Death Angel (5 page)

“Yes,” Kate said. “I remember distinctly
because it caught on the sleeve of her windbreaker when she was getting ready
to leave.”

“Do you have a picture of the bracelet
or could you make a drawing of the charm?”

If anything, Kate’s face went paler. She
reached into the neckline of her blouse and pulled out a gold necklace. Her
fingers shook as she undid the clasp and extended it to Carl.
 

“The charm is just like Jenny’s. Richard
gave each of us one.”

Carl took the necklace, holding the
charm in the palm of his hand. Still warm from the heat of Kate’s body, the
winged angel felt alive.
 

“Would you mind if I borrowed this?”
When she shook her head, he placed the necklace in the breast pocket of his
uniform and buttoned the flap. “You’ll get this back and in the meantime I’ll
take very good care of it.” Carl wrote a note at the bottom of the page, then
closed the notebook and stood up. “That’s it for now.”

Before Kate could rise, Richard was at
her side, helping her up, holding her in the protective circle of his arm. They
walked with Carl back through the living room. They remained in a silent
triangle, having no social amenities to get them past the awkward phrases of
grief. Carl opened the front door, then turned in the doorway to face Kate and
Richard.

“I’ll keep you posted,” he said.
 

With a brisk nod of his head, he walked
to his squad car. The street was empty but a flutter of the curtains across the
street gave evidence of the avid curiosity that always surrounded a tragedy.
He’d have to send several officers to the funeral home and to the church the
day of the funeral for crowd control. He couldn’t protect the Warners from
reporters for long, but he’d try.
 

Reminded that he’d promised to make a
press statement back at the station, he sat for a moment trying to decide how
much information he could hold back without the reporters crying foul. He had a
nagging feeling that something he’d heard since the discovery of the murder
didn’t ring true. Picking up his folder he skimmed his notes, flipping pages
and stopping at random, hoping that something would trigger his memory. So many
interviews. Every investigation was a morass of paperwork.

Paperwork. Work. His head jerked up,
eyes unfocused, thoughts coalescing into a question. He returned to his notes,
searching each page, stopping once, moving forward to stop again.

It was a triviality. Probably just a
throwaway comment. But if it wasn’t, it opened up a frightening possibility. It
would only take one call to verify. Like a child who suspected a monster under
his bed, he was reluctant to check. He tossed the leather folder on the seat
and started the car.
 

Knowing he’d have to do it eventually,
Carl reached for his cell phone.

Three

K
ate shed no tears at the wake
.
 

By detaching herself from the process,
she was able to calmly greet those who came to pay their respects, with only an
occasional break in her composure. She stood beside the closed casket,
periodically stroking the satiny surface as if in some way she could touch the
child lying within the cushioned interior. In the quiet moments she stared at
Jenny’s picture nestled in the spray of coral roses and babies breath, praying
silently that it was only a nightmare.

Her prayers went unanswered.

For most of the evening, Richard stood
beside her, supporting her with a touch or a glance but occasionally, when
restlessness overcame him, he left her to roam the fringes of the large room,
acknowledging the comments of friends and acquaintances but avoiding any real
conversations. Worried about him, she followed him with her eyes.

He’s shrunk, she noted with concern. It
wasn’t just that he was weighted down by the tragedy, but in some real sense he
had shriveled. The spark of vitality that originally had drawn her to him was
dimmed.

She could still remember the first time
that she’d seen him. Fresh out of college, she had been hired as a copywriter
for Mayerling Ltd., a Chicago advertising agency. On her first day of work, she
had arrived early and wandered the silent halls looking for someone to tell her
where to go. In the conference room, a man paced in front of a storyboard,
practicing his presentation of an ad campaign. Standing unnoticed in the
doorway, she watched in fascination as he waved his arms to punctuate the words
he mumbled under his breath.

At twenty-six, Richard Warner had been
striking rather than handsome, tall with broad shoulders, no hips, and a
loose-limbed walk. Bony wrists stuck out of his shirtsleeves and his hands were
large, the fingers long and gracefully shaped. He had thin, almost ascetic
features. El Greco would have loved to paint him, she thought.

There was an aura of excitement around
him and in that instant she fell in love. She wanted to be a part of his world.
She was drawn to his strength as well. He took control of her life, which had
been unfocused since the death of her father the year before. Six months later
they married.

During eleven years of marriage, Richard
had been in charge. He was never domineering, but always gave her the feeling
she was protected and treasured. Her father had controlled her life after her
mother died when Kate was twelve. He had been a loving but demanding parent,
selecting her class subjects, her clothes, and her friends. Her father had been
the major influence in her life, and without his guidance she had felt lost.
Kate stepped into the wifely role with ease, grateful that Richard was willing
to make the decisions in their lives.

Even though she did not believe it, Kate
loved the fact that Richard thought she was beautiful. She suspected with his
artist’s eye, he had different standards than the rest of the world. He taught
her how to dress and chose clothes that gave her confidence in her appearance
and style. If she had beauty, Richard had given it to her.

She had been so lost in her thoughts,
she was startled when Mike Kennedy appeared at her side.
 

“How’s my girl?” he asked.
 

He opened his mouth to speak again but
this time there were no words. He held out his arms. Letting down her guard for
a moment, Kate drew strength from his embrace. She closed her eyes, rested her
head against his chest, and wished he could block out the world forever. A tear
slid out of the corner of her eye. She took a shuddering breath and stepped
back.

“Where’s Chessy?”

“Right here, Kate.” The normally throaty
voice of Mike’s girlfriend was tight with tears. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

Two years earlier when Mike had brought
her to the house for dinner, Kate had liked the long-haired brunette with the
plain face, the breathtaking dimensions and the incongruous name of Chesapeake
Chesney. Chessy was the nutritionist at the hospital who teased Mike that his
main interest was not in her but in her cooking skills.
 

Kate pressed the other woman’s hands in
a quick gesture of friendship. “Thank you for coming.”

Chessy reached into her purse and pulled
out a linen handkerchief, scrubbing her eyes and blowing her nose. “Is there
anything we can do?”

“Nothing really. Tomorrow is the funeral
at St. Madelaine’s.” Kate stopped talking, swallowing and blinking her eyes
several times before she could continue.
 

“How are you managing with all this
furor going on outside? Reporters. Curiosity seekers. It’s incredible.”

“The funeral home sent a limo for us
this morning and smuggled us in a side door. On the one hand I hate the
publicity, but on the other I keep thinking it might prompt people to come
forward with any information that might help the case.”

Chessy turned to answer a question from
Mike and, for a moment, Kate was alone, her back to the majority of the people
in the room. A wave of uneasiness crept up her spine. She fixed her eyes on the
crucifix above the casket and fought back a sense of panic.

“Kate?” Carl Leidecker’s voice at her
shoulder made her jump.

The muscles in Kate’s throat constricted
as she turned to face him. She nodded as he took her hand and spoke quietly to
her. She didn’t take in the content of the words, only the comfort in his
voice.

The strength in his fingers surprised
Kate. Outwardly he didn’t look particularly strong. He was an inch or two
shorter than Richard, slight of build, with studied, almost plodding,
movements.
 

Kate wondered if he had adopted the
slow, methodical actions to cover a mind both quick and subtle. The other times
she had met him, he kept in the background, offering information only when
prodded. He was a private person, perhaps made so because of his job. His firm
grip communicated a strength of purpose and commitment to Kate. If it were at
all possible, Carl Leidecker would find Jenny’s killer.

Again a shiver of apprehension chilled
her. She released his hand, breaking the tenuous connection.
 

Leidecker moved to the back of the room,
speaking only to the people who approached him, shaking his head often in
answer to their questions. Throughout the evening, Kate remained aware of him.
His eyes were hooded beneath lowered brows, his very stillness an indication
that he was unobtrusively observing the faces of the gathered mourners.

To Kate, it seemed that everyone in
Pickard had come to the funeral home. Mayor Frank Etzel and his assistant
Joseph Garvey came with their wives. She had never met either of the men but
appreciated their attendance. Neighbors, friends, acquaintances from church and
the library. Even strangers held her hand and whispered words of condolence.
The death of a child was a shared pain.
     

She was touched by the number of people
from Richard’s office who had made the effort to attend the wake. Christian
Mayerling, Richard’s boss, arrived early in the evening. His carriage was
stiff, muscles rippling in his jawline as he patted Richard awkwardly on the
shoulder.
 

At fifty-five, Chris was tall and
whipcord thin, with an elegance that was part upbringing and part affectation.
He came from a wealthy family, well-connected in Chicago. Just recently he had
moved to an exclusive hi-rise on Round Lake, so they saw more of him than they
had when he lived in the city. He had a full head of black hair with wings of
white at the temples that accentuated his striking good looks.
 

“God Almighty, Kate, what can I say?” He
grasped both her hands, pressing them convulsively. “Is there anything I can
do?”

“There’s nothing, Chris, but thanks for
offering. Your flowers are lovely,” she said, nodding at the enormous basket of
spring flowers on the pedestal beside the casket. “Jenny loved daffodils.”

“I was hoping so. One of the pictures in
Richard’s office shows her with an armful.”

Kate remembered the picture and her eyes
filled with tears. Chris turned to Richard, while Kate tried to gather the
remnants of her composure. She checked her watch. Eight. One more hour.
 

Watching Richard she was struck by how
alone she was. Most of the people in the room were friends of his. She had no
immediate family and he had not encouraged her to socialize with either the
school parents or anyone at the library. She had always felt her life was full.
She had been busy with Jenny and Richard, never realizing that except for Mike
and Chessy and Marian Grainger she had few real friends. How would she fill her
life now that Jenny was gone?

Be
careful. The COP has arrived.
 

He could feel his body tensing the
moment Leidecker entered the room. No emotion visible on the COP face except
when the shadowing lids lifted and a flash of expression quivered across the
surface.
 

The COP stood at the back of the room: a
guard on patrol. Probing eyes. Sweeping around the room like the searchlights
in a prison camp. Progressing slowly, evaluating, and weighing.
 

He was grateful he had not brought the
talisman.
 

Just before he came to the funeral home
he had taken it out of the secret place. The metal looked dull. He rubbed the
bracelet against his pant leg to polish it.
 

He raised it to his eyes. The gold links
appeared brighter. Once again he rubbed it against his leg. He stroked more
vigorously and beneath the material of his pants he could feel the heat against
his leg. His erection was immediate.

Time had been short. He couldn’t
continue to explore his rising excitement and the prickly sensations quivering
beneath his skin. He’d debated taking the bracelet with him but knew it was safer
where it was. Later.

He returned to the moment and his own
wrenching sorrow as he stared at the tiny casket. Realization of his precarious
position sent a spurt of anger through his body that temporarily blocked the
pain.