The Switch (13 page)

Mainly, it was impressed upon her that, although she was Gillian's twin and her suffering would be incomparable, she wouldn't be suffering alone. She had a support group she could rely on.

"If you need me, Melina, call."

"Melina, please call if you need anything."

"I'm here for you. You know I lost my sister in a car accident last year. The suddenness of it is so cruel. Please call if you want to talk."

For all her friends' good intentions, she didn't know how anyone could possibly make her feel better. She had made them feel better by assigning them small tasks so they would feel useful. While coffee was being brewed and the telephone was being manned, she excused herself to shower and dress. Moving toward the bedroom, she heard them speaking in soft voices about how well she was doing, how admirably she was holding up.

Bullshit. On the outside she might appear to be a citadel of emotional fortitude, but on the inside she was crumbling. She turned the shower on full force. Then, with the hard spray to cover her moans of anguish, she let herself go and sobbed until her chest was sore from the contractions. In the tile enclosure where no one could hear her, she wept bitterly for her loss and for her complicity in the tragedy.

Temporarily spent, she had stepped from the shower and made a stab at applying makeup, which was futile. She cried it off almost immediately. She dressed mechanically. Each small task was performed by rote. She moved as though obeying the instructions of an invisible hypnotist, automatically doing what she knew needed to be done.

She couldn't fathom having to make even the simplest decision, or reasoning through a problem, or going about the most routine daily business. Would she ever be able to lay her head on a pillow and simply fall asleep, or eat a meal for the pleasure of tasting it, or attend a party, or exercise, or laugh? Would life ever hold any enjoyment for her again?

Not as long as her twin's death went un-avenged.

Now, seated in this stuffy room in police headquarters, she silently repeated to herself the vow she had made aloud to her reflection in the bathroom mirror earlier: Her sister's death would be avenged, no matter the cost to herself, even to her last breath.

Hatred for the killer smoldered like a nugget of coal inside her chest. She'd never been a vengeful person. She could honestly say she'd never hated anyone. Disliked, yes. Sometimes intensely. But she'd never hated another person on this level. She had never wanted to watch another human being stop breathing. The enmity she felt for this faceless, unnamed murderer was so fiercely felt it frightened her.

"Did you have a client today?"

Jem's question roused her from her malevolent thoughts. "Luckily, no."

"And you've got people to take over for you?"

"Fortunately. I notified them that I'll probably take several
weeks off. They're checking our schedule and making adjustments. It'll be all right. The business won't suffer."

Jem bounced the tips of his fingers together in agitation.

"Melina, I can't believe ..."

"What?"

"I can't believe that Gillian pulled a stunt like that. That she impersonated you and went in your place last night. It doesn't sound like her to be that reckless and impulsive. It sounds like—"

"Like something I would do," she said, finishing for him. "I didn't mean it in a critical sense."

"It's all right. I blame myself. If I had it to do over again, I never would have suggested it."

"Had Gillian ever done it before?"

"I told you. When we were kids."

"But she'd never taken over a client for you?"

"No, that was a first."

"Why last night?"

"No particular reason, Jem. It was a lark, an idea that occurred to me spontaneously over lunch."

But he wouldn't take her explanation at face value. "Was it so she could meet that Christopher Hart character? Did Gillian want to meet a celebrity? An astronaut? What?"

"It wasn't him. It was—"
"Never mind," he interrupted. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It was a silly, childish notion for which I take full responsibility."

"It might have been your idea, but Gillian was responsible for her own actions. She could have said no."

Her temper snapped. "Don't be angry with her! At the
time, it seemed like a harmles
s prank. How could she know it
would get her killed?" She yanked her hand from his and
stood up. "Excuse me."

"Now I've upset you."

"I'm not upset, I'm pissed."

"Melina—"

"Her death is just a little too fresh for me to listen to criticism of her, Jem."

Chastened, he ran his fingers through his hair. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. I know you blame yourself. I shouldn't have touched that nerve."

"I've got to get out of here."

"Where are you going? You can't leave. We were told to wait here for Lawson."

"I'm not leaving the building. I'm only going to the ladies' room."

"I'll walk with you."

"No," she said, waving him back into his chair. "Stay, in case Lawson comes. Tell him I'll be right back."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I'm all right."

But of course she wasn't anywhere near all right. In the bathroom she bent at the waist and propped her elbows on the rim of the basin, rubbing her forehead and trying to massage away a blasting headache that had developed after her hard crying jag in the shower.

Several minutes later a policewoman came in. "Ms. Lloyd?" She straightened and turned around.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but Detective Lawson wanted you to know that he's here. They're waiting. Whenever you're ready."

"I'm on my way."

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"Take an extra few minutes if you need them."

"I'm fine." An extra few minutes weren't going to make any difference. Smiling feebly and falsely, she gathered her handbag and left. At the water fountain, she paused to shake two analgesic tablets from a tin she located in the bottom of her handbag, then leaned over the fountain and washed them down.

When she turned around, she came face-to-face with Christopher Hart. He was standing only a few feet away from her. "Hi."

"Hello."

His half smile was private and sympathetic. He moved toward her but was halted midstride by a man who approached with a writing tablet. "Colonel Hart? Corporal Crow." They shook hands. "Heard you were coming in today. I'm part Indian, too. Choctaw Could I please get your autograph for my kid? He's nine. A real space nut. What I mean is, he's interested in it and all."

"I'll catch you later, okay, Corporal? Before I leave. Right now, I'm late for a meeting with Detective Lawson."

"Oh, sure thing. Sorry to... you know, interrupt."

"No problem. I'll be happy to sign an autograph for your son after our meeting."

The man shuffled off, embarrassed.

Chief turned back to her and shrugged with chagrin. "I'm sorry about that. Sometimes they pick the wrong time."

Then he covered the distance between them in two wide steps and came so close, she could smell fresh autumn air and sunshine on his black leather jacket. He had carried the outdoors in with him. Before she realized what he was about to do, he brushed his thumb across her chin.

Reflexively, she yanked her head back.

"You dribbled some," he said, showing her the drop of water on the pad of his thumb. He rubbed it dry and dropped his hand to his side. "Melina, I..." He looked away from her for several seconds, then looked back at her. "Jesus, I don't know what to say to you. I'm sorry about your sister."

"Thank you." She would have ended it there, but he continued in a low, stirring voice.

"After last night, would you have ever guessed that our second meeting would take place in a police station?" He shook his head in perplexity. "I don't understand what's going on here. I don't know why you sent this detective looking for me, or how I fit in. Until I do, I'm making no judgments. But regardless of all that, I want you to know that I'm so sorry for what happened to Gillian. It's horrible." He raised his hands helplessly. "I'm sorry as hell about it. That's all I know to say."

Despite her best efforts not to cry, tears filled her eyes and spilled over.

"God, I'm sorry." Placing his arms around her, he pulled her flush against him and pressed his lips into her hair.

The contact with him caused two distinct involuntary reactions: She caught her breath in a quiet gasp. And her posture stiffened.

But he seemed not to notice either, because, with a suggested intimacy, he tenderly kissed her temple. "This must be awful for you. I hate it, hate it for you."

"Anytime the two of you are ready."

They broke apart and turned. Lawson was there, looking square and rumpled. And curious.

Chief followed Melina into the room, which was already crowded with Lawson; Alan Birchman, who was the attorney NASA had retained to accompany him; and another man, who was introduced to him as Jem Hennings, Gillian Lloyd's
fiancé
.

Chief murmured his regrets. Hennings acknowledged them with a cool, curt nod that might have puzzled Chief had
he not been busy wondering why Melina was acting like a stranger.

Although, under the circumstances, she was entitled to behave any damn way she pleased. She had lost a loved one to a violent and bloody crime. He wouldn't have blamed her if she beat the walls with her fists or tore out her hair. The shocking news she had received this morning justified any mode of behavior. So if her reaction was to withdraw and remain aloof, he could accept it.

On the other hand, he wanted to convey his sympathy. He wanted her to know how sincerely sorry he was for what had
happened. But she seemed determined not to look him in the eye. She hadn't since they'd entered the room.

Lawson was giving Birchman the details the investigators had compiled so far. The lawyer, whom Chief had met only a
few minutes earlier, was a distinguished-looking man with silver-rimmed eyeglasses, a three-thousand-dollar suit, and a port-wine-stain birthmark on the left side of his face that spilled down onto his neck. They'd barely had time to shake
hands and exchange business cards in the lobby on the first floor before they had boarded the elevator.

On the way up, Chief had thanked him for responding so quickly to the summons. "I'm glad I was available," he replied briskly. No b.s., no chitchat, no small talk. Birchman got down to business. "NASA gave me a rundown. What's your story?"

He didn't like the implication that his version was a contrivance, but he let it drop and matched the quick pace the attorney had set for their interview "I met Melina Lloyd for the
first time last night. She was my media escort to the banquet at the Adolphus."

"What about the murder victim?"

"Never even met her. Unless I'm here to corroborate
Melina's alibi or something like that, I don't have a clue as to why I was brought into this."

"Lawson could have had you confirm her alibi when he saw you earlier. Are you sure there's nothing I should know before we go into this meeting? I don't like being blindsided by the other side. I absolutely will not tolerate it from a client I'm representing."

Chief had curbed his anger and said stiffly, "After you," and stepped aside so Birchman could precede him from the elevator onto the third floor. It was then he'd spotted Melina at the water fountain.

Now Birchman again came straight to the point. "Now that we've all met, the first thing I'd like to know is why Colonel Hart has been asked to come here. If his deposition will assist in solving the crime, he could easily have given it in my office."

"Hold on," Lawson said.

Chief didn't blame the detective for reining in Birchman. This was Lawson's arena. It was his meeting. He planned to conduct it as he saw fit. He wasn't going to be ramroded by an overbearing lawyer who probably earned more on one case than the detective earned in a year.

Lawson rolled his shoulders, straining the seams of his jacket. "Fact is, Mr. Birchman, all the introductions haven't been made."

"Excuse me?"

Chief shared his lawyer's confusion, and his resentful admiration for Lawson slipped. "You enjoy talking in riddles, don't you, Lawson? Will you, somebody," he added, glancing at Melina, "explain to me why I'm integral to the investigation?"

"I thought you two should become acquainted." Lawson, holding Chief's gaze, hitched his head in Melina's direction.

Chief looked from the detective to her. She gazed back at him, her expression remote, revealing nothing of what she was thinking, and he would have given a million bucks to know what was going on behind those gray eyes.

Then he looked at the detective again and with increasing confusion said, "Melina and I met last night."

"No, you didn't." Chief opened his mouth to protest, but Lawson, who was obviously enjoying himself immensely, held up a hand to forestall him. "The woman you met last night was Gillian."