Dead In Red (25 page)

“I was out.”

“Investigating?”

“Sort of.”

She scuffed ahead of me in her worn
slippers. Tonight it was tea. The cups were set out with a little
white pitcher of milk and a plate of fresh-sliced
placek
—just as she’d promised days
before.

“Sit, sit,” she urged, taking her own
seat.

I sat.

She poured milk into my cup, then added the
strong, dark tea from an old brown pottery pot. “See, no need for a
spoon,” she told me, proud of her cleverness. She pushed the plate
closer and I took a slice, setting it on the napkin she’d provided.
It was still warm.

“How do you always know when to have things
ready for me? I didn’t even know I was coming here until I started
walking.”

She shrugged, then leaned forward, her eyes
worried. “You have a lot on your mind.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, and broke a crumbly
corner off my cake. “I got one of those flashes of insight when I
was behind the wheel of the car. I don’t know if it was that or the
vision that freaked me more.” I stuffed the morsel in my mouth,
savoring its sweet, buttery—comforting—taste.

“The bloody hands,” she said.

“Yeah.”

Sophie nibbled on her own piece
of
placek
. “I don’t know what
to tell you. Only that . . . you have to do what you feel
is right. That’s not always easy.”

“Tell me about it.” I wasn’t sure how to
tell her—how to phrase—what I was feeling. “The vision was much
stronger tonight, telling me that whatever happens will come pretty
damn quick. And when it does—I’m worried I won’t react in time to
do what’s right, what’ll save lives, or time, or—anything! Dammit,
I’m scared to death whatever I do is going to cost someone’s
life.”

“Your brother?” She shook her head. “Now
you’re being paranoid.”

“Can you guarantee it won’t happen?”

“Nobody can. But, to ease your mind—I see
things ahead for your brother.”

“Good things?” I asked, thinking about
Brenda, their wedding, and the future.

She shrugged. “Eh . . .
things.”

Things?

Like living as a veg in a nursing home?

Crippled?

Maimed?

Okay, so maybe I
was
being paranoid. And then there was the
incident in the parking garage. Should I ask her if I had a future?
She hadn’t volunteered the information.

Sophie sipped her tea, avoided looking at
me. I sipped mine, did the same.

Finally, Sophie pushed back her empty mug.
“You have someplace else to go.”

“Yeah.”

“If you can, come and see me on Saturday,”
she said, rising from her chair, her expression solemn.

Saturday. That meant whatever
happened, this whole convoluted mess would be over with by then.
Then again:
If you can.
Maybe
I wouldn’t be able to. Her words had given me no peace.

But she was right; I did have somewhere else
to go.

* * *

I did
a sweep
around Norwalk Avenue, didn’t find Gene Higgins’s silver Alero, and
so cruised the surrounding dark streets. Sure enough, two blocks
over the little car sat parked under a dripping maple. Thanks to
alternate street parking, Gene was going to have to move the car by
eight o’clock or risk a ticket. So I had a decision. Stick with the
car, or stake out his apartment until he emerged. If he
emerged.

I circled back to Norwalk and found a space
with a clear view of the house. By parking so far away, Gene had
obviously tried to make me—or someone else—think he wasn’t
home.

Talk radio bored me, and I could find
nothing but loser love songs, hip-hop or gangsta rap on every other
station. I snapped off the radio and hunkered down in my seat, gaze
fixed on the homely gray house. Green numerals on the digital clock
gave me the bad news. I’d been awake twenty hours, and fatigue had
settled in with a vengeance. Now I not only had to hope I wouldn’t
fall asleep, but that some cop wouldn’t find me and roust me.

I had to be out of my friggin’ mind. Gene
was probably nestled in his warm, comfortable bed and here I was
cold, cramped, sleep-deprived and verging on misery. I didn’t have
a clue what I was going to say to him if I caught up with him. Tell
him about the sparkling red shoe? Ask him about Veronica?

A car rolled past, its red taillights
glowing. Already the sky to the east was beginning to brighten.

An hour after that, I was sure my mind
teetered on the verge of imminent brain death from lack of sleep
and absolute boredom.

I’d been staring at the house so long, it
took a good ten seconds for me to realize someone had come out of
the door to the upstairs apartment and had descended the steps to
the street. A shot of adrenaline rushed through me as I stumbled
out of the car—slamming the door and running across the street.

“Gene! Gene Higgins!”

Gene stopped dead, his head hanging. He
didn’t move as I jogged to catch up with him.

“What do you want?”

“Tell me about Walt Kaplan. How you knew
him. Why his body was found on the hill by the mill.”

He took a step away and I grabbed him by the
shoulder. The image of the bloody hands burst upon my mind and I
let go as though scalded.

Gene whirled on me, caught me with a fist to
the gut. I fell flat on my ass on the still-damp sidewalk, doubled
over onto my side, gasping for air.

Gene crouched beside me. “Jeez, man, I’m
sorry!”

I looked up into his panicked face.

“I never hit anybody before.”

Anybody in a position to hit back, I’d
bet.

Crawling onto my knees, I struggled to catch
my breath as I inched toward the curb and a parked car to haul
myself up. Gene hovered over me, babbling apologies, but I couldn’t
focus on the words.

Once upright, I found I couldn’t stand
straight, and hunched over, hands clutching my knees, my ass
plastered to the water-beaded Sebring’s fender to keep from falling
over.

“You’re not going to sue me, are you?” Gene
asked anxiously.

I looked up at him, my breaths finally
coming easier. “You answer my questions and I might not call my
attorney the minute I get home.”

“I don’t know anything. Ted found the guy
dead by the building. End of story. Besides, the cops already
arrested someone. Case closed.”

“Their case against the homeless guy will
fall apart as soon as the DNA evidence comes back from the lab.
Walt had backdoor sex before he died. They’ll have a new angle to
investigate and how long to you think it’ll be before they start
asking you questions?”

Gene said nothing.

Time to bluff. “How did you end up with
Walt’s pictures, and why did you take them back to his apartment?
Uh, all but one. The last negative on the roll had been
snipped—your picture. Did Walt tell you about the key over the
door?”

“You’ve got no proof.”

“
When the cops go back to Walt’s
apartment, they’ll find your fingerprints. Walt was a bit of a pack
rat. Did you know he kept shoeboxes filled with stuff to remind him
of his past liaisons? And who knows what other keepsakes he kept
from his time with you at the house in Holiday Valley.”

“Holy Christ,” Gene wailed and smashed his
fist against the roof of the car, leaving a noticeable dimple.

I stayed rock still, hoping like hell he
wouldn’t hit me again.

“Where are they? Do you have them?”

“I gave them to a reporter at
the
Buffalo News
,” I lied. “I
disappear from his radar and he goes straight to the cops with it
and my suspicions.” Well, it sounded good.

“Shit!” This time Gene punched his right
thigh.

“Pipe down,” I warned. “You want your
neighbors calling the cops? Then again, it would make it easy for
me to file a police report for assault.”

Gene squeezed his eyes shut, about to
cry.

“Look, why don’t we go get some coffee and
talk?”

“I can’t— If it gets out— My parents— Cyn
will kill me.”

“It’s only a question of time before
everything comes out. Either you cooperate and spill what you know
or the cops are going to try to nail you for everything, and life
without parole can be pretty damned boring.”

Arms hanging limply at his sides, Gene stood
in the middle of the sidewalk, his lower lip trembling, looking at
least ten years younger.

With some effort, I managed to straighten,
my insides taking their time to settle back into their rightful
places. “Coffee,” I repeated. Gene nodded. I gestured toward my
car. “Come on.”

He followed me like a docile lamb, got into
the passenger side.

The drive to Dunkin’ Donuts was silent. I
stopped at the drive-up menu, gave our order and proceeded to the
window. A perky blonde teenager held out her hand for the money,
made change, and handed me the cups in less than thirty seconds. I
handed Gene his before pulling over to an empty parking space on
the far side of the building.

As though on autopilot, Gene removed the cap
from his cup and blew on it to cool it. I took a sip, burned my
mouth and thought of Dana Watkins and her asbestos esophagus.

“You want to start at the beginning?” I
prompted.

Gene’s gaze seemed to be focused on the door
handle. “It started off as fun. Cyn wanted to cut loose. Dennis was
a great guy, but he had no soul for adventure. When he died, Cyn
mourned him but was ready for new hobbies, new friends, an escapade
or two. I took her to one of the gay bars on drag night and we had
a ball. We kept going back, but we liked the smaller clubs best.
Less people. More fun.”

“She accepted that you were gay?”

He nodded miserably. “Cyn has always been
there for me. She’s more like a sister than an aunt. If my father
finds out, he’ll disown me.”

“How long have you been—” God, this sounded
stupid. “—dressing up?”

“Since I moved out of my parents’ house. But
I never went out in drag. Never had the nerve until Cyn dared me.
She bought some costumes at a charity auction a few months ago. She
gave me the dress as a joke.”

“But you didn’t take it as a joke?” I
guessed.

He wouldn’t look at me, but nodded. “She
helped me build an outfit.”

“But she kept the shoes.”

His head bobbed again. “They didn’t fit
me.”

“And then you met Walt.” It was all falling
together in my head. “He admired Cyn’s shoes, then later, once the
two of you got better acquainted, he surprised you with a pair to
go with your red dress.”

Gene said nothing.

“How does Veronica fit into this?”

“She and Walt broke up before I came along.
See, Walt used to brag about money. He dressed nice and always
flashed a big wad of cash at the clubs—paid for lots of drinks.
Veronica insinuated herself into his life. She kept hounding him
for money so he dumped her.”

“But she wouldn’t let go. She was angry he
took up with you.”

His head sank to his chest. “Yeah.”

“Did she know Walt’s family owns the Kaplan
Jewelry stores?”

“Everybody did. Course, Walt didn’t let on
that he had virtually nothing to do with them anymore.”

“Then how did you know?”

“I told you; we were friends. We spent a lot
of time talking.”

“At the clubs?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes we just went out for
dinner. Walt and I weren’t . . . I mean, I like older
guys, but we only did it a couple of times. It wasn’t like we
were—”

“But you were with him hours before he
died.

“We had dinner at Eckl’s in Orchard Park
that night.”

“I know the place. And afterward?”

Gene was silent, wouldn’t look at me.

“After the sex, what happened?” I tried
again.

“Walt dropped me off at my apartment, said
he was going home. Veronica must’ve tracked him down and killed
him. I figure she dumped him by the mill to implicate me.”

That wasn’t all. “Did you find him?”

“Veronica called me.” Gene closed his eyes,
let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know how she got my cell
number. She said they’d argued—about me. She said she’d dumped Walt
by the mill. She made it sound like he was hurt—but alive.”

It had been Gene’s revulsion I’d experienced
when I’d first visited the mill. “Why didn’t you call 911?”

“Walt was my friend. He’d never come out to
his family. I wasn’t going to do it for him. So I rushed right over
there and—”

“Found him dead.”

Gene nodded miserably. “She’d dumped him all
right—naked. I wasn’t about to let him be found that way. But he
was a lot bigger than me. I knew I’d never get him up the hill on
my own so I put his clothes back on him. I hated to leave him
there, but what else could I do?”

“Why didn’t you call the cops?” I
pressed.

“I was scared. I still am. Of her.”

“Have you heard from Veronica since?”

Again he nodded. “She’s left threatening
messages on my voice mail. Someone broke a window in my apartment.
I think Veronica tried to get in. My landlady heard a noise and let
her dog out. Since then, I’ve had a new lock installed and have
tried to watch my back.”

“What about Cyn?”

“She was furious when Walt turned up
dead. Like it was a stain on
her
character.” He turned anguished eyes toward me. “I told her
about Veronica’s call, how she blamed me for her and Walt breaking
up. How she wanted the ring.”

That grabbed my attention. “You’ve got
Walt’s ring?”

Gene dug into his collar, pulled out a chain
from around his neck. A sparkling, man’s diamond ring flashed. The
stone was easily three or more carets. “How—when—did you get
it?”