Ladykiller (15 page)

Nita had a while between the end of her long day at the crisis center
and the start of her shift on the hotline. Tim would be her partner
tonight. She realized she hadn’t heard from Megan and wondered how
her friend had fared with Detective Dillon. Nita called Megan’s home
and got her machine.

“Called to say hi. Nothing important.Wanted to hear how course
registration went today.And of course, how your gumshoe work went
with the red-light district’s favorite dick. Why don’t we have dinner
tonight before my shift?”

Realizing she needed some air, Nita went for a walk. Evening was
about to settle in.The street moved at an underwater pace. She passed
the building where she had shot Reuben. Bloodstains were still visible.
If only that fool hadn’t disrupted her plans, how much easier her
progress would be. And she never should have used Ace for a deceptive ploy. She could almost hear her father telling her that she wasn’t
as good as she thought.

The weight of the .45 seemed extra heavy in her bag. Tonight
would be the first time firing this weapon. She had taken it apart,
cleaned and oiled it, inspected every part, and dry-fired it — no bullets — repeatedly. Tonight, she would set matters right. Her feet
clicked resolutely along the sidewalk.

Then, once again, she heard the steps behind her. Right behind
her. Keeping time with her. Mocking her.
She whirled around.
Nobody. Down the street, a dust devil of spring air whirled
scraps of paper about in a teasing spiral.

Megan couldn’t help herself. She walked up to the designated corner
feeling heady, both guilty and excited at the same time. Dave was
waiting for her, leaning against his illegally parked car and watching
her approach with frank admiration. She noted with relief that he
wasn’t wearing a tie. She had agonized over what to wear and decided
on a simple but stylish sweater dress that could go to a concert or a
jazz club with equal aplomb.

Dave kissed her quickly.The glint in his eye was enough to make
her tingle as the memory of that night flooded her senses. She shook
her head to clear it, sending her reddish curls bouncing.

“Right here,” Dave replied teasingly and bowed and stretched out
his hand to usher her down a subway entrance.
“But you said we were going to walk there,” Megan said, confused. “And your car’s right here.”
“We are going to walk.Trust me.”
Megan marched obediently down the dank concrete stairway.
Dave followed her. He was clearly enjoying his little game.
A train was roaring through the local station on the express
tracks, and without trying to talk over the deafening roar, Dave
handed Megan a token with a small flourish. She accepted it with a
puzzled look and went through the turnstile onto the platform.
There was a small knot of patrons clustered at one end of the
platform. Dave touched her elbow to steer her toward them. The
sound of the express train’s noisy passage died away in the distance
and was replaced by the sweetest sound Megan thought she had ever
heard. She forgot her problems. She forgot the rank smells and crude
graffiti-strewn walls of her immediate environs. She walked toward
the voice.
When she reached the small crowd, she saw a short, fat black
woman in African dress and lots of colorful jewelry singing a sad
French song a cappella. The lovely voice in the natural echo chamber
of the subway took on a rich, vibrant quality.The hairs stood up on the
back of Megan’s neck. She barely breathed.The only coherent thought
that crossed her mind was that this was what Edith Piaf must have
sounded like.
Without interrupting her song the woman smiled and nodded
at Dave who gave a small wave. Megan was brought back to her
surroundings and took his arm and gave it a squeeze of gratitude.The
slightly mournful song ended just as a train pulled into the station.
A few of the listeners got on the train, several of them pausing to
put money in a basket at the singer’s feet. At least one was wiping
away a tear. Much of the audience did not budge and Megan realized
that they must be regulars. Dave too.The singer came up to Dave and
put her hands on his face to pull him down and kissed him warmly on
both cheeks. She smiled at Megan, who blushed as if she had been introduced to an angel.
As the train roared away, the singer returned to the center of the
circle of her fans and spoke in a lilting island patois. “I’d like to dedicate this song to my friends and to lovers everywhere.”
She began to sing again, an achingly beautiful French love song.
Megan leaned against Dave when he put his arm around her and
listened, her eyes brimming.

When Dave unlocked his door, Megan produced a bottle of Chianti
from her large shoulder bag and handed it to him.
“Great.Thanks. But first, let me introduce my roommate.”
But the cat already had sashayed up to Megan and rubbed her
legs. Delighted, she picked it up and cuddled it. The cat purred with
engine-room-level happiness.
“A cat person,” Dave smiled approvingly.
“And a music person,” Megan said warmly.
“My mother didn’t like either, so I’m making up for it,” Dave
said. He uncorked the wine, which gave a merry pop.
“How is your mom?” Megan asked as she rubbed cheeks with the
cat.
“Better. She cursed the mailman from her bedroom window today. Always a good sign. I marinated the steaks to a fare-thee-well.
How do you like yours?”
“Bloody,” she said.
He smiled widely. “Me too.” As if their concurrence on cooking
beef portended other, more delicious, similarities.
They sat on the couch and drank Megan’s wine. The cat sat between them and they took turns stroking it. Their conversation was
fun and lively. Sometimes, they just smiled at each other for no good
reason.
Then Dave got up to put the steaks in the broiler and toss the
salad. Megan wandered about his apartment, impressed by its neatness and the solid, manly but tasteful furniture.
She went into the wrong room.
“Jesus,” Megan said, spilling her wine. She stumbled back out
holding her hand to her mouth.
Dave rushed to her side and held her shoulders. “God, I’m sorry,”
he said.“I forgot to take the pictures down. They’re a part of my life
now, and well —”
“It’s so gruesome. And poor Reuben. My God.”
“I told you that I — Well — Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you
more wine.”
“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked in a choked voice.
He pointed, and Megan ran inside, shutting the door after her.
Dave poured more wine and watched the door, troubled. He shouldn’t
have left the pictures up but he hadn’t figured her for quite so
squeamish.
When she emerged, her pallor was corpse-like. “I’m okay,” she
said weakly. “I’d better go.”
“Please stay,” Dave begged. “Let me take care of you.”
“I need to make a phone call.” Megan picked up the phone and
stabbed out a number. No one answered and she hung up.
“That was to Nita, wasn’t it?” Dave said.
“She wasn’t home. She’s doing the hotline later tonight. I’d feel
better if I talked to her.”
“You’re so very loyal, aren’t you?” Dave blurted angrily, and instantly wished he had shut up.
The color came back to Megan’s cheeks at the mention of her
friend’s name. “Absolutely. She cares about me. Why, do you have a
problem with that?”
Dave knew he should be conciliatory, yet some gremlin inside
kept driving him on. “Cares about you. Like Robin Tolner, your
professor?”
“What?”
“I did some checking on the crisis center staff.”
“Dr.Tolner was my adviser,” Megan said.
“And your lover.”
“Checking on the staff? More like snooping. My relationship with
Robin is none of your business.”
“I was curious what was behind your obsessive relationship with
Nita. I guess you always get hung up on your mentor, don’t you,
Megan?”
“Don’t play amateur psychologist.You’re no good at it.” Megan
shook her head. “I don’t believe this. I’m proud that Nita takes so
much time with me. I’ve learned a lot from her.”
“Is that why you don’t make a move without consulting her?”
“Who are you to point a finger at me? You, the one who had a
hooker for a girlfriend.You who killed her pimp out of jealousy.Who
do you think you are?” Megan stormed past Dave and out the door.
The cat, no fool, had gone into hiding.

With deadline over, Jimmy Conlon worked the phones. The newsroom, a cavernous expanse of computers and well-clipped heads, had
hunkered down to an early-evening buzz. It would be at least an hour
before Jimmy’s story went through the copydesk. Tonight’s effort,
which would appear in the next morning’s paper, wasn’t spectacular:
a recounting of the pressure on the police to catch the Ladykiller, now
that Ace Cronen had proved to be inconveniently innocent. But his
story last night, about police doubts of Ace’s guilt, had set the city
afire today.

Chip, resplendent in his power tie, summoned Jimmy over to the
city desk with an imperious wave of the hand. He gestured disparagingly at Jimmy’s story, which was gracing his computer screen. “Can’t
you do any better than this, Conlon?”

“Chip, I’m glad you’re reading my stories. Did you, by chance,
happen to read the one in today’s paper?”
“Conlon, a story like that was overdue from you. To me, it only
illustrated how far behind you’ve been on the Ladykiller beat.”
“Chip, while I realize I should have solved the case by now for the
cops, could you please show me who else in this city has beaten me on
Ladykiller stories?
“That’s not the point, Conlon —”
“No, the facts are never the point, Chip.”
“What is the point, Conlon,” Chip said, “is that we’re giving Laird
Caruthers the job as lead reporter on the Ladykiller story. We need
someone a little more aggressive.”
Jimmy felt as though someone was shoving a glacier down his
throat. “Laird Caruthers? You mean, your younger brother’s roommate at Andover?”
“I mean, someone who can deliver. We’ll allow you to backstop
him, doing sidebars and day-to-day routine stuff. I expect you to give
him access to all your sources.”
Jimmy wanted to say much. His mouth no longer worked.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Chip said, “I have a dinner engagement.”
Jimmy watched him sling his suit jacket jauntily over his shoulder
and cross the newsroom to the managing editor’s office.The managing
editor stood there talking to Laird Caruthers. The three of them
headed off for dinner.

Dave cooked the two steaks, regardless. Maybe Megan would return.
Or maybe, he figured, he would recover his appetite and then some.
He piled the steaks onto one plate and plunked it on the table.

“Is steak good for you?” he asked the cat.
The cat replied by about-facing and showing him its ass.
The buzzer went off.Without using the intercom, he pushed the

button to let his visitor in the front door below. He mentally timed
how long it would take her to ride the elevator.And when his doorbell
rang, he threw the door open.

To Jamie. She wore a marvelous clingy blouse, pleated pants, and
carried a bottle of wine.
Dave blinked. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice greeting. I’m dropping by.You busy?”
“No, I was just fixing dinner and — Come on in.You hungry?”
“You always set your table for two with flowers and a candle?”
She swept by him in a cloud of sexy perfume.
“Every day.” He watched her put the wine on the table, circle the
room, taking in the posters and bookshelves, ducking her head into
the kitchen.
“You know,” he told her when she came back to him, “I’m really
glad to see you.” He was surprised to find that he meant it.
Jamie gave him a dazzling smile, a quick peck on the cheek, and a
squeeze of the hand.
“Let’s eat.”
They had a pleasant meal, ate the food, drank the wine, talked,
and laughed. Dave felt much better. The only work talk was Jamie’s
recitation about her findings in the crisis center files: nothing. They
quickly moved on to other subjects.
After dinner, he poured two glasses of good port. When he sat
down on the couch, Jamie surprised him by sitting down close to him.
Very close.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“I, well —”
She set aside her glass and kissed him. He let himself open his
lips. Her mouth moved against his, gentle but hungry. He could lose
himself in a kiss like this.
But a few moments later, he broke from her and eased away from
her down the couch.
“Jamie, I can’t.”
“What’s the matter, Dave?”
“You’re extremely attractive. I like you, but I can’t.”
“Talk to me.”
“Megan was here a while ago.We had a fight and she left. I’m just
incredibly hung up on her. I can’t help it.”
Jamie compressed her lips and got up. Dave looked up at her unhappily, but did not ask her to stay. She picked up her purse and stood
looking down at him.
“Is she good for you, Dave? Will she give you what you need?”
“I don’t know. I think so,” Dave said helplessly, sounding less than
convinced.
“God help you, my love.”

When Ace met Billy Ray outside the Foxy Lady, where midnight’s
bone-crunching music refused to end, he had one question for the big
man:“You packing?”

“What?” Billy Ray cupped his ear over the racket. The later the
hour, the louder Tony Topnut turned up the music out on the sidewalk
to attract roaming wastrels too far gone to discriminate between rotten and bad.

“Fuck no.” Billy Ray guffawed. “Cops took my .45 same as they
took yours. I don’t need no gun to go meet some pussy.”
“I told you. She’s nuts. She’s got one. She can use it, too.”
“Can’t tell you how scared I am. I’m shaking like a fucking leaf.”
Billy Ray punched Ace’s shoulder hard enough to make him stagger.
“Let’s move out. Show me this girl who got you so scared.”
As they walked away from the Deuce, the streets took on a
graveyard quiet.Ace wished he had Billy Ray’s bravado.Ace’s lips were
dry. A manic butterfly was trapped in his throat.The only people they
passed on the street were solitary and spectral.
“This lady,” Ace said nervously, “she’s something else.”

Tim broke into a chorus of Paul Simon’s “Still Crazy After All
These Years.” He giggled. “This guy called who said his pee-pee was
missing. I asked him where it went. He said the cat took it. I suggested
he get some catnip.To ransom it.”