Murder Is Uncooperative (28 page)

She said it in such a matter of fact manner. As if killing Jessie was the obvious thing to do.

“He didn't even really rape her,” she went on. “He'd been so excited he ejaculated in his pants. So I just told him to clean himself up, and I wrapped her body up and left her in Amy's closet. Amy didn't even look in there before she took off. We moved her to the park after it was dark.”

“Surely, the police could tell she'd been in your car,” I said. “I mean it was a while ago but they've been able to test for DNA for years.”

“We didn't use our car.” She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Eddie stole one. And, of course Jessie's DNA was in Amy's room. Everyone knew she'd been there earlier. I just told the police Eddie had been home with me all afternoon and evening. They just assumed she met that serial killer on her way home.”

She might have said more. But then Dad finally noticed the police behind her.

I saw his eyes light up and he inhaled. He realized his mistake in an instant and tried to damp down his expression. But it was too late.

I watched the barrel of the gun start to swing away from me and back to Dad's head.

But she couldn't resist turning her head slightly to follow the direction Dad had been looking,

D'Onofrio raced the last few feet. Mariana screamed as he grabbed her arm. The gun pointed towards the floor briefly.

I jumped forward, desperate to move Dad's wheelchair away from her. But D'Onofrio was much stronger than she was, and he quickly pried the gun out of her hand.

I noticed she was crying as the other officers handcuffed her.

“I did it,” Ben said, running down the hall from my room. “At first, I didn't know what you wanted me to do, Mommy. Then I remembered that when Grandpa fell, I called 911. So I called them and told them about the lady with the gun. But, why did you say it was a game, Mommy? Was she playing a game? It wasn't fun. I didn't like it.”

“No, honey, it wasn't really a fun game, was it? But I'm so glad you knew what to do.” I hugged him. I'd been so afraid I'd never see him again. That Mariana would kill us all. “You're such a smart boy, and Mommy is very proud of you.”

“I heard about the shooting in the parking garage, and I was already on my way here when his call came in,” D'Onofrio said. “I heard most of what she said when I was waiting for backup. I'll have to get a statement from both of you. But I'm betting this means you didn't stay out of it.”

It was hours later, after we'd all given statements and I'd put Ben to bed, that the front door buzzer sounded.

“It's me, Bec,” Dave said. “Can I come in for a minute?”

“I thought you were out of town,” I said when he got to my apartment.

“I was,” he answered. “But I came back when I heard about Cara.”

“I'm sorry, Dave,” I said. “I found her, and I guess I should have let you know. But things were a little busy around here.”

“No, it's okay. A buddy in the newsroom heard about it and called me. And I heard about what happened here. My gawd, all of you could have been killed too.”

He'd swayed a little, and I could tell he'd been drinking. A lot.

“I'm sorry, Dave. I haven't heard anything. Is Cara . . . ?”

“No, they got to her in time. She lost a lot of blood, but they got the bullet out. They say she should recover fine.” He swayed again.

“Come in, Dave. You should sit down.”

He followed me into the living room and collapsed on the love seat. “I was just sitting there, watching her in the hospital. She just looked so small and pale. And she had all these tubes and things hooked up. And I thought I'd been such a jerk, to her and to you.

“And then I heard about what happened here,” he said. “Ben could have been killed, and I remembered you asked me to look after him, and I just blew you off. I just couldn't be bothered, and then I almost lost my son. Well, it's not going to be like that anymore. From now on I'm going to be a good dad and a good husband.”

I touched his hand gently. “Dave, you know we're not going to get together again. There's been too much water under the bridge.”

Dave laughed. “Not husband to you, Bec. To Cara. I'm going to ask her to marry me.”

I was saved any embarrassment because the next thing he said was, “I think I'm going to throw up.”

After Dave raced to the bathroom, and I cleaned up the spots where he'd missed the toilet, I said, “I don't think you're in any shape to go home alone.”

I glanced at the short love seat and then at my lanky ex. “You take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch.”

I had the whole night to discover that the love seat was not that comfortable to try to sleep on. I was awake often enough to be aware that Dave hadn't made any more trips to the bathroom. I didn't think he'd had to make use of the bucket I'd left by the side of my bed either.

So I was up early and walked to Ben's room to check on him. He was still fast asleep, but Maui was awake. The little cat seemed to be feeling better and was moving around a bit more. I leaned down to get him out of his kennel and give him a cuddle.

Then it was back to the regular routine of feeding the cat and getting Ben ready for preschool. I had a brief moment of wanting to keep him close beside me but I decided it was better for him to have things back to normal.

I'd just returned from dropping Ben off when I heard a knock at the door. I was expecting most of the co-op would have heard what happened by now and be anxious to hear the details.

But it was D'Onofrio.

“I just wanted to let you know what's going on,” he said. “There's some question about whether Mrs. Cole is fit to stand trial. She'll be getting a psychiatric evaluation. Of course, if there is a trial, you'll be called to testify.

“And I just wanted to give you these brochures. From victims' services. You know, in case you need counselling or anything.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I took the brochures. “But I think I'll be fine. I'm tougher than I look.”

“Yes, I think you are,” he said, and his tone softened. “Are you sure you're all right, Rebecca . . . er, Ms. Butler.”

“You can call me Rebecca,” I said. “Um, I'm afraid I don't know your first name.”

“Rafe,” he said. “Raffaello, really.”

I noticed he was blushing.

“Well, you know, there will be the trial and everything,” he said, “and it wouldn't be appropriate, but do you think, I mean, after this is all over, do you think . . . I mean, would you be interested in . . .”

I'd never heard D'Onofrio stammer like that. I could see the color spreading from his cheekbones across his face. There was something very attractive about the flush under his olive skin. Was D'Onofrio going to ask me out? On a date?

He didn't seem able to get it out. Well, I was a modern woman. I could ask him.

“So, after the trial is over,” I said, “would you like to . . .”

My bedroom door opened, and Dave stumbled out, wearing nothing but his boxers and a T-shirt. “Oh, hi, Bec. Thanks for last night. I'm just going to get some coffee. What do you have for breakfast?” He stumbled down the hall.

I looked back at D'Onofrio. But he was already turning away. “So, anyway, I'll be in touch about the trial.”

“Wait,” I said to his retreating back. “That wasn't what you think.”

But the elevator doors had closed. I headed towards the kitchen. If there hadn't already been too many murders around here, Dave would have been a dead man.

But, as D'Onofrio had said, we'd be in touch.

Crime writers Gail Bowen and Garry Ryan provided advice, mentorship and encouragement during the very early stages of the writing of this book. Vi Ialungo, Pat McClain, Lorraine Robson and Stuart Thomas read and gave feedback on the completed draft. Adrienne Tanner and the Vancouver Police Department answered my questions about newsroom operations and policing respectively.

Thank you all so very much.