Died to Match (23 page)

She nodded, just as Eddie came to the connecting door to say that Lieutenant Graham was on the phone.

“Tell him I’ll be right there. And, Eddie, would you mind driving Corinne to her office?”

I locked the door behind them, then picked up the phone. The detective was all business. “You were at Angela Sims’ building this morning. Why?”

“I saw the police and went in, that’s all. Lieutenant, you’ve got to find Lester Foy He murdered Angela.”

“You’re sure of that, are you?”

“Don’t tell me you think she fell, for God’s sake! People don’t fall off their own balconies. He broke in there last night and—”

“What makes you think someone broke in?”

“Don’t tell me Angela let him in! A guy with a bat tattooed on his head?”

“We don’t know who she let in, if anyone. What we do know is that two weeks ago a woman was raped in a building two blocks away. Her assailant threatened to push her out a window if she resisted him.”

“And you think the same ‘assailant’ killed Angela?”

“All I think is that it’s a far more likely hypothesis than your obsession with Lester Foy. He has no record of violence.”

“It’s not an obsession! He was stalking me at the cemetery, and this morning he chased Corinne through the Pike Place Market.”

“Chased her?”

“Well, followed her.”

“Did he threaten her in some way? Were there witnesses?”

I kept forgetting: in Graham’s eyes, Skull was still just a petty thief and Corinne was still the girl who cried wolf. “I don’t think so. But you should talk to her. She’ll be at her desk at the Sentinel in a few minutes.”

“Excellent idea,” he said dryly. “Any more suggestions about how to do my job?”

“No, I guess not. Wait, what about Tommy Barry?” I’d been calling the hospital every day to check on Tommy’s condition. Some slight improvement, they kept telling me, but still no visitors. “Are you still guarding him?”

“Round the clock.”

“Good.” I could imagine the scene the sportswriter must have witnessed. The dim corridor, the shallow water lapping on stones, and Dracula looming over the fallen gypsy queen. Did Foy know there was a watcher in the shadows? Maybe he hadn’t seen Tommy clearly enough to identify him again. Or maybe he was casing the hospital as well as stalking the women who turned him in. “Tell your people to look out for those tattoos. Or maybe a rubber Dracula mask.”

“Ms. Kincaid, I really don’t believe that Lester Foy was at that party.”

“Why not?”

“In any case, he’ll be picked up on the bail violation.”

“And how long will that take? Foy must know that Corinne saw him at the Market today. He’ll go into hiding for a while, and then come after us again!”

“I assure you, we’re doing all we can. Good-bye.”

I hung up, frowning in concentration. Skull had to be
drawn out into the open before he killed again. And I thought I knew how to do it.

I paced along the picture windows lining the front of the office, and stared out unseeing at the pewter surface of the lake. It won’t really be dangerous, if I handle it right. And what else can I do? I just have to get a message to him…

By the time Eddie returned, I had my plan. But first I had to make some explanations.

“What in the Sam Hill is going on around here?” Eddie demanded. “Who’s Lester Foy?”

“He’s the purse-snatcher from the bridesmaids’ luncheon last month. Have a seat and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Of course, I edited the story, telling him about Angela’s death and Corinne’s panicked flight, but nothing of my newly hatched scheme. Eddie seemed to take it all very calmly, until I told him I was going downstairs to rest for a while. He insisted on coming with me, peering ferociously up the dock toward the parking lot with every step. Then he checked through all the rooms, including the inside of my miniscule bedroom closet. If Graham was right, this was sheer paranoia and a waste of time. But I didn’t object.

On his way out my front door, Eddie inspected the dead bolt. “You keep this locked, sister.”

“I promise.”

“And you should have one of those peephole things. For Christ’s sake, anybody could be standing out there and you wouldn’t—”

“I’ll have one put in tomorrow! Besides, it’s daytime. Foy’s not going to show his face until—I mean, he’s probably lying low.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know that. You want me to sleep down here tonight?”

“Thanks, Eddie, but I think I’ll have company.”

“Zack, you mean?” His clear gray eyes were uneasy. “Carnegie, it’s none of my business, but…”

“But what? That’s never stopped you before.”

“Dammit,” said Eddie, who actually seemed to be blushing under his leathery tan. “Dammit, maybe he’s a nice enough kid, but he’s too young for you! And besides, I thought you and Aaron were all set.”

“Aaron and I are anything but ‘set.’ As far as I know he’s in Portland and not speaking to me, so let’s drop that subject, OK? And of course Zack’s too young for me. We’re just friends. I’m seeing someone else tonight. It’s… it’s a first date. Honestly, Eddie, let me run my own life, would you?”

“Suit yourself,” he grumbled. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go home.”

“I’ll be back up before then. I just want to nap for a bit, and maybe make some calls.”

But once my partner was safely upstairs, I skipped the nap and went straight to the phone.

“Juice, I need a favor.”

“You got me another client!”

“Sorry, no. That guitarist you told me about, Mandy Do you know how to reach her?”

“Sure. Rita’s got her number.”

“OK, I need you to call Mandy and tell her I want to see her boyfriend Lester. I think he’s probably staying with her, or at least she’ll know where he is.”

“OK, but—”

“Have her tell him that I’ve got a business proposition for him, and he should come to my houseboat. Tonight, at nine
o’clock. Give her my address, directions, anything she wants. Tell Mandy… Tell her to say to Lester that I know all about Angela.”

“Kincaid, is this gonna make sense to her? ’Cause it sounds pretty weird to me. Like blackmail or something.”

“Trust me, Juice. Just do it, and call me back after you reach her, OK?”

“OK.”

Juice called back an hour later. It was a long hour. I clean house when I’m anxious, so I set about dusting my bookshelves, book by book, whether they needed it or not. I worked my way across the living room and then to the coffee table, and when the phone finally rang I dropped the biography of John Adams on my foot.

“Ouch! Hello, Juice?”

“Yeah. Mandy says he got the message, and he’ll be there. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“No.”

“That’s what I figured. Watch your ass, Kincaid.”

I assured her that I would. Then I called Lieutenant Graham and requested the pleasure of his company that evening.

G
RAHAM WAS FURIOUS, OF COURSE, AND TREATED ME TO A
short, sharp summary of his views on civilians who meddle in police affairs. He scrupulously avoided profanity this time—a waste of effort on my account, really—but the words “harebrained” and “dangerous” cropped up repeatedly. I made myself comfortable on the living room couch and waited for him to run out of steam before I replied.

“Look, Lieutenant, you keep saying that you don’t think Lester Foy is the murderer.”

I could almost hear his teeth grinding. “That’s beside the point.”

“No, it’s not! If you’re right, then all I’m doing is inviting over a small-time thief who jumped bail. You’ve had trouble finding him so far, but now you know exactly where he’s going to be at nine o’clock tonight.”

“Unless he comes early.”

“So, you can come earlier. I’ll feed you dinner.” Graham might even be good company, once he forgave me.

But forgiveness was in short supply. “Never mind dinner. You just stay in your office with your partner until I get there. And don’t ever, ever, even consider pulling this kind of stunt again, or I will do my best to have you incarcerated myself. Understood?”

“Understood.” I said it meekly enough, but I climbed the stairs to the office nursing a flicker of quiet triumph. This will work, I know it will. Then we can all stop being afraid.

Meanwhile, though, the fear was still there. I spent the afternoon in a state of numb determination, going through the motions of a normal day just to pass the time until Skull’s arrest. Not that it’s ever normal to call a bride and ask her if she’s still alive.

“I’m OK,” said Elizabeth, when I reached her at home. “Paul’s here, and he’s not letting me out of his sight. Patty’s at work, and she’s going to spend the night with friends.” I heard Paul’s voice in the background. “He says Zack is staying with Corinne at the newsroom.”

“I know. She’s pretty upset.”

“I bet she is, with this guy stalking her again.”

“So you believe Corinne’s story now, about being attacked at the Aquarium?”

Elizabeth laughed, a brief and bitter sound. “Angela didn’t, and look where it got her. Jesus, how long is it going to take for them to catch this maniac? I could have found him myself by now.”

It struck me, suddenly, that for this particular warrior princess, losing control of a situation was almost worse than being in danger. Maybe making some bridal decisions would help.

“Elizabeth,” I said briskly, “let’s assume, hypothetically that the police arrested Lester Foy like, maybe tonight. Would you and Paul want to go ahead with the wedding, do you think? I’m sorry to press you about it, but we’ll have to make some decisions soon. The cake, for one thing. It’s a three-day job, and I see I’ve got a message here on my desk to call the baker.”

“Wel-l-l,” she said. And then, in the take-charge voice that
made her so valuable at Microsoft, “Yes. If the cops can get Foy out of the way, then we’ll get married Saturday as planned.”

Again I heard Paul’s voice, raising a question, and Elizabeth saying to him, “Postpone for how long? It won’t help Angela any, and I’m damned if some tattooed son of a bitch is going to spoil my wedding.”

“That’s the spirit,” I told her. “You and Paul hang in there. I’m betting we’ll have good news before too long.”

Eddie pounced the minute I hung up. “What makes you think they’re going to arrest this fellow so soon?”

“Nothing in particular, Eddie. I’m just trying to put a good face on the situation. You know, keep up the clients’ spirits.”

“Hmph.”

I picked up the phone to head off any more questions; I wanted Eddie well clear of the houseboat before nightfall. There really was a message from Elizabeth’s baker, so I started with him. I knew the overall design—the swooping curves of the Experience Music Project would be carved from a block of cake layered with buttercream—but the last time we had talked, the details were still in question.

“Hi, Todd. How’s the masterpiece coming?”

“Super.” Todd was a laconic Scotsman, re-transplanted from British Columbia. He had a lucrative business in special-occasion desserts, and even more freckles than me. Juice’s bias notwithstanding, Todd did amazing things with gum paste. “Got just the right effect for the colored aluminum skin of the building.”

“How?”

“Edible pearlescent dust. Liquefy it with vodka, brush it over rolled white fondant. Super.”

“What about the glass panels on the roof?” It was bizarre
but comforting to turn away from the dark undercurrents of this day and stay safe in the shallows.

“Simple. Cast sugar.”

“And the monorail tracks?”

“Modeling chocolate.”

“Yum. Will you assemble the cake on site, or—”

He made a disparaging and Scottish-sounding noise. “I’ll be assembling all week, d’you see? So when it’s done, it’s to be transported all of a piece.”

“Right. Of course.”

We settled the delivery details, and I moved on down my checklist. Eddie had lectured me on the ease of inputting and amending data with his new software, but I was still clinging to my outdated ways, scribbling notes in colored ink with stars and arrows to keep track of changes. It all made sense, at least to me. And scribbling helped to distract me from more pressing questions, like how Skull had gotten Angela out onto that balcony. No signs of a struggle, Graham had said. It didn’t make sense.

The hours crept by, and finally it was time for my “date.” A rap sounded on our outside door, and Lieutenant Graham stepped into the good room. He wore the same jacket and sneakers I remembered from the Aquarium, and a handsome ski sweater that made him look almost cheerful. And certainly plausible as a man I might go out with. More plausible than Boris, come to think of it.

“Hello… there,” I said lamely. I could not remember my date’s first name. “Eddie, I think you’ve met—”

“Of course I’ve met the lieutenant,” he growled, barely civil. “Nice to see you. Have fun.” And he plucked his coat from the rack and marched out.

Even Graham’s poker face couldn’t withstand Eddie
Breen. Both eyebrows went up, and once the door slammed he said, “Fun?”

“I didn’t tell him.”

“So he thinks it’s a social call?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

I was sorry, too. As we descended the stairs, I decided that the lieutenant was quite attractive, in a somber sort of way. And it would serve Aaron right if I started seeing someone else while he was gone. Or would it? He might reciprocate— if not with Corinne, then with someone else—and I wouldn’t be at all happy with that scenario.

A moot point, in any case. My personal charms were clearly far less interesting than my home-security precautions. Graham stalked around my humble abode with a deepening scowl of disapproval, and pointed out the fact that my front door had no peephole, and my sliding glass door had no dead bolt.

“There’s a wooden dowel in the groove at the bottom,” I countered. “That holds it closed.”

Graham took hold of the handle and jerked it, hard, with a single rapid pump of his arm. The dowel arched up from its channel and cracked like a pretzel stick.

“Jeez, you’re strong!”

He slid the door open and gestured out to my narrow little deck. Night was falling fast, and the wind that invaded the room had an icy edge. “Might as well put down a welcome mat.”