Eyeshot (15 page)

Sonora closed her eyes, picturing the long dark hair, the widow's peak, full cheeks, dark slanted brows. Even dressed in the jeans and torn sweatshirt she'd been wearing in one of Butch Winchell's pictures, she had a Victorian look about her, an air of fragile quality.

No wonder Jeff Barber had pursued her across state lines. Sonora wondered what it was about him that had attracted Julia—fill a room with men and she could have had her pick.

Why did she go for Barber, a needy, difficult male? Was she acting out some doomed karma, forever selecting men who would be dependent and smothering, always going for the wrong guy, like every other woman alive?

Good question. No answer. Sonora sat back, closed her eyes, and shut everything out, except Julia Winchell's voice.

“
An odd and upsetting thing has happened, and I am setting down my thoughts and my memories on tape. I am a believer in fate. I think this had to have happened for a reason.
”

Sonora noted the clear enunciation, the self-confident tone of voice. She wished that she, too, believed in fate. It might make her job a little easier.

“
Today I opened the newspaper and saw the face of my killer.
”

Sonora exchanged looks with Sam.
My killer.
Presumably she meant the guy she'd seen all those years ago. But she was dead now, and she'd said
my
killer.

“
When I opened that newspaper I saw a face I saw eight years ago. His name is Gage Caplan, and he is the Cincinnati District Attorney who is prosecuting that ex-football player who ran down the Xavier University co-ed. It is so strange, to have a name to go with a face I can't get out of my head. And to find him in the DA's office.

“
Eight years ago I was in school at UC, the University of Cincinnati, living in the dorm. I was having a bad day
—
I had one of my sinus headaches, plus I'd lost my purse. So I took a Contac and went to bed early
.

“
Just when I was about to fall asleep, I remembered one place I might have left my purse that I hadn't looked. I had met a girlfriend for lunch, and we'd connected up in the media room in the Braunstein Building. I thought maybe I left it in there. I'd looked everywhere else.

“
It was dark out, by now, and raining hard. Not a good idea to be wandering around campus by myself. But I had fifty dollars in my purse, and my driver's license, and my Sears credit card, plus my address book that I've had since my second year of high school. Plus all my keys and a new pair of pearl earrings Liza got me for my birthday.

“
I decided that muggers and rapists didn't like the rain any more than anybody else, and that the purse might not still be there the next morning, if it was there at all. So I went.

“
It was cold out and I was wearing those dumb sandals everybody wore then. I stepped in a puddle first thing, and got my feet wet. I was wearing a jean skirt and no tights because of the sandals, and because my legs were still tan from the summer. And I got cold.

“
So when I finally got in the building it was warm, and I had seen a security guard up at the top of the building, smoking, so I felt safe. That was the funny part. Feeling safe.

“
I went up to the media room
—
it was on the fourth floor, which is important. The media room was open, but there was nobody in there. But there was my purse, right on the table where I left it. First I checked the wallet
—
my money and everything was there, even the earrings. And my head started feeling better, so some of it must have been stress.

“
I remember walking down the corridor, feeling sleepy from the pill
—
it was just a Contac
—
and thinking if I could make it back safe across campus to my dorm room, I could curl up in bed with a book and the Snickers bar that was also in the purse, and I remember thinking how great that would be.

“
I know I heard a door close somewhere, but I didn't see any people. All the lights were on. I know I was making squeaky noises, and little wet footprints on the linoleum. My feet were slipping and I had to go slow. I turned left to go down the corridor
—
I was kind of turned around, trying to go out the other exit that would be closer to central campus.

“
I remember seeing a little black door that said three. Which I thought meant I was on the third floor. Which I wasn't. More on that later.

“
I'm walking along and I hear noises. Funny noises, but kind of awful. I heard, like, a sort of cry, then a groan and gurgle. And a man sort of growling at someone. Then somebody crying.

“
I looked around. One of the office doors was open. There was a pink sweater hanging on the back of a chair—I don't know why I remember that, but I do.

“
There was nobody in the office. Whoever it was, it looked like they just went away for a minute, you know, leaving the door open like that. And I heard some weird stuff, thumps and cries and water splashing or something, coming from across the hall from the ladies room.

“
I went in there slow. I was kind of holding my purse across my chest, don't ask me why. I was kind of embarrassed, but there was nobody around. I was scared. It was all kind of weird and out of place.

“
The bathrooms in that building are laid out kind of funny. You go inside in kind of a little hall. Then you turn a corner, you turn right and it opens up into the usual thing
—
mirrors and sinks and stalls.

“
I heard water, and someone gasping, like they were coming up for air, and a woman
—
her voice was young and soft and she was like, crying. In a panic.

“
I remember she said ‘please' and ‘the baby.'

“
So I didn't think at that point, I just ran in.
”

The voice stopped and the tape ran in silence for a while.

“
This part I remember really well.
” The voice had gone flat. “
He was … he had her down on the floor, bent over the toilet, like she was being sick. But he was holding her head in the … in the toilet bowl. I saw it in the mirror first, the top of his head. She came up again, she was fighting him, gasping, and he got down on his knees, and pushed all his weight, one hand on the back of her head and one on the back of her neck.

“
She was a little thing. I couldn't figure how she lasted like she did, because he was a big guy, and he looked strong. She was Oriental. She had black hair. At first I thought she was fat, but then I saw she was very pregnant.

“
And then he … I could see he was crying. So weird. I mean he really was crying. And he pushed down on her so hard, she just didn't have a chance. She hit her mouth on the rim of the toilet. The seat was … the seat was up, I guess. And I saw blood spurt from her lip and go down the side of the toilet bowl. And he … he slid her head, her mouth off the rim, and shoved her head down in the water. And I think she must have swallowed a lot of water all of a sudden or passed out because you could see her just go limp.

“
And I yelled or screamed at him to stop. And he saw me. And he looked so, stunned, I guess. Tears running down his cheeks. And he kind of strained towards me. I think he was going to come after me, and she moved. At least I think she did, it happened fast, it was hard to tell. But he decided to keep her under, instead of coming after me. He kept her down, her head in that toilet.

“
But he watched me. I was going to go and try to make him let her up, but she wasn't moving and I was pretty sure she was dead. And he was such a big guy. So I ran for help. I wanted somebody to try and save the baby, if nothing else.

“
Just before I could move, or run, or whatever, he said. He said, ‘Hang on just a minute, will you?'

“
I … it was such a shock, because he sounded so normal. Hang on, be right with you, I can explain. It was funny, because he had a really nice voice, kind of gentle and calm. And I just stood for a second and we stared at each other. And then I started crying, I think, and I ran away.

“
I ran down the hall and there was a room with the door open and full of people. I couldn't understand why they didn't come when I screamed, but when I went inside it wasn't people, it was mannequins. That was … horrible. And I ran out back in the hallway, wondering if the person with the pink sweater had come back, but then I thought whoever it was wears teeny pink sweaters won't be much help either way. If it had been a big old gray sweatshirt I might have risked it.

“
I remember seeing an exit sign and thinking
—”

The sound of a telephone ringing came through loud and startling.

“
Oh, shit.
”

There was a sound like bedsprings before the click of the machine shutting off.

Sonora looked at Sam. They listened, for a while, to the hiss of empty cassette tape. Julia Winchell didn't come back.

28

Sam wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and came back into the living room with the Oreo cookies, drawing Clampett and Sonora's immediate attention.

“I am eating these only because I need a sugar hit to get the energy to drive home. Why are you frowning at me? I'll share.”

“Julia Winchell said the woman drowning in the toilet was Oriental.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Caplan's got pictures in his office. His little girl is blue-eyed, Amerasian. Which means her mother—”

“Could have been the woman in the bathroom. Hmm.” He crunched a cookie, dribbling black crumbs down his shirt front. “Say it's Caplan. What's he doing on campus?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“You are tired and cranky. We'll figure this out tomorrow.” He reached down, rubbed the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes. “You're tired too. Spend the night, why don't you?”

“Remember what happened the last time I did that?”

They both smiled.

Sonora shrugged. “Kids are here, this time.”

“They're sound asleep,” Sam said.

“The bedroom or the couch?”

“I couldn't resist you. And it would be a shitty thing to do to Shel.”

She was not going to listen to the wife lecture. Plus she liked Shelly, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she might feel guilty. Sonora rolled sideways on the couch, pulled the quilt off of Clampett and over her head.

“You going to roll up like a worm in a cocoon or walk me to the door?” Sam asked.

“I'm not moving.”

“If you walk me to the door I can accidentally kiss you good night.”

“Lock up on your way out.”

29

The air-conditioning in the bullpen was emitting a sour smell that reminded Sonora of Liza Hardin's little Toyota. She had come in early, around six, in spite of the late night, but Sergeant Crick was still in ahead of her.

He sat at Gruber's desk, rolling his chair from side to side. He looked like he had slept.

“Hold up your foot, Sonora.”

“What?” Her eyelids ached, and her head was hurting. She also thought she might want to throw up, some time or other. No sleep gave her a queasy feeling in the morning.

“Your foot. Hold it up.”

Sonora lifted her left foot, aware that her white high-top Reeboks were getting dingy and worn. Maybe new shoelaces would perk them up. She was not supposed to wear them to work, and she hoped Crick was annoyed. If she had to put up with queasy, he could put up with annoyed.

“Damn, girl, look at those.”

Sam, over her shoulder. Sonora looked from Sam to Crick.

“I
like
these socks,” she said.

“Hot pink,” Crick said. “Reeboks and pink socks? You looked at the dress code lately, or you pushing for a transfer to vice?”

“It's just so we know she's a
girl
cop,” Sam said.

Sonora nodded at them. “Soon as Gall's starts selling pink handcuffs, I'm first in line.”

“At least we know what to get her for Christmas.”

Sonora put her arms on the rests on her chair. “While you're admiring my socks, sir, I was wondering what you could tell me about Gage Caplan.”

Crick's look was wary. “The DA Caplan?” He folded his arms. “Who wants to know?”

“I want to know. His name's come up in the Julia Winchell investigation.”

Sam settled at the edge of her desk, winked. “Sleep well?”

“Better than you.”

“Come up how?” Crick said.

Sonora glanced over her shoulder. Saw Molliter, working at his desk, finishing up the night shift. Pretending not to notice their conversation. Caplan was a popular district attorney. He liked cops. He respected them. He put perps in jail. He had a lot of friends in the police department. One of them was Molliter.

Sonora looked at Crick. “Let's go in your office.”

“This chair does not fit my butt.” Crick got up.

The coffeemaker was on in Crick's office, baking old coffee into toffeelike sludge at the bottom of the glass pot. Crick flipped the switch, waited for Sonora and Sam to settle. He sat behind his desk and smiled. Sonora did not like that smile.

She was a little bit afraid of Crick—most of them were a lot afraid. He had smarts, he had integrity, and he backed his people up. She'd misstepped badly in the Selma Yorke case last year, and here she was, still working.

But being a cop was like being in the army. Crick was a superior officer, not in the rank and file, and, in Sonora's experience, as soon as a fellow officer left the rank and file they had motivations and agendas that were not obvious and to be avoided.

“Don't trust me?” Crick asked, showing his teeth.

Sam was looking at her like she'd lost her mind.

“I'm organizing my thoughts.”

Crick smiled again, a real one this time. In appreciation of a good side step, Sonora suspected.