happened. She was just standing on those blocks in the trees.”
“Trees? What trees?”
“That's how they found her. The rope on one of the blocks caught in the tops of some trees about fifteen feet down. Fisherman snagged her hair. If she had gone to the bottom, it would have been maybe seventy or eighty feet. Probably never been found.”
“Can you show me what position she was in? Could you tell what she was wearing?”
Standing, the diver said, “Kind of like this, with her arms stretched out, kind of floating, and her eyes were open.” He raised his arms, palms down, exactly as Kate had done. “Dark clothes, so she was harder to see.”
John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Anything else?”
“Shit, man, you should have seen those eyes. Funny they were still there.” He turned green and sank to his knees.
John jumped back a step, only to bump into Detective Waite. She glared at him, making a slicing motion across her throat, and dropped to one knee beside the shivering diver.
Knowing he had pushed Waite far enough for now, John left. He still had one source—if you could call Kate a source—that no one else did. Did he believe her story? He wasn't sure. But she had been certain last night that Kelly was in a lake. And her description of the scene matched the diver’s account too accurately to be dismissed. Even the part about the trees.
Chapter 5
When he reached the outskirts of Greenville , he stopped at a pay phone, found Kate's studio number in his notebook, and punched it in. After several rings, an answering machine picked up. He didn’t bother to leave a message—he didn’t think he would merit a call back in her books. Consulting the notebook again, he entered a second number. Venice answered on the second ring.
“Yes, this is Madame Venice. How may I help you?” Her voice dripped with mystery.
“This is John Gerrard. I need to see Kate right away. Do you know where I can find her?”
“John, how wonderful to hear from you again. She's usually in the studio by now. I can give you the number, but perhaps you would rather see her in person.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Is it something about our case?”
“This is not our case. It's just that the police found something, and I'd like to ask Kate a few more questions for my story. But I already called her studio.”
“If she's busy, she doesn't answer. We can just go on over.”
“I'm in kind of a hurry. I had better go straight there.”
“That's fine. Her studio is at the Principal Players Theater. I'll meet you at the back entrance in a little while.”
There was a click and he heard the dial tone. He sighed and hung up. “Great—both of them.”
Ten minutes later John parked his ancient green Mustang behind the theater next to a shiny black RX-7 convertible. He wondered if it could be Kate's. It looked like something she’d drive. The old station wagon probably belonged to the janitor—he couldn’t picture Kate or Venice in it. He should check Kate out more thoroughly, considering the accuracy of what she had said. Somehow, she knew something.
He saw no sign of another car, but as he stepped from the Mustang, Venice swept out of the theater door to meet him.
“She has a client, but we can wait in her sitting area until she finishes.” Venice led him through the door to the rickety elevator in the back of the building.
John looked skeptically up the shaft. “We have to ride on this? Maybe I'll just take the stairs.”
“If you prefer. Kate's studio is on the fourth floor.” Venice pushed a button and the wooden gate opened.
“The fourth floor?” He shrugged and followed Venice inside, stepping onto the dusty plank floor. “This thing looks like an accident hoping for an opportunity.”
After a noisy, creaking ascent, they reached the fourth floor and crossed the hall to the studio. As they entered, John glimpsed Kate moving around behind a screen, adjusting
“Trees? What trees?”
“That's how they found her. The rope on one of the blocks caught in the tops of some trees about fifteen feet down. Fisherman snagged her hair. If she had gone to the bottom, it would have been maybe seventy or eighty feet. Probably never been found.”
“Can you show me what position she was in? Could you tell what she was wearing?”
Standing, the diver said, “Kind of like this, with her arms stretched out, kind of floating, and her eyes were open.” He raised his arms, palms down, exactly as Kate had done. “Dark clothes, so she was harder to see.”
John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Anything else?”
“Shit, man, you should have seen those eyes. Funny they were still there.” He turned green and sank to his knees.
John jumped back a step, only to bump into Detective Waite. She glared at him, making a slicing motion across her throat, and dropped to one knee beside the shivering diver.
Knowing he had pushed Waite far enough for now, John left. He still had one source—if you could call Kate a source—that no one else did. Did he believe her story? He wasn't sure. But she had been certain last night that Kelly was in a lake. And her description of the scene matched the diver’s account too accurately to be dismissed. Even the part about the trees.
Chapter 5
When he reached the outskirts of Greenville , he stopped at a pay phone, found Kate's studio number in his notebook, and punched it in. After several rings, an answering machine picked up. He didn’t bother to leave a message—he didn’t think he would merit a call back in her books. Consulting the notebook again, he entered a second number. Venice answered on the second ring.
“Yes, this is Madame Venice. How may I help you?” Her voice dripped with mystery.
“This is John Gerrard. I need to see Kate right away. Do you know where I can find her?”
“John, how wonderful to hear from you again. She's usually in the studio by now. I can give you the number, but perhaps you would rather see her in person.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Is it something about our case?”
“This is not our case. It's just that the police found something, and I'd like to ask Kate a few more questions for my story. But I already called her studio.”
“If she's busy, she doesn't answer. We can just go on over.”
“I'm in kind of a hurry. I had better go straight there.”
“That's fine. Her studio is at the Principal Players Theater. I'll meet you at the back entrance in a little while.”
There was a click and he heard the dial tone. He sighed and hung up. “Great—both of them.”
Ten minutes later John parked his ancient green Mustang behind the theater next to a shiny black RX-7 convertible. He wondered if it could be Kate's. It looked like something she’d drive. The old station wagon probably belonged to the janitor—he couldn’t picture Kate or Venice in it. He should check Kate out more thoroughly, considering the accuracy of what she had said. Somehow, she knew something.
He saw no sign of another car, but as he stepped from the Mustang, Venice swept out of the theater door to meet him.
“She has a client, but we can wait in her sitting area until she finishes.” Venice led him through the door to the rickety elevator in the back of the building.
John looked skeptically up the shaft. “We have to ride on this? Maybe I'll just take the stairs.”
“If you prefer. Kate's studio is on the fourth floor.” Venice pushed a button and the wooden gate opened.
“The fourth floor?” He shrugged and followed Venice inside, stepping onto the dusty plank floor. “This thing looks like an accident hoping for an opportunity.”
After a noisy, creaking ascent, they reached the fourth floor and crossed the hall to the studio. As they entered, John glimpsed Kate moving around behind a screen, adjusting
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