The Blue Journal (2 page)

She thought of how she might taunt her husband with the details of this latest infidelity. The thought amused her, excited her, but did not make her happy.

She picked up her robe and headed upstairs.

In the bedroom, Elizabeth sat at the dressing table facing another mirror. She was fond of mirrors. This time she regarded herself with the vacant stare of a stranger. Noticing the scratch marks on her neck, she absently touched them, then picked up a brush and began running it slowly through her thick hair.

When she heard the front door open and then close downstairs, it only vaguely occurred to her that he had arrived early. She listened as the footsteps faintly echoed through the quiet, as if real life were suddenly intruding upon her fantasies. She had told him he should let himself in, that she would be alone, but she wondered for a moment why he had not called out her name. She did not trouble herself about it. Instead, she placed the brush on the table, rose from the cushioned bench, and walked to her bed.

Champagne was chilling in an ice-filled bucket on her nightstand. She twirled the bottle once, then fluffed up the pillows against the mahogany headboard and climbed between the sheets, pulling the comforter over her naked legs. She waited, listening to the sound of muted footsteps as they made their way up the carpeted stairs.

When the door to her bedroom slowly swung open she did not conceal her surprise. “What are you doing here?” Elizabeth demanded.

At first no answer was given, then, “Under the circumstances, don't you think I should be the one asking the questions.”

“Don't be a fool,” she replied. “I want you to leave right now.”

The murderer strode slowly into the room without speaking.

“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth asked a second time.

Again, there was no response.

“Don't be tiresome,” Elizabeth said with growing anger. “I want you out of here. Right now!”

“You've done so much damage, Elizabeth. Far too much. It's time to put an end to all this.”

She forced a laugh. “What damage have I done?”

“You asked me not to be tiresome. Please don't play the fool, it doesn't become you.”

“What do you want?”

“I told you, I'm going to end all this.”

Elizabeth responded with a disgusted look. “Get out,” she said.

Only then did the murderer raise the gun for her to see.

Shock turned to fear, then almost at once to defiance. “Put that away,” Elizabeth said.

There was a momentary hesitation followed by a grim smile. “I can't,” the murderer replied.

“Is that the best you can do? ‘You can't'?”

The murderer moved closer, staring down at Elizabeth, not speaking.

“You want to frighten me, is that it?”

“No. I already know that frightening you won't be enough. By tomorrow you'll be back to the same games, the same destructive behavior. No, I've come here to kill you.”

“Don't be absurd,” Elizabeth said, doing her best not to sound scared. “Put that gun away.”

“I told you, I can't. I can't allow this to go on.”

“Allow what to go on?”

“You.”

It seemed there should be something else to say, but for a moment neither of them spoke. Then Elizabeth raised her hand as if to wave all of this away as some nonsensical raving. “You take everything too seriously. I've told you that before. Put that away so we can talk.”

“Talking is done.” With that said, the murderer moved to the edge of the bed and yanked back the sheets to expose Elizabeth's naked form. “This is all it's about for you, isn't it?” the murderer said, then raised the gun and pointed it at the side of Elizabeth's head.

“You're so pathetic,” Elizabeth replied.

Then it was over.

CHAPTER 2

That evening, Lieutenant Detective Anthony Walker arrived at the bank building in the center of town. Paper coffee cup in hand, he stepped from his unmarked SUV into the dusky night.

Officer Kovacevic was waiting for him.

“He still up there?”

Kovacevic pointed skyward. Walker spotted the young man, leaning over the edge of the roof of the four-story building. It was tough to see much at this hour from that distance, but Walker guessed the kid was in his late teens.

“How long has he been there?”

“At least fifteen minutes.”

Walker had a quick look around. Two police cruisers, an ambulance and a fire truck were already on the scene, along with a growing number of spectators. Walker pulled out his badge and hung it on the zipper of his jacket, an old New York City habit that was unnecessary in this small burgh where it seemed everyone was pretty much acquainted with everyone else. “The chief on his way?”

Kovacevic shook his head. “He told us you'd be in charge.”

Walker nodded. It was no secret within the town's small police force that Chief Gill was not a fan of Walker's big city style, but it was Walker he turned to whenever things became messy.

“Any idea who the boy is?”

“That lady over there recognized him.” Kovacevic pointed to a middle-aged woman in the crowd who, along with everyone else on the scene, was staring up at the roof. “Told us his name is Kyle Avery, local high school kid.”

“She say anything else about him?”

“Sir?”

“You know, is he a bad kid? Trouble maker? Nut job?”

“All she said was he comes from a good family.”

“Don't they all?” Walker had a quick look at the team of firemen who were assembling a net just below where the boy was standing. “Get that goddamned thing ready,” he called out, then turned back to Kovacevic. “He talk with anyone yet? Say what he wants?”

“Kevin Chambers went up there and tried to talk with him, but the kid got all kinds of nervous. Kevin came back inside and called the chief. That's when he told us to wait for you.”

“The kid could have jumped in the meantime,” Walker said, more to himself than his junior officer.

Kovacevic waited.

“Any indication of drugs or alcohol?”

“Don't know, sir.”

“All right.” Walker took a sip of his black coffee, which had become lukewarm in the cool night air. He tossed it into a nearby trash can. “We reach his parents?”

“The mother was out to dinner, they just tracked her down. The father was at a meeting in New York. Both on their way now. Mother gave us the name of their family psychiatrist, said she would call her.”

A woman's voice came from behind them. “I'm a psychologist, officer, not a psychiatrist.”

Walker and Kovacevic turned to face a tall, attractive blond. She was wearing a black skirt, gray jacket, and a serious look.

Walker gave her the once over, then said, “Well I'm a detective, not an officer.”

“Oh,” she replied, her anxious gaze moving from Walker to the boy on the ledge.

“He's your patient?” Walker asked.

“I work with the family, yes.” She extended her hand. “Randi Conway,” she said. “I'm here to help.”

He liked her grip, it was firm and sure. He also liked her looks. She appeared to be in her midthirties, with warm, brown eyes and soft features. Her sandy-colored hair was straight and shoulder length, a style he figured she didn't waste a lot of time on but looked great all the same. She was a couple of inches taller than Walker, but he wasn't the type to hold that against a woman. “What sort of help you figure you can be? You gonna talk him down, like in the movies?”

“I would like to speak with him, yes.”

“Look, uh, miss . . .”

“Conway, Doctor Conway.”

“Look, Doctor Conway, this kid doesn't want to jump and I don't want you giving him any reason why he should.”

“He doesn't want to jump?”

“That's right.”

“And what qualifies you to make that judgment?”

“I'm told he's been up there for more than fifteen minutes. If he wanted to off himself, he could have done a swan dive already, right?”

“I appreciate your professional analysis, Detective, but I'm Kyle's therapist and I demand to see him right now.”

“Oh, I see, you
demand
to see him. Sorry, I didn't get the demand part the first time. Well, Doctor, I would love to accommodate your
demand
, but I think it's a little late for an hour of therapy, don't you? I'm in charge here, and I'll be the first one to speak with the boy. Whatever he's up to, it's my job to bring him down safely. After that he's all yours.” He turned to Kovacevic. “Run over to that liquor store and get me a couple of cans of cold beer, pronto.”

“Seriously, sir?”

“Seriously. Now move it.” Kovacevic took off at a trot across the street and Walker returned his attention to the activity at the front of the building. “Get that damned trampoline set up,” he yelled out. “You're a rescue unit, not Barnum and Bailey's Circus.”

Kovacevic quickly returned with a six-pack of Budweiser. Walker took it from him and strode through the crowd. Short and muscular, he moved with purpose, arms akimbo, his unforgiving gray-brown eyes announcing his attitude without the need to utter a single word. He did not bother to acknowledge any of the familiar faces he passed. The only thing Walker cared about right now was the young man on the roof, and how the hell he was going to get him down.

He entered the lobby of this four-story building, the tallest structure in town, with Dr. Conway and Kovacevic in tow. They rode the elevator to the top floor in silence, then the three of them hurried up the staircase leading to the roof. At the door, two police officers greeted Walker.

“You spoke with him?” Walker asked.

Sergeant Chambers nodded. “He's a touchy kid,” he warned.

“Right,” Walker replied.

“When I opened the door and tried to say something I thought he was going to fly right off the edge.”

“Got it.”

Randi Conway began to speak, but Walker showed her the palm of his hand and said, “Stay here,” then he slowly opened the door and went outside alone.

As Walker stepped onto the roof, Dr. Conway turned to Kovacevic. “Your boss had better know what he's doing.”

“Don't worry,” he told her, “he does.”

When Walker strode through the door, the boy was so startled he nearly fell backward.

“Take it easy, son, I'm only here to ask a couple of questions.”

Walker could have scripted the kid's next line.

“Don't come any closer or I'll jump.” The boy was standing just a few feet from the edge of the roof. He had turned away from the crowd below as he watched Walker and waited for the policeman's next move. “I mean it,” he said.

“Fair enough,” Walker replied. He let the door close behind him and moved slowly toward the ledge. Looking down, he said, “Quite a show, huh?”

The young man offered no response, keeping his eyes on Walker as he took another step away from the policeman.

Walker knew from years of experience that there's a world of difference between gazing up at a jumper and meeting him face-to-face. He felt his stomach tighten as he eyed the boy, knowing that whether the kid was going to live or die was now in his hands. Over the course of the next minute or two, the things he said and the moves he made were going to determine this young man's fate.

“I hate heights,” he told the boy, doing his best to sound matter-of-fact about it. “Scares the hell outta me.” Walker turned his back to the crowd below and sat on the concrete parapet. He placed the six-pack of beer beside him, then pulled a can from the plastic holder and popped the top. “Want one?”

The boy shook his head.

Walker drank down a long swallow without taking his eyes off the kid. “They tell me you're Kyle Avery, that right?”

The boy nodded.

“I'm Anthony Walker.”

Kyle just waited.

“You drink beer Kyle?”

Kyle appeared confused.

“It's not a trick question,” Walker assured him with a grin.

“I'm under age,” Kyle told him.

Walker nodded thoughtfully. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen. Almost seventeen.”

“Well, under the circumstances I think it'll be all right.” He smiled again. “I am a cop, you know.” He pointed to the badge that hung against his chest. “I can give you permission.”

Kyle stared at him without speaking.

Walker pulled another can from the plastic sleeve and tossed it underhand to the boy. Kyle took a step away from the edge of the tar-covered roof and grabbed the can as it spun toward him.

“Nice catch,” Walker said.

Kyle popped the can open and beer foamed over the top. He took a gulp and began to cough.

Walker reacted with a warm laugh. “Easy,” he said.

The boy surprised himself as he began to laugh too.

“So,” Walker said, “here we are, just a couple of guys having a beer. Isn't life something?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, “I guess it is.”

“So what're you gonna do now? You gonna drink that brewski and come with me and enjoy the rest of your life, or you gonna jump off this building and break your legs?”

The smile vanished from Kyle's face.

“Hey, I'm just asking.” Walker took another swig of beer, then nonchalantly held up the can. “A lot of those foreign brews are tasty, but there are times when you can't beat a cold Bud.”

Kyle took another drink of the beer, more carefully this time, but said nothing.

“You have anything to drink before you came up here? Do any drugs or anything?”

Kyle frowned, then shook his head.

“Hey,” Walker said with another of his friendliest smiles, “don't be so offended, I had to ask.”

The boy nodded.

“Look, I don't know what brought you up here, Kyle, but it's still your choice how you get down.”