Angel Food and Devil Dogs (37 page)

When I got back to the loft, I managed to turn off the alarm before it even started its warning beep. I let myself in quietly. The door to the bedroom was ajar. I pushed it gently. Kathryn had fallen asleep while reading in bed, her book lay open on her lap. How nice it was to come home to her. Low dancing flames were alive in the fireplace grate. Kathryn's fascinating face was relaxed, rapid eye movements under her lids hinted at her dreams.

I went back into the big room, got my laptop and a drawing pad, brought them back to the bedroom and sat in an easy chair. Propping my feet on the edge of the bed, I quietly entered some case notes about Rowlina's attack. I scrolled through the other notes thinking about all the facts I had, then closed the computer and put it aside.

I opened the drawing pad and made a small overhead sketch of the Language Arts Building entrance. I added all the walkways that would ultimately lead to the place where I'd figured the attacker had been. I stared at the sketch and tried to image someone walking there, sitting on the window ledge, taking out a gun... No lightning flashes of insight hit me, just a deep nagging memory that wouldn't surface.

I gazed at Kathryn. Flipping to a new page, I began a quick sketch of her. Just a gesture. The position of her head was particularly interesting. I did another fast sketch from a slightly different angle. I turned the page again and began a drawing with more detail, beginning with her hairline, her closed eyes, her nose, the shadows cast by her hair. I was just beginning to shade the contours of her mouth, when her eyes blinked open.

Without shifting her body her eyes swept the room, to the door, to the clock, to the fireplace. When she caught sight of me at the far corner of the bed in the shadows, her face broke into a radiant smile.

"There you are, I was just dreaming about you. How long have you been here? Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were so lovely sleeping, I just wanted to look at you."

She lifted welcoming arms toward me. I crawled across the bed, into her embrace.

"Take off your clothes and finish what you were doing before you left," she demanded softly.

I did as I was told. Absence had certainly made the heart grow fonder; making her wait had also stoked her ardor. She watched me undress with fire in her eyes, then pressed me onto my back and slid on top of me, shrugging out of her robe in one fluid movement.

"I understand there are times you may have to leave me in the night, but I don't like to be kept waiting, Maggie. I want you, now," she whispered.

I pushed up gently and rolled on top of her, "Professor Anthony, I've learned how dangerous it is to keep you waiting." I trailed lingering kisses down her body, "Now, I'm going to teach you that patience has it rewards. Are you paying attention?"

"Yes, yes," she moaned as I began a lesson that went on for quite a while and ended very successfully.

Kathryn took a slow deep breath and said languidly, "That was worth waiting for.

"Don't you have something you'd like to teach me?" I asked feeling the need for her keenly. She answered me with a searing look that made me ache. She took me slowly but with an intensity that made my head swim. When I was finally able to catch my breath I managed to murmur, "You certainly deserved that full professorship."

After those delightful tasks had been tended to, we lay together comfortably in each other's arms. Kathryn asked me what had happened at the hospital. I told her all the details.

"So the INS has caught up with Rowlina," said Kathryn thoughtfully.

"Seems like it."

"What does she think I could do about it?"

"Talk to the Governor?"

"That would be a stretch. INS cases are a federal issue, not state... but I don't see what that has to do with this whole thing. Why would someone shoot her?"

"I don't get it either... what would happen if she died... would Holtzmann still retain citizenship?" I wondered.

"Probably, but think of the investigation that would come up... and it was such a clumsy attempt."

Yes... Kathryn was right, it was a clumsy attempt at Rowlina's life. Far more like what happened at Skylar's, than a professional hit.

Moments later Kathryn said, "We didn't really finish our conversation before. I should have asked, is there anything I should know about you?"

I thought for a while, "I have nightmares sometimes. They can be very vivid."

"Are they recurrent? Do you... are they frightening?"

"When I was a child I dreamed about my mother dying, or sometimes I dreamed about things suddenly disappearing, like my teddy bear, or my room, or our cat. I guess those were really about my mother too. Juana, my stepmother, always told me my dreams were very creative. Each dream is always different. I don't have them as much as I used to. Now they tend to be about problems I'm trying to work out. The scary thing is that the ones I have now, sometimes they're... portentous or prophetic. I don't scream or anything like that. They wake me up, though."

Kathryn reached for my hand and held it. "Prophetic? Really?"

"Sounds arrogant, doesn't it."

"No, just... well... interesting, and I can see why you'd feel that was scary." She brought my hand to her lips, kissing my fingertips lightly, "You won't be alone if you have a bad dream. Not tonight anyway."

I hugged her to me, "You have to get up in about four hours, you should go to sleep," I yawned.

I turned out the light and we both drifted off. It seemed as if the alarm went off two minutes later, but it was really 5:00 AM. Kathryn slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. I fell asleep again, vaguely aware of the sound of the shower. Soon she was kissing me goodbye, and telling me she'd see me later. The scent of her drifted into my senses through my sleep soggy brain.

"Maggie, please be careful," she said gently.

"I will," I murmured more than half asleep, "I love you."

She leaned in very close and whispered something in my ear and then she was gone.

Moments later my eyes opened with a start. Had I really said,
I love you?
Or had that been part of a dream? And had I dreamed her reply? What was her reply? I thought carefully and remembered her warm breath in my ear saying something that felt good, but I couldn't remember exactly what it was. Hm. I burrowed back down under the warm covers, pulling her pillow to me. Hmmm. I smiled as I drifted off again.

I woke at 7:45 AM. I figured I'd skipped real workouts for too many days. Making love with Kathryn could be energetic, which might take care of aerobics, but I needed more weight bearing efforts to stay in shape to fight bad guys. I went upstairs and worked out for an hour, then came down and took a shower. I dressed in dark gray pants, a gray turtleneck and a black blazer. It was a funeral after all, and I needed the blazer to hide my holster.

I got to the Music building just before 10:00 AM. The door was locked, but one of the Bouchet's passkeys fit it. I let myself in, locking the door behind me. I took the stairs. My steps echoed as I made my way to the recording studio floor where Jimmy Harmon had said he'd meet me.

"Jimmy?" I called out when I opened the door to the big room. Nobody there. It was dark. Empty as a tomb I thought and then shivered at the allusion.

The padlock was still in place on Carl's office door. Inside, I decided to snag Carl's high sensitivity microphone and try to use it with his laptop at home. I unplugged it and put it in my shoulder bag. I sat at Carl's desk for about 10 minutes, straining to pick up a vibe. I tried to imagine what happened the day he got on the elevator and went up to the balcony. The students had heard a phone ring. So suppose somebody called him and told him to come up to the sixth floor.

I closed my eyes. "Ringggg," I whispered. I groped for the phone, picked it up and held it to my ear. "Carl Rasmus," I said.

What would the voice on the other end say?
...
Maybe:
"Carl this is so and so, listen, I have something to show you"
...no they wouldn't say
show you
... How about:
Carl, I have something to talk to you about, alone. Come to the sixth floor... I'll be waiting at the door?
Well sure, that would work if it were someone he knew.

So I got up, still with my eyes closed and began to move toward the door. But Carl would do this much more easily than I could, so I opened my eyes.

I jumped, gasping. There stood Jimmy Harmon in the doorway. I may be a big tough private eye, but I'd be fibbing to say the look on his face wasn't frightening. He looked downright maniacal. I instinctively stepped back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded in a loud rasping voice.

"Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?" I said with equal force.

"Just get to the point OK, what do you want me to say?"

"Jimmy, you're kind of starting in the middle of the conversation. Let's ease up."

He was so red in the face it looked like he had either been running a mile, was pissed as hell or about to cry. His face could have adequately expressed all three. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and walked out. I called his name but he didn't answer.

I quickly locked up Carl's office and followed Jimmy, but by the time I got to the stairs, he was nowhere in sight. The building seemed eerily quiet. Where had he gone? Maybe up? And then, as if to confirm my suspicion, I heard a noise in the stairwell above.

I went up. I could see a light coming from the window in the sixth-floor-landing door. I opened it as carefully as possible and distinctly heard another door, somewhere on that level, click shut. I reached under my jacket into my shoulder holster and drew out my gun. Flattening myself against the wall in a shadowy corner, I moved slowly along the corridor, my parka making a swishing noise against the wall. "Jimmy," I called quietly.

There were doors to various music rooms to my right. Some had choir risers; others were smaller rooms with upright pianos or groups of music stands.

I passed the glass doors to the balcony where Carl had fallen. The curtains were drawn, but clearly one of the doors was open. A cold wind was luffing the door curtain like a sail turned into the wind. No question about it, someone had just opened this door. The wet, foggy, outside air hadn't made the hallway cold enough for it to have been open very long. I didn't want to lean out there to see if someone was hiding around the balcony corner. I waited, listening.

Several minutes went by. I figured either I was alone, or the crazed maniac who wanted to kill me simply had more patience than I did. If it turned out to be the latter, it would mean I had less patience than a crazed maniac. Not exactly something to include on a resume.

The empty hallway had many windows but all were curtained, making the area dim. Across the hall from the balcony door, double doors to a small dark practice room were open. In it I could make out an upright piano, two metal folding chairs and two black metal music stands.

The stillness was getting to me. Time for action. I pushed the balcony door open as quietly and as slowly as I could. I drew the curtain back and looked out. I couldn't see anyone, but there could still be someone hiding to the side of the door. Shit, I hate this kind of stuff. I got down lower and duck-walked onto the balcony. The wind was briskly blowing icy December cold through my clothes. There was nobody out there.

Suddenly, I heard a sound like a huge bowling ball rolling down an alley. It was a runaway piano headed right toward me at full speed, whatever full speed for a piano was, aiming to crush me or push me over the edge of the balcony.

I leapt up on top of it without thinking twice and grabbed hold of the door lintel. The piano slid smoothly under me, crashing into the balcony's cement railing, dislodging a huge chunk that went tumbling down the side of the building. It made an echoing clunk noise on the sidewalk below. The piano dangled one wheel over the edge, but the opening in the railing wasn't big enough to let it fall.

I dropped to the floor, rolling to the far wall of the hall. I could distinctly hear someone running. Jumping up, I ran to the stairway at the other end of the building. I could hear footsteps far below. I threw open the door and followed, staying as close to the wall as possible, keeping myself from being an easy target. If this was the killer, why had he used a piano rather than the gun... maybe he was out of bullets?

When I got to the ground floor, I had to give up. Whoever had just tried to flatten me was gone. There were too many paths leading in too many directions to figure out which way.

It was 10:45 AM. Cars were lining the streets, parking for Carl's memorial service. I made my way to the Chapel along with dozens of people. Students were everywhere. Some had stayed on campus for the funeral, others had come back just for the day. All of them looked sad missing Carl and feeling the terrible, incomprehensible loss and despair that suicide makes people, especially young people, feel. I wondered how their feelings might change when they learned this was a case of murder not suicide.

Worming my way through the crowds and into a side door, I found stairs to a choir balcony overlooking the sanctuary. The crowd coming in was growing. People were desperately looking around for friends or acquaintances to sit with. Nobody wants to sit by themselves at a funeral. I climbed to the choir loft.

In my bag was my small pair of high-powered binoculars. My father and stepmother had given them to me when I went to Europe in my junior year of college. I still carry them with me everywhere. They've come in handy more times than I can count. The choir loft was a perfect vantage point to see everything at once without anyone seeing me. I stepped into a dark corner and studied the room.

Max Bouchet came in with his lovely wife Shanna. He walked down the aisle with her, encouraged her to sit in a pew near the front, then went back to the entrance to greet people. Miranda Juarez was already in place there, to help Bouchet remember names. I could see Bouchet reaching in his pocket for his cell phone. My phone vibrated in my pocket; it was Bouchet calling me.