The Man on the Washing Machine (28 page)

“I'm sure you were doing your fair share,” I said acidly.

“Right. I left Nat asleep in the guest room. Nicole and I met downstairs and we argued and I left her down there.”

“Alive?”

His heavy face stretched into a grimace and his mouth fell open in shock as his head snapped to look at me. “God, yes, alive! Did you think—? I couldn't kill anyone, Theo. No, seriously, for God's sake!” He turned to face straight ahead again but now he was looking at me sideways as if to gauge the effect his tale was having. “When I got back, I checked in on Nat and he was gone. I had no idea where he was. I looked out into the garden and saw someone lying on the ground. My only thought was Nat—that somehow he'd had another episode and fainted. I ran out there and it was Nicole.” His voice broke. “God, it was terrible. I was frantic, Theo. I got it into my head that Nat had seen us together and killed her.”

I started to say something, but he raised a hand. “I know. But late at night, with the threat of losing everything hanging over me, and Nat not being at the house—you didn't see the scene with Nicole, Theo.” His voice faltered. “He was irrationally jealous—I thought maybe he'd seen us together in the garden and—he knows that in the past, I've—” He hesitated. “Nat knows I've had a couple of—with women—”

“Right,” I drawled. “So Nat thought he had reason.”

“He didn't, Theo. I swear. There's been nothing like that since Nat and I have been together.”

“Not me you need to convince.”

“No. Shit, I panicked. I had to hide her until I could find Nat. I thought if she wasn't found right away it could confuse the time of death. It would have taken me too long to dig a hole, but we were right next to the compost pile, and—well, you know the rest. The professor must have seen me arguing with the new guy—whoeverthefuck, Turlough?—when he found me out there clearing up. I was nearly insane. I had no idea who the guy was, for all I knew he was the killer. I took the offensive, figuring whoever he was he'd want to avoid a scene. He left me to it.”

“What about the machete?” I asked. “Where was that?”

“It was lying next to her, and I put it under the wire screen in the fish pond—I figured to get it out of sight so no one would know anything was wrong. All I knew at that point was that Nat was missing during the time Nicole had been killed, and I wanted to protect him.”

“And yourself,” I said with distaste.

“I swear, Theo, that wasn't it.” But I thought it probably was. “I was a goddam mess by the time I got back home, covered in dirt and blood. And Nat still wasn't back. I cut my clothes up in small pieces and put them in gallon-size plastic bags in the freezer downstairs. Then I took a shower and waited for Nat to get back. And he said he'd been with you and he told me about the guy who broke into your flat, and I was so relieved, Theo.” He put his head in his hands. “I was sure it must be the guy who killed Nicole. But I didn't want to tell anyone I'd buried her—and I sure as hell didn't want to be there when they discovered her at the Open Garden, so I stayed away and made sure Nat stayed away, too.”

His callousness was appalling, and I don't know why I believed him when he said he hadn't killed Nicole, but I did.

He looked at me carefully and said in a changed tone: “What do you want me to do, Theo? I've watched
CSI
; I know they'll find plenty of blood evidence and compost scraps or whatever if they know where to look. Are you going to tell them?”

“Are your clothes still in the freezer?”

It didn't surprise me that he'd shown presence of mind about that, too. “I took the bags and distributed them among the trash cans downtown on trash night,” he said. “They're long gone.”

Hardly able to process all he'd told me, and feeling I never wanted to look at him again, I still found myself thinking that no serious harm had been done; Nicole was already dead when he buried her. My thoughts slid to a stop when I realized what I was considering. I didn't give a rat's ass if Derek got caught up in all of this mess he'd created. But Nat was in love with Derek and I owed Nat my life; I'd often told myself I would do anything for him. Now I knew what that meant.

“I won't tell Lichlyter what you've told me about burying Nicole. You're on your own with the rhino horn though,” I said. “Did you hit me and steal the crates from the garage?”

He looked shamefaced. “Yeah. I'm sorry, Theo. First you and then Haruto showing up—”

“You didn't move those crates by yourself.”

“I'm not getting anyone else involved.”

I had a good idea who it must have been. It was a very painful realization.

I left him sitting on the roof, legs still dangling over the edge, staring at nothing.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I needed time to absorb Derek's confession and figure out what it meant. I also wanted to hear Ben if he came back to the studio so I could call Lichlyter. I went downstairs to Aromas.

Darkness had fallen by the time I looked up and realized I needed to put on some lights. A light tap on the street-side door made me jump. I looked over and saw Kurt beckoning me through the glass door. I was very aware suddenly of being alone in the store.

“What do you want?” I said stiffly through the glass. I wanted to talk to him, but in daylight. With witnesses.

“Can I come in for a few minutes?” His earlier anger was gone and he was shivering in shirtsleeves, and for some stupid reason I took pity on him and unlocked the door. In a different mood, I might have enjoyed the sight of Kurt pared down to the inner man. His disheveled blond hair and the patches of pink high on his cheeks made him look like a discarded doll.

“I don't have much time,” I said when, in truth, I had nothing but time.

“I don't expect much,” he said humbly.

I hesitated. “Come in,” I said, and opened the door wide enough to admit him.

“I guess I haven't been here in a while,” he said as he looked around, trying to make it seem casual. He was keeping his taped-up hand in his pocket. “Still wanted to check that you're doing okay. You've had a lot to deal with.”

“Tell me something,” I said as I casually walked over to stand behind the counter. Still watching him carefully, I ran my fingers over the assorted detritus down there.

“What?” he said cautiously.

“Someone tried to kill me last night and I injured their right hand. Tell me how you hurt yours.” While I was speaking, I pulled a pistol-shaped soap out of its box under the counter and aimed it at him. It looked amazingly real. In the half-light it almost fooled me.

He goggled. “Theo, what the hell!”

“Keep your hands where I can see them. I don't have to kill you, I can shoot you in your other hand. You'll probably never operate again—” I narrowed my eyes and tried to look threatening and it must have worked because his pink cheeks turned faintly green.

“For God's sake! What do you want to know?” he said wildly.

“How did you hurt your hand?”

He ground his teeth. “Sabina slammed it in a car door.”

I blinked in surprise and couldn't stop a grin from coming. “Go on.”

“It's not so goddam funny. It broke two of my fingers and my hands are—”

“Important, I know. Not too many one-handed surgeons around. Why the fight?”

He scowled. “That's all we do, all the time,” he said petulantly.

I suddenly remembered Sabina's visit to the medical building at 450 Sutter for collagen injections. Insight came in a flash. I almost groaned aloud, it was so clear. “Sabina's pregnant.”

He made an involuntary move toward me and I raised the soap pistol a couple of inches even as I stepped back in alarm.

“Damn that interfering old sonofabitch! I knew he wouldn't keep quiet!” He slammed his fist into the palm of his injured hand. It must have hurt like hell, but he didn't even pause for breath. “Did he tell you it's not my baby?” he said in a fury.

“What? Who?” I said, mystified.

“Old man D'Allessio. He saw us fighting. Sabina was screaming at the top of her lungs; I knew he'd overheard everything. I told him to keep his mouth shut. I'm glad someone knifed him. The miserable old bastard.”

“Nobody told me anything,” I said roughly. But she'd given up hot whirlpools at the club, and she wasn't drinking alcohol or coffee. Her jeans weren't just fashionably tight; she was putting on weight. Nat believed the lie about those lip-enhancing collagen injections because he met her outside 450 Sutter. But in that expensive medical building, plastic surgeons practice side by side with other kinds of doctors. “It was a guess,” I said more gently.

He looked at me, baffled and still furious as I used the barrel of the gun soap to count out the points on my fingertips. “So, let me see if I've got this right. Sabina started a baby. The father either ducked out, or she turned him down—maybe that fellow in the black limousine she was seeing until last month. You've been waiting for your chance with her but when the two of you started to get serious, she told you about the baby. I'd bet money you were clueless enough to suggest an abortion—no wonder she's been so pissed at you. She's Catholic, you idiot.”

“I didn't know that!”

“You didn't want to get involved with the mother of some other man's baby because of what people would say about you…” I took a deep breath. What an oaf.

He made a quick movement in my direction and I raised the gun soap again. He stood still. He was breathing hard and the boyish charm was hidden underneath his rage. His eyes, the winter-cloud eyes, were like splinters of ice.

“Did you stab him to keep him quiet?” I asked calmly.

“What? What're you talking about?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Professor D'Allessio. He knew about the baby—you'd be a laughingstock if everyone knew about it.”

He passed shaking fingers over his upper lip. “Don't be ridiculous. All I had to do was break things off with Sabina.” He flushed. “I told her everyone would know! I told her I won't have anything to do with someone else's baby.” He seemed suddenly to recollect himself and fell silent, breathing hard.

“I won't tell anyone,” I said. He looked disbelieving and I shrugged. “You can't help being a jerk.”

I caressed the neck of a gallon jug of shampoo and tamped down an almost physical need to hit him with it. Instead, I walked over to open the door, still struggling to be civilized.

“Sabina might still be prepared to take you back; I wouldn't push her too hard though,” I said through my teeth. If Sabina had any sense she'd run a mile.

His face suddenly tightened. “I could have you arrested for—for threatening behavior! Sabina said you didn't have the gun anymore!” he said, darting a furious look at the gun soap.

I paused. “How did Sabina know that?”

“She said she took it from your place; God knows why. She says she gave it to someone. Haruto or Nat or someone.”

“Which one of them?” I said, and held my breath.

“I don't know. Obviously, she was lying,” he sneered. “Your inspector friend will be interested. There's no way you have a license for that thing. You always said you were afraid of guns.”

I held it up and snapped the barrel off. Little chips of soap fell on the floor. “I won't tell if you don't,” I said. And then, because I couldn't help it, I chuckled at the expression on his face.

He hesitated, clenched his unwrapped hand into a fist at his side, and stalked out. I watched him go. Jackass. But unfortunately I believed him. And I could always check with Sabina about the car door. I bit my lip to stop another smile coming. That had to hurt.

I looked around the store and sighed heavily, amusement gone. All hell was quietly breaking out all around me. Did everyone I knew have secrets? And I'd thought it was just me.

I started lining up stacks of soaps and bottles of lotions on the shelves, giving myself time to think. I ran through the facts I had, but the conclusions I came to were so confusing I couldn't decide for certain what I believed. I thought Derek was telling the truth, as far as it went. So was it possible that the rhino horn wasn't involved in Nicole's death, that there was some other, more personal reason for her to be killed after all? But how did Tim Callahan's death fit into all of this? He'd been the first one killed, practically in the act of breaking into one of the crates, which brought the rhino horn back into focus again. Shit! And why was Professor D'Allessio attacked? Had he seen something dangerous to the killer?

And where the hell did Charlie O'Brien fit in?

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I climbed the stairs to my flat and kicked the door behind me savagely. Lucy greeted me, and I scratched her ears. She wandered off, duty done, and I went into the bedroom, forgetting that my mattress was riddled with bullets and my pillows trashed. I sat on the floor with my laptop and thought about friendship and betrayals and the evil consequences of good intentions.

I knew Derek had buried Nicole, and why. I'd also remembered why the gentle sound of Nat's pendant had been bothering me: I had heard it in the garage last night, before Haruto and I had been coshed and tied up. I thought suddenly about Derek and Tim Callahan and Nicole all knowing one another fifteen years ago. They were together in school—but there might be another connection.

I tapped Professor D'Allessio's name into Google and came up with hits about Renaissance drama and a lot of articles in Italian, which, when I put some phrases into the translate program, were even less helpful than the originals.

Nicole's name brought up a photo of her at an art show, which brought tears to my eyes because—well, just because.