They spent the rest of the day and most of the night answering questions at police headquarters. It had been all Burton could do to prevent Mia from pocketing the five Ecstasy pills she found in Carol’s purse—or touching for the third time the water glass she was convinced was the vehicle for the poison that killed Carol.
She had already popped out the DVD from Carol’s laptop labeled “Three on a Match,” and put her hands on every single, useless item in Carol’s purse, not to mention, Carol herself, before Burton dragged her out of the house.
Now, seven hours later, they sat side by side on metal chairs in the narrow hallway of the Atlanta police department’s homicide division. Maxwell was not in attendance and the detective team who questioned them, together and separately, was new. Burton thought that might be a good thing. Unless they’d heard too much about him, they might not have a prejudice against him. After the questioning, he gave up that possibility. They were treated less as important witnesses to a major crime than as possible suspects. Except they weren’t charged.
Not yet anyway.
“We’re going to lose our brand new license if you do crap like this,” he said as he handed her a cup of vending machine coffee.
“I’ll play by the rules in the next case,” she said. A moment passed between them as she sipped her drink before she spoke again. “I guess this eliminates Carol from our list. Now we’re down to Diane and Trish.”
“So you’re not giving Trish the Christian discount any longer?”
“With Carol gone, Trish is my prime suspect. Fact is, she should have been all along. You were right, Jack. I let my prejudice distract me.”
“I’m waiting for a motive.”
“I’m not sure why she would kill Dave,” she admitted, “but it seems pretty cut and dried for her killing Carol.”
“Because Carol was sleeping with her husband?”
Mia frowned at him. “You don’t think that’s a good motive?”
He shrugged. “Maybe if there was money involved.”
They sat again without speaking. A woman in her forties sat several seats away. She looked distraught and was shredding a tissue in her hands with nervous, jerky movements. As Mia watched, she saw the woman alternately weep into the tissue and look about her forlornly. Mia wondered if she were there to bail an errant husband out or a drug-dealing son. When she looked closer, she saw the woman was hugging a small blue cardigan to her breast.
She was a mother who had lost her child.
“What did you…feel when you touched the body?” he asked.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask me that,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the despondent woman.
“Well?”
“She was killed by a woman.”
“Not this again.”
“Look, I know what I know, Jack. Carol was poisoned the same way Dave was.”
“I thought you said Carol poisoned Dave? You said you felt her in his condo and that it was her hand that coated that glass.”
“I’m not sure I said that,” she said frowning. “Sometimes it’s hard to separate what I’m feeling. I knew Carol had been there the day Dave died. And I knew she touched that glass.”
“But so did half the police techs—including yourself, am I right?”
“Whatever.”
A door swung open and one of the detectives, a man in his late thirties with bad skin and long hair, stepped out in the hall and gestured for them to come with him. Burton took Mia’s drink and tossed it in the trash receptacle and they followed the detective down the long narrow hall. It was nearly midnight and they were both exhausted.
Burton was pretty sure the guy—Daniels, was his name—was releasing them but he didn’t want to push their luck by asking. He knew from personal experience that if the guy wanted to keep them sitting on metal chairs in the hallway—or worse—another twenty-four hours, he could.
He walked them to the elevator and punched the down button.
“Don’t leave town,” was all he said before he turned away as the elevator doors opened.
While Mia had been taken to the station by the two detectives, Burton had been allowed to drive himself. He was relieved to see his car hadn’t been ticketed or booted. The parking spot was only good for four hours and he’d easily exceeded that by two.
He could tell Mia was exhausted because she had stopped talking. When he glanced at her in the passenger seat, her eyes were closed but he knew she wasn’t asleep. He drove them back to Atlantic Station, constantly checking the rear view mirror to see if anyone was following them. He didn’t see anyone.
Once upstairs, Burton kept her behind him as he checked and cleared the apartment, then locked the front door.
“Go to bed,” he said as he raked down the blinds in the living room. He tempered his tone but even so he could see her stiffen.
“You make me want to do the opposite of what you say,” she said. “Do you have that effect on everyone, I wonder?”
“Only the chronically immature,” he said, standing in the living room with his hands on his hips. He said it with a smile but she wasn’t buying it. “Go on,” he said. “Go to bed. You’re dead on your feet.”
She dropped her cardigan and her purse on the floor next to the couch and collapsed into its cushions. “This is fine,” she said.
Remembering that, new bed or not, she wouldn’t want to sleep in the room where she’d found Dave’s body, Burton went to a stack of blankets by the TV set and handed her one. With the rest, he made a pallet on the floor next to the couch.
It occurred to him that he had been a little hard on her this afternoon and since finding a dead body was stressful for most people not in the business of finding one, he might have been a little insensitive.
“You okay, Mia?” he said softly from his stack of blankets on the floor.
She reached down and touched his cheek and when he took her fingers in his, she fell asleep holding hands with him.
The next morning he allowed himself to watch her for a few moments before she awoke. He couldn’t help but be impressed with her determination to find out what happened to her brother—even if her methods were starting to turn his hair white.
“I can tell you’re staring at me,” she said, her eyes still closed.
He laughed. “Now that is a useful skill.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Were you able to get any information about Dave’s case?”
“Are you serious? You haven’t even been awake two minutes. I need coffee.”
He climbed to his feet and saw her disentangle herself from her blankets.
“Did you hear anybody make a suggestion as to how Carol’s death might be connected to Dave’s?”
“You were there, Mia. You saw how happy they were to share information with us. In fact, I’m thinking of going and having a few beers with them later today.”
“Really?”
“No, Mia. We are serious pariahs down there. God, for someone who’s supposed to superhumanly intuit things, you can be remarkably dense.”
“I just thought you might have heard something.”
Burton went to the kitchen to get the espresso machine warmed up and heard her go into the bathroom. As he opened one of the cabinets for mugs, he saw a photograph taped to the inside of the cabinet door and was surprised he hadn’t seen it before. It was a picture of Dave with two other guys. They were all wearing ROTC uniforms.
Seeing the photo hit him like a pitcher of ice water to the face. On some level, he had gotten so comfortable with the fact that Dave never did any time in the military—one of the things that always bothered Burton—that to see him in a military uniform unsettled him.
He touched the photo and peered into Dave’s college-age face. There was something there. Something stirring in Burton’s gut, something about Dave and why things had never been right.
Right from the beginning.
“Coffee almost ready?”
He turned to see Mia dressed and in the process of tying her long hair into a ponytail. The movement pushed her breasts out and made them press against the tee-shirt and he felt a rush of desire for her.
Damn, this family pushes all my buttons, he thought, as he pulled two mugs out of the cabinet before firmly shutting the door, and the photo, away. He poured the coffee and she settled on one of the barstools. She was wearing a pair of snug fitting jeans and, for the moment, was barefooted.
“So, can I ask you what your plans are for the day?” she asked.
He sighed and sat down at the kitchen counter. “You do know we need to sit this one out, right?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Mia, we were first on the scene of a murder. That makes us persons of extreme interest to the detectives trying to find out why and how that murder happened.”
“We know how it happened.”
“Yeah, and by the way telling them before they even had a chance to run a tox screen that she died of an Ecstasy OD was not a good move.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“Why? Because they are not going to believe you know because you felt it. They are going to think you know because you did it.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“And any evidence at the crime scene that might have pointed away from us, away from you, was compromised by your need to ransack Carol’s purse, desk and personal computer. You know, normal people who discover a dead body go screaming out the front door or dial nine-one-one. They don’t view it as an opportunity to start rooting around the dead person’s belongings.”
“So you intend to do nothing. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I intend for both of us to do nothing until things cool down a bit.”
“Well, that’s swell. You think you’ll find it easier to solve a cold case than one that’s still going on? People are being killed, Jack! It’s happening right now!”
“I know that, and forgive me for not wanting you to be in the middle of people still getting killed.”
“You owe it to Dave.”
“That dog won’t hunt any more, Mia. If I owe Dave anything, I owe him to keep his sister alive. Dear God, were you this much trouble with him?”
He saw her face take on a look of indignation but before she could add the audio to the picture, his cellphone rang and he snatched it up to break the building drama.
It was Karen.
“Hey,” he said, moving away from Mia to stand in front of the living room window. “I guess you heard.”
“That’s pretty much all anybody’s talking about around here,” Karen said. “I can’t believe Mia Kazmaroff found another dead body. Starting to sound suspiciously coincidental.”
“Is that what people are saying?”
“By ‘people’ I guess you mean Rocky’s team and I don’t have any official information for you, sorry, just scuttlebutt.”
“I’ll take what I can get at this point. That’s Rocky Daniels?”
“Yeah. Well, Rocky said it all looks suspicious and trust me, Maxwell has weighed in too, and not on Team Burton or Kazmaroff.”
“How’s Maxwell doing?”
“Oh, Jack, it’s so depressing. I mean, in spite of everything he loved her. He’s a wreck. And he’s angry.”
“I’m surprised they let us go last night.”
“Frankly, so am I but I wanted to tell you was Rocky said they picked up the tail on Mia Kazmaroff.”
Burton turned to look at Mia who was listening intently to his side of the conversation. “Who were they?”
“Get a load of this. They’re a couple of guys her mother hired to look out for her.”
Damn. So Jess lied to him.
“They let ‘em go?”
“They had to. They weren’t thugs, they were registered private investigators. No law against following someone you’ve been paid to follow.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. Sounds like you and Rocky have gotten close.”
“Jealous, Jack?”
“Just happy for you.”
After he’d hung up, he turned to find Mia standing close enough that he could smell the body wash she’d used that morning.
“So much for your mother’s promise to stop having you tailed.”
“It was her after all?” She put her coffee mug down firmly on the counter. “Great,” she said. “So you can go now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You. Can. Go. I don’t need you here.”
“In case I need to remind you the tail wasn’t the only threat.”
She waved her hands to take in the condo. “You’ve changed the locks on all my doors and I’m picking up a handgun this afternoon.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m sick of being babysat by someone who doesn’t respect me,” she said heatedly.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Well, you can’t stay if I don’t want you here. And I don’t care what kind of guilt trip you’re indulging in you’re no help to me at all. Frankly, you’ve been an obstacle.”
“Really? Was I an obstacle two days ago when I saved your ass from being arrested?”
“I cannot believe you are trying to get credit for that!”
He held up his hands in frustration. “Can we cool down? Go to our separate corners?”
“Great idea, Jack. As long as our ‘separate corners’ are not in the same condominium!” She turned and stomped back to the guest room, slamming the door behind her.
The silver-framed photograph of the two of them had always been his favorite. Sure, it was a wedding photo so of course they both looked great. Well, Carol always looked great. Her smile, her effortless presentation to the world, the sexuality slithering off her…
Bill Maxwell sat in the kitchen of his Virginia Highland ranch. His daughter, Mindy, and her husband Tad had descended on him for most of the afternoon, bringing a trainload of casseroles and cakes, flowers and cards.
He knew Mindy couldn’t do much more than that. She’d hated her stepmother; felt Carol was directly responsible for his divorce from her mother. Hell, she was probably right. Maxwell hadn’t hated being married to Cindy. In fact, until he’d laid eyes on Carol, he hadn’t really given his marriage much thought.
I’m sorry, Carol, he thought as he traced the form of her image in the photo. Her hair was up off her shoulders. Her gown was white and strapless. He knew he’d been the envy of every man there that day.
What a fool he’d been.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Things had gotten carried away. He’d gone too far.
He put the photo down and realized his hand was shaking.
“You didn’t deserve this, babe,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
He felt the tears stinging his eyes and suddenly his daughter was in the kitchen with him.
“Dad? Did you say something? Can I get you something?”
He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, I’m good,” he said gruffly. “You go on now, Mindy. Who’s taking care of the kids?”
“Don’t worry about it, Dad, they’re being watched. I’m here for you. Can I make you a plate?”
He stood up, refusing to look at her.
I am so ashamed…
“No, I want you to go on home. I want to be alone.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dad.”
“Tad?” he pushed past Mindy to call into the living room.
“Dad, don’t,” she said with a sigh. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“Yes sir?” Tad poked his head in the room, his eyes going first to his wife. Yes, it was clear who ran things in that marriage.
“I need you and Mindy to go on now. I’m fine here.”
“I told him, no…” Mindy started, but Maxwell could see Tad was more than ready to leave.
“Come on, Mindy,” Tad said, holding an arm out to his wife. “Your dad needs some time to himself.”
“That’s right,” Maxwell said, wondering if they would, please God, just get the hell out before he broke down completely, because then he’d never get rid of them.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Mindy said and when he looked at her, he saw how much she loved him and that made it all so, so much worse.
After he watched their taillights disappear into the night he went back to the kitchen table. There were few memories of Carol in this house. She’d hated it and preferred to spend most of her time in their midtown condo—until she’d taken the little two-bedroom in Morningside. The one he didn’t have a key to. The one where her body was found.
He picked up his cellphone as he’d been craving to do since before the first casserole and well-wisher had shown up today. Like an alcoholic anticipating that first drink, his hands shook as he jabbed in the number, praying she’d be home, praying she’d accept his call.
“Hello?”
Hearing her voice was the trigger. And later he’d remember that that was what sent the whole crumbling structure plummeting into the abyss. Just a voice, just a single word. The sob erupted from his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut and somehow got the words out.
“Please. I need you.”