Barely college age, probably less. Very Goth. What is it now, retro punk? She looked dead as the man on the floor.”
“How did Hayes take that?”
“It got better. She recognized Hayes, asked if he hadn’t been at her house two days ago, questioning Engram, the victim. Something about ripping off a Whitehead Street crack dealer.”
“Hayes acknowledge?”
“She said, ‘You told Richie, if I balled you, you’d forgetabout shit bein’ stolen.’ So Hayes said, ‘For whose benefit is that, ma’am? The people standing here know I don’t work that way.’ He blew off the accusation.”
“Did he ask her how she knew the victim’s name?”
Teresa stopped what she was doing, stared at the wall, then shook her head. “No. And one other thing. Someone back inside, one of the coroner’s people, mentioned this murder was a lot like that one a couple of years ago, over on William or Elizabeth. A guy tied up, a dildo on the carpet. Hayes acted funny after the guy said it.”
“That one ever get solved?”
She shook her head. “Drove Liska nuts before he handed down his files.”
“Anyone from the
Citizen
show up, to cover for Marnie?”
“That twerp that looks like Jimmy Olsen with a ring in his eyebrow. He had a pocket digital camera. He actually tried to photograph the body. Hayes almost slapped his head off.”
“They teach those newshounds to be aggressive.” I took a beer from the refrigerator, then said, “Marnie knew the victim on Caroline. She said she’d dated him a few years ago. I got the impression he’d worked with her brother for quite a while.”
“She and Sam, what, less than a year?”
“Almost exactly a year.”
“It’s rough to lose friends,” said Teresa. She gave my arm a squeeze, just as Marnie had done when she’d said she’d known Engram “real well.”
A vehicle rolled slowly into the lane. After twenty years I knew my night sounds. This was small, a four-cylinder engine. It stopped not far away, but not precisely in front of my cottage. I leaned back in my chair, caught an angle through the porch screen. Single headlights, close together. I mentally pictured the black cockroach, Bug Thorsby’s low-slung pickup. It had been a Chevy S-10, powered by, as far as I knew, a four-cylinder engine. I’d been targeted,for no known reason. I still could be a target If so, Bug had switched off his reverberating stereo.
I whispered,
“Teresa.”
She turned her head to face me.
“Switch off the stove. Take your purse to the bedroom. You hear any shit, call nine-one-one. Say ‘Home invasion. Help me,’ and hang up. Then call Carmen, ‘Memory number two.’ You got your pistol?”
Teresa moved quickly. She paused at the bedroom door, then nodded.
“To defend yourself,
only.
Got it?”
She stared. No answer. She closed the bedroom door.
I went to the screen door. No headlights. No sounds. Nothing in the lane. No noise from Fleming Street Not even the rhythmic tick of a cooling engine. I stepped back when I heard soft crunches approach. The closest thing I could use as a weapon was a four-foot length of driftwood. Probably split if I swung it too hard. I could hear my damned heart. I could feel the pulse in my forehead. I looked down. When had I untied my sneaker laces? So battle-ready. How many pairs of footsteps?
Did it matter, with them in darkness, me on the porch?
Then, as if out of fog, Marnie Dunwoody appeared in the faint glow of light from behind me. I felt adrenaline drain from my system. I drooped with relief. I hadn’t even considered that it might be Mamie’s Jeep. Her normal pace in the lane was full-tilt and full-halt Her time, driver’s seat to my screen door, averaged twelve seconds. She’d be knocking on the screen before her car door slammed shut. She was out of character.
Marnie peered through the screen, She jerked back, startled. We were eye-to-eye. She looked catatonic. Her eyes had no depth. “Sam went to bed.” Her voice was hoarse.
“How did Hayes take that?”
“It got better. She recognized Hayes, asked if he hadn’t been at her house two days ago, questioning Engram, the victim. Something about ripping off a Whitehead Street crack dealer.”
“Hayes acknowledge?”
“She said, ‘You told Richie, if I balled you, you’d forgetabout shit bein’ stolen.’ So Hayes said, ‘For whose benefit is that, ma’am? The people standing here know I don’t work that way.’ He blew off the accusation.”
“Did he ask her how she knew the victim’s name?”
Teresa stopped what she was doing, stared at the wall, then shook her head. “No. And one other thing. Someone back inside, one of the coroner’s people, mentioned this murder was a lot like that one a couple of years ago, over on William or Elizabeth. A guy tied up, a dildo on the carpet. Hayes acted funny after the guy said it.”
“That one ever get solved?”
She shook her head. “Drove Liska nuts before he handed down his files.”
“Anyone from the
Citizen
show up, to cover for Marnie?”
“That twerp that looks like Jimmy Olsen with a ring in his eyebrow. He had a pocket digital camera. He actually tried to photograph the body. Hayes almost slapped his head off.”
“They teach those newshounds to be aggressive.” I took a beer from the refrigerator, then said, “Marnie knew the victim on Caroline. She said she’d dated him a few years ago. I got the impression he’d worked with her brother for quite a while.”
“She and Sam, what, less than a year?”
“Almost exactly a year.”
“It’s rough to lose friends,” said Teresa. She gave my arm a squeeze, just as Marnie had done when she’d said she’d known Engram “real well.”
A vehicle rolled slowly into the lane. After twenty years I knew my night sounds. This was small, a four-cylinder engine. It stopped not far away, but not precisely in front of my cottage. I leaned back in my chair, caught an angle through the porch screen. Single headlights, close together. I mentally pictured the black cockroach, Bug Thorsby’s low-slung pickup. It had been a Chevy S-10, powered by, as far as I knew, a four-cylinder engine. I’d been targeted,for no known reason. I still could be a target If so, Bug had switched off his reverberating stereo.
I whispered,
“Teresa.”
She turned her head to face me.
“Switch off the stove. Take your purse to the bedroom. You hear any shit, call nine-one-one. Say ‘Home invasion. Help me,’ and hang up. Then call Carmen, ‘Memory number two.’ You got your pistol?”
Teresa moved quickly. She paused at the bedroom door, then nodded.
“To defend yourself,
only.
Got it?”
She stared. No answer. She closed the bedroom door.
I went to the screen door. No headlights. No sounds. Nothing in the lane. No noise from Fleming Street Not even the rhythmic tick of a cooling engine. I stepped back when I heard soft crunches approach. The closest thing I could use as a weapon was a four-foot length of driftwood. Probably split if I swung it too hard. I could hear my damned heart. I could feel the pulse in my forehead. I looked down. When had I untied my sneaker laces? So battle-ready. How many pairs of footsteps?
Did it matter, with them in darkness, me on the porch?
Then, as if out of fog, Marnie Dunwoody appeared in the faint glow of light from behind me. I felt adrenaline drain from my system. I drooped with relief. I hadn’t even considered that it might be Mamie’s Jeep. Her normal pace in the lane was full-tilt and full-halt Her time, driver’s seat to my screen door, averaged twelve seconds. She’d be knocking on the screen before her car door slammed shut. She was out of character.
Marnie peered through the screen, She jerked back, startled. We were eye-to-eye. She looked catatonic. Her eyes had no depth. “Sam went to bed.” Her voice was hoarse.
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