The Spider Bites (3 page)

“I guess so. But the guys at work are betting on it being arson. And they wanted to talk to me. Do they think I had something to do with it?”

“Come on, Susanna. Of course they don't,” I said. “But you know more about Cheryl and the house than anyone, don't you?”

“I guess.”

“So they have to talk to you. Did you stay and talk?”

“No! I said I was going over to the house and I left. Do you think they're mad at me?”

“Of course not,” I said. That was a lie. Those guys weren't very good at sympathy. Still, it wasn't my problem. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“I hope so.”

“Why do they suspect arson?”

“I don't know,” she said. “They didn't say. So where are you staying? With Angela? I see her around sometimes. I guess she hasn't moved.”

“No,” I said. I didn't feel like talking about Angela with anyone. Especially not now.

“Are they going to prosecute you?” she asked, picking at her fifth slice of pizza.

“I don't know,” I said.

“I asked Tony. He said they were still going over the evidence. I guess this fire really screws up the investigation.”

“Why would it?” I said. “They've been through my apartment enough times already. They found everything that was down there.”

“Are you sure?”

“If there was something there, they found it.”

“Tony thought you were innocent. Probably.”

“Why?” I asked. I was curious.

“He said you're too smart to stuff twenty thousand dollars under your mattress. Only a total idiot would do that. And you're not a total idiot.”

“Nice,” I said.

“Is that why the guys call you the Spider?” she asked. “Are spiders supposed to be clever?”

I shook my head. “Ask the guys,” I said. “They know more about it than I do.”

“I did. They wouldn't tell me. It's such an awful name. I hate spiders.”

“Sorry. And I appreciate Tony's support. But not being dumb enough to hide money under my mattress is not evidence. Even clever people do stupid things sometimes.”

“So—was it money they gave you?”

“For the record, Susanna, love, no one paid me off. It was a frame. I was getting too close to them. They wanted me off the investigation.”

“I guess it worked, didn't it?” said Susanna. “Too bad.”

“Sure,” I said. “In real life, the bad guys win once in a while. Some of them win all the time. But it doesn't explain why someone wanted to burn down your mother's house.”

Susanna shook her head. Her expensively streaked hair gleamed as it moved.

“I haven't got the faintest idea,” she said.

“I don't either,” I said. “It doesn't make any sense, unless…”

“Unless what?” she said quickly.

“Nothing. Just a few stupid ideas going through my clever head.”

“I better go, Rick,” said Susanna. “No one knows where I am, and I'm pretty tired.”

“Do you have someplace to sleep for the next few days?” I asked.

“I'll be at Jenny's.” Jenny lived next door to the old house.

“Good,” I said.

“She's going to lend me jeans and stuff. This dress is all I have now. Everything else is gone.” She looked suddenly grief-stricken.

“Don't worry, Susanna. We'll find out who did it.”

“You will? How?”

“A lot of evidence is left behind after a fire. People think everything gets burnt. It doesn't. They'll find out who did it.”

She stood up abruptly. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” I said. “How can I get in touch with you?”

She picked up a clean paper napkin and scribbled a number on it.

“My cell,” she said and ran out of the pizzeria.

CHAPTER SIX
LOOKING BACK

B
ack in the hotel, I was stretched out on the bed, thinking. A jumble of ideas ran around in my head. But none of them fit together. How well did I know Susanna? Her behavior tonight surprised me. But she was an adult now. People change.

When I first met her, she was about ten. I had just started with the police department. I was a raw recruit, scared to death of doing something wrong. And I needed a place to live.

I walked up and down the streets near the station, looking for a room. I saw a sign in a window.
Basement apartment. Partly furnished. Reasonable rent
. That sign was pure Cheryl. She believed in telling the truth. The apartment was in the basement and the rent was low. But it had its own kitchen, a bathroom with a shower, and one more big room. It had a couple of chairs and a couch in it. And there was a comfortable bed in the corner.

We sat in the kitchen and talked. Cheryl was in her thirties, shy and pleasant. I was just a kid, shy and nervous. We found each other easy to talk to. Her husband had died three weeks before. She was still in shock. But she had gone out and found a job as a waitress. Now she wanted to rent out the apartment. She needed the extra money. “Anyway, the house is too big just for me and my little girl.” She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. “Sorry,” she whispered.

I liked her and the apartment. Cheryl liked the idea of having a cop in the basement, even a young one. We got along just fine for the next few years. It was not a happy household in those early days. Cheryl was struggling to cope with her grief. And her daughter's unhappiness. The first thing Susanna told me was how much she missed her father.

“He loved me more than anyone else in the whole world,” she said. “He did. I know it.” She sounded angry.

“Of course he loved you,” I said. “But surely he loved your mother just as much.”

“He liked her okay,” said Susanna. “But it was me he loved.”

I remember being shocked, then thinking, Poor little kid. She's young. She's upset. She'll get over it.

Now I lay there, wondering if she had.

* * *

I was sure that Susanna was wrong about one thing. Cheryl could not possibly have been having an affair with Freddie. It didn't seem possible. Freddie was a sewer rat.

I used to tease Cheryl about finding some rich, handsome guy at the Coffee Corner. She would shake her head. She always said that she was too busy for a lover. I had breakfast there almost every day. All the regular customers loved her. But she was attracted to the quiet, serious ones. Those were the guys she would sit with on mornings when it wasn't busy, talking to them about all kinds of things. Not to a loudmouth like Freddie.

Then I met Angela. She had just been posted to our division. She was lively, funny, clever and beautiful. We fell in love. We found an apartment not far away and moved in together. Soon after that, we got married. But we still had breakfast at the Coffee Corner.

That was before Freddie moved into my life. And destroyed it.

* * *

After kicking these ideas around in my head, I picked up my cell phone. Susanna answered on the first ring.

“It's you,” she said. I couldn't tell if she was pleased or disappointed. Most likely, she just didn't care right now.

“Are you at Jenny's?” I asked.

“Where else would I be?” she said. “Look, I'm sorry. We're going to bed. I'm really tired.”

“I'm not surprised,” I said. “I just want to let you know that I'm going over to the house. There are some things I need to check out. So if you see a flashlight moving around, don't freak out. It's just me.”

“Why do that?” she asked.

“You know, Susanna, maybe someone was out to kill me. I'd like to know who the hell he is,” I said. “I think the easiest way to find out is to go over there and look around.”

“That doesn't make sense, Rick,” she said.

“It does to me. Good night, sweetheart. Try to get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow.”

“What do you expect to find?”

“Nothing, I hope. Nothing at all. And that would make me very happy.”

I changed into a pair of jeans, my new heavy shirt and an old warm sweater. I slipped a big flashlight and a bottle of water into my backpack. Last of all I put on my steel-toed work boots and picked up my jacket. I was ready for a long night.

CHAPTER SEVEN
THE CRIME SCENE

A
bright bluish light surrounded the burned-out house. Like something from a sci-fi movie. But there weren't any creatures from outer space on the scene. Only a small crew of crime-scene investigators. And a few bored-looking uniformed cops. Right now the CSI guys were crawling through the rubble. One of them raised his arm.

“Hey, Chris, I found another one,” he called.

“Good,” said someone. “Mark it and I'll put it with the rest.”

Another what? I wondered. What exciting things were they finding? The melted remains of my old toothbrush, maybe? Pieces of my coffee pot? I was in the park across from the house. Most of the emergency vehicles had left. The CSI team's white van was sitting in the neighbor's driveway. I had a clear view of what was going on. Not much.

A few people walked down the street and stopped to stare. None of them stayed long. It really wasn't very interesting. Unless it was
your
life they were pawing over. I was interested.

Then a woman came along. She was moving fast, taking long strides. But she wasn't hurrying. Just walking like someone I used to know. Someone who loved taking long walks. Then the woman stopped in the pool of light from the powerful lamps and looked around.

My stomach lurched. I sat down on a park bench, stunned. It was the last thing I expected. I took a deep breath and stood up again. She must have seen me move out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and looked straight at me. It really was Angela. The full force of how much I missed her hit me. She was standing in harsh light. She had on a pair of baggy pants and my old thick red sweater. She looked unbelievably beautiful. And desirable.

But she didn't recognize me. How could she? It was dark where I was standing. Half my face was hidden behind a beard. My body was half as wide as it used to be. I don't think anyone had recognized me at first sight. In one way, I was glad. But it still hurt. She turned back and walked toward the team.

“Hey, Tony,” she called. “Mark. I'm over here.”

Tony Marchetti, my old partner and closest friend—except for Angela—stepped out of the shadows by the house. He was talking to a tall guy. I didn't recognize him.

“Thanks for coming out, Angela, sweetheart,” said Tony. His familiar voice rang out in the dark. “Sorry it's such a lousy night.”

They moved closer to each other. I got a good look at the other man as he walked under the light. Their voices dropped. I couldn't hear what they were saying. I couldn't hear anything but my heart pounding. I moved out of the park toward them. Halfway across the street I heard Angela's voice.

“The hell he is,” she was saying.

She stepped aside. Tony was staring intently at me. I turned and walked away from them, back to the park, feeling as if I'd just run ten miles.

* * *

When I looked again, Angela seemed to be arguing with Tony. He shook his head. She said something to the other guy and started back up the street. When I looked again, the second man had disappeared. I followed behind her, sticking to the edge of the park on the opposite side of the street. She stopped, suddenly, halfway between the ruined house and the bright lights and traffic.

“Come here,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”

I walked across the street, feeling stupid.

“You recognized me,” I said.

“Of course I recognized you,” said Angela. “I lived with you for ten years. I worked with you for even longer. How could I not recognize you?”

“As far as I know, no one else has,” I said. “They can't see past the beard. And I've lost weight.”

“So you have. But you still walk the same way. You still hold your head the same way when you're listening. You're still you, dammit.”

“Why did you come down here?” I asked.

“They called me. They said you were dead. It wasn't nice,” she said. She turned her head away. “I had to go to the morgue to identify you.”

“I'm sorry, Angela. They shouldn't have made you do that. Anyway, it wasn't me.”

“I know that,” she said. “The body wasn't exactly recognizable. But the watch and scraps of clothes weren't yours. And you've never worn a gold neck chain. Not that I've seen anyway.”

“But you didn't have to come down here,” I said.

“Tony asked me to. And I'm still down as your next of kin, along with your dad.”

“He's in Costa Rica.”

“I told them that. Then they said that Tony was here at the house. He wanted to talk to me. So here I am.”

“What did he want?”

“Besides asking if you were dead? Nothing. I told him it wasn't you in the morgue. Anyway, by then I'd seen you. For a cop, you're not very good at discreet surveillance, are you?”

She sounded very, very angry.

“I've lost my edge,” I said. “Did you tell him I was in the park?”

“Why would I do that?” she asked.

Why wouldn't she? I wondered. And that puzzled me even more.

CHAPTER EIGHT
ANGELA

W
e started walking again.

“You want to stop for a beer?” asked Angela after a few minutes. She never did stay mad long. Except for the day she threw me out.

“Where?” I asked. It was a dumb question. But I was wondering what she had in mind.

“How about the Oak Leaf? It's never crowded on a Wednesday night.”

“Wednesday? Are you saying today is Wednesday?”

“Yeah, it's Wednesday. It's been Wednesday all day. What universe have you been living in?”

“I've been working seven days a week, fifteen hours a day for weeks. You lose track of what day it is. But we had to get the crops in before the cold weather set in. There's nothing left now but a few pumpkins. They didn't need me for that.”