Every Move She Makes (25 page)

"I've never really done anything like that before," I said. "Dating
someone, and then, well, what happened in the bath room." "I figured
the date was made under duress," he said, and I had to do a double take
at the sparkle in his eyes. Then again, knowing Torrance, it was
probably the reflection from the porch light. The insecurity caused by
his departure and Mathis's sudden arrival returned, and I hugged the
thick binder to my chest. "So, you're leaving?" This time his gaze
onsiderably. "My duty is to protect you. I called Mathis,
because I knew if I had to spend one more night with you, I wouldn't be
able to avoid sleeping with you."

"And that's bad?"

"I told Mathis something came up, and we needed to change hours.

Besides, my ego couldn't take it if you turned me down. So, I took you
aside to tell you about the change in plans, but-" "Temptation won out?"

His electric smile went straight to my heart. I was amazed at the
transformation to his usually serious features. "Something like that,"

he said.

"So, go tell Mathis to take a hike."

"Wish I could. But I can't sleep with you and watch you at the same
time."

"I'll install a mirror on the ceiling."

"A very tempting offer, Inspector," he said, reaching up to brush his
fingertips across my cheek. "Now get inside, before I change my mind."

Then He gave me a gentle push up the steps. He waited until I reached the
top. "And to think all this time," he said, "I thought you were
uncomfortable because I worked in IA." "Management Control," I
corrected, wishing he hadn't reminded me of where he worked.

"Goodnight, Kate," he called out as he headed around the corner.

"Goodnight ... Mike." He left before I remembered to tell him about
the things in my room being moved. Mathis was already snoring on the
couch when I returned inside, so I locked up and wandered into my
bedroom, wondering how I was going to be able to sleep without knowing
who had been in my room, and why.

Falling into the bed, I glanced at the binder he'd left me.

I opened it, and all thoughts of anyone invading my bedroom fled at the
sight of what I held.

Sam Scolari's complete case file.

tried calling Torrance twice to tell him someone had been in my room. No
answer. Finally I paged him to call me, then got back to the case file.

I had so many conflicting thoughts as I looked through it. Why had
Torrance left it? Did he believe Scolari was innocent? Or did he want me
to realize Scolari was guilty?

The file was thick. It was late.

Start at the beginning. But that was stuff I knew. I was there at the
scene. Saw it all. I flipped through several sections until I came to
the interviews done in the Management Control office. Mine I ignored,
turning pages until I got to Mary's. I scanned over her report of the
doctor's alleged affair, with josie Hilliard, and Mary's statement that
Patricia was doing cancer research for Hilliard Pharmaceutical. My eyes
drifted closed. Forcing them open, I focused on the word "research,"

realizing I'd read that line three times, now. I wanted to know what
evidence they had against Scolari, but I couldn't stay awake. Careful
not to disturb the sleeping Mathis, I made myself a cup of tea, then
reviewed the reports relating to the evidence collection and Torrance's
notes on that. The list was long, not unusual in a murder case. Still, I
thought, grabbing a sheet of paper to make my own notes, I'd never
expected so much of it to be overwhelmingly against Scolari, even if it
was all circumstantial. The blood type in the Range Rover came back to
Patricia. Expected. Scolari's thumbprint in Patricia's blood on the
inside passenger door handle. Undoubtedly a simple explanation. A
cigarette butt found in the parking lot matched Scolari's brand. Anyone
could have dropped it. I turned the page. Scolari's fingerprints found
on the counter at the Chinese restaurant that abutted the parking lot.

It was no secret they were meeting for dinner. I went over the list of
trace evidence, fibers, debris found on the seats and floorboards. I
read over each item carefully, hoping that something would jump out,
lead to some as yet unknown suspect. Nothing. I turned the page, and
nearly choked on my tea. A smeared, bloody palm print on the dash-the
blood type matched Scolari's, not his wife's. There were also the items
taken from the search warrant on Scolari's apartment-items including
bloody clothes found stuffed in the bottom of his closet. All of it his
wife's blood. Scolari had told me she was already dead when he found
her. and I clearly recall the cut on his hand when I saw him. Perfect
explanation. I suppose I never expected there to be quite so much blood.

They'd also found a book on his coffee table titled How to Change Your
Identity and Disappear A bit on the damning side-especially considering
what Scolari had used as a boolunark: a Dear John note from his wife. I
leaned back against the headboard, staring at the cracks in my ceiling.

The phone rang. I snatched it up.

"Hello?" It came out curt, but what the hell. It was well past midnight.

"You paged?" Torrance.

"I found a few things misplaced in my room. I meant to tell you about it
before you left."

"What sort of things?"

"My underwear. My shoes. Girl things. Could it be Mathis? Maybe he's
into cross-dressing? Or just being snoopy?" I said. I thought of the
flowers he'd brought to me in the hospital. "I don't know. My dresser
drawers were gone through. My closet. Nothing missing that I can tell."

"Damn it. I shouldn't have gone to dinner with you."

"You had no way of knowing. Besides, it could have happened before we
left, and I didn't notice." "The one time we leave the place unwatched?"

Neither of us said anything, both mulling over that piece of
information. Then he changed the subject. "What do you think of
Scolari's case? I take it you're reading the case file." "Yeah." It took
me a moment to regroup. "I'll admit, it doesn't look good."

And?" I looked at my notes. "I don't get a lot of stuff in here.

Why would he leave so much evidence behind? The bloody print. The bloody
clothes. It doesn't make sense."

"Crime of passion. Panic."

"Bull. Scolari was-is-a trained homicide inspector." "He was first and
foremost a man. His wife was leaving him for a woman. She told him; he
snapped."

"Manslaughter," I said.

"Exactly. Bettencourt told me the DA's willing to let him plea if he turns
himself in."

"Why'd you leave me the file?" I asked suddenly.

Silence.

My gaze strayed to the bathroom, the memory of our kisses vivid. It
clouded my thoughts. Took away my focus.

Please don't let that be a part of this.

Finally he answered. "I want your opinion, Kate.

Nothing more." it was enough. It had to be.

The next morning, after a quick stop for a double latte, Mathis drove me
to the Hall of justice, since I was still under doctor's orders not to
drive. Sergeant Linda Peridns was watching my place in his absence, and
Torrance was having an evidence tech dust my bedroom for prints. If
Torrance had told Mathis or Perkins about my bedroom being gone through,
neither mentioned it to me. "You sure that foo-foo stuffs gonna do it?"

Mathis asked, referring to my coffee. I was dead tired after reviewing
Scolari's case all night, and had nodded off twice on the way to the
coffee shop. "Sure as hell hope so." Torrance was waiting for us in his
office, reviewing some report or another. He looked up as I dumped my
things on the nearest desk. Our gazes met briefly, and then nothing.

While last night wasn't something I wanted to advertise, some reaction
would have been nice. Sleep well? Get a new sink? Mathis threw his
things on his desk, then went out to find some real coffee, preferably
something that had stagnated on the bottom of a coffeepot left over from
the graveyard shift. I wished him well, then looked about the room for
my briefcase and the autopsy files. They'd been moved. Where, I hadn't a
clue.

There was nothing for it but to make first contact. I
strode into Torrance's office, leaned against the door frame, opting for
the ultracool whatever-happened between-us-last-night-is-no-big-deal
pose. "Where's my stuff ?" It was a totally wasted move. He never looked
up. "On the table. You'll be working in here with me." Had I bothered
glancing a little farther into his office, I might have seen everything
spread out on the table against the far wall. He'd even moved a chair
in.

He flipped a page, still no eye contact.

I started out to get my latte, then thought better of it. He might be
able to pretend nothing happened last night, but I couldn't. "This is
precisely why I don't date in the department," I said. He lowered the
report, glanced out his window into the office beyond, then at me. "Why
is that, Gillespie?" I stared in disbelief. "Last night it was "Kate."

How can you sit there and look at me as though nothing happened? It was
less than twelve hours ago. Or have you forgotten?" He got up, closed
the door, stood inches away from me. "Hardly."

"Then what?"

"What do you want me to do?" "Anything. I don't care. just don't sit
there with that damned implacable ..." I realized then how foolish I
sounded. Worse yet, I felt my eyes welling up. I hated crying in front
of male cops. It made me feel so inferior. "I can't believe I'm doing
this." I tried to leave. His hand covered mine on the knob, stopping me.

Outside, we heard a door open. Mathis with his coffee. Torrance pulled
the cord, lowered the blinds over the window.

"What?" he asked softly.

I couldn't look at him. Instead, I stared up at the fluorescent lights,
having read somewhere that your tears, if not too far gone, might drain
back into the ducts. Fat chance. "Everything's wrong," I said. "People
are dead, my partner's a suspect, and I'm a damned emotional wreck."

" I , m sorry.

"For what?" This time I looked at him and was surprised to see his face
filled with anguish. "For last night," he said, stroking the stitches in
my temple with his thumb. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of your
emotional state."

"I was a willing participant. Or hadn't you noticed?"

"Trust me," he said, leaning his face toward mine. "I noticed."

I pushed him away, though it was tempting not to.

"This is the problem." He looked confused. "We're behind closed doors,
and it's okay to pretend we know each other. Open the blinds, and we're
strangers again. I don't like it." His expression darkened. "And you
think I do? For Christ's sake, Kate. Do you have any idea what it's like
to walk down the hallway and see friends you've known for years avoid
you because you work in IA? Because you were instrumental in
investigating a fellow officer's illegal misconduct that resulted in
suspension, termination, whatever? I'm the enemy. Never mind that the
officer shouldn't have stolen those drugs, or raped that hooker. You
don't want to be on this side of the fence. I don't want that for you."

"It's my life. My decision."