Cross Cut (14 page)

“Beside wild conjecture—no. Although, I would like to say I’m regretting this.”

“Oh? To what end?”

“Well, it’s going to be all over the news: ‘Kendra Ryder’s assistant flees FBI.’ People are going to think it’s me and call the cops on me.”

She gave a micro grin and rose from my sofa, straightening out her blouse. “Yes, well, the gift of afterthought. I am going to prepare dinner.”

“Nerks to dinner, what the hell are we going to do?”

“We’ll discuss that after dinner. I cannot think on an empty stomach.”

Well, that was me told. I spent the rest of the afternoon on the sofa, conjuring up ideas. I won’t bother to name any of them. As it turns out, they were all way off the mark.

19

It got dark around 8PM. Melissa had packed her bag again and was ready to go. I left her regular cell phone in the garage, just in case the FBI could trace it. I’m not up to date with their techniques, but anything is possible with technology. Although, I prefer to think Big Brother has his limits. It helps me sleep a little easier at night. I looked around for a burner cell phone to give her. We usually keep one or two in the garage, but we were fresh out.

Ryder had insisted on coming with us to Irvine Lake. She gave many a reason, but I reckoned she didn’t fancy the idea of being inside the beach house alone. This told me one thing; that she fully believed the idea that Cristescu’s gang were after us.

The trip to Irvine Lake was largely unremarkable. The cabin is in the middle of nowhere, thousands of feet from the actual lake. My friend, Sully, always leaves the key underneath the porch railing.

On the off chance the boogieman harassed her in the night, I gave Melissa a few items to protect herself; a stun baton and a bottle of Mace.

I often feel people get the wrong impression of the word
cabin.
This one looked quite comfortable, the bed even more so. There was a granite stone fireplace, gas operated utensils, bathroom with a shower. I had no qualms about leaving her there and neither did Ryder.

When Ryder and I returned to the beach house we discussed the situation ahead of us. She was sitting at her desk drinking coffee. I was twitching at my own desk, with my chair swiveled round, facing her. A familiar evening in the office with the orange glow from the lamps, and the blue and green lights from the aquariums.

Ryder straightened her cuffs and tucked them inside her blazer and let out a sigh.

“Regarding tomorrow,” she said, “you mentioned seeing detectives Flores and Gregg. I think that would be an advisable course of action.”

“You don’t say. Are we seeing sense and asking for protection?”

“Don’t be absurd. As far as our situation is concerned, we need to know everything possible. You have pictures of that unknown man from this afternoon?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Start with that.”

“That all? If that falls flat we’ll never find out who killed Guy Lynch.”

“Yes, well, I see no need to deviate from our original plan. There are still people you have yet to interview.”

“Yeah, but I thought we were only interested in Lynch’s murder? You said so yourself.”

“As a primary solution, yes. I fear I may have spoken out of term earlier. We can’t merely assume the other murders have no relevance to Guy Lynch.”

“How do you figure that? If there is relevance that means one of Cristescu’s gang is the Cutter. And we both think that stinks.”

She shook her head. “Relevance is a far cry from association. There are many contingencies, slight though they are, that could explain why the murder of Guy Lynch, and the attack on Melissa’s character are related to the murders over the past three years.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“You often do.”

“The way I see it, there’s two angles. One—the Cutter killed Guy Lynch. Nothing special about it, that was just his own choice. Then, somehow, one of Cristescu’s gang dumps the bracelet. Now, that’s full of holes for so many reasons. For one, it implies Cristescu’s gang not only knew who the Cutter was, but they also knew he was making a hit, and soon, because the plant on Melissa was all premeditated, what with her bracelet being stolen days before. I think the identity of an elusive serial killer is beyond even Cristescu’s reach. Not to mention he’s been in prison. Even if his underlings have brains, I doubt they managed to orchestrate such a thing.

“Two—Lynch’s murder was complete imitation. Nothing to do with the Cutter. But all that leaves is unanswered questions. Why imitate the Cutter? Was Guy Lynch’s death just a means to an end, or was it significant? I mean, why the actor Monday morning—why?”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “I understand. Perhaps we would do better to answer the questions. Particularly regarding the motive for Guy Lynch’s murder. If we find one, we may well reach angle number three, as you put it.”

I stood up and scratched my eyebrow. There was a question I wanted to ask, but I ended up putting it as a statement.

“I’ll go to Cristescu,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, almost in a concerned tone. The right side of her fringe shivered.

“It won’t hurt any. I’ll ask him straight up. Make him know we know what his game is. He’s not going to shoot me down in his club.”

“Ader—” She sighed. “I respect your need for valiance, but I must forbid it. Consult Detective Flores first.”

I thought about making a counter argument, but let it go. After that, Ryder left the office for a while to retrieve the food for the seahorses. All conversation about our predicament was as good as cold now. Nothing could interrupt her as she sat on the stool. With her blazer off. She’d roll up her sleeves and drop various small crustaceans into each aquarium. She would watch them for anywhere up to an hour, and I’d watch her from the sofa. She was happy and content, ignorant of any outside problems. Sometimes she would smile, and sometimes I would manage to see it.

I didn’t watch her for the full hour, though, as the doorbell rang at 10:30PM. Ryder didn’t move from the stool, nor did she look back at me as I made my way out into the hallway.

I checked the monitor in the study first and prepared myself. Not that I expected it to be bad news. If it was the Grim Reaper at the door, I doubt he’d ring the bell. When I saw who it was, I moved into the hallway and considered whether I should open it or not, and then heard a voice filter through.

“Ader, I know you’re there, let me in,” Kacie said.

I glanced back down the hallway and figured Ryder was still ignorant. I opened the door ajar and said, “FBI don’t want us anymore.”

“Don’t be dumb. I’m off duty.”

“If I let you in here, Ryder will have you for seahorse food.”

She snickered. “Fine. Umm—wanna go for a drink?”

“Depends, are ulterior motives involved?”

“Only if you want them to be.”

I told her to give me a minute and went into the office.

“I’m off out, you going to be okay on your own?” I asked Ryder.

“Of course,” she said confidently, not turning her head. “Lock the door on your way out.”

In the doorway I regarded her peaceful state. A curious visage given her usual businesslike nature. Very few people knew her like I did. Like Melissa did. And there and then I knew there was something going on inside her head. I also knew I’d never be able to pry it out of her. Not until she was ready.

20

Outside I argued with Kacie on who was driving. We tossed a coin and I won. Or lost, depending on your point of view. I didn’t want to go far so we settled on a bar in the middle of town called Ellie’s.

We forewent the counter and took our drinks over to a booth in the corner, beside the window. I had a double scotch, whereas Kacie was a beer drinker. There was no music playing, just a TV above the counter with the news on and the low rumble of the half full room and its clientele.

“Well, this is nice,” she said.

“It would be even nicer if I knew what it was for.”

“Anything is always something with you, isn’t it?”

“After today, yeah.”

She took a gulp and gasped, and then turned the glass handle away from her on the table. “Okay, you win. I just wanted you to know that I know what you did today.”

“Oh,” I said. “What was that?”

“You saw that report and went straight back home to hide Melissa. Why else would you have rushed back and been there when we were?”

“Okay, you got me. So why are we here having this conversation?”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t believe it. Tore me up a little and nagged at my conscience, but I said nothing. Although, I thought you’d be found out and it wouldn’t matter.”

“That’s what you get for betting against me.”

She smiled and took another gulp. “No shit. You can’t hide her forever. We know she didn’t get on a plane, so she’s somewhere nearby. What happens now?”

“Well, I could invite your opinion on that. We’re ninety nine percent sure that Melissa was framed by Erik Cristescu’s gang.”

She raised her eyebrows a little and her voice became higher. “Oh—you mean the Dantura clan?”

“Whatever they’re called. We figure it shouldn’t take too long for you guys to see sense—once we figure out how to prove it. What do you think?”

She played with the glass handle and tightened her lips as she gave it consideration. “Maybe. But it sounds farfetched.”

“As farfetched as Melissa killing someone she’s never met? I mean, did you guys even think about that, or did you just jump the gun when the call came in?”

Kacie sighed and looked away. “You don’t know about Melissa’s past, do you?”

She looked at me cautiously with a straight face. Admittedly, I never had time to ask Melissa about the incident that led to her prints being on file, seen as Ryder had joined us when we went to Irvine Lake. I shook my head and shrugged.

“She killed a guy, Ader. It was self defense. That is, the jury decided it was self defense. You’ve been with her for two years and never knew?”

I shrugged again. “She wouldn’t be the only one in that house forgetting her past. What did she do exactly?”

“It was rape—or attempted rape. She stabbed the guy in the back with a nail file. Just once, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have got off as clean as she did. She got the jury’s sympathy, but, the prosecution argued heavily that she stabbed the guy after the fact. The evidence of rape was there, but the point was that she wouldn’t have stabbed him in the back if it was defense, having scrambled for the nail file in her bag. That’s how she met Miss Genius and—” She stopped herself, quickly. “She helped Melissa with her testimony. Seriously, no one ever told you this?”

I shook my head. “I guess people thought I knew. Sounds like the guy deserved what he got. Regardless of whether it was after the fact.”

To my surprise she nodded and looked up at the ceiling and pulled her hair back to one side. “Regardless, with that past, considering Melissa a suspect isn’t as dumb as it seems.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my chin and took a sip of my scotch. “It even makes logical sense to a question that’s been bothering me: why was Lynch in the ladies’ restroom? And I suppose a good answer would be: he followed her in there to—well, you know.”

Kacie nodded at first, but then wagged her index finger lazily. “That’s bull, of course. And it doesn’t get us any closer to knowing who the Cross Cutter is. And even if she did kill Lynch in defense, why would she kill him like that?”

“Well—maybe she is the Cross Cutter after all, so she dished out the punishment the way she normally does.”

She gave me a peculiar look and then stared, not knowing what to say. I waved my hand and said, “Just theorizing for the sake of it.”

“Oh, right. Anyway, Lynch was the one being followed, not her. So that would make no sense.”

“No—” I mumbled. “Guess not.” I decided to keep any follow up to myself. It was late and I was too tired to skillfully tiptoe around the whole real-Lynch fake-Lynch scenario. But with that in mind, a horrible thought came into my head. I could discount the ‘Lynch was the one being followed’ theory. Of course, it still didn’t explain why there was a fake Lynch in the first place, but the thought that Melissa could be the Cross Cutter was floating around in my head, where it didn’t belong. At first it was a passing joke to my brain. Then a wild conjecture. Then a slight possibility. And then I made the terrible link—twelve years ago—the murders in Afghanistan. Few people in this world knew about them, and one was Ryder. Was it possible Melissa had taken the Cross Cutter motif from a tale of Ryder’s earlier years? Was that what Ryder was hiding—was she scared that Melissa could be the Cross Cutter?

Nonsense. I’m even starting to believe such bullshit.

Before I even knew it, a minute had passed and Kacie was waving at me.

“Anyone in there?” she said. Her glass was now empty.

I downed the rest of my scotch and shook my head. “Been a long day. Been nice chatting, but I should go.”

“What are you two going to do? I want to help. I know Melissa didn’t do this just like you do.”