Canary (24 page)

She picked at the ragged shoulder of her missing sleeve but didn't bother to give the obvious answer to his question. “You went through the same course I did—but you don't look any worse for wear.”

“Because I didn't go tubing, that's why—I changed my mind at the last minute.”

“What?” Clarisse exclaimed. “You mean all that time I was going head over heels down that stream you were safe on shore?”

“That's right. You know, when I saw you out in the water in that tire with that man, I thought you must be drunk. Then I decided you were just being the truly fun-loving girl you really are and didn't want to miss out on any of the action.”

Clarisse swiped at Valentine's shoulder. “The only reason I made a complete fool of myself out there was because I thought I might catch up with you.”

“By the way, what was so important that you were willing to throw yourself into one of the major streams of North America?”

“Somebody tried to kill Bander. With a necktie.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Why didn't you say something earlier?”

“I was too upset after they dragged me from the water at the end of the contest. All I could think about was how embarrassed I was and how awful I looked. Anyway, it was merely an
attempted
necktie murder.”

She detailed for Valentine her earlier walk in the forest and her discovery of Bander lying by the forked sycamore.

“If you weren't tubing, where were you, anyway?” she concluded.

“I was inside the lodge, looking for you.”

“Did you see Bander?” she asked.

“I did, as a matter of fact.”

“What did he say?” she asked eagerly.

“He didn't say anything,” Valentine said. “I didn't speak to him. He had a drink in the bar with Press. They talked for a few minutes, and then they left together. They drove away in Press's car.”

“Did Bander seem upset to you?”

“Yes, he did. And after he finished talking to Press, Press looked upset, too.”

Clarisse thought a moment. “I knew he was more upset than he acted after I'd found him. I knew he couldn't honestly think what happened was just someone's bizarre joke.”

“Well, Bander is not about to let his guard down and show either one of us that he indeed has a human side. But that's exactly what it looked like he was doing with Press.”

“Somehow I'm glad to hear that.”

“Why do you think he wasn't killed?” Valentine asked after a moment.

“Because I scared away his attacker,” Clarisse replied readily. “I'm sure all that rustling of bushes was him or her getting the hell out of there.”

“Did Bander say what he was doing out there?”

“Wandering around, like I was.”

Both were silent a long moment, thinking, and then Valentine inquired, “So, who do you think it was?”

“The question of the day.” Clarisse sighed. “Everyone we even remotely suspected was at the lodge today.” She hesitated a moment, then went on. “I wasn't going to mention this, but just before I found Bander, I kept having this creepy feeling that there was someone in the woods, watching me, I mean.”

“Maybe it was Bander.”

Clarisse shook her head. “I don't think so. You know how when you're being watched you know what direction the stare is coming from?”

“Sure.”

“Well, whoever it was was in the opposite direction from where Bander was lying.”

“That would mean there were four people in the woods— you, whoever was spying on you, Bander, and whoever attacked Bander.”

“That's right.”

“Do you think you were in danger?”

“I don't know.”

“Maybe it was also just someone else out for a walk.”

“And maybe it was someone whose initials are C.M.”

Clarisse reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out the ivory-beaded rosary with the missing crucifix. She draped it over the stem of the rearview mirror.

Valentine glanced away from the highway for a moment, reaching to run the beads over his fingers.

Clarisse told where and how she'd found it. “How many bartenders do you think carry ivory rosaries on a Labor Day weekend?”

“None, of course,” Valentine replied, and released the beads. “But Cornelius McKimmon certainly would have one of these.”

“Exactly.”

“Clarisse, do you think Father McKimmon could have attacked Bander?”

“Killer priests are not unknown in the annals of crime. If McKimmon fell off the wagon today, I wouldn't put anything past him.”

“There's one thing you haven't considered. Just because you found Bander with a necktie wrapped around his neck, you immediately decided it was the elusive necktie murderer. But, Clarisse, the necktie murderer has never left a witness behind.”

“What are you saying? That whoever did that to Bander was a copycat killer?”

“Bander has a lot of enemies, and someone clever might have just decided to get rid of him today and conveniently make it look like it was the necktie killer. All he would have to do is carry the weapon safely folded and tucked into a back pocket and no one would be the wiser.”

Clarisse stared out the windshield. The sky in front of them was a deep blue. The lighter, dimming sky behind was reflected in the side-view mirror. “I don't know,” she said, sliding down in the seat and leaning her head back. “I'm confused, tired, sunburned, and I feel a horrible headache coming on.”

Valentine switched on the radio to a station playing jazz. Soon, lulled by the music, Clarisse fell asleep. She did not wake until the car eased to a stop in front of Slate on Warren Avenue. Valentine shook her shoulder gently to wake her.

Clarisse stretched. “What time is it?” she yawned.

“A little after ten.”

“Just ten? Your foot must have gotten suddenly heavy on the accelerator as soon as I nodded off. While I was asleep— did you figure out who did it?”

“No,” Valentine said, “but I'm not through figuring. You go on up. I think I want to go for a ride and think through a few things.”

“You just rode for two and a half hours.”

“Around the city, I mean. The car's not due in till the morning. I want to take advantage of it.”

“Fine,” Clarisse said. She reached into the backseat and snagged her belongings. “I'm going to go up to my apartment and lie in a cool bath with a whole box of baking soda sprinkled over me, and then it's straight to bed.”

“Summer's over,” Valentine said quietly. “As of tonight. This was supposed to be such a good summer for us, too, wasn't it? But it all just fell apart, didn't it?”

“It sure did,” Clarisse concurred as she opened the door. “Breakfast tomorrow at Annie B's? My treat.”

“You're on.”

Valentine revved the engine. Clarisse got out and closed the door. She uttered a final farewell to Valentine and then went around the car to the sidewalk. Valentine had already pulled away when Clarisse discovered that she didn't have her keys.

V
ALENTINE DID NOT JUST
“go for a ride”; he drove directly to Beacon Hill and parked in an illegal space on Charles Street. He walked to Mount Vernon Street and up to the building where Press still lived in the apartment where Jed Black had been murdered.

After punching the buzzer to Press's apartment for the ninth time, Valentine gave up and left the stoop. He walked back to Charles and lingered on the corner by Gary Drug Company, deciding what to do next.

Valentine pushed through the door of the drugstore and went to the pay telephone on the wall. He pulled out the telephone directory and flipped quickly through the pages. A moment later he hissed a sigh of frustration. There was no listing of Bander's address and number. Valentine shoved the directory back onto the shelf beneath the telephone. He purchased a pack of peppermint-flavored Certs, tore one out, popped it into his mouth, and left the store, returning to his car.

He yanked the fluorescent orange parking ticket from under the windshield wiper, tossed it into a nearby trash basket, and got into the car. He drove two blocks before turning off Charles Street and doubling back toward Back Bay.

“I had an idea you'd show up here tonight,” Sean said as he leaned in the open doorway of his apartment.

“Am I interrupting you?” Valentine asked as he climbed the last few steps to the landing.

“Not really. I'm just transferring some music.”

Sean stepped aside, and Valentine entered the apartment. Three of the tape decks were in operation. Some tuneless song with a heavy beat played but was turned very low.

“How could you know I'd come over here?' Valentine asked. “I just decided it a little while ago.”

“Intuition.” Sean turned the bolt on the apartment door. “Want a beer or anything?”

“No, thanks.” Valentine moved around the glass coffee table and settled onto the sofa. “You going on vacation or something?” he asked. The coffee table was covered with a rumpled pile of clothes—shirts, several pairs of blue jeans, two gray wool neck scarves, a black leather belt, a vest, and a sheaf of variously colored neckties. A green plastic garbage bag was spread open on the floor beside the table, already half full.

Sean stepped up to the table and shoved a pile of the clothing into the bag. “I decided to clean out my closet. I don't wear these things anymore, so I was going to drop them off at the Salvation Army drop box over on Tremont Street tomorrow—where the elite clump to dump.”

Sean stepped over to the wall of machinery and turned up the volume of the music, then fiddled with knobs and dials as he talked with his back to Valentine.

“I guess you're here because of what happened at River Pines today,” Sean said.

“Um, yes… I am,” Valentine said uncertainly. The heel of his shoe hit against something hard just under the edge of the sofa. He leaned down to see what it was.

“You knew it was coming,” said Sean.

“No, I certainly didn't—” began Valentine, then broke off. “Just a minute. What are we talking about exactly?”

“My job offer.”

Valentine picked up a narrow, three-inch-long amber bottle with a black cap. It was filled with liquid, and the cap was slightly loose. He was about to say something to Sean when he grimaced and then held the bottle closer to his nose. He immediately pulled it back and coughed once.

“I was going to explain everything tomorrow.” Sean took a breath. “Vision Rock Studios offered me a job.”

“The video outfit?” Valentine drew his eyes away from Sean's back. Quickly and soundlessly he screwed off the bottle cap, sniffed the liquid again, again made a face, and swiftly replaced the top.

“Yep,” Sean said, nodding. “They made me that offer you always hear about—the one that's too good to refuse.” Sean glanced over his shoulder. Valentine closed his hand about the amber bottle of liquid to conceal it. “I guess this constitutes two weeks' notice.” He went back to the tape machine.

“Niobe's going to quit, too,” Valentine said distractedly.

“Going to?” Sean said too quickly, again glancing over his shoulder.

“What do you know that I don't?”

“Umm, you better talk to Niobe.”

“Come on, out with it.”

“Well, I'll deny I spilled the beans, but Niobe ran into the manager of Octopus at the lodge today. He offered her a job working their new dance bar. She snapped it right up. It's not like this is coming out of the blue.” Sean turned back to Valentine. “I think you knew Niobe and I would probably be moving on. You pay good wages, but when the tips all but dry up…”

“I didn't come to see you to talk about Slate,” Valentine said. “I came about Bander.”