See Jane Die (29 page)

Saturday, November 8, 2003
11:00 a.m
.

J
ane awakened to find Stacy gone. She'd left her a message propped up against the coffeepot.

Gone to work. Got my cell. Ranger fed and walked
.

Don't push it—or else!

Jane smiled at the bossy, no-nonsense tone of her sister's note. Truth was, it had been a long time since Stacy had cared enough to be bossy and she was glad to have her big sister back.

They hadn't spoken much the night before. Stacy had returned to the loft late, after Jane had gone to bed. Stacy had been asleep later, when Jane had tiptoed out to the living room. Unable to sleep for thoughts of Ian and their future. Her miscarriage. Ones of Ted.

Jane had intended to wake her sister. And tell her everything.

Instead, she had stood in the doorway and watched her sleep. Affection swamping her. Gratitude. Pride.

She loved her sister. She had missed her. Having her back in her life was good. The one good thing she could hang on to now.

Jane had returned to bed without waking her. Morning, she had decided, would be soon enough to talk.

Mercifully, sleep had come.

Jane bent and patted Ranger, then poured herself a cup of the coffee. She sipped and found it still fresh. She crossed with her coffee to the phone and dialed Ted. She got a busy signal, hung up and tried his cell. It went straight to messaging.

“Ted,” she said. “Jane. What happened? Call me.”

Jane ate, showered and dressed. She recoded the alarm, though she wondered how long it would take to commit the new pass code to memory. For as long as she could remember, both she and Stacy had used the same one—031387.

March 13, 1987. The date that had changed their lives forever.

That done, she tried Ted again, this time getting his apartment answering machine. She left another message, concern growing.

Something wasn't right. He'd said he would call her
.

Ranger seemed to agree. He stood at door that led to her studio, nose pressed to the crack.

She crossed to stand beside him. “What's wrong, boy?”

He growled, low in his throat. Jane glanced back toward the kitchen and the phone lying on the counter. She could call Stacy.

And tell her what? That Ranger was acting funny?

Feeling more than a little bit ridiculous, she laid her ear against the door. From the studio came the sound of music. The jazz Ted preferred.

Of course
. He often came in on weekends. Sometimes to catch up on work, others to use her computer. She had been trying to reach him, and he had been in the studio all along.

Jane unlocked the door, Ranger leapt forward, barreling down the stairs, nearly knocking her down in the process.

“Ranger! Jeez, where's the fire? Ted?” she called, following Ranger down. “I can't wait to hear what happened.”

The man didn't answer. The music grew louder. Ranger began to bark, the sound shrill. Frenzied.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

Even as she told herself she should return to the loft and call
Stacy, she moved deeper into the studio. Her heart thundered. Her palms grew damp. She called out to her friend again.

Again, he didn't respond. She stopped at the foot of the staircase and called Ranger. The animal appeared around the corner that led to the entrance. He whined, the sound high and anxious. She dropped her gaze.

His paws were wet. Red.

Turn around, Jane. Run
.

Instead, as if compelled by a force outside herself, she moved forward. Turned the corner. And found Ted. He lay facedown in a pool of blood, just inside the door. Beside him lay a pretty plant, spilled. Mired in red. Newspapers, soaked. Ranger's pawprints circling the body, obscene on the light-colored tile.

A choked sound slipped past Jane's lips. She took a step backward. Then another.

Whirling around, she ran to her desk, the phone there. She punched in Stacy's cell number.

“Stacy Killi—”

“She killed him!” she cried. “He was following her and…she killed him! She—”

“Jane? Slow down! What are talking about? Who—”

“The woman…from that night. Here. The one he…Dear God, she killed him!”

“Who, Jane? Who'd she kill—”

“Ted,” she sobbed. “She killed Ted!”

“Get upstairs, Jane!” her sister ordered. “I'm on my way. Lock yourself in the loft. With Ranger. Now!”

Saturday, November 8, 2003
Noon

S
tacy and Mac arrived within minutes. A squad car swooped in just behind them, sirens screaming. Jane saw them from the window and ran to meet her sister. She raced down the flight of stairs to street level, wrenched the door open before Stacy rang the bell.

Jane fell into her sister's arms, sobbing. “It's all my fault! He did it for me. I shouldn't have let him…should have called you…awakened you, but—”

“Slow down, Jane. First off, where is he?”

“The studio. Just inside…the…entrance.”

“I've got it,” Mac said to Stacy. He motioned one of the uniforms to follow him.

“Is the door unlocked?”

“I don't know. I entered from upstairs—”

Mac and the uniform headed up the stairs, Mac taking them two at a time.

Jane stared after the two, reliving the moment her gaze had landed on Ted's still form, the sea of blood. She brought the heels of her hands to her eyes, wishing she could blot it
out. Return to yesterday. To three weeks ago, when life had been so easy.

Stacy gently caught her wrists. She eased her hands away from her face and looked her in the eyes. “First off, are you all right?”

Jane felt a hysterical laugh bubbling to her lips. It came out as a sob. “Are you serious? No, I'm not all right.”

“I need you to talk to me, tell me exactly what happened, how you found Ted. Do you need to sit down?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Step by step, Jane. Walk me through what happened.”

Jane dragged in a shaky breath. “Okay.”

She led Stacy upstairs. They reached the foyer just as Mac reappeared. He looked at Stacy and nodded.

Confirming he was dead, Jane thought. No vitals.

“Call Pete,” Stacy said.

“Done. Crime-scene guys are on their way.”

Stacy turned to her, expression gentle. “Okay, Jane. Tell us exactly what happened.”

Jane began. She explained about Ranger standing at attention at the door, about hearing the jazz and thinking Ted was in the studio. She told them how the dog leapt forward when she opened the door.

She led them downstairs. “I called to Ted…he didn't answer. And Ranger…was barking. I knew something was wrong and—”

She struggled to speak. “I was afraid. I…called Ranger. He came. His paws…they…I noticed the floor, the prints.” Shuddering, she pointed to the red prints on the white tile. “That's when I found him.”

“Did you touch the body?” Stacy asked.

“No.”

“Disturb the scene in any way?”

“No, but Ranger…he…the blood.”

“Wait here.”

Jane was only too happy to stay put. Her sister and Mac
disappeared around the corner. She closed her eyes but couldn't shut out their conversation.

“How long do you think?” Stacy asked.

“Several hours for sure. Rigor mortis is well advanced. Lividity seems fixed.”

“Looks like he was surprised from behind.”

“Throat slit. Perp knew what he was doing.”

Jane brought a hand to her mouth.
Dear God
.

“Check the door.”

Jane heard the outer door open. She glanced at the alarm keypad at the bottom of the stairs. The indicator light was red. Not green.

Ted hadn't reset the alarm
.

“Open. Scene secure?”

Jane assumed her sister had directed the question to the two uniforms out front. They must have replied in the affirmative because she ordered one to begin a neighborhood canvas and the other to let her know the minute the coroner's deputy arrived.

Stacy reappeared. “Jane, I'm going to have a uniform take you upstairs—”

“No.”

“Jane, you can't do anything for him now and nothing will be served by exhausting yourself.”

“He was my friend. It's my fault…you don't understand.”

“Then you'll need to make me understand,” her sister said gently. “Come on, I'll take you up. We'll talk.”

She and her partner exchanged glances. “Let me know the minute Pete gets here.”

He saluted and disappeared around the corner. Stacy led Jane upstairs to the living room. Jane sank onto the couch, grateful to be off her feet. Stacy pulled up a chair, so they could face each other.

Once her sister was seated, Jane took a deep breath and began. “The woman Ted brought to the studio, he went looking for her last night.”

“Why?”

“We thought she could be the one.”

“Who's terrorizing you?”

“Yes. And maybe the one who killed Marsha and Lisette and—”

“Elle Vanmeer.”

“Yes. Or knew who had.” Jane clasped her hands in her lap. “He called me. Late. He had found her.” Her voice trembled. “He was going to follow her. I begged him not to…I wanted to call you. You could have met him, but he—”

“Jane,” her sister said, cutting her off gently, “this looks like a botched robbery.”

Jane blinked. Confused. “A robbery…I don't understand.”

“It looks like Ted came by the studio sometime late. He had a plant and the early edition of the
Dallas Morning News
. With a review of your show. He surprised someone breaking in. They killed him.”

Jane struggled with what she was saying. A review of her show? Someone robbing the studio?

“He was worried about you. Probably wanted you to find the plant and review first thing, to cheer you up.”

“No. The woman—”

“There wasn't any woman, Jane. Ted was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“No.” She repeated the negative, louder this time. “There's something you don't know. That I haven't told you.”

Stacy narrowed her eyes slightly and waited.

Jane explained about going to Ian's office. About the woman who had taken the file. “I put two and two together and thought maybe they were one and the same.”

Stacy looked shaken. “You went alone, late at night, to Ian's office? How could you have done something so stupid?”

“I had to try to help. I thought if I looked, I might find something the police missed. Something to help prove his innocence.”

“Something the police missed?” Stacy said, tone incredulous. “Jane, we're professional investigators. Believe me—”

“The police were looking for proof of his guilt, Stacy. Not innocence.”

Stacy opened her mouth, as if to argue, then shut it again. She seemed rattled. “You didn't tell anyone about this?”

“Not until Ted. And now you.”

“Why?”

“Because I anticipated your negative reaction. And because I…I didn't find anything.”

Something flickered across Stacy's expression, then was gone. “I don't know what to do about this.”

“Did you check Marsha's keys? Was the office key on the ring?”

“What?”

“Her office key? The woman took a patient file, so the police wouldn't find it. How had she planned to get in, if not with a—”

Stacy's cell phone rang. She held up a finger indicating Jane should hold the thought and answered. “Okay. I'll be right down. Send up a uniform.”

She stood. “I've got to go, Jane. I'll be back as soon as I can, but it may be a while. Are you going to be okay alone?”

Jane nodded, feeling numb. Wondering if she would ever truly be okay again.

“Maybe you should call Dave. See if he can come sit with you.”

“Maybe.”

Stacy crossed to the door, stopped and looked back. “We'll figure this out, Jane. Together. I promise.”

Then she was gone.

And Jane was alone—more alone than she ever could have imagined.