Someone's Watching (23 page)

Robbie went back up the steps to Gabriele. He drooped over her like a giraffe.

“What did he look like?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Robbie. I didn’t get a good look. And now I’ve alarmed you. Is something wrong?”

“I—I don’t know. Was the guy young? Old?”

“I don’t know. I should have checked him out, but I was hurrying off to meet Oscar.” His eyes widened. One of his false eyelashes was dangling. “Did something happen?”

Robbie shook her head. “What time? Do you remember what time you saw him?”

“Let me think. A little before five. I was meeting Oscar at five.” He touched Robbie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Tell me what I can do to help.”

“It’s nothing,” Robbie said. And it probably wasn’t. She gave Gabriele a small smile. “Everything’s fine. Really.”

“Okay, Robbie. But I promise I’ll keep a better watch.”

“Thanks.” She went back down the steps. She didn’t have time to be chasing after imaginary intruders. Lieber was waiting for her.

She got her bike, then pedaled almost recklessly down Washington Avenue, thoughts of who may have been outside her door yesterday afternoon pushed to the back of her mind by more immediate concerns. Why had Lieber asked her to come to the police station? She’d never done that before.

Robbie checked in at the main lobby, and a young uniformed cop escorted Robbie upstairs. He brought her into a small room with a long narrow table and a couple of chairs. An interview room? Interrogation room? What was going on here?

“Detective Lieber will be right with you,” the cop said, closing her into the room.

Robbie started pacing in the small space between the door and the table. There was a mirror in the wall, just like in the movies. This was the kind of place they brought criminals, not something that was in Robbie’s personal frame of reference.

Robbie felt like she was suffocating. What could have happened?

The door opened. Lieber came in carrying a Styrofoam cup of coffee, a laptop, and some other items tucked under her arm. She took a quick inventory of Robbie’s puffy face, T-shirt, and jeans. Robbie realized she was still wearing the feathered earrings she’d had on last night.

“Cream and sugar,” Lieber said, handing Robbie the coffee.

“Thank you.” Robbie put the cup on the table.

Lieber remained standing. Robbie’s eyes fell to Lieber’s black
sneaker-like shoes. The hem on one of her trouser cuffs was coming undone.

“So are you the good cop or bad cop?” Robbie asked.

“What do you mean?” Lieber asked.

“Isn’t that how it works? First one, then the other?”

“Sit down, Robbie,” Lieber said, pulling out a chair and sitting down herself. She put the laptop, her notebook, and a small rectangular device on the table.

“I’d like to know what this is about,” Robbie said, not moving. “I don’t like the feel of it. Do I need a lawyer?”

“Have you done something that you’d need a lawyer for?”

Robbie shook her head and sat down.

Lieber tapped on the keyboard, then looked up at Robbie. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.” She touched the rectangular device. “Do you mind if I tape our conversation?”

“Please tell me what’s happened. I don’t know what to think. Is Jeremy okay? My dad? You said this isn’t about Kate.”

Lieber hesitated, then said, “Jeremy and your dad are fine as far as I know.”

If they were okay, how bad could things be?

Lieber touched the recorder and waited.

“Can’t we talk without that?”

“Okay, Robbie.” Lieber took her hand off the recorder. “Let’s just talk. Where were you yesterday?”

The transition was so abrupt that Robbie was momentarily nonplussed. “We, I—” How much did Lieber know? Probably enough. Robbie started again. “Jeremy and I drove down to Key Largo.”

“And did what?” There was no reprimanding, no judgment in Lieber’s voice.

Robbie recounted their afternoon and evening going to bars and motels asking about Kate and Joanne. Then she told her about
the man at the tiki bar who recognized the girls from the flyers. That got Lieber’s attention.

“What do you mean he recognized them?” Lieber asked.

“He said he saw them at the bar a week ago Friday. That two guys bought them drinks—he called them punks—and the girls left with them.”

Lieber scribbled something in her notebook. “Did he know the two guys? Could he describe them?”

“One had a shaved head, the other had brown hair and thick eyebrows. He said he’d seen them around before, but not since the night they left with the girls.”

“And what about the man? Did you get his name?”

Robbie looked down at her untouched coffee. “I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me. I guess I should have tried harder.”

“That’s okay,” Lieber said, a hint of empathy slipping into her voice.

“But I think he works on one of the charter boats and I’d be able to recognize him if I saw him again.”

She told Lieber what she remembered about the man and how he believed the two guys had taken Kate and Joanne to a party. “So that’s why we ended up at Mike’s house.”

Lieber didn’t look surprised by this information. “You knew Mike was having a party?”

“No. We followed a black car with tinted windows, figuring it would lead us to a house party. It didn’t, but as we were turning around, we saw a bunch of cars parked by another house. We had no idea it was Mike’s house until we went inside.”

“So Brett hadn’t told you about the party?”

Robbie shook her head. Something was wrong here. It seemed it was the party that interested Lieber, not Kate and Joanne’s disappearance.

“But you occasionally go with Brett to his company’s events,” Lieber said. “Was there some reason he wouldn’t have mentioned this one?”

“We—I—Brett and I aren’t dating anymore.”

“Really? Since when?”

“Since Sunday.”

“Who broke up with whom?”

“Why are you asking me this? Why does it matter?”

“Did Jeremy know about the party?”

“No. I already told you, we followed a car and found a house with a lot of cars parked outside. We thought there was a remote chance that if we found a party house, it would be the one Kate went to.”

“Remote’s a good word for it. Do you know how many houses there are in Key Largo?”

Robbie felt blood rush to her head. Why was Lieber putting her on the defensive? “But most people don’t throw big parties. And the ones that do usually throw them all the time.”

Lieber didn’t seem to hear her. She was tapping on her laptop. “So tell me what happened when you saw Brett at the party.”

“We were surprised. So was he.” Robbie stopped. How did Lieber know they’d seen Brett there?

“Was Brett angry to see you with Jeremy?”

Brett. Jeremy. Angry. Robbie had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She answered slowly. “I guess.”

“I see. Then what happened?”

There was a brown sticky streak on the Formica tabletop. Spilled coffee? Dried blood?

“Robbie?”

“They left.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brett and Jeremy went outside.”

“Just the two of them?”

Robbie nodded.

“And what about you?”

“I was with Gina Fieldstone and Mike. I went to look for the guys a few minutes later.”

“Where’d you look?”

“Out back, by the bay.”

“And did you see them?”

Robbie shook her head.

“Then what did you do?”

“I went to the car to see if Jeremy was waiting for me there.”

“The car? His dad’s Corvair?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“He was.”

“Was what?”

“Waiting for me.”

“Did he say anything about Brett?”

Robbie shook her head.

“Did you notice anything unusual?”

Robbie thought about the blood on Jeremy’s T-shirt, his bruised face. His remote behavior on the drive back to Miami. But Jeremy and Brett had had a fight, that was all.

“Robbie? Was there anything unusual about Jeremy?”

She felt tears starting up. Not now, she willed herself. Not now. “Detective Lieber,” Robbie said, trying to control the trembling in her voice. “Would you please tell me what this is all about?”

Lieber closed her notebook and stood up. “Brett’s dead, Robbie. And the last person he was seen alive with was Jeremy.”

As soon as Robbie left the police station, she pressed the speed dial button for Jeremy.

His cell phone rang once, twice.
Jeremy, please answer
.

He picked up just before it would have gone to voice mail. “Yeah.”

“Jeremy. Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Are you okay? Has Lieber—”

“Yeah. I’ve already been to the station.”

“But you’re home, so they don’t think—”

“Maybe you’d better come over.”

She biked to the SOBE Grande, remembering how this had once been her routine, her home. Now it felt so alien. Jeremy still lived there but he was more a stranger to her than ever. Could he possibly have known about Mike’s party? Had he planned to see Brett there? But no—that was impossible. She knew Jeremy better than that, and she would have picked something up in his behavior. Bumping into Brett last night had been an accident. An unfortunate accident.

And then it hit her.

Brett was dead.

Her bike swerved, nearly hitting a parked car. She pulled to the side, got off her bike, and leaned against the trunk of a palm tree for
support. Rays of sunlight broke through the shifting palm fronds, stabbing her eyes with painful brightness.

Brett was dead.

She could see his goofy smile, oversized ears, spiked Dennis-the-Menace hair. He used to make her laugh, picking her up and swinging her around like a rag doll. Then something changed. A tension, a darkness, that hadn’t been there when she’d first met him. What? What had happened? And why was this once-happy young man now dead?

She wanted to cry for him. For the weeks of fun they’d had together. But the tears wouldn’t come. It felt like glue had seeped through her veins and tear ducts, stopping up the flow of blood and tears, almost paralyzing her. Brett was dead. And Jeremy was the last person he’d been seen alive with.

She got up to Jeremy’s apartment on the eighth floor. She knocked. No answer. Jeremy often left the front door unlocked and it used to infuriate Robbie when they lived together. After what happened to his parents, how could he not be worried about the wrong person coming in?

She tried the door. It was open. She stepped inside and looked around the studio apartment. Almost nothing had changed since she’d lived here. Facing the wall of sliding windows was a cordovan-colored sofa that opened into the bed she’d once shared with Jeremy. Only one bike, his, leaned against the wall beneath the arrangement of mirrors she had made when they’d first moved in. The Oriental rug that had belonged to his mother covered the area between the window and the sofa. Jeremy was lying on it, his head resting on a pillow. Asleep?

She sat down on the rug near him, folding her legs beneath her.

“So here we go again,” he said, without picking his head up. “Wherever Jeremy Stroeb goes, dead bodies are sure to follow.”

“Don’t give me that self-pity bullshit. This isn’t just about you. I want you to tell me what happened with Brett last night. And why aren’t you under arrest?”

Jeremy rolled onto his side. One eye was swollen shut. He took a moment to answer. Was he trying to make up something that sounded good? Finally, he sat up. He moved stiffly, as though he was in pain. “I’m sorry.” He took her hand. His knuckles were raw. “I was so angry, I wasn’t thinking. Brett was someone you cared about. I’m really, really sorry.”

She nodded thanks as she pulled her hand out of Jeremy’s. “So tell me what happened.”

His chest sagged beneath his wrinkled T-shirt. “I’ve just been through this with Lieber. She brought me down to the station first thing this morning. Apparently, the party cleanup crew found Brett’s body in the bushes near the bay. When Mike was questioned, he told the police about you and me showing up at the party.”

“You and Brett were seen leaving together. And you were both very angry.”

“I know. But I didn’t kill him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“By accident. Could you have hit him and maybe he fell and banged his head or something?”

Jeremy shook his head. “We took a few swings at each other, but he wasn’t badly hurt. I got his nose and there was some blood, but he was standing and screaming at me when I walked away.”

“So you walked away?”

“What are you, double-teaming with Lieber?”

“This is serious, Jeremy. After you spoke to Lieber, she called me in for questioning. That means even if she let you go, you’re still a suspect.”

“I know. I know.”

“What happened when you left? Did he follow you?”

Jeremy brought his hands up to his unshaven cheeks and rubbed them. There were traces of ink on his fingers. “It was weird,” he said. “First, Brett came after me, shouting to stay the fuck out of his life. Then—it was really strange—he just sank down in the grass and started to cry.”

“Cry?”

“Yeah. These really pitiful sobs like he felt his life was coming apart.”

“And did you go back to him?”

“Shit. Are you kidding? I took that as a sign of defeat and got the hell away.”

Robbie ran her finger over the kaleidoscope pattern in the Oriental rug—turquoise, emerald green, magenta. She thought about other colors.
Yellow, gold, russet, crimson, burgundy, magenta. Nothing is forever
, her mother had said.

“Why didn’t you say something on the ride home last night?”

“I was too upset.”

“About?”

“The fight. It seemed pointless to me. It wasn’t like I hated him or anything. And I don’t think he hated me. It was more like he was just so angry he needed someone to take it out on. And I guess I felt sorry for him.”

“But why didn’t you talk to me about it? I kept asking you and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

“Jesus, Robbie. I was pissed at myself. I should have walked away, but I let my animal instincts take over.” He looked down at the raw knuckles on his scarred hand. “I was hoping I’d gotten past that.”