to get rid of the knife. With no other traffic around me, I stopped my car and rolled the window down. Moist air came inside, along with the sound of rushing water. I held my prize, the evidence, another minute. The knife was my first trophy and I didn’t want to let it go.
My rearview mirror stayed empty, and the road ahead showed only a possum or raccoon crossing the blacktop. Beady eyes flashed in my car’s headlights before scurrying off the road. The newspaper was soaked through with blood and had already begun to dry. I quickly unpacked the knife, then held it in front of me for longer than I should have. I turned it over, finding it to be as miserable-looking as the one who’d brandished it. But it was my first weapon, so I brought it up to my lips, feathering it with a kiss before throwing it over the bridge. I held my breath and waited until I heard a splash—just a subtle sound, like my toes dipping into a warm bath. I was ready to go home. The newspaper followed the knife’s trajectory until I saw the wind catch it, taking it beneath the bridge, where I’m sure it disappeared forever.
Steve welcomed me home, excitement in his tone, asking how I’d made out in town. He wanted to know if I’d found what it was that I wanted to do. But when I entered the kitchen, his face emptied and his color paled.
“What happened to you?” he asked, rushing around the counter. “Amy?”
“What? Just fell is all,” I said, shaking my head. “Why are you making such a fuss?”
“Babe, your neck. And your clothes,” he answered, lowering his voice, trying not to scare the kids. “What happened?”
“I fell,” I repeated, my words solemn as I quickly glanced down at my blouse. I had avoided the blood’s main spray, but had I avoided all of it?
“Mom, take the kids downstairs,” Steve instructed. There was a quaver in his voice as he spoke. And from the corner of my eye, I saw Steve’s mother pick up Snacks and lead Michael out of the kitchen.
I shook my head, raising my hands. “I’m fine. I tripped leaving the library and fell down the steps.”
“Looks like you caught something on the way,” he said, leaning in to look at my neck. “Have you seen this?” I stepped around the counter to face the oven door and lifted my chin in order to see my reflection in the glass. The blade had run around the front of my throat.
Had the homeless man really held me long enough to do that?
In my mind, the attack seemed to begin and end in a moment. A blink, a struggle, and then he was dead.
Maybe I’d let him hold me, cut me, leading him to think that he’d had control over me. Had I set a trap?
I glanced above my head, looking for the imaginary Wile E. Coyote sign that read Free Bird Seed, and then began to laugh uncontrollably. Only my laughing sounded like hysteria. The fatigue was beginning to surface like lava from a volcano.
“What’s wrong with mommy?” Snacks cried. “Is mommy okay?”
“Mom,” Steve said again. “Please!”
I must’ve appeared frightful to my baby girl—an out-ofcontrol crazy she-monster. But I couldn’t help myself. I laughed harder. “I’m so sorry,” I said, but I knew it didn’t sound sincere. “It was such a nasty spill. I feel so foolish about it.” Steve’s arms were suddenly upon me, carefully easing me around to face him. He kept his hands just above my clothes, the tips of his fingers barely brushing over me. He gently touched my clothes and inspected my skinned knees. I realized that he must have suspected that I’d been raped. I searched for the kids and his mother, but she’d already led them away.
“I think you might need a doctor,” he said, sounding grave. “Babe, I think you might need a hospital.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told him. I wasn’t laughing anymore. I knew I had to be careful. He continued to look me over, recreating in his mind a scene of what he believed had happened. “Let me save you the time,” I said. “I was alone, coming out of the library, and I fell.”
“You’re sure?” he asked. I nodded as he put his hand inside my jacket and began to feel my ribs. His fingers tickled and I jumped at the touch of them.
“Hey there, mister,” I said, pulling his hands in front of me. “Not without a few drinks first.” I winked, but he didn’t smile. Instead he dove into my jacket with his other hand, checking my side.
“Show me your eyes,” he told me. “Let me check and see if you hit your head.”
“Seriously?” I demanded, growing annoyed. “I’m fine, okay?” He stood without any expression, waiting. I obliged and looked up into his face, opening my eyes until he was satisfied.
“What’s this?” I heard him say. He took some of my hair into his fingers. I let out a short cry when he tugged it: my scalp hurt terribly from where my hair had been yanked. “Sorry about that, babe.”
“What is it?” I asked. A sense
of dread washed over me when I saw the brown smear on his fingertips. Dried blood, flaking and smudgy. It wasn’t mine, but I’d have to make it sound like it was mine. I had to convince Steve that it was mine. Where could it have come from, though?
“Gross. Must have gotten some blood in my hair,” I answered, taking his hand in mine and quickly wiping them until the brown flecks were gone. “Scratch on my neck must have bled a little. Not a lot, but enough.”
“And your blouse?” he asked, pointing down.
“What about my blouse?” I followed his eyes, knowing that I’d checked it over when I had first gotten in my car.
Or had I?
Again, I felt the pressure in my lungs. I expected to see more blood—a large stain of crimson brown, clotting and drying stiff, smelling rank. But I didn’t find anything alarming. What I found was my blouse, creamy white and without a single spot of red. It wasn’t the homeless man’s profuse bleeding that I’d carried into my home, it was the evidence of his hand pawing at my breast. Two buttons were missing from the middle of the blouse, and a small tear along the hem left the satiny material hanging like a short necktie.
How did I miss that?
“Oh, that,” I answered, sounding as though it was nothing. “This is an easy fix. I’ll take it to the tailor this week.” Steve remained concerned, but then gave me a hug and said he was sorry that I’d been hurt. The gesture was sweet and unexpected and warming.
While I told him thank you, my mind was already upstairs, imagining my legs dipping into the bubbly wet of a hot bath. I wanted a glass of wine. I wanted to rest. I needed to rest. As I broke away from the hug and made my way to the stairs, Steve added, “You’ll still be able to go in a half hour?” I stopped at the bottom of the staircase and leaned over the rail, disappointment souring my plans. Steve turned to finish making dinner for the kids, but stopped when I didn’t answer him.
“I can be ready,” I answered, but had no recollection of our having made any plans.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being selfish. If you’re not up for it, that’s fine. It’s just Romeo’s for a few drinks and dinner. My boss will understand.”
Lightbulbs flashed—a thousand watts—blinding and searing. I’d completely forgotten about the dinner with his boss. Charlie Dawson and his wife were at least two decades older than we were, and as Steve’s boss, he was finally moving on to a new role: less detective work and more house work. Retirement. Charlie had just one name on his list of who it should be to fill his shoes. Steve. Tonight was the traditional couple’s dinner—a pastime at their station for nearly a century.
“What, and miss your big dinner with Charlie?” I answered, trying to sound enthusiastic. He shot an “Are you sure?” look at me, and then waited. I went to him, pulling him close. “I’m so proud of you. Do you know that?” His expression immediately changed to one of boyish pride. Adorable.
“Thanks, babe,” he answered as he patted my ass. “I’m glad you’re okay and that you’re up to going.”
“I might be up for even more later,” I quickly added, winking and hoping a hot shower in place of my planned bath would magically revitalize me.
I made my way to our room and then the shower, doing so in a daze and emptying my mind. The steamy water rained over me, washing away any leftovers from the homeless man and what I’d done to him. I stayed in the shower for as long as I could, enjoying the run of hot water as it pelted against my chest and neck and back. At one point, I could have laid down right there and gone to sleep.
“Fifteen minutes!” Steve called out, rapping his hand against the door. By the time I met him in our foyer, nobody would be the wiser to what I’d gone through earlier in the evening.
When I came down, Steve’s gaped-mouth told me that I looked as stunning as I thought. He gave me a whistle and put his hand above my head, encouraging me to spin around for him. I did so, kicking up my high heels so that my skirt rode up my thigh.
“You look amazing.”
“Delicious enough to eat?” I teased, licking my lips.
Steve said nothing, smacking his lips instead, before motioning behind me. The kids and Steve’s mom saw us off, but not before I made sure they knew that I was fine.
FOURTEEN
I HADN’T CONSIDERED the drive back to Romeo’s. I hadn’t considered the bridge over Neshaminy Creek and the knife I’d thrown into the water, hiding what I’d done. The threat of being caught caused a fresh ripple of nerves. My teeth chattered. I tried to control my emotion, but shivered whenever I clenched to stop the noise. Gooseflesh rose on my arms too, and my nipples became firm, the outlines showing prominently through the front of my dress.
“Charlie is really going to be happy when he sees you,” Steve joked, taking my hand and lifting a finger to touch the front of my dress. “Cold?”
“These aren’t for him,” I answered. Then I added, “I’ll be fine.” I’d brought a shawl, knowing the evening would be chilly, and threw it over my shoulders.
When we drove to the peak of the bridge’s deck, I peered over. My body stiffened, and I clutched my seat when I saw the glint of the knife.
But that’s impossible, I told myself. It’s too dark and we’re up too high.
My nerves were playing with me. More flashes of light came then—the moon’s reflection breaking on the water. I sighed and distantly wondered if the creek’s water would wash away the blood, wash away my sin.
As we entered into the center of town, I saw the first indication that the murder had been discovered. Soft flashes of red and blue blanketed the trees and cut harsh wedges into the road. The car’s headlights washed the colors away for a moment, but then more light came from behind us. Police cars drove around us and pulled Steve’s attention like a scurrying mouse before a cat.
“I wonder what’s going on over there?” Steve asked as we pulled up to Romeo’s.
“Where?” I answered, playing along as though unaware of what lay in the dark alley.
“Across the street, a block or so down,” he answered. “Didn’t you see the patrols?”
I had. The patrol cars straddled the road and sidewalk, blocking the entrance to the alley. A tornado began to swirl in my mind, throwing visions of the homeless man’s body on a gurney and handcuffs around my wrists and being guided into the backseat of a squad car.
Play it cool, I told myself, trying to calm my nerves. You’re not practicing anymore.
“Sure did,” I answered in a flat tone, remaining unemotional. I leaned toward Steve, distracting him by pointing to Romeo’s. “Look. A parking spot in front of the restaurant. See if you can grab it.”
“I should probably stop over there and see what’s going on,” Steve said, turning the steering wheel around. I chewed on my lip and tried to ignore the fluttering in my belly. The car rolled into the parking space.
“Nice fit too,” he said. “Good eyes.”
“Want to go inside first?” I asked. “We can get our table, then meet up with Charlie and Vickie, maybe order some drinks?” But Steve’s eyes were locked on the waves of blue and red lights circling atop the patrol cars. A parade of uniformed officers made their way in and out of the alley. Some came out empty-handed. Others did not.
Even in the faint light of the street lamps, I could see the library door open. Nerd stepped out. My heart seized and I stopped breathing. Nerd shrugged his shoulders, shifting his denim jacket up against the chilly air. Instinctively, I slowly lowered myself, sliding down in my seat until my eyes were just above the headrest.
“Looks like Charlie beat me to it,” Steve said, opening his car door. “Vickie is still in their car. Why don’t you two go inside and get started without us?” I heard Steve, but couldn’t stop watching Nerd. When he saw the activity around the alley, he stayed on the street, clearly choosing to avoid the police.
“How long will you be?” I asked, setting a tone in my voice to make sure he knew that I was annoyed as well as concerned.
“Long
?” Steve waved to Charlie, who’d already motioned to him. He leaned back into the car so I could see him roll his eyes. Then he fixed his features in an apologetic expression that was familiar. It was his way of saying he had no idea how long they’d be. I knew it would be a very long night. Over the years, I’d come to loathe that look.
“It looks like they’ve got something already,” he began as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves with a rehearsed snap. I hadn’t realized he kept the gloves in the car, but the idea of them being available was interesting to note. “We might be a while. You know what I like. Could you order it for me?”
“So you won’t be long?” I said, needling. Over his shoulder, I could see another officer walk out of the alley. The chills returned and my teeth chattered. I lifted the front of my dress.
The buttons! I realized with a startle.
I flattened myself against the car seat, trying desperately to think of where the buttons from my blouse had gone.
Had the homeless man been clutching the front of my blouse when I killed him?
I imagined them wrapped up in his death grip. A portly officer stepped into the thin light—an evidence bag hung from his grubby hands. Did I see buttons in there? I could have died. “Can you get a ride home?” I forced myself to ask.
Steve stepped back, shaking his head, “Babe, we might not be that long. Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”
“No, no, that’s okay,” I interrupted. “I’ll fix myself something at home. See you after you’re done here.” As I finished talking, I heard Charlie call out Steve’s name. I watched as his wife drove away. She flashed me a quick look that said, “Oh well, that’s what you get when you marry a cop.” She put her hand out of the window and gave us a quick wave.
Steve waved and turned around, his loafers crushing a stone with a loud noise. “I guess that answers that,” he said with a heavy sigh.
Affair with Murder The Complete Box Set Page 9
