The Tease (The Darling Killer Trilogy) (16 page)

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I wrapped my arms around my stomach and lay on the floor, hugging my knees to relax the abdominal muscles. The black and white tile floor was deliciously cool against my face. I noticed that he had a white claw-foot bathtub, and I could see underneath it to the wall. The floor was clean, even under the tub.

He opened the door slowly. There was barely enough room for both of us in the tiny room. First his feet came into focus, the worn hems of his jeans brushing his black socks. He sat down cross-legged and held out a glass of water. I thanked him, but screwed my eyes shut and rolled my forehead to the floor.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. I opened one eye cautiously and looked up at his face. He looked concerned, but his shoulders weren’t tense, and his breathing was steady and even.
Good. He’s not completely freaked out.
“It’s been an intense week.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“And I just pushed myself too hard with the spinning,” I said. I pressed one palm into the floor and used it to prop myself up, keeping my neck muscles relaxed so my head was the last thing to come upright. I sipped the water gingerly. Bliss. It’s so easy to take a clean mouth for granted. Once it’s full of bile, you learn to appreciate it. My stomach accepted the water, so I took another sip.

“Do you want to do this another time?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I mean, yes, I want to practice again, but I’m ok to keep going.”

“If you’re sure,” he said.

When I started to get up, he got to his feet and held out a hand, helping me upright. He kept holding my hand, and brought his other hand to my elbow, making sure I was steady on my feet.

“Feel ok?” he asked.

“I do,” I said. “Thanks for not freaking out.”

“Good musicians see a lot of hangovers,” he said solemnly.

When we returned to the living room, I fished some mints out of my purse, and took a moment to look deliberately at each picture.
You are not a crime scene. You are not a monster.
We mapped out the rest of the song, but I skipped the twenty-count spin for the rest of the afternoon.

As I drove home, I struggled to stay awake. Traffic on Cicero and then Irving Park moved slowly, and the late afternoon sun beat down on me through the windshield. I just couldn’t stay with Walter when I was that groggy, so I switched to some music. I was excited to talk to Kevin that night and tell him about our rehearsal.

I stopped at a light at and noticed familiar face on my right. Tish. She was running past my car towards the corner, her face lit up. I was about to honk and wave, but I realized she was probably wearing heels and didn’t want to startle her.

“Kevin!” she called.

I looked ahead of her to see Kevin walking towards his car. He looked up, saw her, and smiled. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Tears stung my eyes as the horn of the car behind me blared. I blinked and accelerated.

• • •

I stopped at the store on the way home. I had optimistically stocked my kitchen with lean meats, fruits, vegetables, and whole grains that weekend, but no way was I going to eat virtuously that night. I picked up a bottle of Cabernet and my latest infatuation in gourmet potato chips: Bloody Mary. They’re delicate chips made out of baby red potatoes, dusted with salt and Bloody-Mary inspired spices that make them tangy and a little spicy at the same time.

Son of a bitch
, I muttered to myself.
If you make me blow my calorie count for the day, it’s not for something ordinary.

Men and women are wired differently. We didn’t talk about being exclusive. Maybe it just wasn’t a big deal to him.
But how could he want someone else so soon? I thought our date went well last night.
A dull ache constricted my chest.
I should’ve stayed. But Tish’s figure is so much cuter than mine. It’s no contest. I’d have to take out my lowest ribs to get a waistline like hers.

I arrived at home, parked and trudged towards my building.
I shouldn’t have asked about the photos. It pushed him away. I shouldn’t have asked. Her figure is so much cuter, and she doesn’t ask about crime scenes.

I stumbled up my stairs, wrestling with the question of an entrée. I could make garlic-rosemary chicken with spinach, so I could at least get some nutrients in my body, or I could order pizza. I wasn’t actually hungry, though. I just wanted to muffle the hollow feeling in my stomach.
How could he want someone else so soon?
Did anyone deliver chocolate? Some rich dark chocolate to counter the taste of the salty chips would be perfect. I’d wake up with a stomach ache, but even a few hours of numbness would be –

A sparkle caught my eye as I fished for my keys. As I got closer, I saw there was another necklace hanging from my doorknob. A silver, Celtic knotwork pendant.

Just like Katie used to wear.

I dropped my grocery bag, the wine bottle crunching the chips and making a soft
thunk
on the carpet.

I don’t know how long I stood there before I heard Caprice’s funny little two-syllable meow inside the door. “Rrew-ROW, mrrrew-ROW.”

Panic surged through my body, but I kept my feet glued to the floor.
Think. Think this through.
I wanted Caprice. I wanted to get her out of there. I wanted this all to vanish, wanted some way I could take it all back.

How does he know where I live?

Caprice’s paws scrabbled against the inside of the door.

I fought the impulse to run. If he was inside my apartment, Caprice would be hiding under the bed.

I hoped.

I reached for the doorknob and stopped myself. The necklace was evidence. If I touched the doorknob, I could smudge prints.

Maybe it won’t hurt anything.

Or maybe I’ll screw up the one chance they have to catch him. Maybe this is the one time he was ever careless.

I sighed and sat down next to my door, hugging my knees to my chest. I desperately wanted to go down to the lobby so I wouldn’t hear Caprice’s meows, but I didn’t want anyone to take the necklace.

“RAW-eww. Meeer-er-ew.” Caprice’s meows grew more plaintive, and my guilt grew stronger.
What if he is in there? What if he hurt her?

I unlocked the deadbolt, and then I stuck the key into the doorknob lock. I turned it experimentally. The entire knob turned, opening the door.

Caprice trotted back a few steps, looking at me expectantly.

“C’mere, kitty,” I whispered, heart in my throat. “Caprice.” I crouched down and held my hand out.

She looked suspiciously at the hall.

I glanced at the darkness behind her. He could be in there. He could be—

“Caprice, please,” I said.

She trotted over to sniff my hand. I petted the top of her head and she pressed against it, so I grabbed the scruff of her neck and yanked her to me. She made an indignant
mrrrrrp
sound as I bundled her into the crook of my arm, grabbed my keys, and yanked the door shut.

I left my groceries where they were, grabbed my purse strap, and headed down the hall, close enough to make a run for the lobby if I had to. I sat down with Caprice in my arms, petting her to keep her calm. Then I dialed Detective Brack. She answered immediately and told me not to move or touch the necklace.

I waited, my mind whirling. I couldn’t picture Kevin standing above the body.
Sociopaths are charming.

I heard the lobby door open. Two men headed towards me, looking grim. I fought the impulse to run. They had the purposeful stride of police officers, but they were in street clothes. Then it registered that they were both wearing the same style of vest, and I noticed gun holsters and badges at their belts.
How did they get here so fast? Of course. A stakeout. They knew he’d be back.

“Anna Zendel?” one of them asked. He was tall, probably mid-thirties, with skin so dark it was almost ebony. His eyes were dark too, almost like Kevin’s when the pupils swallowed them. His partner was also tall, with the solid, unhurried gait of a weight lifter, which his shoulders and neck confirmed. He had spiky brown hair and blue eyes.

“Ma’am?”

I’m staring. Is this what it feels like to be in shock? Did you tell Detective Brack I came home last night? I should’ve stayed. He wouldn’t have kissed Tish if I stayed.

“Call me Anna,” I said absently. Just stopping my brain to utter that one sentence took a surprising amount of effort. Caprice struggled to get away. I grabbed her scruff and held her still, wincing as her back claws dug into my stomach. “And I’m sorry, you are?”

“Officer Gibson,” he said, “and that’s Officer Bryant. What happened, Miss Zendel?” he asked.

“I came home and found another necklace on the door,” I said quietly, surprised at how level my voice was.
How did he get past you how did he get past you how did he get past you—

He looked at Caprice.

“I used the keys and didn’t touch the doorknob. I couldn’t just leave her in there.”

He and Bryant made eye contact. I couldn’t read it. “Did you go inside the apartment?”

“I didn’t.”

“Is there a rear entrance? A fire escape?”

“No. There are doors to the balcony, but no fire escape.”

“We’re going to go clear your apartment,” he said.

“Do you think he’s still in there?” I asked.

He glanced down the hall. “I couldn’t say, ma’am,” he said. I’d invited him to call me
Anna,
and he wasn’t.
Maintaining professional distance. Got it.
“A hunch isn’t worth your life. Which door is yours?”

“Two thirteen. It’s unlocked.”

Caprice hid her face against me, which was her favorite strategy for the vet.
If I can’t see you, maybe you can’t see me.
I felt her little paw pads sweating, which meant she was nervous.
Me, too, kitten.

They put on Latex gloves. Then they pulled guns, which I was not expecting. Bryant motioned with his head for me to stay back, then opened the door.

At the sight of the open door, Caprice dug her claws into my stomach and struggled mightily. I stifled the urge to yelp, but I swear she turned boneless and slid out of my grasp. She shot across the hall and into the darkness of my apartment.

I didn’t think. I just took a step to chase her. Bryant’s arm shot out and blocked me. His face was stern, but his blue eyes were soft. He knew something about love. I nodded and stepped back.

They stepped into my apartment and flicked on the light. After the longest few minutes of my life, I heard Gibson say, “Living room clear.” Later, I heard, “First bedroom clear,” “Second bedroom clear,” and “Bathroom clear.”

I leaned back against the wall, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I’d held.

I heard the door open down the hall. Detectives Brack and Santiago strode in with another uniformed officer carrying a satchel in tow. As terrifying as Brack’s dead eyes were, I was relieved to see her. They nodded to me, and Gibson and Bryant filled them in.

Detective Brack stalked into my apartment, a motion wholly different from her confident stride down the hall. She moved with authority and grace, and silence. I wanted to train with her. The officer zeroed in on my door, and Detective Santiago walked up to me.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Alive,” I said.

He nodded. “We’re lucky,” he said.

“Can I go in now?” I said. “I want to make sure my cat is ok.”

“She’s under the bed,” Bryant said.

Of course they checked under the bed. I hope I didn’t leave any socks under the bed, too—

“Thank you,” I said. “You might think I’m silly…”

“I don’t,” Santiago said. “I have the best dog in the world. I’d go crazy if something happened to her.”

I couldn’t say anything else. Caprice might ham it up a little for food, but she never lied or held a grudge. She would nestle into my arms and lean against me with complete trust. That little cat was the only creature in my world whose love was simple and uncomplicated. I looked at the evidence technician, who took a photo of the door, and then a close-up of the necklace. He put on latex gloves, lifted the necklace from the doorknob, and put it in a small manila envelope. Then he put a fine black powder on the door and started transferring prints onto clear strips of plastic which he likewise put in manila envelopes.

Detective Brack strode into the hall. “Miss Zendel,” she said icily. “I’d like to speak with you.” She turned and walked back into my apartment.

I followed her, my heart pounding.
How is this the scary part?
I wondered.

She stopped in my office corner. “What’s this?” she asked, pointing at my murder board.

Crap.
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t help glancing at it again to make sure my cryptic notes didn’t directly reference Max. Kevin’s sketches were lying face down on my desk. I hoped he wouldn’t get into some sort of trouble if she saw them. “I just…” I trailed off. I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“You just what?” she asked quietly.

“I just wanted to make sense of it,” I mumbled.

She put her hands on her hips. With her hair drawn back, her face looked cold and austere. “Have you heard of the CSI effect?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“People on juries watch crime shows,” she said. “Which leads them to ask for evidence that doesn’t exist, tests that aren’t conclusive, and lets criminals go free.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I asked.

“You’re a social worker,” she said.

“I’m a counselor,” I said.

“You’re a glorified social worker.” She said it like another person might say “janitor” or “prostitute.” “You’re not trained for this.”

I set my jaw. “It’s my life,” I said. “If I want to understand—”

“You
don’t
understand,” she said. “You need to let us do our jobs.”

Detective Santiago walked in. “Hey, partner,” he said to her. “What’s up?”

“She’s decided to catch the serial killer herself,” she said.

“I’m not trying to catch anyone,” I said.

“Then what is that?” She pointed at the murder board again.