Every Move She Makes (18 page)

Zim hesitated. Mathis motioned for him to follow.

Zim gave one last glance at my desk drawer and took off.

"Well, you might as well take advantage of the company," Reid said,
rubbing my shoulders. "Damn, you're tense." I closed my eyes, trying to
forget what Zim said. Reid's massage felt wonderful. With fingers like
that, maybe I would let him call me "babe." Then again, maybe not.

"I'll take one next," Shipley said.

"Forget it," Reid told him. The moment Torrance returned, Reid stopped
his ministrations. "Gotta go," he said. "Pick you up around eight?"

"Eight?" I wondered how I'd get out of this dinner date with any grace.

I'd think about that later.

Reid blew me a kiss, then strode from the room.

"Well, back to the grindstone," I said, hauling my thickening briefcase
onto my desk and pulling some files from it. I didn't want Torrance to
ask about my earlier phone call, the pizza ruse that I was sure he saw
right through. Undoubtedly the only reason he said nothing was Reid's
presence, and now Shipley's. Discretion was second nature to a man like
Torrance. He pulled the chair from Scolari's desk, sat. I flipped
through some of the Slasher files, unable to focus on a thing with him
hovering in silence beside me. Perhaps it was guilt over my call with
Scolari, but I couldn't stand it any longer. Finally I put down my file
and swiveled my chair around to face him. "You know, I'd probably get
more work done if you weren't sitting there watching my every move. It's
disconcerting, to say the least." He folded his arms, leaned back in the
chair. "I need to go to my office and take care of a few things."

"Feel free." I indicated the open door.

"But I wouldn't want to miss the pizza. I can wait ten minutes if you
can." Great. "If you insist." "You ordered pizza?" Shipley asked. The
extra twenty pounds around his middle gave evidence to his love of food.

"Sorry," I told him. "Didn't know you'd be here. I only ordered a
small." Ever conscious of the clock ticking away, I turned back to my
files, wondering what Torrance would do once he confirmed the pizza
wasn't coming. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. I attempted to
concentrate on my cases once more. But I couldn't concentrate. I heard
Torrance pick up the phone, pressing buttons, silence. Voice mail? The
sound of him hitting another button, ACCESS, ERASE, or SAVE, I didn't
know. Didn't care. After a few minutes of that, I recalled the message I
was waiting for myself The one from the lady at the Twin Palms. I picked
up my own phone. My hand shook, my pulse quickened. In my head, I heard
Martin's last words before his death ... I punched in my access code.

The nasal voice of Squeaky Yincaid came on, almost a relief, and I took
a breath to steady my nerves. How long would it be before I erased the
horror of hearing Martin's murder? "Hey, this is, uh, Squeaky? I been
tryin' to get hold of your partner. Inspector Scolari? I got that info for
him. He knows what I'm talkin' about. Can ya tell him I'm tryin' to get
a hold of him?" Squeaky was a snitch who would sell his mother's soul
for a fix of heroin. Yeah, I'll get right on that. Like I have constant
contact with the guy. I erased the message, since there was nothing
valuable, no contact number. It did make me think, however. Then I
accessed the next message. "Hi, Inspector?" A woman's soft voice. "You
talked to me this morning about Tanya in number eighteen? Well, I don't
know if I should say anything, but the evening before she disappeared,
I'm certain an officer came to see her. I've seen him here a couple of
times before. The night that officer got shot? Down the hall? I saw him
here then. He asked me questions. I remember his name, because it was
Italian, like mine. Scolari." She disconnected without leaving her name
or any number to contact her at. Scolaii? The phone asked me what to do
with the message. I saved it, telling myself there were officers and
inspectors crawling from the woodwork that fateful night. But what
reason would he have to be there on the very day before the victim
disappeared? And why no mention of her in his report?

"About that pizza," Torrance said, breaking into my thoughts. He stood.

Just then, Markowski strolled in, carrying a small pizza box from
Giovanni's. "Delivery service," he said. "You can save the tip. I'll
take a slice for my efforts, though it's probably cold by now. They
wouldn't let the poor kid through the perimeter they got set up at every
entrance. Lucky thing I happened to be coming in." "I totally forgot
about that when I ordered," I said, taking the box from him, surprised
by Scolari's choice of pizza parlors. Giovanni's wasn't exactly cheap.

Nor was I in the mood for pizza. Far from it, actually, but if Scolari
had gone to the trouble of having it delivered, I could at least pretend
to want it. I opened the lid, the scent of pepperoni drifting up as
Rocky grabbed his slice. When he did, I noticed an edge of blue paper
beneath the remainder of the pizza. A note from Scolari? I slammed the
lid shut, tucked the box in my briefcase, and to Torrance said, "Okay. I
got it. Let's go." He gave me a strange look, but I ignored him, hoping
the cheese and oil weren't oozing from the box into my briefcase. "Go
where?" "Your office. You said you needed to take care of a few things."

The hook. His hesitation was palpable. If he insisted on staying here to
eat, I'd never get the note out undetected, not in an office filled with
a half dozen others present. I threw the line. "It's Giovanni's." And
now the sinker. "We'll never get a slice if we eat it in here." "After
you." On the way to his office, he said, "I'll be honest with you,
Gillespie. I didn't think you'd ordered it." "Who'd you think I was on
the phone with?" I asked, attempting to sound innocent, certain I'd
failed miserably.

"Scolari," he responded, unlocking his office door.

"You can use Mathis's desk." I set out my pizza box, pulled a dollar
from my pocket, waved the bill. "You trust me enough to get a Coke?"

There was a machine down the hall. I fully expected him to play the
gentleman. He didn't disappoint me. "We've got a fridge in the back.

I'll get you one." As he headed to the rear of the office, I took a
bite, for authenticity's sake. The cheese tasted a bit stale, but the
pepperoni covered it. Not up to Giovanni's usual standards, but what the
heck, it was free. I took a second bite, pulled the slip of now greasy
paper from beneath the slice. My throat constricted at the two words. I
dropped the note. Spit out what I could of the pizza. Beige and yellow
mush flew onto the box. Most had disintegrated in my mouth.

Your next The misspelled word taunted me.

Torrance returned. "Took one look at my face and rushed over. "What is
it?" I shoved the note his way. I was afraid to swallow. Grabbed the can
from him, popped it open. I tilted it and swished the sugary liquid in
my mouth. Torrance grabbed an empty coffee cup from Mathis's desk. Held
it to my mouth. The liquid spewed out, very unladylike. Not that either
of us noticed. Instead, our gazes met at the very same time.

"Markowski," we said in unison. We ran from the room, took the stairs,
down the hall to Homicide, pushed past a couple of uniformed officers
walking the opposite direction. Bursting through the door almost
shoulder to shoulder, we looked around for Rocky. Shipley sat at his
desk, the phone to his ear. He glanced at us, covered the mouthpiece.

"Forget something?"

"Where's Markowski?" I asked.

"Men's room. Dropped his pizza, went for some paper towels to clean it
up." He nodded at the floor by Markowski's desk. The pizza lay there,
face-down on the blue-gray carpet. A perfect triangle, minus a bit of
cheese, and pepperoni hanging off to one side.

We breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're going to the hospital, the pizza's going to the lab," Torrance
said, using paper from the printer to scoop up the slice. "Tell
Markowski to scrub his hands good, then put some gloves on before he
wipes that up. And save the paper towels. Have him meet me in my
office."

"Yes, Sir," Shipley said, eyeing me, then the pizza.

Torrance carried the pizza in its paper sling, then took my arm. "Let's
go." I allowed him to lead me from the room, my thoughts in a jumble. If
there was something in that pizza, who put it there? My mind whispered
Scolari, but I shot down that thought. He wouldn't do that to me.

Couldn't.

But someone had put that note in there. If not Scolari, who?

Zim. A bluff. The pizza was fine. He was trying to scare me. Nothing
more. While I conjured up any number of poisons that might be absorbed
into my tongue the short time the pizza was in my mouth, Torrance
dropped Rocky's slice into the box, shut the lid, bagged the note,
placing both in a large file box that he emptied for the purpose. "I
don't trust anyone else to take this. We'll drop it off at the lab on
our way to the hospital. If something turns up, they can let the
hospital know." "I'm fine," I said, but the truth was, I wasn't sure. I
knew the power of suggestion. As we walked, passing the heavily armed
officers who guarded the exit, and after we dropped the pizza off at the
lab that adjoined the morgue, my stomach reacted by producing an
overload of acid. My heart beat sharp, fast. My throat burned, my eyes
watered. By the time we made it to his car, I corrected my earlier
assessment. "I'm a mess." "What's wrong?" He set the file box on the
ground, took me by my shoulders, his dark eyes searching mine.

"I'll call an ambulance."

"No. It's psychosomatic, I'm sure. We better go." He held me for a
second longer, as though assessing the reliability of my statement. At
least, that's what I thought. But for some reason, I had the strange
impulse to pull myself against him, let him wrap his arms around me,
have a good cry. The moment passed, but the thought didn't die, and I
allowed him to open the car door for me, telling myself that if Reid
were here, I'd feel the same way.

I was merely looking for a good shoulder to lean on.

Nothing more. The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever. I
watched the side mirror as we turned onto the freeway. A cream-colored
car made the same turn. After that it was a green car. "We're being
followed." I pulled my gun from my holster. Torrance checked the
rearview mirror. He picked up the phone and spoke into it. I paid little
attention to what he said. The green car turned off, but another one
took its place. Point, counterpoint. "Take this exit," I said. "I don't
want them to follow us." When Torrance didn't, I grew suspicious. I
thought of all the coincidences in the case, how he was on top of every
one of them. "The way I see it, only a few people overheard me order
that pizza. You, Mathis, Shipley, Zim. And Bettencourt." Torrance's very
presence put him at the top of my list. My heart started triple time. My
palms started sweating. I was locked in the car, with this man, his
vehicle moving at a speed too high for me to jump. "I was with you the
entire time," he said in that implacable voice of his. It only made me
suspect him more. My tongue felt dry, like I'd been in the desert for
days. "And so were the others."

"You left. And so did they. Everyone except Shipley.

Someone tried to poison me." "Put down the gun, Gillespie." I looked at
the weapon I held. It seemed so foreign. I moved it from my right to my
left hand. I had to jump the first chance. "I don't think I will." We
pulled off the freeway. I found the handle. Opened my door. He grabbed
me. Twisted, forcing my grip loose. My gun fell to the floorboard. My
gaze followed it, assessed the distance.