Shot Girl (26 page)

"So you’re leaving now? You’re going home?"

"Yeah, guess so. I probably should call Priscilla and see if she’s left town yet." I told him I’d abandoned her with Ned Winters. "She probably hates me."

"Oh, Christ, Annie, all that girl shit is supposed to go away when you grow up."

"It never goes away, Vinny. That’s the curse of being a woman."

"I thought the curse was—"

"I’m hanging up now," I interrupted, ending the call and flipping the phone closed.

I found Dick hovering just before the yellow crime-scene tape. "You’ve got this, right?"

"You’re not sticking around?"

"You can handle it."

A look of genuine appreciation crossed his face, and I realized that I’d crossed a line. I’d told Dick Whitfield that I thought he could do this job without me. I was fucked.

"And if you screw it up, don’t come crying to me," I said, hoping to save my ass, but it was too late.

I left him there, trying to get someone’s attention for more information. He wasn’t exactly having a lot of luck at that. Too bad. Cindy Purcell and her cameraman had finally emerged up the driveway and were making their way across the parking lot. I nodded as I passed, but didn’t say anything.

The two cops I’d seen on my way in were leaning against their cruisers in the same spot. No one else was trying to get in, so they were shooting the shit. I held up my hand in a little Queen Mother wave as I passed. One of them lifted his shades, squinted at me. Jesus, just because Tom and I had dated didn’t mean the uniforms could ogle me like I was the bearded lady at the circus.

I had just slipped the Rolling Stones’
Forty Licks
into my CD player when the phone rang again.

I didn’t even look at the screen as I flipped it open.

"What do you want now?" I asked playfully, sure that it was Vinny.

"Annie?"

I didn’t recognize the voice. "Yes?"

"Annie, it’s John Decker."

It took a moment to register. "Oh, right. You." Jack Hammer. Why couldn’t I think of him by his real name? Because he was a goddamn male stripper, that’s why. And then it dawned on me that Jack Hammer was calling me. I glanced at my phone. I finally had a phone number for him, especially now that he was No. 1 Suspect in my book. I had to act casual. "What do you want?" I asked, even though my heart had started to race.

"That girl. I know you probably think I killed her. I didn’t, but I think I know who did, and you’re in a lot of danger."

Chapter 34

"What kind of danger?" I asked, the first question that popped into my head. And then, without waiting for an answer, "Why do you think I think you killed her?" Two more questions squeezed into my thoughts: How the hell did he know about the dead girl? Was he here somewhere?—I didn’t get a chance to ask them since he was saying something.

"You were at the condo last night. I saw you. You and your boyfriend."

He saw us like we saw him.

"So what happened there?" I asked. "Was this girl killed there? Was it her blood in that room? Is it Ashley Ellis?" His flat tone pushed me over the edge, and I wanted answers. Now.

"I can’t talk." His voice got softer, his tone more rushed, like someone else had come into the room. "I’ll call you later. We have to talk face-to-face." And the call ended.

I tried calling back, but I didn’t even get voice mail.

Shit.

What the hell was Jack up to? And why was I in danger?

I realized it was the second warning I’d had that day. The first from Shaw. Who knew Jack. Maybe they were in cahoots. Maybe they planned to kill me next. But then why would they both warn me?

I sighed. I had to tell Vinny about this, but I didn’t want to. He already felt threatened by Jack Hammer, even though there was no need to be. But while he made fun of the "girl shit," there was also guy shit that was coming into play here. Men and women were totally fucked-up in so many ways. It was a wonder we managed to have friends and procreate at all.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice them creeping up behind me.

Okay, so "creeping" might be an exaggeration. I mean, they were two uniform cops, so "creeping" was not totally possible.

"Ms. Seymour?" one of them asked. It was the guy who’d stared at me. He was young, probably just out of the academy, from the looks of it. The shades had disappeared altogether and he’d taken his hat off, showing off a buzz cut that reminded me of a trim, white-blond lawn, but he quickly slipped it back over his head.

"Yeah?"

"Detective Behr asked that we detain you until he can get here."

Tom? Detain me? I looked behind the cops and saw him jogging toward us, his face scrunched up like he’d sucked on a lemon. When he reached us, his back was wet with sweat, and he wiped his brow, flinging little droplets onto my shirt.

"Sorry," he said, taking my arm, nodding at the two uniforms, and walking me out of earshot.

"What the hell, Tom?" I asked.

"I just got an interesting phone call patched through to me." Tom’s eyes were dark, his voice low. "A guy named John Decker tells me you broke into a City Point condo last night."

My heart jumped up into my throat, and I tried to swallow it without him noticing. I shrugged, not trusting my voice to keep my secret. Why the hell did Jack have to call Tom? What was he up to?

"You knew about that 911 call last night, didn’t you? That’s what you were trying to tell me, right? You really
were
there." His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was as much force behind it as a goddamn hurricane. "I was over at that condo most of the night, Annie."

When I didn’t say anything, he took a deep breath. "Fuck it, Annie, what the hell is going on? Why are you breaking into condos? Why are you carrying your goddamn gun around?" His voice had gotten louder. The uniforms were trying not to obviously eavesdrop as they shifted from foot to foot, exchanging little smirks.

"I already told you—"

"Yeah, right. The fucking phone calls." I’d never seen him so pissed. "But I want the truth. I want to hear you say it. Was this guy telling me the truth?"

I tried to make my face go all innocent. "Who is he?" I asked.

"Jesus, you know who he is. He’s that stripper, your ex’s friend."

"You believe him?"

Tom studied my face before answering, squinting in the sunlight. I felt his eyes run across my cheeks and down to my lips before they settled back on my eyes. "I’m tied up here at the moment, as you can see," he said, waving his arm toward the crime scene. "But I’m going to have an officer take you home and wait there with you until I can get there."

"So you
do
believe him?"

"I want to talk to you. I want you to tell me what’s going on."

"I’ve been getting phone—"

"Yeah," he cut me off. "I know. The calls. Maybe if you’re straight with me, we can figure out what that’s all about and who it is. And who’s been taking pictures of you. In the meantime, Officer Riley has offered to follow you home."

Mighty big of him. "I get to drive my own car?" I asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

Tom ignored it and cocked his head toward the guy with the lawn for a head.

"Yessir?" the officer asked.

I could see Tom was eating up the respect. He certainly didn’t get it from me.

"Once you escort Ms. Seymour home, I’d like you to make sure she stays there until I get there." He paused then, having another thought. "Follow her inside. If anything’s out of line, take her immediately to the police station and call me." Tom turned to me. "Okay?"

Something was up here. If he believed Jack Hammer, why ask this cop to check out my place? Was he protecting me from something? Had he told me everything Jack Hammer had told him? Jack had said I was in danger. Did he tell Tom that, too?

As I looked into his eyes, I saw more than anger there. I saw fear. Jack
must
have told him.

However, I was feeling like a prisoner rather than protected, which made me think of my father. In his world, if you were getting protection, it certainly wasn’t going to be from a young cop but from some guy in a dark suit and a fedora, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Someone who looked like Robert De Niro or Harvey Keitel or Ray Liotta. Someone who knew Joe Pesci was just around the corner with the baseball bat.

Tom’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "I’ll be there as soon as I can, Annie."

Riley went to his cruiser. I turned to my car but felt Tom’s hand on my shoulder. I twisted my head to look at him, and he cupped my cheek and stared at me a long second. "Don’t do anything stupid," he said softly.

I made a face at him. "Who, me?" I asked.

Riley pulled up and indicated I should get in my car. I did so, noticing that Tom kept looking back at me every few steps or so, before he was out of sight. I pulled away from the side of the road and started back up Wintergreen, with Riley on my ass. To his credit, he didn’t turn on the lights, but he might as well have. I got a lot of looks as he followed me all the way back to Wooster Square.

 
I half expected to see Vinny on the steps when I eased against the curb in front of my brownstone, but no. A few people meandered through Wooster Square, some sitting on the benches, a few dogs playfully bouncing between the trees. Just another normal summer Sunday in New Haven.

Until the cop got out of his cruiser behind me.

"Your keys, ma’am?" Riley asked, his hand out. He was taking this a little too far, but, hell, who was I to stop him?

I dropped them in his palm, wishing Tom had made it clear that I wasn’t a "ma’am." I was feeling my age a little too much these days. "Second floor," I said simply, indicating which apartment was mine.

Riley skipped up the steps and unlocked the front door, and I followed him up the stairs. When we reached the apartment door, he held up his hand. "Just a minute, please. I have to check it out."

I watched Riley let himself in, his right hand touching the top of his revolver in the holster at his hip. Reminded me that my gun was still MIA.

Riley disappeared down the hallway to my bedroom and bathroom. I closed the door behind me and stood in the middle of the living room, uncertain how to deal with this situation. Riley came back out a few seconds later, his arm now hanging loosely at his side, relaxed.

"Everything’s all clear, ma’am," he said.

"Annie."

"What?"

"Just call me Annie. Do you have a first name?"

"Jonathan."

"Do you want a soda?" I asked. I wanted a beer, but figured he was still on the job and a Coke would have to do.

He looked slightly uncomfortable, but it was probably because it had just struck him that it was hotter in my apartment than it was outside. "Sure," he said.

I went to the fridge, took out a Heineken for me, a Coke for him. We drank silently for a few seconds, and I began to regret being so social. I didn’t know what to say to this guy, so I busied myself with the big fan, trying to get it to circulate some air.

"Air conditioner broken?" Riley asked, indicating the unit in the window.

I nodded. He went over to it and pulled off the front before I could say "heat wave."

"Filter’s filthy," he said, pulling out something that looked like a dead cat. He took it over to the trash bin and shook it out. It looked slightly cleaner after that, and he went to work on the innards of the machine. I decided it was time for a bathroom break.

When I came back, the air conditioner was whirring like it was brand-new.

"How’d you do that?" I asked.

Riley blushed and smiled shyly. "Thanks for the soda." He raised the can in the air, nodded, and went out the door.

I stood by the window in front of the air conditioner, savoring the cool air that was actually spouting from it. Damn. It was too bad he was so young. He’d be useful to have around. Neither Vinny nor Tom had ever been so useful. Well, not in that way.

I took a long drink of my beer, but nearly choked when the phone rang, startling me.

I stared at the handset from across the room. Should I answer it? It might be Tom to tell me he was on his way. It might be Vinny. It might be Priscilla, still mad at me for leaving her with Ned.

I waited so long that the answering machine kicked in.

"You know what to do." My voice echoed through the room.

A click indicated that whoever was on the other end had hung up.

Chapter 35

I looked out the window. Riley was tapping the steering wheel, keeping time to music that he might or might not be actually listening to. Someone knew I was home, had probably watched him escort me up and then go back down alone.

Jack Hammer’s warning ricocheted around in my head like a fucking pinball.

Even though Riley was just outside, I went to the door and locked the dead bolt and put on the chain lock. I thought about the fire escape platform just outside my bedroom window, and I made sure that window was locked, as well.

Becoming agoraphobic was looking really good right about now. I could get pizza delivered; Vinny could bring groceries. I could get DSL or a cable modem and start e-mailing stories to work; I could do all my interviews by phone.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized it could be done. I would never have to leave the confines of my own apartment. I could exist here until I grew old and died. All I’d need was about fifty cats and I’d be that crazy lady who scared small children on Halloween.

I looked away from the window and stared at my apartment, which, thanks to Riley, was getting a lot cooler. I finished my beer and was debating another when the front buzzer scared the shit out of me.

I looked down at the stoop and saw Priscilla, barefoot and holding her shoes, Riley holding her arm.