Chapter 8
I sat in silence in the back seat of the police car, considering my alternatives. There was not much time to plan since the police station was only five blocks away. As the car pulled up to the curb, I cleared my throat loudly. The driver turned around.
“Yes, Miss Griffin?”
It was too dark to make sufficient eye contact, so I simply said, “What are the charges, officer?”
“You must have misunderstood, Miss Griffin,” he said with a half smile. “We are not making any charges, we only want you to answer a few questions, and as I explained before, help us with an identification of the corpse, if possible.”
He was toying with me, I thought, but I nodded and decided to play along. “I will be happy to cooperate in any way I can; I’m just not sure what help I can give you.” I got out of the car and went with them into the station. As we entered the lobby I turned to the nearest officer. “May I make a phone call? I have a . . . an appointment tonight; I’d like to let them know I’ll be a little late. This won’t take long, will it?” I looked at him for confirmation.
“It shouldn’t, but you can call if you want.” He gestured to a telephone across the lobby. I walked there, checked for the number in the book and turned my back on their curious stares as I dialed.
The phone rang ten times before Mitch finally answered.
“Hello,” he sounded brusque, hurried.
“Hello.” I did not want to say his name out loud here.
“Deirdre, I was just coming to get you. What’s up?”
“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be detained for a while. Something important has come up.”
The tenseness in my voice did not escape his notice. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“At the police station.” From his muffled exclamation, I could tell he knew nothing about this situation. “Don’t worry, they tell me it won’t take long.”
“What the hell is it all about? I swear I had nothing to do with this, Deirdre.” He sounded confused and angry, very angry. “I’ll be right there.”
“No, I will be fine, just wait . . .” I had no chance to finish; he had already hung up. I said goodbye to the empty receiver for the benefit of my listeners and walked back to them.
“Shall we go?” I addressed them with more confidence than I felt.
We rode the elevator down to the basement level, and exited into a gray, dimly-lit hall. I recoiled visibly as the doors opened, for my heightened senses reeled with the overwhelming reek of death and decay. God, it was foul; the smells of formaldehyde, disinfectant and rotting flesh permeated the air. Coughing and gagging in an uncontrollable reaction to this assault, I leaned against the wall in an attempt to calm my retching stomach and my mind travelled back to a time and place I never desired to visit again.
The casualties of the first battles had been worse than anyone had ever expected. Men who marched out proud and resolute returned torn and wounded, both physically and mentally. All too soon the tents set up for the injured were overcrowded; cots and blankets with the bodies of maimed and dying soldiers overflowed onto the pathways of our encampment. I remember the early days of that war as smoke-filled and alive with pain and suffering.
I had elected to take night duty in the medical tents; few of the other women wanted the task for it was at night that the moans of the dying were loudest, during the day the sounds of battle would block most of the cries. Beginning at sunset, I would carry my lantern through the rows of men, stopping to administer what was most needed: water, food or morphine. By the time I would reach the second tent, my skirts would be soaked to the knees, sodden with muddy water and blood.
It was in the second tent that the worst odor lingered. Here we kept the most severly injured and the dying. Those men who had lost limbs were the lucky ones. Even though they might be feverish or delirious, minus an arm or a leg, they still stood the best chance of living. But the ones with the belly or groin wounds were fated to die, a horrible, clawing death that tore them apart with the pain. The smell these soldiers exuded seemed almost tangible; a mixture of bile, feces and gangrenous flesh combined with sweat and blood. Most nights I would have to stop my rounds before entering the second tent, so that I could empty my stomach. Even if there was nothing in my stomach, I would still be possessed with the uncontrollable urge to vomit. I continued on because I was needed, but I never adjusted to the odors of death.
Dimly I became aware of the person beside me, the officer had his arm around me and was supporting me. “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “It’s the smell.” Soon the nausea passed and I was able to stand erect and gain control over my body.
The officer shrugged apologetically. “It gets some people that way. I guess I’ve just gotten used to it.”
The other man addressed me. “We’re sorry, Miss Griffin, but this trip is necessary. Let’s just get it out of the way as quickly as possible. Will you be okay?” He pulled a small vial from his pocket.
“You may put away the smelling salts, please. I promise you I won’t faint.” We walked slowly down the corridor, our shadows undulating on the walls. I stopped outside the morgue door.
“Before we go in, can you tell me what to expect? Who is it?”
“We don’t know, we hope you can tell us.”
“Why me?”
“He had something on him that belongs to you. Are you ready to go in?”
I nodded and nervously drew in a deep breath of the foul air. He pushed the door inward and turned on the lights. They led me past carts and tables, some still containing bodies, their shapes distorted by the bright light and stark white coverings. Our destination was soon reached, a small examination room in the back.
We entered and with no preliminary warning the sheet was stripped away. The body was naked and gray, the skin waxen; and the neck was badly bruised. The fangmarks were apparent, but were not mine. Even if I could have believed that I fed on this man and had forgotten, I knew that I left no such marks. They were wider than mine, coming from a larger mouth and they were torn and stretched, as if worried by an animal. But no animal left these marks. I reached out and touched a hand, it was cold and flaccid. Choking back the tears that threatened, I gently replaced the sheet over the face.
“Miss Griffin,” the officer’s voice sounded soft in that brutal environment, “did you know him?”
“Yes. His name is David Leigh. I met him last night.”
“We have a few more questions to ask. Would you like to go back upstairs now?”
“Yes,” I nodded gratefully. “Thank you. This is all very disturbing.”
He turned out the lights and closed the doors as we walked back. Waiting for the elevator, I glanced at the clock.
“We will only take just a little more of your time, Miss Griffin. Your, um, appointment won’t have to wait long.”
Before we got off the elevator, I discovered that my appointment was waiting in the lobby. I could hear his raised voice through the opening doors. “. . . and why wasn’t I informed that you had taken me off the case? There’s no need . . .”
The man he was talking to mumbled something, then fell silent as we appeared. Mitch turned around and our eyes met. I could read his concern for me underneath the anger. He came to my side and grasped my arm. “Are you okay, Deirdre?”
I smiled. “I’m fine, now, thank you.”
“Can she go now, Lieutenant?”
The lieutenant looked to the officers. They shifted uneasily. “Actually, Mitch, we weren’t quite done.”
“Let’s finish it up, then. But I want to stay with her. I trust that there are no objections.”
The lieutenant shrugged, walked off and Mitch escorted me to a small room, the other officers trailed behind us. He sat down next to me, across the table from the other two. The silence grew uncomfortable until I turned to Mitch.
“Could you get me a cup of coffee or something?”
He hesitated briefly, then got to his feet and left the room.
“I don’t really want to cause any problems for you,” I said, smiling. “Maybe we can finish this before he comes back.”
They sighed their relief. “It is a bit difficult with him here,” one admitted. “Just tell us what you know about this guy.”
“His name was David Leigh,” I repeated while one of them began to take notes. “I met him at the Ballroom of Romance last night. He’s a good friend of Max’s.” They didn’t seem to recognize the name. “Max Hunter,” I prompted. “He owns the club.” The one taking notes nodded and I continued. “Dave was an auditor; I don’t remember for whom he worked.”
“Local guy?”
“No, he was from out of town. He came to the city frequently, though. He’s known Max for about five years. If you need any more personal information, you might check with him.”
“When we found him his wallet was gone. Of course that’s not at all unusual; in fact if it were still on him, that would be strange. But he had your business card in his coat pocket. Had you made plans to meet again?”
I grimaced inwardly thinking how all this could have been avoided had I not given him my card. “No, no plans as such. I told him to bring his wife to town next time he came; I offered to have some clothes made for her.”
“Why? I can’t believe you make that offer to everyone you meet.”
“Oh, I don’t really know. I am a bit eccentric; but I liked him, he seemed like a nice guy.”
“Do you know any reason someone would murder him?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Quite honestly, I did not know him well enough to make that judgement. But offhand, I would say no. None of this makes any sense at all.”
“One final question, Miss Griffin.” He gave me an apologetic look. “You understand I have to ask this one. And I hope you understand you don’t have to answer it, at least not without the advice of counsel.” He hesitated, then looked directly into my eyes. “Did you kill him?”
“No, I did not.”
As we held eye contact, I felt his doubt of me lessen and fade away entirely.
“One more thing, Miss Griffin,” the officer taking notes interrupted, “we may need to talk with you again; don’t make any plans to leave the city for a while.”
“I understand. Will that be all?” At their nods of affirmation, I stood up. The door opened and Mitch walked in bearing a tray with four cups of coffee and set it on the table. I selected a cup for myself and took a sip. “If you don’t mind, I will drink mine on the way out. I do have an appointment, you know. I hope he won’t mind waiting a while; I still have to get ready.” I felt sure that Mitch wouldn’t want our personal relationship made common knowledge at the station. But the knowing smiles exchanged between the two officers made me think that my caution was unnecessary.
I gathered up my cloak and couldn’t resist a theatrical swirl as I settled it on my shoulders. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
“Wait,” Mitch called as I left. “I’ll walk you out.” He strode beside me, we went out the front door together and on to the street. He looked around and seeing no one, gave me a brief kiss. “I’d wait forever,” he whispered, “but if you’re not ready in an hour . . .” I laughed at his feigned threat. He gestured for a cab and when one stopped, he helped me in. “I just want to do some checking on what’s going on. And I want to get myself reinstated on the case. I won’t be long.” He gave me another kiss, closed the door and the cab moved away.
Upon my return to the hotel, I gave Frank a curt nod and went directly to my room. I had not been there for a week now, but it was clean and sterile for my arrival. I entered without turning on the lights, dropped my black cloak on the floor and shed the rest of my clothes on the way to the shower. I made the water hotter than usual, to wash away the reek of the morgue that still lingered about me.
I dressed with great care, selecting a forest green sheath with a high neck and a low-cut cowl back. I wore a thin gold necklace, gold button earrings and pulled my hair up from the sides with combs, the rest of my hair rippled down my bare back. I applied my makeup carefully and tried to coax as much color into my pale complexion as possible. For a finishing touch I changed my contacts to a pair tinted deep green to complement the dress. I checked the clock and discovered that Mitch’s prescribed hour had elapsed. He would arrive soon.
One hour later I still sat in the near darkness of the room. I rose from the sofa, went to the window and pulled the drapes aside. The streets were still crowded with people hurrying to their various destinations, but I saw no one familiar. A shadowy figure walked below my window, it might be Mitch, I thought, feeling a rush of anticipation. But as I watched, he passed the hotel entrance without a backward glance. It was not him. Disappointed I closed the drapes, then went to the bar and opened a bottle of wine to kill the time, to calm my nerves as the minutes dragged. There was work on my desk that I wanted to finish sometime this weekend; I turned on the light and tried to review the plans for the show, but I could not concentrate and kept checking the clock in disbelief. I put aside my work, switched off the light and went back to the sofa, the wine and the darkness.
Sometime after midnight I abandoned all pretense that he would show. I had waited over three hours listening for the phone, a knock on the door or even a set of approaching footsteps. I drank the last bit of wine. He wasn’t coming, I decided.
“Damn him.” I flung the crystal goblet against the wall, taking a perverse delight in the destruction of the delicate glass. Then I rose from the sofa and began to remove the clothing I had so carefully donned earlier in the evening. I kicked off my shoes, tossed the dress into a corner of the bedroom, removed my jewelry and the combs from my hair. Wrapping myself in a black silk robe, I found a broom and swept the broken crystal into a corner; the hotel staff could clean the rest tomorrow. Just as I was opening the next bottle of wine, and pouring another glass, the phone rang.
“Miss Griffin?” Frank’s tone was uncertain.
“Hello, Frank. What can I do for you?”
“There’s someone here to see you. Detective Mitchell Greer. What shall I do?” I could sense an excitement in his voice; this would probably be one of his most memorable evenings here, with policemen and detectives hauling out residents at all hours.
“You’ve certainly had one hell of a night, haven’t you, Frank?” I spoke more sharply than I had intended to. But after having led such a secretive existence for so long, I was growing steadily more angry over the intrusions into my life.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, damn it all, Frank, just send him up.”
“If you want, Miss Griffin.” He hung up the phone.
I had a few minutes before Mitch would arrive, so I mussed the covers on the neatly made bed and ruffled my hair into a mass of tangles. There was no reason to let Mitch think I had waited patiently for his arrival. Let him think I had been sleeping, that his lateness had not bothered me.
When he knocked, I closed the bedroom door and turned on the lights in the second half of the suite. I answered the door, pushing the hair out of my eyes and affecting a sleepy smile. “I’m sorry,” I began. “I fell asleep. I can be ready . . .”
“Forget about it.” He slammed the door, pushed past me and stalked into the room. He picked up the bottle of wine and gestured with it. “Don’t you have anything stronger than this?” He rummaged around behind the bar.
“I think there may be a bottle of scotch. Try the bottom shelf.”
Even before I finished speaking, he found the bottle along with a glass and some ice. He threw the cubes savagely into the glass and filled it to the top. Then he sat on the sofa and glared angrily into his drink. “Well?”
“Well, what?” I responded as angrily as he had. “You’re the one who didn’t show up when expected. I do not like to be stood up.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. I’ve got three dead bodies, two of them tied directly to you. I jeopardized over twenty years standing in the department, almost got removed from a very important homicide case, one that I now feel personally involved with. I believed you when you told me you knew nothing about Andrews’ death. And I believed you when you told me you would not be seeing Max Hunter. Then I discover that you slinked off to him last night and met some unlucky chump who just happened to turn up dead with your business card in his pocket.” He drained his scotch and went to the bar for another. “What will you try to make me believe next, Deirdre? That you’re not involved? That it’s all just a coincidence? I’m sorry, but I’ve been at the job for far too long to believe in coincidences.” He stood at the bar, glaring at me and swirling the ice cubes in his drink.
“Mitch, I . . .”
“I wasn’t done yet. Let me finish. To top it off, as if all that isn’t enough, I believed in you.” His voice softened now almost to a whisper. “I really thought we might have a chance together. I fell for you, hard, and I got the feeling it was returned, regardless of your promiscuous habits. And what did it all get me? Nothing but lies, from the beginning to the end. But before I leave here tonight, lady, I will get the truth from you.”
I summoned what dignity I could, clasped my robe tighter around my body and pulled myself upright. “I did not lie to you, Mitch. I knew nothing about Bill Andrews’ death and I know nothing about David Leigh’s. Yes, it is all a coincidence, and I’m sorry that you can’t believe that. There are stranger things in this world than coincidence. I want to help you, I really do, but I’m not sure what I can do.”
“Well, for starters, you can explain why, although you told me you weren’t going to, you went to Max’s club last night. It couldn’t have taken you more than ten minutes to get to where you said you weren’t going.”
“What is it about Max that bothers you? I have already told you that he is not a threat to you in any way. Max is an old friend, that’s all.”
“But you met him after you said you wouldn’t.”
“I ran into him on the street, Mitch. It wasn’t planned or arranged. It was just by chance that I saw him at all.” He gave me a sharp glance. “I know, I know, you don’t believe in that either. Give me the benefit of the doubt, Mitch. Even criminals are thought to be innocent until proven guilty.”
He met my eyes finally and a small smile began to play on his face. “I guess I’ve been a little too rough on you tonight, huh?” He took one sip of his drink and then another. “It’s just that the job is getting to me, the press is clamoring for a solution and we’re no closer to that now than when Andrews died. And there’s something about Max that really gets to me, his attitude, his lifestyle, something. I don’t know. When I spoke to him tonight, he was polite and solicitous, but I had the feeling he was laughing at me, taunting me. And when he speaks of you, I get angry—just hearing your name on his lips—well, I can’t really explain it. He talks as if he owns you, protects you, as if you were his child, or his wife.”
“I am neither, Mitch. He oversteps his bounds a lot, and he interferes with things when he should stay out. But for all that, he is still my friend.”
“How close a friend?”
I sighed and moved over to him. He looked up at me, his eyes locked on mine. “Mitch, there is nothing between Max and me, now. You must believe me.”
“I do, but . . .”
“Jesus, Mitch, will you just drop it? I do not want to spend the rest of the evening talking about Max. Do you?”
“No, not really.” He drained his drink, got up from the couch and set his glass on the bar. “Look, I know it’s late, but would you like to go out for a while? Maybe we could take a walk or have dinner? Are you hungry?”
I shrugged. “Whatever you’d like, Mitch. It doesn’t make any difference to me. Let me change first, though.” As I walked past him on the way to the bedroom, he touched my arm and turned me around to face him.
“Deirdre, I’m sorry.” He held my arms in his gently, then rubbed his hands up and down the sleeves. I felt my stomach tighten in anticipation and smiled up at him.
“It’s okay, Mitch. Actually, I am flattered that you like me enough to be so jealous. Just don’t mention his name again.”
“I promise.” He tightened his grip on me and his eyes lit with desire. I thought to myself, before his mouth came down to mine, that this night would make up for those countless others.
For what could have been seconds or years, the kiss continued. He slid his hands under my robe; they felt grainy against the soft skin of my back as he drew me closer. His arousal was evident and I arched my body into his. He held me tightly with one arm, while struggling to remove his coat with the other. He switched arms, and removing his coat entirely, exposed his shoulder holster and gun. I reached a hand up lightly to touch it.
“I don’t think you will need this now, do you, Detective?”
He agreed with a smile that lit up his eyes and draped it and his shirt over the back of a chair. He reached for me again, and as I went to him, the silk robe slipped over my shoulders. I dropped my arms and let it fall.
“Deirdre,” he whispered into my hair as he lowered me to the floor. “You make me crazy.” I twined my arms around his neck, drew him down to me and silenced him with a kiss.