The Tease (The Darling Killer Trilogy) (13 page)

It was all so messy.

I looked again at my column of questions, and with a dull ache in my stomach, I scrawled them on a piece of paper. I taped the paper to the bottom of the board, erased the questions, and added Katie’s name at the top of the column.

Executive assistant. Found in her home. Time of death roughly seven at night. Dark blonde hair.

Another jump in socioeconomic status. Another murder at someone’s home.

Max was at the theater with Lisa. Max could have followed Katie home from my workplace. Max didn’t want another therapist. Max wasn’t across town on video footage.

It still wasn’t enough.

No matter how long I stared at the columns, though, the dull ache didn’t go away. I drew a line through the
K?
I’d written on the board.

Guilt
, I thought.
Uncertainty and guilt.

Kevin had to be confused at best, furious at worst. Of all the times I’d had to apologize to Josh, for things I had or hadn’t done, I’d never had to say
I’m sorry I thought you might be a murderer.

I had no idea where to start, but that was no excuse for not doing it.

I called Kevin and walked over to the sofa so my murder board wouldn’t be a distraction, then fidgeted with the edge of the duct tape roll, hoping for voicemail.

“Hello?” he asked.

So much for voicemail.

“Hi Kevin,” I said. “It’s Anna.”

“Hi.”

“How are you doing?”

He paused. “I had kind of a rough night,” he said. “I got questioned by the police.”

“Oh,” I said lamely. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he said. “But, um – they were asking about a necklace I gave you?”

“Right,” I said.

“I, um. I didn’t give you a necklace.”

The hummingbirds were back, beating their tiny wings in my stomach. My chest felt constricted and white-hot. “The day after our first date, there were flowers outside my door and a necklace. I thought they were from you.”

“I feel kind of like an ass,” he said. “I mean, no, they weren’t. Not that you aren’t worth it or something, I just – that wasn’t me.”

“I sent you that thank you text,” I said.
This is so awkward.
“So when you responded, I thought you were sort of confirming they were from you.”

“I thought you were just thanking me for a nice evening out.”

“It was nice,” I said.

There was another awkward pause.

“It’s not that I thought you specifically would do something like that,” I said. “The police needed to know who knows where I live. You drove me home. You were the only person who had just learned where I live.”

He paused again. “It feels weird that you didn’t talk to me,” he said.

“Like a heads-up that the police might contact you and it’s nothing to worry about?” I asked. “That’s interfering with an investigation. There are so many reasons I couldn’t do that.”

“Did you tell them it wasn’t me?” he asked.

“It wouldn’t matter if I did,” I said. “We only had the one date, and sociopaths are charming.”

“You think I could be a sociopath?” he asked.

“That’s not what I said,” I snapped. “Stop twisting the things I say.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just not used to getting hauled into a police station. It took them six hours to confirm my alibi. I can’t even believe that I have to be a person with an alibi.”

God, this is excruciating.
“I know that must’ve been hard for you,” I said. “But please understand: it’s a
murder investigation
. If they can’t exclude you, it’s a hole in the case.”

He groaned. “Look, I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “I like you, and I don’t know how much – to do. I’m so worried about you. Your friend just died, and someone is probably stalking or threatening you, and then the police are shoving these horrible photos in my face and asking if I
did
it, and – we’ve only had the one date, and I don’t want to overstep, and I don’t know if you’ll decide you can’t handle a relationship with all this going on. I don’t want to ask too much, but I don’t want to – not be there for you, and I don’t know if that’s even what you want, and then I’m worried you think I’m the psycho.”

I could lose him
, I thought.
I could lose him right now.

I didn’t want to.

The problem was, I didn’t know if I wanted to keep him either.

“That’s, um,” I said. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah.” He sounded disappointed.

“The photos they showed you yesterday,” I said, and had to pause to keep my voice from catching. “The woman with short blonde hair.”

“There were two women with blonde hair,” he said, his voice sickened.

Darcy and Katie.
“One of them was my client,” I said.

“Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I know early in a relationship, things should be easy and fun, and you stay in bed for five hours because you can, and –” My face burned as I realized I’d slipped into the standard therapist patter about early relationships. About what I’d just implied.

“So is this a relationship?” he asked. “Because I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

At least he’s direct
, I thought. My breath was fast and shallow, as if I were about to jump out of a plane. I hesitated, but he’d just put everything out there. It wouldn’t be fair to shut down, as much as I wanted to.
And look what happened when I said the bare minimum to get by with the text message.
“Let’s find out,” I said.

He paused, and I died a little.

“One date isn’t a whole relationship.” I continued. “I – I don’t want to drag you into anything ugly. I don’t want you to be in danger, and I don’t want to hurt you because things are fucked up for me right now. But… I don’t think it’s fair for me to make that decision
for
you. And I don’t want to miss my chance either. So let’s go on a second date and see.”

“Okay,” he said again. “How about tonight?”

• • •

I couldn’t exactly refuse to go over to Kevin’s place after the conversation we’d just had. “I’m a terrible cook,” he’d said. “But I’m great at ordering food, and I set tables really well.”

I fretted in front of my closet for a good fifteen minutes before finally settling on a swingy red knit skirt and soft black top with a little fake fur around the collar. It was touchable and clung to my curves in the right places, but (I hoped) looked demure and effortless. I put on flesh-tone fishnet stockings and black, knee-high boots. Habit brought me over to my jewelry box, but I couldn’t see any of my necklaces without imagining them in a stranger’s bouquet, so I closed the box firmly and walked away from it.

After donning what I thought of as my Very Recognizable Overcoat, I hesitated at the door. The apartment was silent, except for Caprice munching her kibble. I looked out the peephole.

Great. The five feet you can see are clear.

You’re being silly
, I told myself.
You can’t let him own you.

I opened the door and checked the hall. It was empty.

I went into the hall, listening in both directions as I locked the doorknob and deadbolt. Then I strode quickly toward the second floor lobby, looking down into the open first floor. It was empty. I hurried downstairs and out the door, scanning the parking lot as I moved. Adrenaline coursed through my body as I walked to my car, unlocked it, and drove away.

I had to turn Walter off as I drove, because I couldn’t focus on the directions, the testing material, and the anxiety all at the same time.

Kevin lived a few blocks away from the Irving Park exit on Route 90, on a street where U-shaped apartment buildings have wrought iron fences and courtyards. I pulled up to the curb,
what am I doing what am I doing
coursing through my mind. It was just starting to get dark. How many monster movies had I seen when they thought the monster was dead, or they thought the killer was caught, and he was right under her nose?

You’re not a heroine
, I reminded myself.
You’re just having dinner with a nice guy. That’s it. Hundreds of people go on second dates without getting murdered all the time.

His apartment was on the second floor of a yellow brick three-story walkup. Kevin greeted me at the door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He wore dark jeans and a black button-down shirt.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said, and presented him with a bag of dark roast Sumatra. “I brought coffee.” As much as I loved wine, I wanted to have my wits about me.

He took my coat and hung it in the closet while I stepped in and looked around the living room. The walls were cream-colored, which didn’t surprise me, because most landlords won’t let tenants paint. His furniture was the near-Bauhausian streamlined type you get from warehouse stores with Swedish names for everything. A dark green futon sat along one wall. A television on a simple, black corner stand sat in the far corner; a
Lord of the Rings
painting on one side and a framed
Doctor Who
poster on the other. A brown, overstuffed easy chair sat in the center of the room. As I walked around it to see the opposite side, I barely suppressed a squeal. A gorgeous long-haired cat, white with brown and black tabby splotches, curled in the middle of the chair. He raised his head and yawned, stretching his tufted paws. He had the longest whiskers I’d ever seen. I held out my hand for him to sniff.

“That’s Aslan,” Kevin said. The cat did look a little like a lion with his thick white ruff.

“He’s beautiful,” I said. I petted Aslan and a loud, rumbling purr filled the room. “I’m glad you like cats.”

“Do you have any?”

“I have one. A half-Siamese named Caprice.”

I looked up and my breath caught in my throat when I noticed the shelving unit along the wall. I’d been so enchanted with the cat that I hadn’t noticed it at first. It was a large, black, backlit structure with glass doors about six feet high. Each shelf contained dozens of tiny pewter figurines, most of which were an inch-and-a-half to two inches high. Jackal-headed Anubis pointed to his left with an authoritative air. Heracles held his helm, his bicep and calf muscles bulging. A wicked angel with cascading wings held a noose behind her back. The detail was exquisite.

“Wow,” I breathed. I almost didn’t want to exhale too hard, even with the glass between us, because they were so delicate. “I love this one.” I pointed to a tiny pewter Bastet.

“Thank you,” he said. He pressed on the door and opened it so I could get a better look. “I made that set a few years ago. It’s a little crude by my standards now.”

I could see the detail of her eyes and whiskers, and the folds of her gown suggested the musculature in her body. “What’s more recent?”

He showed me an army of gnomes he’d recently carved for a gaming company. Some of their faces were earnest, some outraged, some almost comical. All of them were astonishing in detail.

“Do you have a special set of glasses or anything you use?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I just sit in the chair with my block of Epoxy and carve.” I glanced back at the chair and saw the silver lamp with an arm arcing over the chair.

“That size?”

He nodded.

I felt awed, and a little shy. “I’m so impressed.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“So people use these for games?”

“They do,” he said. “Like Dungeons & Dragons.”

“Do you play?” I asked, kneeling to look at a female elf with a bow and arrow. Her tongue stuck out in concentration, making her face look a little impish, even though her body’s lines were proud and powerful.

“When I can,” he said. “I don’t know a lot of people in Chicago.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to ask him. I wanted to kiss him. I was overwhelmed by his sense of strength and beauty, and how unpretentious he was about it. Yet I was acutely conscious of the beautiful miniatures and worried that I might catch some on my sleeve and knock them over. I was also acutely conscious of the dark bedroom nestled in the back of the apartment, waiting. It all seemed so fragile. I didn’t want to take up too much space.

I noticed a rack of DVDs, straightened up, and took a step toward it. I could certainly strike up a conversation about movies. Aslan darted in front of me, abruptly hell-bent on some obscure feline errand. I gasped and hopped up onto my toes as shifted my hips up and back, narrowly missing his claws on top of my foot, wobbled for a second, and caught myself before I could crash into the glass doors and Kevin’s miniatures.
Of course I do pin-up versions of folkloric bellydance steps when I’m startled
, I thought wryly. I set my heels onto the ground and laughed as Kevin caught my elbow.

“You ok?” he asked.

I laughed again and faced him. “I just know my obituary is going to read ‘tripped over a cat and faceplanted into the goddamn credenza,’” I said.

“You should say ‘bureau,’” he said. “A newspaper wouldn’t say ‘credenza.’”

“It’s better than ‘freak pussy accident,’” I said, and then hid my face in my hands. “Oh, God. I really said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He laughed deeply; it sounded as if he’d thrown his head back. Relieved, I moved my hands away from my face. He moved his hand from my elbow to my back, pulled me closer, and kissed me.

I inhaled sharply, my body going rigid with surprise, and then relaxed against him. It was a gentle, almost inquisitive kiss. His other hand caressed the back of my head, so I put my arms around him. He was lean enough that you might suspect he’d feel bony or wiry, but he was softer and more solid than he looked. I liked the way he held me; strong enough that I felt wanted, but not too tight for the first kiss.

I jumped a little when the buzzer rang.

“And there’s our dinner,” he said. I was relieved he didn’t comment on my skittishness. He kissed my lips again, once, quickly, and went to answer the door. I checked my face in my compact. I was a little flushed, but not messy.

Kevin, armed with the bags of food, brought me to the light-wood table in a roomy kitchen. “This space is totally wasted on me,” he said, when I looked wistfully at all the counter space. It was easily twice the size of my galley kitchen.