Smoke Screen (11 page)

It was then that Wickham and McGowan arrived. Raley had seen them the previous night, living it up at the party with everyone else. Wickham had been with his wife. McGowan had had an anorexic-looking girl draped on his arm. This morning, they looked hungover, unwashed, and unhappy to be back at Jay’s apartment, especially to examine the body of a dead girl.

“In the guest room,” Jay said, nodding them down the hallway. He and Raley followed.

The somber quartet took up most of the floor space in the compact room. The detectives looked the body over while Jay and Raley stood by, watching.

“Did you touch her?” Wickham asked.

“CPR” was all he managed to say.

Plastic bags had been placed on the girl’s hands. The two detectives turned her onto her side, looking for injuries or wounds on her back. At least that was what Raley surmised.

Jay said, “There’s residue on the nightstand. I think it’s cocaine. There’s a foil packet in her handbag. Dig deeper and we’ll probably find a razor and straw, too. My guess is that she’s a habitual user. She and Raley tied one on. He passed out. She snorted and died in her sleep.”

McGowan said, “Autopsy will tell for sure.”

Raley wasn’t squeamish. In his line of work, he couldn’t be. But hearing the word
autopsy
in this context made the coffee he’d drunk roil in his stomach. As though sensing his discomfort, Jay scooped his clothes from the floor, took him by the arm, and propelled him out of the room.

“Go get yourself straight.” He passed the bundle of clothing and shoes to him. “Use my bathroom. Shower if you want. They’ll be a while, then we’ll talk.”

Raley moved like an automaton, down the hallway, through Jay’s bedroom, into the bathroom. He threw up. He peed gallons. He splashed his face with cold water, and when that didn’t help relieve his grogginess, he showered, alternating the water from scalding to ice cold.

Feeling a bit restored, he joined the others where they had gathered in Jay’s living area, which was still littered with party debris. Wickham opened the discussion. “Hell of a thing, Raley.”

After that concise assessment of the situation, anything Raley said would be superfluous, so he merely nodded.

“We, uh, found a coupla condoms under the bed, the side you slept on. They’ve been used. We’ll send them to the lab.”

Wickham didn’t pose the question outright, but Raley knew what he was asking. “I don’t know if we had sex or not,” he said. “I don’t remember.”

“She was a babe,” McGowan remarked. “How could you not remember?”

“I don’t remember,” he repeated. The retching had made his voice husky. He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what I do remember.”

McGowan made a motion with his hand. Raley began. “I came with Candy Orrin.” His account lasted through reaching the pool area with the girl—Suzi with an
i.
“But that’s where things get hazy. I remember thinking that the margaritas were damn strong. I was dizzy, wanting to sit down.”

Jay’s phone rang. He excused himself to answer it, turning his back to the room and speaking low into the receiver.

“You were lying down on the chaise,” Wickham said, drawing Raley’s attention back to him. “My wife and I saw the two of you. Embarrassed her no end. We beat it back to the patio, left you going at it.”

Raley’s cheeks grew hot. “I remember kissing her, or rather her kissing me.”

“Kissing?” Wickham snorted. “Yeah, you probably kissed, too.”

Jay rejoined them. “That was Hallie,” he reported softly. “She was worried because she hadn’t been able to reach you this morning. I told her you crashed here last night and were still asleep.”

Raley had to swallow another surge of nausea. He placed his head in his hands and set his elbows on his knees.

Jay patted him on the back. “It’ll be okay. It could’ve happened to anybody. Especially somebody who’s been working as hard as you have. You didn’t realize you could be slam-dunked by a few margaritas.”

“I had less than one,” he said, sitting up.
“One,
Jay. And one beer.”

Motion drew his attention toward the hallway. The EMTs were wheeling a gurney with a body bag on it toward the front door. Raley was unable to suppress the nausea this time. As he was rushing toward Jay’s bathroom, he heard McGowan suggest that Jay bring him down to the temporary PD headquarters for further questioning. Jay promised to have him there by one o’clock. In exchange, he got McGowan’s promise to treat this like an accidental death.

“No need to alert the media, is there?” Jay said.

Raley was glad to hear McGowan agree. “No need I can see.”

He threw up again, retching with such violence he was surprised his esophagus didn’t bleed. Finally, feeling that he’d been wrung inside out, he came shakily out of the bathroom.

The apartment was deserted except for him and Jay, who told him what to do and when to do it, because he seemed incapable of making even the smallest decision.

“Want some toast?”

“No.”

“You should get something in your stomach.”

“Okay.”

“Orange juice?”

“Sure.”

“You want to borrow a shirt? Yours has lipstick on it.”

“Thanks.”

It went like that until they left for the police station, arriving promptly at one o’clock. Wickham and McGowan—now showered and shaved—were waiting for them in an interrogation room. “Is this necessary, guys?” Jay asked as he and Raley were ushered in.

“It is if we want privacy,” McGowan said. “We’re doing what we can to keep a lid on this.”

He offered Raley something to drink. He declined. Jay had medicated his headache with analgesics and had forced gallons of water on him for hydration. The toast had helped settle his stomach. He felt a little more like himself, more confident and clearheaded when, for the second time, he talked them through the events of the night before.

When he finished, Jay looked at his two colleagues with an expression that said,
Satisfied?
They didn’t look ready to lynch Raley, but they didn’t look convinced beyond a reasonable doubt, either.

Raley knew the time had come for him to take the first proactive step toward defending himself. “I’ve been thinking about it. I know I was tired. The margaritas were unusually strong. Chalk it up to abnormal metabolism, whatever. One drink could
possibly
have knocked me on my ass. It could
possibly
have prompted me to have sex with that girl. She was a looker, and she came on to me.

“But the amount of alcohol I drank last night couldn’t have completely erased my memory. I just don’t believe that.” He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I think I was drugged.”

The three other men just looked at him blankly, their expressions revealing no reaction to his statement. Finally Jay spoke. “Drugged? By the girl?”

“She’s the one who brought me the drink. She’s the drug user.”

“Alleged,” Wickham said.

“Alleged,” Raley conceded.

“She was,” Jay said. “The stash was in her handbag, and I’ve already tracked down the friend she came with. They were doing coke before they got to the party.”

Raley was surprised that Jay had learned all that in such a short amount of time. He was impressed, both by Jay’s investigative skills and by his friendship. If he doubted one word of Raley’s story, he hadn’t shown it.

McGowan was notified of a phone call and left the room to take it.

Jay glanced at his watch. “When Hallie called, she gave me her ETA. If the plane’s on time, she’s less than an hour out.”

Hallie, Jesus.
The pilots would be announcing their initial approach into Charleston. She would be anticipating their reunion at baggage claim. She was probably dabbing some powder on her nose, applying fresh lip gloss, checking her hair, using breath spray, innocently expecting to walk into the arms of her faithful fiancé. It broke his heart to think of the disillusionment she would suffer when confronted with his betrayal.

Neither was overly jealous. Hallie didn’t come unglued if he had a conversation with another woman, and he didn’t think twice about her traveling to Boston with two men from the bank with whom she worked. They trusted each other implicitly.

So how in hell was he going to explain last night to her when he couldn’t even explain it to himself? He tried to imagine facing her and saying what he must. How would he even find the words? What words could he use to make this ugliness any prettier? There weren’t any words to do that. The woman he loved was going to be devastated by what he’d done, and there was no way to avoid it.

Jay pressed his shoulder. “Why don’t you let me pick her up? I’ll give her an overview of what’s happened. If I soften the blow, she’ll be better prepared to hear the details from you.”

McGowan, who had returned, said, “That’s a good plan. At least as far as picking up Hallie is concerned. We need Raley to stay here.”

“What for?” Jay asked.

“Cobb Fordyce. He heard what happened. He wants details.”

Cobb Fordyce was the county’s ambitious DA. It was said he had a sixth sense when it came to which cases were sound enough to take to trial and which to let go. His critics said this sixth sense was based more on ambition than on seeing justice done, but his critics were in the minority. The voting public held him in high esteem. He had always liked headlines, and since the fire and the heroism he had exhibited that day, he had cultivated them at every opportunity.

Angrily, Jay asked, “Who called him?”

“Doesn’t matter, Jay. You’re a cop who had a naked dead girl in bed with your houseguest. Those EMTs know Raley. Sooner or later the DA’s office had to get wind of it.”

“She died of a drug overdose,” Jay exclaimed.

“Then neither you nor Raley has anything to worry about, do you?” McGowan said. “The DA’s involvement is…what do you call it? Routine?”

“Pro forma,” Raley said dully.

“Right,” McGowan said. “Pro forma. Let Jay go pick up your lady at the airport and break it to her gently that your dick got you in a heap of trouble last night. You stay and talk to Fordyce.”

Before he left, Jay pulled Raley aside. “One thing. For godsake don’t say anything more about being drugged.”

“But—”

“Listen, dammit!” Jay said, taking him by the arm and shaking him slightly. “You go talking about drugs in any context, the logical conclusion will be that you and dead Suzi there did them together, and did so much of them that you blacked out and lost your memory and she died.”

Raley covered his head with both hands. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Jay sighed. He left for the airport.

Half an hour later, it wasn’t Cobb Fordyce who showed up. Raley was alone in the interrogation room when Candy walked in. She looked worse for wear, her face bloated from a night of too much drink and too little sleep. Smeared mascara had given her raccoon eyes. She was still wearing her party dress. It was wrinkled. He figured she’d slept in it. He wondered where.

She stood in the open doorway, staring at him for several moments before slamming the door shut and advancing into the room. “I didn’t believe them. It’s true?”

“Unfortunately.”

She tossed her briefcase on the small table and released a deep breath. “Holy Christ, Raley.”

“I know.”

She gathered her hair into a messy ponytail and secured it with an elastic band that had been around her wrist. “Officially I’m here representing District Attorney Cobb Fordyce. He called and asked me could I see to this ’cause he’s in the middle of his son’s birthday party. Grandparents, balloons, a wife who’d be pissed if he left.”

“Does he know we’re friends?”

“I wouldn’t be here if he did. And he would fire me if he ever found out. Where’s your lawyer?”

“Lawyer?”

“Your lawyer, Raley, your lawyer,” she said impatiently. “What’s the matter with you? Are you still drunk?”

“I, uh…”

“Don’t tell me you talked to the police without a lawyer.”

“Not the
police,”
he said, raising his voice to match hers. “Jay.”

“Oh, Jay,” she scoffed. “And McGowan. And Wickham.” She looked at him with a mix of bewilderment and irritation. “My boss, the DA, would shit if he knew I had said as much as hello to you without a lawyer present.”

“Talk to me, Candy.”

She shook her head sternly. “Not a good idea.”

“Please.” His voice cracked on the word, and that seemed to get to her more than the plea itself.

Her shoulders slumped. She threw a cautious glance toward the door. “Okay. You’ve got three minutes before I turn back into an ADA, so be quick. Friend to friend, tell me what happened.”

To the best of his ability, he did.

“So you admit sleeping with her,” Candy said.

“I woke up beside her.”

“She was already dead.”

“Of course. Yes. I gave her CPR, but I knew right off she’d been dead for hours.”

“You didn’t witness her death?”

He gave her a look. She waved her hands in front of her face. “Forget I asked that. Of course you didn’t. Did you have sex?”

“Maybe. Probably. They found used condoms.”

“Terrific,” she muttered. “And by the way, you’re a cheating asshole, and I wouldn’t blame Hallie if she never spoke to you again.”

“I didn’t do it consciously.”

“Oh, I see. You contend you were
un
conscious when you fucked her.”

“I contend I was…” Recalling Jay’s advice, he hesitated.

“Was…? What?”

But the caution not to mention drugs couldn’t apply to Candy. Lowering his voice he said, “I think I was drugged.”

“I heard she was in possession of cocaine. You experimented?”

“No, hell no. I think she slipped me some kind of…I don’t know. A date rape drug.” After a moment, he said, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Sorry,” she said angrily. “This is just the way I look whenever a good friend tells me a story that strains credulity.”

“I think that’s what happened.”

She studied him a moment, then pulled a chair from beneath the small table and sat down. “Talk. Hurry. I’m still listening.”

He told her his theory, that the drink Suzi Monroe had given him had been spiked with a mind-altering drug. “They give people temporary amnesia, exactly like I experienced.”