Inconstant Moon - Default Font Edition (37 page)

Maggie props herself up on one elbow. “That's what you think? No. It's nothing like that. It's that I feel like such a shit, because if I'd gone to the cops before, Natasha might not have gotten attacked. How much shittier can it be? It's all my fault.”

“Don't be such a drama queen. What would the cops have done? Maybe they would have written it down. Maybe. If they didn't laugh at you. They might even think it was a prank. You think they've got manpower for a college flasher? An elementary school, sure. But the world doesn't revolve around you. It will get screwed up all by itself.”

“What, that's supposed to make me feel better? Being told I'm an egomaniac? Well fuck you and the horse you rode in on.” Maggie rolls over and pulls the blanket right over her head.

Amelia shakes her head. “Glad we had this chat. Oughta do it more often, but I gotta go, really. Talk to Stu, Maggie. And stop beating yourself up.” Amelia pulls the door closed softly behind her.

Wolfrom sits on his side of the table across from the suspect in the cramped Interrogation Room.

Neil Molony looks past Wolfrom, rigidly watching Detective Lewis pace. Speaking conversationally, Lewis says, “We've known for some time that it was your bicycle, Neil. But now we have witnesses placing you there, too. You could try to lie and say you weren't there, but we both know that will just make you look bad on the stand when our witnesses refute you. Why not just tell us your side of the story and maybe we can get it all straightened out.”

She sounds reasonable. Helpful.

Surly. “It isn't a story. I didn't do anything.”

Lewis softens her tone. “You know what they say, Neil, confession is good for the soul.” She lays her palms flat on the table and meets his eyes.

Neil Molony looks at her.

Her lips are parted, she's hardly breathing, expectant. This woman is really looking at him. He can't remember the last time a woman made him the centre of attention like this.

An appealing woman.

It's intoxicating. Softly, she says, “You'll feel a lot better after.”

Dropping his eyes he decides the suit jacket she wears to conceal her feminine form just makes it more tantalizing. Maybe if he tells her, she'll . . .

“No. You won't,” an imperious voice snaps from the doorway. Lewis whirls to see Colm Molony fill the doorway like a bad dream.

The lawyer levels a glare at the detective. “Do not say another word to these people, Neil.”

Neil nods, mute. If anything he looks more scared.

“Detective Lewis, why was I not informed?”

“Neil waived the right to an attorney. He's an adult.”

Molony shakes his head. “Neil wouldn't do that.” He directs his attention to Neil. “Would you, son?”

“I just told them . . .” Molony holds up a warning finger and Neil claps his hand over his mouth.”

“You tell them nothing boy. Not another word.” Molony leads Neil to the door while Lewis folds her arms in frustration. She knows the little bastard was about to spill it all at her feet.

Lewis grips the table tightly, knowing if she gives into her impulse to kick something it won't end pleasantly. It's so damn infuriating that a powerful bastard like Molony has enough clout to twist the law to suit himself.

At the door Colm Molony stops, levels a finger at Lewis. “You're on notice, Detective. No one talks to my nephew without legal counsel.”

“So,” Nick rinses a plate before stacking it in the drying rack. “She's asked you to talk to him?”

Kate wipes the kitchen table, pausing to say, “Uh, no, not exactly.”

Nick concentrates on washing the dishes, careful not to look at his darling wife, whose tendencies he knows all too well. “So. She's asked you not to say anything to him?”

“Um, no, not really.”

“So. You're planning on meddling in their lives just for the fun of it?”

“It's not really meddling, it's just so obvious that something has to be done. Whenever he's anywhere around it's like her radar goes off. She loses all ability to concentrate on anything else. Maybe he'd want to go out with her if he knew.”

“He'd probably ask her out if he wanted to go out with her. It's none of your business, hon.”

“Mmmm.” Kate says, “Sometimes people just need the teensiest bit of encouragement.”

Kate carries the cloth to the sink, where she slides her arms under Nick's, encircling his waist with her arms as she wrings out the dish cloth in the soapy water.

“Don't interfere, woman. If Krystal likes Jose she should just ask the guy out. If she isn't ready or whatever, that's her call, babe. Not yours.”

Kate drops the cloth but tightens the casual embrace into a hug, resting her head on his back, he can feel her breath between his shoulder blades.

“She likes him too much. She'd be devastated if he turned her down.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

Kate giggles into his back. “You ought to know by now I'm not that subtle, babe. If I was trying to distract you I'd do this.”

Nick swallows, applying all of his considerable willpower to focus on the tasks at hand. “Does she even talk to him?” Concentrate on getting the dishes done. “Do they have anything in common at all? I mean from what you've told me she doesn't even know him, it's just lust.”

Unable to continue in the face of Kate's ministrations, Nick throws the dish brush in the sink and turns to enfold her. As Kate reaches up for a kiss, she murmurs, “Lust is good.”

Detectives Lewis and Wolfrom sit in an unmarked sedan in front of the M&M Tower. “You know they're gonna cry harassment,” Wolfrom says in his most reasonable tone.

“What harassment? We're police officers. We're on city property. No harm no foul.”

“Don't go all innocent on me Lewis. My shield may be new but I'm not stupid. Pull it on the bosses all you like, but I'm your partner, and we're both of us sitting here in this official car, tempting fate.”

“Sorry Wolfie. It's just I'm so pissed off, you know? That little prick was gonna crack. I know it.”

“Probably. Uncle M knew it too.”

“Think we can tag Uncle M as an accessory?”

Wolfrom laughs aloud at the absurdity of the suggestion.

Lewis tenses, suddenly alert. “Look there, the staff is starting to let out for the day.”

They both open their doors and get out in unison. A half dozen women are crossing the pavement when the detectives approach, flashing badges. “Excuse me, I'm Detective Lewis, this is Detective Wolfrom. We're looking for information. I wonder if any of you might be able to help our investigation.”

“Is this about Neil?” asks one of the women.

Lewis nods. “If any of you have anything to say, you can tell us in confidence.”

“Right, and get in trouble,” a short brunette says.

Another woman asks the brunette, “Just how does keeping that little creep out of jail help me?”

The brunette says, “Good jobs don't grow on trees, Mare,” as another shakes her head and hurries away.

Wolfrom produces a stack of business cards, passing them out. “Ladies, just take a card, and if you know anything give us a call. Or if you think someone else might want to speak to us, pass the card along. That's all. We don't want to get anyone in trouble.”

“Yeah, right,” says the brunette, “there's a recession on, didn't you know?” but she palms a card anyway.

Lewis purses her lips and puts on her most concerned face. “The young lady who was attacked is getting out of the hospital today, but it will be some time before she's really right again. If you can help us out at all we'll do our best to keep it confidential.”

“What do you mean, attacked?”

“Neil put somebody in the hospital?”

“That's what we're trying to find out.”

“Ohmigod, I just thought he was a dirty little pervert.”

“We're just conducting a routine investigation,” says Wolfrom, pinning Lewis with a sharp look.

“What happened to the woman?”

“If you know anything that may help, just give us a call.”

Some of the women are accepting Wolfrom's cards when Lewis feels a hand brush hers from behind.

The detective's instinct is to grab the hand but she suppresses the impulse, forcing herself to stay relaxed. Lewis smiles as she feels a bit of paper slip into her waiting palm. She closes her fingers around it then drops it in her pocket as the women scatter at the approach of the pretentious little M&M security guard across the concrete. Lewis plants a hand on her hip and badges him with the other.

“Detective Lewis. Can I help you?”

“This is private property, detective. You have to leave.”

Lewis cocks an eyebrow. “Really.”

Wolfrom grins and shakes his head. “Since when did city sidewalks become private property?”

Looking smug the guard tells them, “This is not city sidewalk, Officer. City property ends at the curb. What technically should be sidewalk is actually the curb lane. The sidewalk you are standing on is M&M private property. Mr. Molony said you'll be able to see it on the city plan he's having faxed to your lieutenant as we speak. You're being advised to leave. If that's a problem, I'll just have your badge numbers?”

“Here you go, slugger,” Lewis tells him as she thrusts her business card at him. “Knock yourself out. We're leaving.”

Maggie is curled up on her bed, staring at the wall, when she hears movement out in the hall. She pulls the duvet over her head. The sounds are muffled under the covers but they continue, to Maggie's increasing irritation. She just wants to be alone.

Everybody is supposed to be in class now anyway damn it.

But Maggie hears the rumble of a deep male voice, followed by a woman's laugh, and decides enough is enough. What the hell is Elsie doing bringing men up here. That's got to stop. Righteous anger fuels Maggie as she flings off the duvet and grabs her robe. Knotting the sash she yanks open her bedroom door and stomps down the hall.

But Elsie's door is closed. Is she in there screwing some guy? No wait, the next door, Natasha's door, is ajar with light spilling out. Unbelievable, is some shit stealing Natasha's expensive camera gear? What kind of rat would rip off Natasha while she's in the hospital?

Without a second thought, Maggie's anger swells and propels her down the hall where she bangs open the door and bellows, “Just what the hell do you . . .”

Maggie stops when she sees it isn't a gang of thieves, it's housemates. Like a deer in the headlights, Liz is frozen in the act of loading laundry into a green garbage bag, while Boris looks up from where he's hunched on the floor trying to screw a bedside table together under Natasha's watchful gaze. Incredibly, he's holding the screwdriver wrong. Maggie didn't think that was possible. But when she looks at Natasha, she'struck by the dramatic clash of red hair and bruises.

“Oh god Nat, sorry, sorry, I didn't know you were coming home today!”

“Hey Maggs, what'd you think . . .” Natasha grins, “Oh I get it, you thought I was getting burgled.”

“Uh, yeah but . . .”

“That's sweet, but don't do anything that stupid again okay? My toys cost a bomb but everything's insured. Not worth getting a friend hurt over.” She waves her hand dismissively and suddenly Maggie dissolves in great gasping sobs and her tears start to fall.

Boris looks like he wants to bolt, so when Natasha tells him to “Shoo” he's out the door in record time, while Liz stuffs the last of the laundry into the bag, then rises with alacrity, hefting the full sack, she says, “I'll just take this down, then.”

Natasha nods. “Thanks Liz. I really owe you girl.”

Natasha raises her arms to Maggie, who crosses the room and sits on the bed and Natasha gathers Maggie into a hug and Maggie sobs on her shoulder as Liz flashes a smile and beats a hasty retreat away from Maggie's messy meltdown.

Unsure why Maggie needs comforting, though clearly she does, Natasha awkwardly pats Maggie's hair and slowly the crying eases. Finally Maggie detaches herself, “I'm so sorry Nat.” Her red rimmed eyes dart around the room and Natasha tells her, “On the dresser.” Maggie grabs the box of tissues and mops her face, blowing her nose, then depositing the soggy things in the waste basket. Standing by the dresser again Maggie looks awkward.

“Okay, Maggie, you seem to have scared Bo off, but that's probably for the best since he lacks affinity for tools. Maybe you could put the rest of the night table together while we talk?”

Maggie nods and kneels beside the nightstand box. Fitting the bits together she busies herself with furniture assembly. Mercifully, building furniture frees her from having to look Natasha in the eye. Maggie says, “I'm sorry you got attacked.”

“That makes two of us,” agrees Natasha equably. She knows there's more, but she watches Maggie work, giving her time.

Maggie inverts the partially finished table, screwing on supports and attaching the back and she says, “It's all my fault.”

Natasha frowns, “What's all your fault?”

“Your attack.”

“No offence Mags, but that's nuts. You didn't attack me.”

“If I'd gone to the cops it wouldn't have happened.”

“What, you could have stopped me from getting raped? You know who did it?”

“Kind of, well, not exactly. It's just that I never reported the flasher.”

Natasha shakes her head, “I wasn't flashed, I was hit over the head and raped. Two very different things.”

“But they've arrested the flasher. If I'd gone to the police it wouldn't have happened.”

Natasha shakes her head. “Maybe it was the same guy, I don't know. But I bet the penalty for flashing is isn't very much.”

“But, still.”

“So even if you made a report and the cops went to the trouble to find him, he'd probably be back out there attacking somebody sooner or later. Harder to catch maybe.”

“Hmmm, I never thought of that.”

“And until they get the guy, we won't really know. I mean, it might be anybody.”

“But if it was the flasher . . .”

“It really doesn't matter. Flasher or no, the only one to blame is the asshole who attacked me, Maggie, not you. Not your fault any way you slice it. You may have made an error in judgement but even that's not cut and dried. I made a error in judgement wandering around out there by myself.”