Imola (26 page)

She raised her right hand, lunged forward, and the stun gun punched into Jason’s ribs.

He jerked sideways as if someone had hit him with a baseball bat. His knees buckled.

“Are you stronger?”

Jason crumpled onto the floor.

Yes
.

A warm sensation turned hot. In his shin. Then the pain hit, radiating upward. A sharp tinge shot down his elbow and met the upward bolt, right around the ribs, where another warm spot heated to a scald. Jason’s memory cleared: he’d never felt so happy to be in pain. It meant his throat hadn’t been slit. His right hand went to his crotch. All intact. No pain there. He exhaled, but nothing happened except a burning pain in his nose. He opened his mouth and tried again.

He didn’t want to open his eyes. Lilin might still be there, razor in hand, ready to slice. Or it could be Agnes, with her arms held out for a hug. He opened one eye, then the other. Half of the apartment filled his visual field. No one was there. He turned his head slowly, and a pyre of pain flickered in his chest. No one was in theother half. He was alone.

Curiosity battled relief. Why? Why wasn’t he another of Lilin’s victims? Had Agnes intervened? It had been Lilin who held the razor. He was sure of that. The look in her eye, her voice, her posture—it was Lilin. Her features were emblazoned in his mind from their earlier meeting, before Imola. But he sensed that Agnes had been in the apartment, too. The actions, the changes in expression, and the strange talk. Agnes must have been in there. Arguing with Lilin? She must have saved him.

Jason’s mind turned to his brother. Thank God he ran away, for once without a request for money. But where did he go? Jason rose up on one elbow and immediately regretted it. Where could he find Donnie? He’d never seen his big brother so scared. What Lilin had said about him held some truth, but Donnie wasn’t a waste of human flesh. He was family, and Jason needed family right now.

Jason pushed to his feet, and the pain dulled but stiffness moved to fill the void. He grunted. It triggered a flash memory of his father. The old man had said that as one gets older, grunts help whenever standing up or sitting down. They lubricated the joints. The grunt certainly helped him stand up this time.

Jason brushed his clothes straight, and a flash of white caught his eye. It fell from the front of his shirt and fluttered to the ground like a wounded butterfly. A small square of paper landed on the floor between hisfeet. He leaned to pick it up and gave a double grunt to grease the movement. Three words were written on the scrap, in all caps: “DR. LEAHY, LEVI’S.”

Dr. Leahy? April. Was Agnes headed to her place? Was Lilin? The tight sensation of panic pressed on Jason’s lungs and constricted his throat. He charged three steps toward the door before his brain kicked in.

His cell phone was in his pocket. He nearly dropped it, and his shaking fingers had trouble pushing the miniature buttons. It clunked and rang. No answer. After seven rings, April’s voice mail picked up and a computer-generated woman’s voice spoke.

“April. Get out of your apartment right away. Call me when you’re gone.” He slammed the phone shut and ran for the door.

At the bottom of the stairway, he heard the distant wails of police sirens, coming from two opposite directions, getting closer.

Donnie must have called the police. Jason silently thanked his big brother, then sprinted from the doorway and down the street. He couldn’t wait for the police now. He had to get to April’s.

The Volvo was intact—no stolen wheels or missing parts—and it fired up on the first key turn. A quick glance at his watch—he’d been out for around fifteen minutes. No sense calling Bransome. He’d still be fishing. Fifteen minutes. Agnes must have left in a hurry.

The police. He could have them check April’s apartment. They’d be able to get there before he could. They might find Agnes. Or catch Lilin in the act. He hesitated. Levi’s? What did that mean? Was there something at April’s that he was meant to see? Or to do? It was a message from Agnes. He’d seen her handwriting before, and the writing on the scrap appeared similar. Maybe Agnes had another message for him or some kind of sign. But she never wore Levi’s. Did she? He pressed on the accelerator.

Agnes was close, or rather, he was close to Agnes. That feeling kept returning. She’d saved his life. He was sure of it now. She’d saved him this time. But what about the next meeting? She’d battled Lilin and won. This time. A warm sensation flooded his body, edging through the stiffness and pain. His feelings for Agnes had a familiar tone, and they brought him back to Mendocino, when they’d first met. When her allure was confusing to him, but strong. And it was so different than what he had felt for Eugenia or April. April. His foot pressed down on the accelerator pedal.

Just what was it about Agnes that pulled on him? The sensations were solid, enveloping. His foot backed off the accelerator and then pressed again. They mirrored the feelings he had for Donnie. The need to protect, sure, but it was more. A closeness. A bond. Like family?

Jason felt a chill that penetrated deep into his body. The door to April’s condo was unlocked. He twisted the knob past the catch and pushed, jumping back. No movement, no sound. He inched in, slightly crouched for a quick movement, but he straightened up just inside the door. His throbbing pulse highlighted his injuries. He’d been to too many homicide scenes, and the condo had all of the eerie sensations.

First, there was the quiet. It was complete, as if all small ticks, squeaks, and building noises died with the victim. And it didn’t have the echo of emptiness. That was gone, too. Second was the temperature. It was always cold at the scenes. Like the body itself heated the home with energies that went beyond thermal. The lack of human energy drained the place of all warmth. Finally, there was the smell. It was faint in the front entryway, but it was unmistakable. The putrid, dead-mammal smell of an aging kill. The smell of a fresh scene, up to about twenty-four hours, was almost sterile, but it quickly tuned rancid after that. It more than neutralized perfumes and other fragrances that emanated from a home. Even the grandmotherly smell from an old person’s home was sucked away at a death scene.

Jason tiptoed past the kitchen door and the odor hit him hard, immediately realized as a swirling dizziness that went up his neck, invading his brain. He reached out and steadied himself with a hand on the wall, and the lightheadedness passed. This smell was strong—he’d tolerated it numerous times in the past. It didn’t make sense. For it to be here, it meant that the death must have occurred well before yesterday, not today. His mind jumped back to his phone conversation with Agnes. He’d told her to go see April. Is that what she’d done? Is that when it had happened? Horror gave way to guilt. Had he set up April’s death?

He didn’t want to go in any farther. But he had to. He knew what he’d find, and this one was personal.

With his handkerchief covering his nose and mouth, he inched into the living room and spotted a foot sticking out from behind the couch. Its skin was a dull, grayish white. He walked around the couch, and his knees buckled. A lightheaded sensation swept upward through hishead again, triggering involuntary gasps. It was April, her throat slit. The wide pool of blood was brown and congealed—the metallic sheen way past jejune. Her severed index finger stuck straight up on her chest, glued by a brownish blob. He stood and stared when he wanted to run. Then the nausea came.

He turned and ran for the sink and stumbled on something, nearly falling over. He grabbed the counter, which stabilized him enough for a quick leap to the sink. He retched. Now his pain was acute: it swirled with his sickness into a whirlwind of misery. And for a moment, he wanted to join April. To check out. He was supposed to be dead, too. But he wasn’t. Why not?

Agnes. That’s why. What had her note said? Levi’s?

He teetered back toward the living room, gaining strength with each step. On the floor, he spotted the object that had tripped him—a pair of Levi’s. They were small, the size Lilin would wear. Much too slim for Agnes’s taste. Nothing appeared special about them.

For some reason, Detective Bransome’s cautions came to mind. Rule number one: don’t contaminate a crime scene. Don’t touch anything, don’t move anything.

But there was no doubt about the murderer in this case. This was open and shut. Jason reached for the jeans but stopped and straightened up. The stench doubled near the floor, the dense air of death forming a viscous layer like the fake fog that bubbled from a chunk of dryice thrown into water. Was it the smell that fueled his hesitation, or did Bransome’s thoroughness intervene?

He kicked at the garment and it flopped over. Nothing significant on that side.

If Agnes had saved his life, she must have been in a battle with Lilin. And she had won. But Agnes could need help. Why else would she leave the note at Donnie’s?

Jason gulped a huge lung-full of air, bent down, and held his breath. He grabbed the jeans and straightened up. On his exhalation and his next breath, he found the jeans were permeated with the smell. It was on his hands and rising around him. He fumbled in the pockets—nothing there. He pushed his arms through each leg. Nothing there either. He was about to throw them on the floor when he noticed a bulge in the small change pocket inside the right front pocket. He fished in his index finger and pulled out a folded piece of paper. This one was larger than the scrap left at Donnie’s apartment. His fingers twitched violently as he unfolded a handwritten note.

Lilin stomped through the front room of the trailer, kicked at a chair, and then upset a small table in the corner. She’d driven to Inverness so fast the GTO had nearly left the road three times. She rushed across the living room and swept a lamp from a matching table. The lamp crashed into the wall and fell along the baseboard in a scatter of ceramic shards.

It was late afternoon now, and the day was wasted. Both opportunities to scratch her billowing itch were gone. Maybe for good. She had driven past the apartment of Jason’s brother, but there were two police cars outside. Now there was nothing left but to pack up for her disappearance.

She stopped in the middle of the living room and spun around. With a slight bend at the waist, her voice ascended to a near scream. “Are you happy? You fuckedeverything up. You’ve jeopardized the future. He’ll come looking for you. And for me. He should have died.”

She waited, her arms held out in a palms-up query.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

No
.

“Do you still think you’re in control?”

No answer.

“Maybe I should go back and find him.”

No voice.

“I could still find a way to get him.”

You won’t
.

“How do you know?”

No response.

“Do you want to go to him—to your precious Jason?”

In time
.

Lilin paced to the entryway and spun around. She stomped back across the room, shaking the trailer with each step. “In time? What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You think you have a plan?”

Silence.

She kicked at the ceramic shards near the wall, scattering them across the worn carpet. “I can’t believe you stopped me. You don’t understand. I need to erase all traces. Eliminate all potential problems. I’m doing this for us. And what thanks do I get? Interference.”

Sounds logical
.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lilin stood still. Her hands balled into fists. Her right hand drew back and crashed forward into the wall, cracking the 60s-era walnut paneling. “If you’re so strong, why am I here instead of you?”

Nothing.

“Answer me.”

Still nothing.

“Answer me, you bitch.”

Jason turned off Highway 1 and guided the Volvo onto the road that circled the terminus of Tomales Bay.

The police were at April’s apartment by now. He’d phoned in an anonymous tip. Dr. April Leahy hadn’t been seen leaving her apartment for several days. And he’d lied, said there were some strange noises a few nights ago. And now a bad smell was coming from the place. He’d hung up before the desk officer could ask for specifics—and for his identity.

It frustrated him to do it that way. He should have stayed with her body, given her the final comfort of a familiar face until the authorities showed up. Tears clogged his eyes.

In the short time he’d been with April, he’d felt a stirring that hadn’t turned his emotions for some time. It wasn’t a category five hurricane, as with Eugenia, but it had progressed from a tropical depression to a tropical storm. Tropical Storm April. She was important to him, but not the way she had wanted. And he felt guilty about it. He never could come out and be honest with her, and now he was glad he hadn’t. How perverse was that? He was glad she died thinking they had a chance at something more than the close friendship and the physical love they shared. And what did that make him?

Unfair as it was, April never had a chance. The more she opened his heart to the possibility of forming another loving relationship with a woman, the more she succumbed to the comparative tension of his potential to love. In that way, she was her own worst enemy. The stronger his feelings became for her, the more she helped him realize he was looking for something else. Someone else. But who? There was someone out there, and it wasn’t his ex. Eugenia was now just a standard, a bar height. That was April’s gift to him. He wiped his eyes on his wrist and noticed it came away moist.

That was the positive spin. Now for the negative. In harsh terms, he couldn’t get around the realization that he had used her. It wasn’t done in a mean-spirited way. But he should have been honest with her. Eventually, it would have happened. But now …

Fortunately, Inverness was close.

He picked up Agnes’s note from the passenger seatand propped it on top of the steering wheel. The note from the change pocket of the Levi’s. This was the fifth scan. Or was it the sixth? He didn’t need to read it again; he had it memorized.