Moon Music (19 page)

Jensen walked over, slipped his hands around her waist. "I'm not trying to micromanage your life, Alison. I was just worried about you. That's all."

She turned around, stroked his face. "Poor, poor Steve."

He brought her to his chest. "You know how much I love you. How much I care."

She answered him by stroking his crotch.

And damn if he didn't respond instantly. Within minutes, he was inside her. The excitement was overwhelming as he desperately tried to hold back long enough for her to climax. Goddamn perverse when fucking your own wife was more of a turn-on than fucking your mistress. He felt himself about to give way, willed himself to keep going.

Seconds later, she shuddered beneath him. He answered her call by erupting with volcanic action—a physical release of stress and androgens. She pushed him away and headed for the bathroom. He knew he should have followed her. But instead, he made the mistake of closing his eyes. The last thing he heard was the water running.

The bath was so hot that in a previous life it might have burned her flesh. But Alison had learned to tolerate things that would do in most mortals.

It was all happening so fast.

Faster than her research could explain it. Or maybe she just hadn't looked hard enough. Because she was sure it was all there. If she could only find the time….

Is that how Mother had felt? Had it come upon her equally fast? Had she felt the same way? Stronger…smarter…more and more immortal?

Because she knew she really was becoming immortal. She'd realized that tonight when she outran Romulus.

Soaking in the searing water.

So he was onto her. Or rather onto her in disguise. She knew that had to happen
eventually
. But she didn't expect it to happen so fast.

Everything…so fast.

Which made it all the more exciting.

Outrunning Rom.

Her physical strength was now clear. That she could outrun Rom…or any man…well, that was no challenge. Yes, she could outrun Rom. But could she
outwit
him? Because mentally, she hadn't changed. She was still the same, and so was he.

Romulus.

He had been a tiny boy who had always been there to do her bidding. How he had adored her, mooning over her like a sick puppy. They had been each other's first. The physical relationship had lasted for six months. Then she reached high school, and somehow had made it into the in-crowd. There was no longer a place for him in her life except as a whipping boy. But he hadn't understood that. Because no matter how she had demeaned him, he had always come back.

Tears rolled down her cheek.

She knew it couldn't last forever. But did it have to end so fast?

She was losing her hold. He was drifting away, spending time with that so-called girlfriend of his. He even left the house
early
to go have dinner with her. Even though she offered him dinner at
her
house—alone—just the
two
of them. He'd always canceled his dates in the past. Why hadn't he canceled this one? Even after she had asked
twice
. And why that woman? She was too old for him.
Way
too old!

More tears.

He was getting back at her.
That
was it. He was getting back because he had always felt that Steve was too old.

Of course, that was it. This was all about
revenge!

She wiped her face, but she couldn't stop crying.

The look in his eyes when they talked. Distant. Remote.

Maybe it was because Steve had told him off. But Rom had never let Steve interfere with their relationship in the past. It had to be
that woman.

Everything…so fast.

Get a grip on it, Alison!

Squeezing her eyes shut. Picturing the octagonal stop sign.

Stop.
Stop!

Slowly, she shut off her ocular water taps, her mind bent on
her
revenge as she soaped up her hair for the fifth time.

If she couldn't dangle him with love, she'd engage him in other ways.

A nice friendly game of cat and mouse.

Or more like hunter and prey.

EIGHTEEN

W
ALKING INTO
the squad room, Poe smiled when he saw a dozen long-stemmed blood-red roses sitting in a vase on Deluca's desk. He said, "Must have been a good weekend."

She didn't look up. Her face matched the color of the flowers. "It had its moments."

Poe hung up his jacket. It was half past seven. Both he and Patricia were early risers—the only occupants in the house. "How's old Nate doing? Spot any more bad guys for us?"

"Don't believe so."

Poe sat at his desk, turned on his computer and modem. "Let's see what mayhem happened over the weekend." He waited for the machine to go through its virus check. "Where'd you two go?"

Patricia said, "We ate our way across the state."

Poe smiled. "Seriously."

"I am serious. We ended up in Reno, took in a floor show there. Then Nate wanted to try out a Swedish buffet. We thought about skiing in the Sierra Nevadas, but I was afraid that in our white ski suits, we'd be mistaken for gigantic snowballs. Or polar bears."

Poe laughed. "You're awful."

"We did wind up doing some cross-country skiing. By the end, I lost my weight in water. Soaked clear to the bone with sweat." A sigh. "But man, was it beautiful in the mountains!"

"You should have picked up my mother as long as you were in Reno."

"Yeah, how's that going, sir?"

"I'm still interviewing nurses." Poe rubbed his forehead. "Ruki knows a lot of people. We'll find someone."

"Did she finish the autopsy on Kid Jane Doe?"

"I'm pretty sure she did, but I think she wants to go over her transcripts. We should get a preliminary soon. Maybe by the middle of the week." A beat. "She did tell me something important. There's a high degree of probability that Kid Jane Doe died of asphyxiation."

"Asphyxiation? Are you sure?"

"That's what she said. Something about the bluing of the alveolar cells, whatever that means."

"Did Kid Jane Doe drown?"

"No…no water in the lungs. And she did a test that ruled out carbon monoxide poisoning. Rukmani's certain that Jane Doe wasn't strangled manually or with an implement. Because even with the neck cut, she didn't see ligature marks, indentations, or depressions in the throat region, front or back. Ruki said
if
the kid was strangled, it was a soft strangulation—like a pillow over the face."

"Or a plastic bag over her head."

"What makes you say that?"

"Dealers have lots of plastic bags."

"Which brings up another touchy point. She found Caucasian skin cells under both Doe's and Newel's nails…sort of ruling out A. A. Williams as her sparring partner. Rukmani said that the kid fought back like a tiger."

He paused.

"Now the tiger part kind of negates a gentle strangulation. If she went down fighting like a demon, it doesn't seem logical that someone could do her in by gently placing something over her face."

Poe cleared his throat and tried to make sense out of the facts. "We know that Teen Doe was a hooker and Williams was her pimp, right?"

"Right."

"Say he gave her over to someone who wanted it rough. Say it got
too
rough. The kid protested, the john put a pillow over her head to quiet her down. Only problem was he did it for too long."

He stopped speaking. Patricia asked, "And then what?"

Poe scratched his head. "I don't know. Maybe Williams found the kid dead, got nervous, and split." A pause. "Then why slash her throat? Especially after Williams
told
me that he'd slit Newel if he ever saw her again. Like you said last week, he can't be that stupid. But it seems almost as if he wanted to set himself up."

"Or someone else is setting him up."

"Good point. I suppose we'll know more after the autopsy's complete. Rukmani's going over the slides again. She should get back the blood and gas reports sometime this week."

"Which will tell us if Kid Doe was drugged like Brittany Newel."

"Yeah, interesting to see if both were sedated. Because the two cases are alike, but not alike. As if someone is
trying
to be a serial killer, but doesn't quite have all the moves down yet." Poe snapped his fingers. "Do we have any leads on the identity of Kid Doe?"

"Not yet. I ran her through Youth Runaway Shelter and Juvenile Court Services Abuse and came up empty. I'll put in a call to National Child Services and the National Runaway Register. Fax them over some sanitized pictures of the girl, then input the information on her directly from my computer."

"Sounds like a good plan." Poe regarded the monitor. The screen saver on his machine was flashing images of western movie star he-men. At the moment, John Wayne was turning into Clint Eastwood. He punched in a code number and hooked into the LVMPD "Currents" file.

Pulling up the weekend activities.

A couple of gang-related shootings in the north end. No deaths. The wounded were at the University Medical Center.

Several car crashes on the highway, but only one was fatal. Saturday afternoon, three o'clock. Witnesses said a van had hit the center divider, flipped into the air, and bounced upside down several times on the roadway before alighting on the desert floor. By the time the medics arrived, they found a mangle of human flesh. Fatalities were a black male in his thirties and a white female appearing to be in her late teens. Poe brought up the highway patrol photographs taken at the scene onto his monitor.

He winced. The man had been decorticated, his skull sheared off by a piece of metal. His eyes were browless. Blood had poured out from the brainless head. His face was a bloody pulp, yet the goatee was still intact.

Poe's eyes widened. "Oh my God!"

"Excuse me?" Patricia said.

He jumped up from his chair, leaned closer to the monitor. "It's him! A. A. Williams—Jane Doe's pimp! Come take a look!"

Patricia got up, walked over to Poe's desk, stepping back when she saw what was on the screen. "What
are
you looking at?"

"A car accident out on Route Fifty." He pointed to the face. "The goatee. That's Williams's goatee! See it?"

"Yes, sir." In fact, all Patricia saw was something nauseating.

Poe said, "That's got to be Williams! Only one way to be certain. Find out where they took the bodies and check out the prints." He pounded the table. "Dammit! He was here all this time and we let him get away."
Just like Mr. Ponytail
. He began to pace. "Damn these weekends! Too many people clogging up our walkways! Can't find a goddamn thing, let alone a person!"

"You want some coffee, sir?" Patricia offered. "Maybe some
decaf
?"

Jensen walked through the door.

Poe said, "Hey, Stevie. C'mere and take a look at this."

Jensen's voice was steely. "Why'd you come to my house, Poe?"

Poe stopped pacing, feeling hairs spring up at the base of his neck. "What are you talking about?"

"Friday. Why'd you come to my house?"

Poe glared at him. "To look for you."

"Ever hear of a phone?"

Patricia said, "I…need to go to the bathroom." She fled.

Poe waited a beat, then said, "Patricia said you had knocked off early. I called, Jensen, but no one answered. I got a little concerned, so I stopped by—"

"My family is none of your goddamn business—"

"Jensen, I came looking for you. You weren't home, I left—"

"After carrying on a nice little conversation with my wife."

"It was hello and good-bye."

"Bullshit!" Jensen advanced on Poe, poked him in the chest. "Alison told me she gave you my hotel's number. Now just what were you two talking about? What a terrible bastard I am?" Another poke. "How she deserves better?" A third one. "What, Poe? What little morsels did you put in her mind? Tell me
what
!"

Poe swatted his hand away. "She was shittin' you, Jensen. She didn't give me anyone's number and I didn't call any hotel. I had
no
idea where you were. I
paged
you, you idiot.
You
called
me
back."

Jensen's mouth fell open as his brain kicked in.

Trouble in paradise?

Then you owe me for this, don't you?

Poe took a step backward, his hands trembling as he shook his own finger at the big man. "Jensen, we've got too much baggage between us to work together. Go find an assignment under Baylor or Marine Martin. As of this moment, you're
off
my cases."

Poe walked back to his desk, sank into his chair. Eight o'clock in the morning and his head felt like a drumskin.

Jensen stumbled over his words, his head sagging in hangdog style. Alison had been so damn convincing. And like a fool, he had believed her lies. Would he ever learn?

"It's just…she's been acting crazy, Poe. Like her mother. She was out until four-thirty in the morn—"

"Jensen, I don't give a rat's ass about your prob—" Poe stopped talking, spun his chair around, and turned to him. "You want to know the truth, Stevie? Yes, I have feelings for your wife. But of late, I find Alison a
royal
pain in the ass. You want to know what
really
happened Friday night? I went over to the house, looking for you. She said you weren't home, implying where you probably
were
, and I, like a moronic dumb shit, gave her all this sympathy that, in the end, just makes her despise me. I don't even know why I even play her game anymore. I'm not even getting laid."

"Neither am I…well, not quite—"

"Jensen, just do your job and leave me the fuck alone."

Steve licked his lips and said, "She said you offered to take her out to dinner."

"That's crap!" Poe said. "As a matter of fact, she invited
me
to dinner. Alone. In
your
house. Know what I said? I said, 'No thank you.' Then she got all teary-eyed. Frankly, I
didn't
care about her problems. I had a date with Ruki, and I'll be damned if I let her ruin this relationship. Far as I'm concerned, you can both go to hell!"