Touch of the White Tiger (13 page)

“Fancy meeting both of you at a murder scene,” the Q.E.D. director said, fixing a pointed look at our hands. “Again.”

He gave us an uninspired smile that I in no way felt obli
gated to return. A phalanx of evidence technicians filed in behind him and began to swarm over the bodies, scanning for injuries, fingerprints, DNA evidence and a host of other high-tech analysis factors. Townsend motioned toward the other end of the house, and we followed him through Getty’s kitchen into a small family room.

“We can hear better in here,” Townsend said, glancing around with disapproval at the cartoon posters covering Getty’s wall.

“This is your fault, Townsend,” I said with barely contained fury. “You falsely arrested me for murder, which gave the real murderer plenty of time for a repeat act.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow and regarded me with amusement I wasn’t sure he could really feel.

“If you hadn’t wasted your time charging me with those other murders, you might have been able to find the real killer by now.”

“She’s right,” Marco said. “Angel didn’t commit this murder or any others. And now two more innocent people are dead.”

“This is a conspiracy,” Angel said.

“We’ll see about that.”

“I was here when she arrived, Lieutenant,” Marco said. “I know she’s innocent.”

“You
know
her in many ways, don’t you? Why didn’t you tell me you were in a relationship with our suspect in the Alvarez case, Detective Marco?”

“I didn’t think it would matter. You clearly had your mind made up that she was guilty from the beginning.”

“Are you accusing me of professional bias?”

Marco shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

“You’re officially off that case,” Townsend said, clipping his words. “And I want you to leave now before you contaminate this case as well.”

Marco clasped my upper arm. “I’m not leaving without her.”

“Letting her go now would be in violation of protocol.”

“You can take your protocol and shove it up your bionic ass. You know that if she’s in any way questioned for this murder, her bond will be revoked.”

Townsend raised his brows in surprise. “Actually, Detective, my ass is completely unaltered. It’s my brain that has been improved.”

“That’s a matter of debate,” Marco shot back. “A heartless cop is the worst kind.”

“I suppose your brother Danny was full of heart. Isn’t that how he got himself killed, by using his heart instead of his head?”

Marco’s muscles turn to stone and I sensed he was about to pounce, so I tugged on his arm. He glanced down. I shook my head and he forced himself to relax.

“We’ll wait outside,” Marco said. “Let us know how the tech scan goes. If you find any evidence connecting Angel to this crime, we can talk again. But if there’s nothing, we’re leaving.”

We went outside, where a dozen evidence technicians, beat cops and homicide detectives buzzed around, gathering evidence, talking to headquarters, cordoning off the sidewalks. Marco led me by the arm to a corner of the yard that was relatively private.

“Why did you admit we were lovers?” I asked. “I thought you wanted to work my case?”

“Not anymore.” He scratched the back of his neck and regarded me almost sheepishly. “I hate to admit it, but this is now officially over my head.”

I looked at him in horror. “What do you mean?”

“Angel, there is no question that you are embroiled in a huge conspiracy. Now, I have to ask you, and I want you to be totally honest with me—why did you come here today?”

“I saw Getty. I had a vision.”

He nodded.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He rubbed both my arms reassuringly. “I was the one who encouraged you to develop your psychic skills, remember? But what I think doesn’t count.”

“Marco, if this is a plot, I can’t be the target. Or at least I’m not the only target. How would the murderer know I would have a vision and come here just before the police arrived? The first time I was called to the scene. This time I came on my own.”

He broke into a slow, clever grin. “Now that’s the best deduction I’ve heard all day. I couldn’t stand for you to be the prime target, Angel. But before we kick up our heels in joy, let’s wait and see if the investigators find any Angel Baker memorabilia strategically planted inside Getty’s house.”

“At least they won’t find my gun,” I said wryly, “smoking or otherwise. It’s still locked up in the evidence vault down at P.S. #1.”

“You were right,” Townsend said a half hour later as he joined us in the garden. He blinked in the bright sunshine and regarded us almost amiably. I was beginning to think this automaton might have a soul after all.

“You didn’t find anything?” Marco asked.

“As much as I hate to admit it, there is not a shred of evidence connecting Miss Baker to this scene. I’m going to let you go.”

“Thank you,” I said, releasing my pent-up breath. I even conjured a smile. “I appreciate that.”

“But not before you tell me how you arrived at this murder scene at such an inopportune time? It couldn’t have been coincidence.”

I exchanged a look with Marco, wishing I could read his mind. Should I tell Townsend the truth? I’d found from experience that was usually the best policy, but in this case…

“I had a psychic vision of Getty’s death,” I said, trying to sound businesslike. “I’m…psychic, believe it or not.”

Townsend scrutinized me for several moments and said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Some people are logical,” I answered, “and some are intuitive. I was tested by IPAC researchers. The police force uses IPAC-trained psychics all the time, although most of them have been implanted with computer chips to enhance their perceptions. Surely, Lieutenant, you can relate to surgical enhancements.”

“I have my doubts about the use of psychics in detective work,” he replied. “Logical examination of evidence and unbiased interrogation is all an investigator needs to do his job. You are a sentimentalist who ascribes a lucky, or unlucky, turn of events to innate ability. Your leap of logic is laughable.”

“Laugh as you may, Lieutenant,” I said gruffly, “the killing has to stop. There are two more murders. Another retributionist and another kid.”

“The press will have a heyday with that, I daresay,” he replied. “Getty Bellows poisoned a young teen. When he realized he was dying, he killed her with her own weapon. This is the second time in as many days that a retributionist has turned into an assassin, and again the victim is an innocent child. I’d suggest, Miss Baker, that you hire a public-relations consultant in addition to that high-profile defense lawyer of yours. You’re going to need both.”

I put my hands on my hips and shifted weight as I tried to comprehend the extent of his arrogant and misguided assumptions. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. Can your logical mind wrap around the concept that there might be some sort of con
spiracy going on here? Or am I completely wasting my time expecting help from your end?”

He sniffed and looked down his nose at me. “What sort of conspiracy?”

“To frame retributionists for murders they didn’t commit and then kill them so they can’t expose the truth.”

He considered this a moment. “And who do you suppose would be behind such a plot?”

I shrugged with exaggerated ignorance. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe one of the mobs running our fair city? Criminals do tend to consider retributionists like me a real pain in the ass, and Corleone Capone has good reason to want my scalp.”

Townsend crooked his mouth in a half smile. “You may be on to something. But I still think you’re guilty in the Alvarez murder.”

Date with the Devil

M
arco drove me the short distance to my home. On the way we talked a little bit about Getty’s murder, then fell silent. I think we both wanted to forget about it, if only briefly. It was all getting to be too much. There was only so much bad news a person could take before tuning out on some level.

Instead, I focused on the interior of Marco’s hydrocruiser. Unlike aerocars, which hovered just above the pavement, hydrogen-powered cruisers had wheels. Marco had purchased it used, but it was fancier than his previous SUV, which I had accidentally destroyed. The polyurospandicottonastic seats of this vehicle were plusher, and I settled in to enjoy the comfort.

When Marco pulled up in front of my two-flat, something was different. It took me about ten seconds to realize what.

“How about that?” I mused as my seat belt unfolded. “The press has finally given up.”

“For now,” Marco amended as he glanced around the quiet neighborhood and killed the engine. “They’ll be back as soon as they hear about Getty.”

“You’re right.” I turned slightly in my seat and allowed my eyes to feast momentarily on Marco’s physique. I hadn’t really taken a good look at his outfit until now.

He wore a retro short-sleeved, sky-blue shirt with pressed mother-of-pearl studs, taupe twill pants that hugged his muscular legs and a bullet gray Aussie outback bush hat. He looked tanned, rugged and casual. I guess he was enjoying a day off.

Smiling, I said, “You look like Harrison Ford in
Indiana Jones.
” I reached across the seat and grabbed his hand. Heat warmed my palm and the air thickened like soup on a slow burner. I could make love to him right now. Hell, I could make love to him in the middle of a three-ringed circus.

“I look like
who
in
what?”

“Harrison Ford.” I chuckled at his blank reaction. “Never mind. I forgot that you don’t watch movies.”

“I do. But only ones that have come out in the past fifty years.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing. The black-and-whites are the best.”

“Why?”

“I guess because you have to color them with your own imagination. With movies today, all you have to do is strap yourself into a hydraulic seat that moves with every action. The olfactory and sensory effects leave nothing to the imagination. And now, with hologram-in-the-round, you may as well be
in
the movie instead of watching it.”

“I think that’s the point, Angel.”

I smiled at his gentle sarcasm. “I know, I’m such a fuddy-duddy. I guess I like to make things hard for myself. Somehow life seems more meaningful when you have to put in some effort on your own.”

“That explains a lot,” he said, teasing.

Simultaneously, we sighed and tilted our heads against the headrests, becoming lost in each other’s eyes.

“Marco?”

“Hmm?”

“I really,
really
loved making love with you.”

“Likewise,” was his husky reply.

“You really know how to make a woman feel…good.” I almost said
loved
, but after I had momentarily suspected him of murdering Getty, it seemed hypocritical to mention the
L
word.

“You’re pretty damned good yourself.”

His words flattered, but the barely contained hunger gleaming in his eyes thrilled. I felt like a vamp. He leaned forward in slow motion, each millimeter a lost battle for self-control.

“I can’t resist you,” he groaned, then murmured with a hot breath in my ear, “I want you, Angel.”

“I want you, too,” I whispered, shivering and nestling my ear to his caressing mouth. “But we have miles to go before we sleep.”

He rubbed his sandpapery chin lightly along my cheekbone, inhaling my scent, but managed to pull himself back no more than a second before I was going to give in.

“Okay. You’re right.” With a sigh of resignation, he resumed his position in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel with an almost comical look of determination. “We can’t make love now. I’m glad one of us can resist temptation.”

“Right,” I said without enthusiasm. “I’m going to meet with my colleagues. We’ll be hit from all sides with this lat
est double homicide. Anything you can tell me about your committee efforts to shut us down?”

He pushed his hat back and eyed me speculatively. “I can’t reveal anything confidential. But I can tell you my committee members are out for blood now that you’ve been charged. They think this is the perfect opportunity to demand action from legislators, and they’re right.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

He smiled wanly. “For your sake, nothing. At least not now. But you know where I stand, Angel. As soon as your name has been cleared, our little truce will be over.”

I nodded, not happy that Marco was still camped out in enemy territory, but grateful that he was cutting me some slack when I needed it most.

“I understand. By the way, Cyclops was staking out my place earlier today. He was released from jail on a technicality.”

“Cyclops?” The muscles in Marco’s square jaw tightened. “He wants to kill you, Angel.”

I raised my hands in a
je ne sais quoi
gesture. “Who knows? Maybe he’s bluffing.” After a dead pause, I said, “It’s a joke. Blind man’s bluff. Get it?”

“I get it,” Marco said, but he didn’t laugh.

Neither did I.

When I went upstairs, I found Lola trying on outfits for Jimmy Stewart. Open clothing boxes littered the couch, chairs and coffee table. I entered just as Lola came out of the bathroom in a sleeveless white beaded formal gown. Her arms looked like deflated beige balloons.

Jimmy made a wolf whistle. “Now that’s a good-looking dame if I ever saw one.”

I wondered if he ever had seen a good-looking dame. At the very least the image of Grace Kelly, who co-starred in
Rear Window
, had been imprinted in his memory bank. But my mother was a far cry from Princess Grace.

From Lola’s fringed hem to her ample and glittering tabletop of a bosom, she looked darned good for a sixty-year-old recovering alcoholic and ex-con. Whoever had done her makeup, though, should be shot. It was so thick it looked like somebody’s final project for a PhD in Mortuary Science.

“You like?” Lola said coyly, doing a pirouette on high heels that bound her feet better than any three-inch Lotus slipper could.

“Looking at you is enough to make a man wish he wasn’t in a leg cast, Lola honey,” Jimmy said. He turned to my Personal Listening Device in the corner. “What do you think, Gigi? Isn’t she something?”

The eyes on the PLD opened in an instant, going from the human equivalent of a deep sleep to fascination in seconds flat. It gave me the creeps, which is one of several reasons why I never used the darned thing.

“What do you think of this outfit, Gigi?” Jimmy asked.

“It’s beautiful,” the robotic device said in an eternally buoyant voice. Her head turned toward the compubot. “You’re right, Mr. Stewart, she is something.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose as it hit me. My PLD was having a conversation with my compubot. My world really had spun hopelessly out of control.

“All right, let’s break up the love fest,” I said, revealing my presence in the shadows of the doorway.

“Oh! Angel!” Lola said. Her self-satisfied grin faded. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, or you would have had this little fashion show downstairs. Come to think of it, why don’t you and Jimmy use the elevator and get this stuff out of here?”

“What do you think of my dress, honey?”

I grudgingly gave her a closer look, and she worried her lower lip, awaiting my approval.

It touched me and made me mad at the same time. We were hopelessly codependent.

“It’s…nice.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more positive than that.

“You think it’s too much?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it.”

“Lola,” I said in a slow, threatening voice, “don’t start.”

“Honey, I just—”

“Wait a minute, I just thought of something. Where did you get the money to buy these things?”

She puckered her fire-engine red lips and pinched her heavily blushed cheeks. “As a matter of fact, I have an admirer. He’s picking me up tonight to go dancing.”

I tried to keep a straight face. However unlikely a boyfriend might be, it was possible. To me, Lola looked like Delta Dawn of the Dead, but I knew she had a way with men. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and she loved games—especially poker.

Still, she wasn’t exactly trophy-wife material. Whoever she’d hooked up with had to be not only rich but a geezer as well. She’d probably been staking out the skilled nursing facility over on Waveland Avenue.

Twenty years ago, when Lola was on trial for bookmaking, prosecutors revealed that she’d managed to talk three elderly gentlemen into naming her executor of their estates. Turned out they were broke, but Lola didn’t know that at the time.

Five years ago she informed me out of the blue that I had a new grandfather. She’d managed to get herself adopted by a billionaire only ten years her senior. But a year later when Gramps died, his relatives contested his revised will and Lola was left with nothing but disappointed fantasies. She could
have saved herself a lot of trouble if she’d simply bought a losing lottery ticket instead.

“What?” Lola said, crossing her arms and frowning at me.

“What what?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“You’re frowning at me in disapproval.”

“Honestly, Lola, you’re way too sensitive. I just don’t think you should be buying all these clothes when you have no money.”

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Jimmy said, waving me off with an amiable smile. “She deserves it.”

“Yes, she deserves it,” the PLD parroted.

“That’s right!” Lola smoothed her hands over the glittering beads. “Besides, this has nothing to do with you.”

“As long as you’re living in my apartment—” I stopped abruptly when I realized I was sounding like her mother. I held my hands out, trying to get my mind into the right frame. “Just be careful. Okay?”

“Sure, honey,” Lola said much too quickly. Scooping up a box, she singsonged over her shoulder, “Come along, James. I’m going downstairs to try on the pièce de résistance. Take the elevator and bring the rest of my clothes.”

“Sure, doll,” he replied.

I waited until I heard her stilettos spiking their way down the wooden steps, then I went to Jimmy’s side and said in a low voice, “I want you to keep an eye on her.”

“On Lola?”

“That’s right. See who she’s going out with tonight. Give me a full description. Better yet, take a photograph.”

He pursed his lips and pressed them against his steepled fingers, giving my suggestion a great deal of thought. “You’re suspicious of your own mother?”

Was I? I suppose I was. I didn’t think Lola would intentionally betray me, but it was possible she’d taken money in exchange for another television interview. She might have been contacted by one of the national daytime talk shows. Maybe this date of hers was really an appointment with a producer.

“I don’t know, Jimmy. I just want to be careful.”

The hint of intrigue in my voice was of more importance to his program than the hots he’d momentarily kindled for Lola. He reached out and shook my hand.

“You have a deal,” Jimmy said. “You can count on me.”

“Thanks.” I started to walk toward the back of the flat, but realized Gigi was watching me with those perfect topaz glass eyes of hers. I scowled in return. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” she said in her equally perfect and serene cadence. “You look lovely today, Angel.”

I looked questioningly to Jimmy. “I thought PLDs were only supposed to respond to direct questions.”

“It’s an updated model. I set it to random-sequence-voice-activation mode. The newest programs allow for conversation initiation.”

“I’m turning it off, and I want it to stay that way.” I marched around the back of the head-and-shoulders unit and flipped the switch. “I have more than enough chaos in my life as it is without adding her—its—two cents into the mix.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Jimmy returned with a tolerant smile. When he flipped two fingers off his slicked-back hairline in a mock salute, I left the room shaking my head.

Men! You can’t live with them. Even if they’re robots.