The Seduction - Art Bourgeau (33 page)

Moving down Sansom Street, looking in shop windows
without actually seeing, to put things in more familiar terms she
tried to liken it to a doctor telling you that you had one chance to
five, one last dangerous painful procedure. What do you do? But of
course it wasn't the same.

Here, if they didn't take the chance, Felix would
almost surely be convicted. Possibly even sentenced to death. It was
to weight the odds except on the side of taking the gamble . . . ?
She turned and began to walk toward Broad and Chestnut and the
offices of Coleman Green.

It was after two when she arrived. His secretary told
her that Coleman was still in court but expected back. She sat down
to wait. The reception area was crowded and smoky. Most of the other
people waiting were black, reminding her that criminal lawyers dealt
more with the poor than the rich. She picked up an old copy of
Philadelphia magazine and began to leaf through it, seeing but not
reading.

About an hour later Coleman returned. He was carrying
his briefcase in one hand and two paper bags in the other. When he
saw Laura he managed a smile and ushered her into his cluttered
office. He waved Laura to a chair while he cleared a place on his
desktop for the two paper bags. One held a coffee in a cardboard
container; the other a cornbeef on rye with coleslaw and Russian
dressing.

"A late lunch, been in court. Would you like
half?" Laura declined. "Suit yourself. The Cornbeef Academy
makes a great sandwich." He took a bite, chewed for a minute.
"This Missy Wakefield business is unfortunate—"

"That is a goddamn understatement. I know that
she's lying. I'm not going to let her get away with it. She's not
going to frame Felix and get him convicted for rape and murder."

Coleman took a sip of his coffee, did not reply.
"When I got back to the paper I talked this over with my editor,
and he sent me to see a friend of his, a urologist . . . Have you
ever heard of the Lewis test?"

Coleman shook his head.

Laura did her best to fill him in. "I'm
surprised," she said, "that you didn't know about this
test."

"It's no mystery, Laura. I almost never take a
rape case. It's a part of the practice I detest. Too damn many
unknowns, too messy—"

"Well, then don't you think Felix ought to have
a lawyer who's a specialist in the field?"

"I do and I so advised him, but he said no, he
wanted me. He was quite firm about it."

"Why?"

"Felix goes by the person, the relationship.
Puts all his faith in it. Maybe too much. Anyway, he and I are
friends; I'm involved in this project of his . . ." He shrugged.

That sounded like Felix, and she knew better than to
try to reverse his decision. Back to business. "What do you
think about the idea of this test? Will they let us do it?"

"Oh, they'll let us do it. They'll do it for us.
If they didn't, imagine what that would sound like to a jury—police
refuse to give test because it could clear suspect. No, they'll do it
if we ask But from what you say, it could backfire."

"I know, but what other choice do we have?"

"Let me call Felix's corporate lawyer and see
what he thinks," he said, reaching for the phone.

The two lawyers spoke for several minutes, Coleman
explained the test as he'd gotten it from Laura, but making the
issues clearer . . . no wonder he knew how to get his point across.

When Green hung up, he looked seriously at Laura. "He
feels that we should go ahead with it. I'll call Sloan and arrange
it."

"He's not at the Roundhouse. He's home asleep,"
and she gave him Sloan's home number.

From what Laura could make out listening at one end
of the conversation, Sloan was, as she'd expected, less than pleased
at being awakened from a sound sleep, but in the end, Coleman
reported, he agreed to have the test done.

"But Felix has already been taken to the
detention center,"

Coleman told her, "and it will be several hours
before the sheriff's people can bring him back for the test. I doubt
we'll know anything until around eight tonight." Escorting her
to the door, he said, "Why don't you go home now and get some
rest? I'll let you know what happens, as soon as I hear."

Laura looked at him. "I have to believe it's
going to work. At eight o'clock tonight I'll be at Lagniappe waiting
for the two of you to join me for a celebration drink. Don't
disappoint me."

"We'll be there . . . but if there should be a
snag, I'll call you there and let you know what's up . . ."

She walked back through the crowded reception area
and out to the elevator. The ride down, the walk back to the car, and
the ride home were accomplished with her head in a different zone.

The phone was ringing as
she walked through the door.

* * *

It was Missy.

"I've been thinking about what you said when you
were here earlier, and you're right. I want to tell you what really
happened but not on the phone. That's too impersonal. Besides, it's
so complicated. Carl is having some people over tonight. Meet me at
his loft at eight? I promise to explain everything then. Don't worry,
I'm doing this for me, not you, dear, even if you do end up with what
your little heart desires." She hung up before getting an
answer.

It wasn't that Laura suddenly trusted her. But if
Felix could take a life-and-death risk with that damn test, could she
do any less?

She would be there.

* * *

A drink did no good. Neither did a hot bath. She
dressed and by eight was at Lagniappe, where the decibel level was
reaching full blast as the cocktail hour was at its height.

Lois and Justin were at their usual table, having a
drink with the owners of nearby Sassafras, and waved her over.

"I'm glad you're here," Laura said, her
voice tight. "I wanted to tell you—"

"We know," Lois said. "Felix has been
arrested. Everyone's talking about it."

"Yes, well, we hope to have him free very soon .
. . in fact, he'll be meeting me here with his lawyer for a drink."
Her smile was quick and forced as she said it.

"But Missy . . . she says he raped her—"

"That's what she said, Justin, but it's a lie,
and I'm going to get the truth out of her at Carl's loft. When Felix
comes in tell him I love him and that I'll be back here to meet him."

She was out the door before they could ask how she
expected to get Missy to tell "the truth"—whatever that
was . . . And then the cocktail-hour din took over and helped blot
out any more upsetting thoughts.
 
 

CHAPTER 29

MISSY WAITED in the darkness surrounded by the
unfinished sculptures in Klaus Knopfler's studio outside Carl's
living quarters. Actually the darkness wasn't total, was altered
slightly by a faint intrusion of the lingering outside light filtered
through the dusty windows—enough to make out shadow and form—and
by a thin yellow strip that showed under the door to Carl's loft.

The quiet of the room was broken by the sound of a
Kurt Weill tape coming from Carl's quarters. Dagmar Kruse was singing
"Surabaya Johnny." But Carl wasn't there. That, of course,
was the beauty of it. Missy smiled into the darkness. He was at the
Spectrum at a Flyers game. There would be no one to spoil her evening
with Laura.

Coming to the decision to end Laura's life had been
no bold stroke for her. Boldness had long since gone out of such
decisions. Nor was panic a factor. No, it was a matter-of-fact
decision, much like the solution to, say, a medical problem. Laura,
fortunately, was vulnerable on account of her hang-up on Felix, but
she was also smart. She was a real adversary. Now that she'd seen the
car, it was only a matter of time before she would at least guess at
Peter's real identity. And, of course, that wouldn't be allowed to
happen.

Actually the boldness was in the means, not the end.
With Felix in jail for Peter's crimes, she needed a new modus
operandi, as the pretentious police liked to call it. And that was
where Carl had, all unwittingly, come in.

As soon as he heard about her rape he called. No
doubt in part because the idea excited him, but at least he called.
No one else did. He had mentioned in passing that he was going to be
at the Spectrum this evening and . . . there it was—the means. All
that was necessary was to get Laura to Carl's and arrive ahead of
her. She had keys. She could open up his loft, turn on lights and
music so it would seem as though people were already there, and wait.

After talking to Carl she dialed the number Laura had
written on her card and was relieved when Laura answered—she did
not want to call the paper and need to leave messages. Their
conversation went as she had hoped. Above all else, Laura's voice
made it clear she was eager to do anything she could to free Felix,
much too eager to worry about a possible trap . . .Laura was not like
the others. For her there would be no act of love or awakening or the
one-upmanship of making her body betray her, as had happened with
Cynthia. No, this time it would be an act of revenge. No
embellishments . . . no handcuffs, no chain, no gun. She would use a
knife. Perhaps like old Jack the Ripper, she thought as she fingered
the handle of the razor sharp boning knife she had taken from his
kitchen. The special piquance to this one had not occurred to her
until after six, when she had gone to the lab for a sperm sample. She
had found one in the tray marked "A-Positive"—Carl's
type. When the police found Laura's body they would naturally turn to
Carl, and it would serve him right for the way he treated her—

A sudden abdominal pain made her wince. She put her
hands to her stomach and pressed. The pain had started earlier in the
day and had progressed at irregular intervals, growing stronger with
each recurrence.

She pressed harder, pushing back the pain as well as
her own panic, still convinced she was pregnant. As soon as she was
finished with Laura, the instant she was back home she would call her
gynecologist and check into the hospital. She wanted it aborted
immediately. Tonight, this very night, before it could hurt her any
more—

The sound of the elevator
being actuated startled her. The pain slackened. She stepped deeper
into the shadows and waited. From Carl's loft she could hear the
sound of Lou Reed singing "September Song."

* * *

Downstairs, Laura waited as the old freight elevator
clanked to a halt. She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and
muscled open the heavy horizontal doors. On board, she closed them
again, lowered the picket gate and pressed the button for Carl's
floor.

She felt a weary sort of elation as the elevator
began to climb. No matter how the Lewis test turned out, after her
confrontation with Missy, Felix would be cleared; they would be
together . . . Her mind shut away, refused to allow into
consciousness the truth of Missy . . . The future of herself and
Felix would not allow it . . .

The elevator stopped some
six inches short of its mark. She pushed up the gate, pulled hard on
the rope to the outer doors, which now slowly opened, spilling light
into the dark studio. She stepped up and into Klaus Knopfler's
studio. As she turned to look toward Carl's she heard the sound of
"September Song," and seeing the yellow strip of light
under his door turned back and reached up to close the elevator
doors.

* * *

From the shadows Missy watched as Laura struggled
with the heavy doors. It was working perfectly. Just like her father
had taught her on hunting trips long ago. Nothing too elaborate, the
minimum always worked best.

The elevator doors closed slowly, taking with them
the light. Pulling their heaviness Laura could feel the unused
muscles in her chest stretching under her scar. It was painful, but a
good kind of pain, another sign that her body was finally waking up
and beginning to function normally again.

She glanced over her
shoulder at the shadowy sculptures and it occurred that they made the
dark room look more like a graveyard or a warehouse than a loft.
Adjusting her collar and purse she began to walk toward the strip of
light showing under Carl's door. The sound of her heels on the wooden
floor seemed unusually loud, an off-beat note to the music coming
softly from his loft.

* * *

Missy watched her pass so
close that she could reach out and touch her, but she kept still. To
move now was to risk a shocked Laura reacting unpredictably. Better
to wait a moment, use to her advantage the elements of distance and
timing. There was, after all, no place for her to run.

* * *

Laura was only a few feet from Carl's door when she
heard something behind her. But she was alone, the elevator hadn't
come back with more passengers. She whirled around, terrified
it might be one of those cat-size, inner-city rats.

What she saw, standing where she had just walked, was
a bearded man wearing tinted glasses and a leather jacket. She looked
quickly around, trying to stay calm, to figure her options. He hadn't
come from the elevator, she was sure of that, and he hadn't come from
Carl's. Which could only mean that he had been there in the darkness
all the time. Waiting.