Dark Eye (26 page)

I checked my watch. Thirty seconds, tops.

I looked at Crenshaw. He was on one of the extensions, talking to the switching center. “Did we get a fix?”

After a few moments, he put down the phone. “No.”

Granger pounded a fist into his palm. “Nothing at all?”

“It’s local. We’re sure of that. But we don’t know where he is.” He looked at me sadly. “I think we should leave the recorder on and the equipment in place. In case he calls again.”

“Sure,” I said. “But he won’t. He’s already accomplished what he wanted.”

“We’ll get that tape recording to the sound lab. See what they can tell us.”

“And then?” Patrick asked.

“Then,” I said, “we have to figure out what he meant by that gibberish about the truth. And that crack about me looking good in neon.”

“It was just bullshit,” Granger said. “He was flirting with you.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

“Then what?” O’Bannon asked.

Good question. I fell back against my sofa and thought a good long while before answering. “It was a clue. To whatever he wants us to find next.”

This was a new experience for me. Being at a bar-The White Feather-but not ordering a drink. It was almost as seedy as Gordy’s, but it was near my apartment, and they served sandwiches as well as libations.

The three of us found a table-Darcy tagged along-and I ordered a club soda. Patrick relaxed as soon as I placed my nonalcoholic drink order. Maybe Darcy did, too. I felt proud of myself. I’d passed the test.

And periodically, as needed, I excused myself to powder my nose. And safe within the confines of a stall with the door closed, I took a deep swig from the flask tucked inside my jacket. Crunched a few Altoids and I was back in action.

As I passed by the bar on my way back to our table, this guy leaned backward from his bar stool and blocked my path. He was big and black and had a shaved head. He couldn’t have exuded more testosterone if he’d poured a bottle of it over his head.

“What you doin’ in a dive like this, Susan?”

I gave him a look. I knew him from somewhere… the courtroom, that was it. He was a bail bondsman. He’d made a few passes at me through the years; I’d never given him the time of day. I thought his name was Jake, but I wasn’t sure enough to give it a try. “Just drinking in the atmosphere.”

“I think you came lookin’ for me.”

“Do you now?”

“Yeah. Me, or somebody like me.” He had a laconic, deliberate way of speaking that set my teeth on edge.

“Well, you’re wrong. I’m with someone. Two someones, actually.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, positive.”

He gave me a look I didn’t like at all. “You change your mind, you come back and see me, okay? I’ll give you what you want. I’ll make you feel alive.”

Jesus Christ, some guys. I pushed past him and returned to my seat.

“You’ve changed your perfume,” Darcy said upon my return.

Was he talking about Chanel No. 5 again? Or did he know what I’d been doing in the ladies’ room? The kid was a damn bloodhound. “Yeah. I prefer something smokier when I’m out at night.”

“What do you think he meant?” Patrick asked. He was nursing black coffee, but oddly enough Darcy hadn’t given him the lecture on the evils of caffeine. “That crack about neon.”

I waved my hand, smiling, my eyebrows arched provocatively, leaning forward. I didn’t want to be obvious, but I was feeling pretty bold. Maybe it was the Jack Daniel’s coursing through my system. “I don’t want to talk about business tonight.”

“Neon is an inert gas,” Darcy informed us. “It’s odorless, colorless, tasteless, nontoxic, and monatomic. In a vacuum tube, neon glows reddish orange. Its chemical symbol is Ne. Its atomic number is ten.”

“Fascinating,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes, still gazing at Patrick. “But like I said, I don’t want to talk about work.”

Darcy grew quieter. “I was trying to be useful. It’s the most important thing in life. To be useful.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment.”

“John Adams, the second president of the United States, said that in 1814 to his-”

“Darcy…” I sighed. “It’s late. I appreciate you seeing me here, but this might be a good time for you to head home.”

“Are you also going home? I’m sure the police officers have left.”

I ignored him. “I’ll be along. But you should go now. I’ll pick you up early tomorrow morning. We’ll see what we can get out of that phone call. Till then-get some rest.”

“I never sleep more than four hours a night. Some nights my dad turns out all the lights and I just stare at the clock for hours.”

“Darcy-” I tried to smile. “There’s a bus stop at the corner. Just turn left outside the door. You can ride it all the way home without changing.”

He stood, looking uneasy, fidgeting with his hands. “Do you think that you will be all right?”

Adorable. I was amazed at how much affection I felt for him, after knowing him only a short while. But I wasn’t going to get laid with him around. “I can take care of myself, Darcy. Good night.”

“ ’Night.” He stumbled out of the bar, glancing back at me over his shoulder.

“Cute kid, huh?” Patrick said, sipping his coffee. “And what a memory.”

“Yeah. Incredible.” I leaned forward. Had I remembered to unbutton the top button of my shirt? “I don’t want to talk about him, either.”

“Indeed. What do you want to talk about?”

I leaned in even closer. “Come to think of it, I don’t really want to talk at all.”

“I’m astonished.” My God, but he was sexy up close. Or far away. Or with a paper bag over his head. “I was told you were very aggressive.”

“Me? I’m a pushover. Try me.” Just another inch, and my lips were planted firmly on his. They tasted sweet. I’d almost forgotten. He put his hand at the base of my neck and sent tingles radiating up and down my spine. This was going to be good. I knew this was going to be good.

“What do you want?” he whispered to me.

“I want to feel… something different,” I said, peering into his beautiful blues. “I want to feel like I’m really alive. Not just going through the motions.” Enough with the damn talking. I pressed my lips against his and we didn’t come up for air for a good long while. I didn’t care who saw or what they thought. I needed this. I needed this.

“Come home with me,” I said finally. “Or I’ll go with you. Whatever’s closer. What’d’ya say?”

He looked at me a long moment. His expression alone was sufficient to convey everything I needed to know. Everything I didn’t want to hear. “No, I can’t.”

“But-I thought you felt like-”

“I do.”

“Then come on.” I snaked my hand between his legs and gave him a squeeze in a strategically chosen area. “I’ll make it worth your while. It’ll be great. Promise.”

“I know it would,” he said, pushing my hand away. “But you’d hate me in the morning.”

“Don’t be dumb. I-”

“You would. You’d be embarrassed and ashamed and regretful. We wouldn’t be able to work together anymore.”

“Are you saying-we can’t ever-”

“No. I’m just saying it’s too soon.” He stood. “I think it’s best if I go.”

“Please-”

He took my hand. “You’ll be glad. Later.”

“I doubt it.”

“You will.” He let my hand fall and left.

Way to go, Susan, I told myself bitterly. Chased him right out of the bar. Came on too damn strong, just like always, and bulldozed him right out of the ballpark.

I needed a drink, and I wasn’t talking about club-fucking-soda, either. I made my way to the little girls’ room again and raised the flask. It burned good, going down. After a swallow of that, I felt much better about myself. What the hell-I knew I was going to drink it all eventually. I pressed the bottle to my lips-almost as tasty as Patrick was-and emptied the flask.

I left the restroom feeling stronger, complimenting myself on handling it and not losing the knack and walking and talking as if I really were only drinking club soda. I had about decided to give up on the place and go home when I saw a man’s leg blocking my path.

“Can I buy you a drink now, Susan?”

It was that same guy, Jake or whatever, the shaved head. “I don’t drink anymore.”

“Fine. You figure out what you want yet?”

“I…” I looked at him through blurred eyes. “I want to feel something different. Alive.”

“I can handle that.”

He threw some bills on the bar, took me by the hand.

“We can’t go to my place,” I said. “Is your place near?”

“Not near enough.” He led me down an alleyway behind the bar. It was dark, but not so dark I couldn’t see it was filthy. Nothing but dirt and slime and upended trash cans. “This’ll do.”

He whipped me around and grabbed my hands. “You ready to feel somethin’ different?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He ripped my jacket open, sending the empty flask smashing onto the pavement. With unrestrained brutality, he pulled down my pants and panties, then sat me down on one of the trash cans.

“I’m thinkin’ a little back door action might do the trick,” he said while he unzipped. “That work for you?”

I didn’t say anything.

With one powerful move, he pushed me to my knees, then swung me around until I was spread stomach down across the trash can. No talk, no warning, no foreplay.

It was my first time and the pain was searing. I wondered if he had done this before, used the same lines, gotten what he wanted the same way. I wondered where he came from, what he really liked, what he saw when he looked into my eyes. I didn’t think he was heartless or even particularly selfish. He just had needs, like we all did. When it was over and he woke up the next day, he might feel a little guilty about it.

But I wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t care if he did. I needed to feel something. Pain. Humiliation. Rage. It was all the same. I just wanted to feel alive again.

The next morning, I hurt like hell. My head throbbed, sure, always, but that wasn’t the worst of it. I could barely walk. Somehow I managed to stumble out of bed and make it to the front door before the bell had rung more than, oh, fifty times or so.

“Susan. My God, what happened to you? We were supposed to have breakfast, remember?”

Lisa. “I, uh, slept in. I had kind of a rough night.”

She rushed in, putting her arms around me. “You look like someone beat the hell out of you.”

“No, no, just trouble sleeping.”

She stiffened slightly. “Susan, I’m sorry. I know I’m not your mother, but the counselors told me that the best way to be your friend was to try to help you keep your promises. Have you been drinking?”

“What? Are you kidding? No.”

“Really?”

“ ’Course. You called last night.” Thank God I could remember that much. “I was home, remember?”

“But-”

“Wanna smell my breath?” What a bluffer I am.

“Frankly, no.” She guided us both to the sofa in the living room. It was green and faded and showed traces of all the cop butts that had been on it the night before. “I got enough of that last night.”

“The new guy?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Memorable?”

“Human Dental Pik. Tongued every incisor in my mouth. Thought he was attempting a root canal. Do you still want to see Rachel?”

“Right. Damn.” I brushed my straggly, stinky hair out of my eyes. “I forgot.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

“Well, uh…”

“When I talked to her last night, she said you hadn’t been in for several days.”

“Well, she should know.”

“Susan, this is exactly the kind of behavior that caused you to lose her in the first place.”

“Look, Lisa, I had a horrible night. That killer, the Poe guy, he called me. Here.”

Her eyes ballooned. “He called
you
? Why?”

“Hard to say. I think he was threatening me. Or trying to help me. Or none of the above.”

“Oh, my God.” She cradled my stinky head in her hands. “No wonder you’re a wreck.”

So here I was, using a serial killer to excuse my erratic behavior. I felt pathetic.

“That explains why you were so weird when I called. What did he say?”

“Well, I think he may have given us some clues.”

“My God, Susan. Should you be working on this case? He knows who you are.”

“True.”

“I don’t think this is good for you at all. Especially not now. You need out.”

“I need work.”

“I’m talking to your doctor.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Susan, it’s for your own good. I’m just trying to help.”

My blood burned. “I don’t need help!”

“You do.” Despite my nastiness, she hugged me all the tighter. “I love you, Susan. I’m not going to let you kill yourself. I’m not.”

“May I come in?”

We had left the front door ajar, and Darcy was standing just outside, peeking through. Lisa still had her arms around me, and I could see he was confused. “Is that one your girlfriend?” Darcy asked.

I cleared my throat. “Well, yes…”

“Did you know that four percent of all women prefer other women to do sex with?”

“Darcy…”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, do you? But my dad says it’s bad.”

“Darcy…”

“But the weird thing is he loves his videos where women are with other women and-”

“Darcy!” He fell silent. I had to remind myself-he doesn’t see faces; he can’t read facial expressions. He’s not going to get any nonverbal cues. You want him to be quiet, you gotta say so. “What are you doing here?”

He looked nervously at Lisa, fidgeted with his hands, then started again. “I think maybe Mr. Granger figured out what that ‘neon’ remark meant. He called my dad. The killer wanted us to go to this place where they store old neon signs.”