Design on a Crime (23 page)

Ouch! Lame.

But he smiled. True, it looked more like the kind one gives
a nutcase, the "Let's humor the poor dear" kind. But hey. I
did get him to smile. I added, "Time to go. I have a bunch of
stuff to buy for the redesign I'm doing."

On my way out, Ozzie called and asked me the single,
solitary question I'd hoped he wouldn't ask.

"Since the sculpture did not sell," he said, "and since
we have no record of it being offered, and especially since
I know it isn't on the premises, then where do you think
it's gone?"

Since I couldn't answer, refused to do so, I shrugged and
fled, coward that I am. That uneasy feeling prowled around
my middle again. I didn't want to deal with it right then.

Yeah, right. I didn't want to deal with it, period. End of
story.

So I made a beeline for the cop shop. Let the unflappablelove that word; I'd never used it before, but now I thought of
Detective Tsu as the unflappable karate chop cop-Detective
Tsu figure it all out.

Still, I scored another victory. Chalk two in one day for the
prime suspect in a murder case. I ran into the police department, dashed past the receptionist/ dispatcher, who watched,
jaw gaping, eyes horrified. Then I zipped past a group of
Smurf cops and flung open the door with the brass plaque
that read, in large block letters, "Captain Lila Tsu," and in
small letters, "Homicide."

She'd been at her desk, wire-rimmed glasses on the
bridge of her nose. She gasped and stood in a hurry, her
actions for once awkward and graceless. The chair rolled
back and hit the file cabinet to the right rear of the desk
before it toppled over. It might have clipped her leg on its
way down.

But just that fast, the unflappability was back in place.
"What are you doing here?"

"A clue!"

I startled her again, but she did a good job disguising it.
"Excuse me?"

"I have a clue ... a lead ... whatever you want to call it.
And this is one you didn't know before."

The elegant eyebrow rose. "I wouldn't be so sure, Haley.
I'm very thorough."

"I bet you are, but this has nothing to do with thoroughness. It has to do with antiques and the sale and what did
and didn't sell."

"Care to run that by me again?"

"I'm not going to waste time like that." I took a deep
breath to tamp down my excitement. Maybe this was the
pass I needed to get out of jail free, like in Monopoly. "I found
something where it shouldn't be, a piece that should've sold
but didn't. And it's in the last place you'd think it'd wind
up.

"I thought you weren't going to waste time." Detective Tsu
smiled, taking some of the sting out of her words. "Why don't
you tell me what the item is, where it is, and why it shouldn't
be there. I especially want to know how you discovered it and
why you think it's in the wrong place."

Faster than a toddler after a crystal vase, I told her about
my presentation. She grinned when I mentioned the table
I climbed. Bet she didn't go around climbing on suspects'
side tables, no matter what. Then I told her about the Erte,
how valuable it was, how it had been listed but hadn't
sold.

"It is puzzling," she said when I ran out of steam, "but I
don't see where it has anything to do with the case. Not unless you know more than you're telling."

That popped-balloon feeling hit again. "I only know what
I told you, but don't you think it's significant that a piece that
never went up for bid at the auction turned up in the Stokers'
living room?"

"Significant how?"

"What if someone meant to steal the piece, Marge found
them, they bashed in her head, and then, when I started screaming, they ditched it in the Stokers' things. You know, so that
they wouldn't be caught with incriminating evidence."

"It's plausible," Ms. Tsu said, throwing a wet blanket on
my excitement, "but highly unlikely."

That made me mad. "Why? Because it would clear
me?"

"Not necessarily, Haley. Think about it. You say you just
found the statue at the Stokers' house. That you'd never noticed it there before. And now you also want me to consider it
the key to the murder, the one you're accused of committing.
How does that sound to you now?"

Frustration brought bitter tears to my eyes. "It sounds as
though you're determined to lock me up for life. Even though
new evidence has now turned up."

"Look, I'm not 'determined,' as you say. I'm just telling
you what a judge and a jury are going to think." She took
a deep breath. "They're also likely to turn against you for
this."

"What do you mean?"

"How would you react if someone who looked guilty as
sin tried to shift the blame onto a disabled woman and the
husband who cares for her?"

"But that's not what I'm doing..."

Nothing I said would change her mind. I saw it in her
eyes.

I squared my shoulders. "Think what you want, but I
know something strange is going on here. And I'm going
to figure it out. Then, Karate Chop Cop, when you're washing the egg off your face, don't say I kept evidence from
you. Remember, I tried to feed it to you, but you spat it
back out."

I retraced my earlier steps, excusing myself to all I'd shocked. Polite as my departure was, it wouldn't gain me a
thing, not a minute less of jail time, that's for sure. The only
thing that would save me was a miracle. And I'd have to
work that myself.

I had no other choice.

Running ideas someone's already termed wild past your
very serious-minded, ultraconservative, logical, absolutely
nonsuspicious father is not a smart thing. I, of course, did
just that as soon as I got home. I wanted Dad to agree with
me, to say that something strange was going on, that maybe
I'd found the key to turning suspicion elsewhere.

But he didn't.

He reacted as Detective Tsu had.

"I know you're worried about going back to jail," he said.
"But really, dear. This is terrible. How can you accuse the Stokers of murder? One would think you of all people wouldn't
throw around accusations like that."

"Why does everyone think I'm accusing them?" I blew hair
out of my eyes. The rebellious, fluffy stuff wafted back down
to where it had started out.

I went on, certain I was on the right track. 'All I said is
that someone stole the statue, probably killed Marge when
she caught him. Then, when I found the body, he stashed the
thing where he knew no one would think to look for it."

"That's crazy."

"No, really. Would you think Gussie or Tom might stuff a
chunk of brass worth thousands inside the bag on the back
of the wheelchair?"

"You don't know that's what happened. No one but you
would come up with that thought."

"Bingo! That's my point. No one else would think to look
there for evidence either." I scored that point. "But I bet the
killer did. He also probably thought he could get it back when
the cops were done with him. I doubt he thought Detective
Karate Chop-"

"Who?"

"You know. The perfect woman who decided she's going
to get me no matter what." At his puzzled look, I added,
"Lila Tsu, Dad. The homicide detective in charge of Marge's
murder investigation."

"You mean that nice young woman who takes lessons with
you at Tyler's gym?"

I didn't know which error to address first, calling Detective
Tsu nice or calling Tyler's dojo a gym, so I corrected neither.
"Yeah, sure. That one. Anyway, you want to bet the killer
never thought the cops would send Tom and Gussie home
right away?"

"You know I don't bet, Haley, but that could be true. Not
that I think the sculpture matters in the long run."

"Then how did it get to Gussie's living room? Who do you
think got it there? Or do you think the Stokers mysteriously
bought it from Marge, and she never bothered to record the
sale, much less tell Ozzie about it?"

"Don't you think the Stokers would have wondered how
the figurine got in their bag? Into their living room?" He shook his head and gave me an indulgent smile. "I'm sure there's a
logical explanation, just as I'm sure there's a God in heaven
who'll reveal the truth in his own good time."

"Let me tell you, Dad. I hope you're right, and I sure hope
he hurries. If he doesn't, I'm going to stink in that cell worse
than Lazarus did after lying around dead until Jesus got there
to raise him up ... from the ... dead..."

Where did that come from? Yet another time in recent days
that Scriptural scraps floated up from my past. It shocked
me enough that I shrugged, kissed Dad on the head, and
ran upstairs.

Maybe something strange was happening.

But was it happening to me?

By the time my next session with Tedd rolled around, I'd
begun to question my own sanity. Why not? Everyone else
did.

But the savvy Latina shrink asked the one question no one
else had. "Do you think you're losing your mind? Do you think
you're imagining bogeymen where there aren't any?"

I stared at her, another elegant woman, but this one originally so. Whereas Detective Tsu did nothing to enhance her
ethnic beauty, Tedd left no doubt in anyone's mind how she
felt about her heritage. Rich, glossy black waves tumbled
past her shoulders, held back by a pair of hand-hammered
silver combs, one at each side of her center part. Ruby lipstick
enhanced her full lips, and a white blouse, embroidered in the
same fiery shade, hinted at athletic curves. More Taxco silver
graced her earlobes, wrists, fingers, and throat. Everything
she wore showed pride in the artistry of fellow Mexicans.

But she'd asked a question, and no matter how I tried to
avoid it, she'd made a good point. "No, I'm not losing my
mind. At least, I don't think I am when someone who refuses
to see what's so clear to me doesn't tell me I am."

"And when they do ... ?"

"Then I question my motives. Am I that desperate to avoid
jail that I would blame an even more innocent person? Have
I really fallen that low?"

Tedd waited in silence. She'd made it clear, in words and actions, that she wasn't going to give me any answers. She felt that
any she offered wouldn't be mine and wouldn't benefit me.

I looked at my hands, hands that had moved the Erte, hands
that had clutched the rock that crushed Marge's skull, hands
that had once tried to fight off a man bent on domination and
self-gratification. How could anyone use their hands to hurt
or kill another?

"There is a bogeyman," I said. "But he's not in my imagination. He killed Marge, and he's waiting for me to pay for
his crime."

"And the sculpture?"

"Ozzie Krieger, Marge's assistant, agrees that something
happened to that statue. And he doesn't know I found it, that
it turned up at the Stoker home."

"Would he play mind games with you? Could he be
guilty?"

"Could be. I just know what I know."

Tedd's ability to get me to cut to the chase impressed me. I'd
come to our session questioning what I'd seen. She'd let me
talk things out, and I no longer questioned myself. I doubted
anyone could budge me now.

"How do you think the rape has affected how you see this
crime?"

I inhaled sharply. "I haven't given it thought."

"Take your time and think about it now."

It didn't take long to find an answer. "I think the rape
colors everything I see, think, or do. I don't know that it can
ever be different."

"What if I told you that's not a bad thing?"

"I'd think we need to swap chairs."

She chuckled. "Think about it, Haley. You have a different
way of looking at this murder. You even have a different perspective than a jaded detective. In this case, that perspective
might prove to be a benefit."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I would, and that's because I've been in your shoes. Don't
you think my experience helps me understand others? To
walk that mile in their shoes?"

"I guess, but I don't see where that follows in my case."