Perfect Victim, The (17 page)

Chapter
8

"Looks like you should have taken me up on that offer for lunch." Detective Adam Van
-
Dyne crossed to the window, hooked his finger under a mini-blind slat, and peered outside
.

Addison barely heard him as she watched two men from the medical examiner's office bring a gurney through the front door
.
A wave of disbelief rolled over her as she realized they would be taking Jim's body to the morgue.

Unsure of her balance or the strength in her legs, she lowered herself into the receptionist's chair and watched the men maneuver the gurney down the hall toward Jim's office.

Van
-
Dyne dropped the slat, crossed the room to her, and perched his hip on the desk in front of her. "What were you doing here today, Miss Fox?"

The small office teemed with police officers, paramedics, and firefighters
.
In the hall, Channel 7 had arrived with their cameras and lights, swarming like sharks in the throes of a feeding frenzy. In the midst of it all, Addison huddled in the receptionist's chair, arms wrapped tightly around her,
vaguely aware that Van-Dyne was speaking to her as if she'd been a mischievous child.

When she didn't respond, he leaned forward, placed his hands on the arms of her chair, and swung her around to face him. "There was no appointment listed for you. Why were you here?"

His face was inches from hers and Addison could smell garlic on his breath. "Is he dead?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh, God." Nausea roiled in her stomach. "I can't believe it."

Resting his hand on her forearm, he spoke over his shoulder to a uniformed officer. "Get me a glass of water here."

He turned back to Addison. "Did you know him? Were you friends?"

"He's ... my lawyer. I've known him for years. He was a family friend."

"Was there anyone else in the office when you arrived?"

"No."

"Did Bernstein, know you were coming today?"

"No. I just ... stopped by to pick up some records."

"What kind of records?"

She stammered, feeling too disoriented to explain something as complicated as her search for her birth parents. "Records on my biological parents."

His brow creased. "Biological parents?"

Irritation sparked through her. "Yes. I'm adopted. Jim helped me locate my birth mother."

"He was working for you?"

"No." She sighed. "I mean, yes. But he was doing it as a favor, in his spare time. He wasn't billing me. He was a friend of my father's." It was the third time she'd answered that question, and she could tell by the way the detective was watching her that he wasn't quite sure what to make of her answers.

Van-Dyne accepted the paper cup the officer brought him and handed it to Addison. "Here, drink this. It'll help."

She accepted the water and sipped carefully, not quite trusting her stomach. '
'
Thanks.''

Digging into his pocket, the detective removed a
white handkerchief and handed it to her
.
"It's not often I see someone like you in the middle of something like this twice in two days," he said.

Addison reached for the handkerchief and wiped the drying blood from her right hand
.
"Seems like I've been in the wrong place at the wrong time a lot lately.
"

"Did you touch the body, Miss Fox?"

"No. I-I couldn't
.
... "

He held out his hand for the handkerchief
.
She passed it to him
,
then watched with a feeling of sick dread as he removed a small plastic bag from his coat pocket
.
He dropped the handkerchief into it
.
"
How did you get blood on your hands?"

"I .
..
I picked up the pen, the Mont Blanc. I was going to leave him a note
.
Jesus, you can't possibly think I had anything to do with
.
.."

He raised his hands in a gesture that did little to reassure her
.
"I'm just trying to get a picture o
f
what happened. But I must admit I'm curious as to why you
'
ve been in the vicin
i
ty of
t
wo shootings in two days
.
"

They stared at each other
,
his expression hard and uns
y
mpathetic
,
hers aghast at what he might be thinking.

"
Why the show with the evidence bag?" The voice was imperious
,
challenging
,
and vaguely familiar
.

Addison looked up to see Jack Talbot rolling his wheelchair toward her. Relief flooded her. "Jack."

He wasn't a conventional-looking private detective. Clad in black leather and denim
,
he more closely resembled a revolutionary from the 1970s
.
His black hair was pulled into
a tight ponyt
a
il that reached halfway down his back. Two days of stubble darkened his jaw. A gold hoop glinted at his left earlobe
.

Without speaking, he removed his identification from his wallet and flashed it at the detective, all the while eyeing
Addison as if trying to gauge her state of mind.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded, vaguely remembering the call she'd made to his office after dialing 911. "I'm okay. Thanks for coming."

Jack shot the detective a hard look. "What's the problem, Van-Dyne, did you run out of junkies to hassle?"

"Just doing my job, Jack. How's the back these days?"

"Can't complain."

Addison risked a look at the detective. "I've told you everything I know. I'd like to go now."

The detective glared at her. "You can leave when I say you can."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

''Nobody said you did."

Jack made a rude sound and very quietly suggested Van-Dyne do something anatomically impossible. "Come on, Adam, you've had her for nearly two hours. What the hell else do you want?"

The detective's glare swept from Jack to Addison. "Don't leave town."

She jerked her head once.

Wheeling his chair around, Jack started for the door. "There's a car without a permit parked in the handicapped zone, Detective. You might want to grab your ticket book and check it out." He winked at Addison."Your place or mine?"

Wondering what she was getting herself into, Addison rose, relieved when the floor felt solid under her feet. She started for the door.

"Miss Fox?"

Van-Dyne's voice stopped her dead in her tracks. Jack continued rolling toward the door. She turned to the detective, aware that Jack had reached the door.

"I expect you to make yourself available to the police for questioning for the next few weeks," the detective said.

"Of course," she replied, then turned and followed Jack.

* * *

It amazed Addison to watch a man who couldn’t walk slide his body from wheelchair to driver's seat, then quickly fold the chair and toss it onto the backseat of his antiquated Corvette like a lightweight piece of luggage
.
He'd even paused to open the passenger door for her first
.
A gentleman to boot
,
she thought
.
Too bad good manners didn't run in the family
.

He was an older version of his brother, shorter of frame and heavier in the upper body. Both men shared the same penetrating eyes, but Jack
'
s face was deeply lined with the years of what had probably been a hard life
.

Neither of them spoke as he drove her to her apartment
.
Though Addison felt the need to help as he lifted the wheelchair from the backseat, she quickly realized he was much more adept than she
.
In less than two minutes, he was back in the chair and they were riding the elevator up to her second
-
level apartment
.

Once inside, she made a beeline for the bathroom, where she scrubbed the blood from her hands, holding them under the not water until her skin turned pink. Then, needing to move, to embroil herself in normalcy, she went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee
.

She was still shaking, but the worst of the tremors had ceased during the drive to her apartment
.
Physically, she was functioning. But that didn't say much for her frame of mind
.
She'd known Jim Bernstein since she was a child. She couldn't believe he was dead
,
much less by an act of violence. Shock waves rippled through her
every time she closed her eyes and saw him lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Van
-
Dyne's attitude toward her hadn't helped matters
.
She hadn't made a very good impression on the detective. But she couldn't bring herself to believe he considered her a suspect
.
Maybe he was just angry because she'd turned down his
i
nvitation to lunch. She wasn't sure how she would have
managed if Jack hadn't shown up when he did.

After pouring two cups of coffee, she met Jack at the dining room table and slid one of the cups in front of him. "You and your brother really have this timing thing down to a fine art," she said. "Thanks for rescuing me."

"Randall told me what happened last night at your shop. You were lucky."

"He saved my life."

Jack cut her a sharp look. "He didn't mention that."

She didn't miss the flash of surprise on his face. "He's got this annoying habit of being modest."

"He's got quite a few annoying habits."

Addison didn't comment on that one. Lowering her head, she rubbed her aching temples with her fingertips. "Jesus. I still can't believe any of this is real."