Accused: A Rosato & Associates Novel (30 page)

Mary found herself on Banner Street, a littered alley behind a row of vacant storefronts, an old-school dry cleaner, and a new vegan restaurant, evidence of a neighborhood that had been on the way to gentrifying until the recession. The street was too narrow for the sun, blocked by the buildings, and Mary could almost feel the filth in the air clogging her pores. She loved her hometown, but not all of it was good for your skin.

She hurried down the dirty pavement past windowless brick buildings with steel front doors, double-locked. Some had nameplates identifying the businesses inside, and she read them as she hurried to the end of the block; Olde City Studios, Craig Restaurant Supply, and finally, Northern Liberties, where Hannah worked. It was a grimy gray door blanketed with graffiti, and Mary pulled on the knob because Hannah had told her it would be unlocked, which it was. She went inside and stopped short, feeling a wave of intense heat and scanning the place in wonder. She had never been in a glassblowing studio before, but she didn’t expect it to look and feel like hell itself.

The room was huge and dark, its focal point a massive arched furnace that contained a roaring orange-red conflagration, its flames sputtering, crackling, and throwing off so much heat that Mary guessed it had to be a hundred degrees. Three glassblowers worked in front of the furnace, dressed in loose T-shirts, shorts, workboots, and tattoos. Their faces and heads were covered by helmets shaped like a beekeeper’s veil, which made Mary realize there were plenty of jobs and hobbies more dangerous than being a lawyer. She wiped sweat off of her forehead, slid off her blazer, and pulled her shirt away from her body, to which it was already plastered. If her pores were clogged by the soot outside, she was getting an automatic facial inside.

She had no trouble telling which glassblower was Hannah, because only one of the three had breasts, though none of the glassblowers looked up or even appeared to notice Mary standing there. One of the male glassblowers had a long iron stick and he was rolling it expertly in the palms of his large hands, swirling a river of molten yellow glass around its end, then pulling it away, attenuating the glass until it narrowed to a skein of pure liquid gold, then swirling it around the end again. His technique reminded Mary of spaghetti being twirled on a fork, except that glassblowing required creativity, boldness, and biceps, whereas all spaghetti required was an empty stomach.

Hannah and the other glassblower seemed to be assisting him, carrying over a large aluminum container that Mary couldn’t identify. In fact, none of the equipment in the studio was like anything she had seen before, from the massive steel drums to a row of iron sticks in a rack, and there wasn’t any conventional furniture around at all; no reception desk, chair, television, or even a computer. Mary wouldn’t have believed there was electricity but for the caged light bulbs mounted on a grid on its high ceiling, which was crisscrossed with pipe and wiring. The floor was of unforgiving concrete, and it was almost too hot to breathe the air, which smelled like fire and cancer.

Hannah manhandled the heavy aluminum drum, fully as muscular and tattooed as the male glassblowers, and Mary could understand why she’d taken the job here, after three stints in rehab for heroin addiction. She could hide here, and at the same time, she could create herself a new identity. Mary wondered if Hannah was forging a new life for herself, formed in fire like the glass itself, or if it was simply the only job she could get. There had to be a reason someone chose working conditions that were no better than the Industrial Revolution, and you didn’t have to be a therapist to know the reason was Fiona’s murder, and the subsequent death of Hannah’s entire circle of girlfriends.

Hannah looked over once her hands were free, and Mary gave her a little wave, to show she hadn’t been barbecued as yet. Hannah pointed toward the door, which told Mary they would talk outside, and she didn’t need to be told twice. She turned around, hustled back through the door, and inhaled deep lungfuls of cool air the moment she hit the street. The door opened behind her a moment later, and Hannah emerged, with smiling blue eyes under a short chopped haircut, which had been dyed as bright white as Colgate toothpaste. Silver hoops and studs pierced the lobes and cartilage of each ear, and dark green tribal tattoos covered her neck, as well as both arms to the wrist, around which she had an array of leather, beaded, and black rubber bracelets.

“You must be Mary, I’m Hannah,” she said with an easy grin, then reached into the back pocket of her jeans shorts, pulled out a cigarette, and plugged it between her Cupid’s bow lips.

“You smoke, after that?” Mary blurted out, then caught herself. “Sorry, I mean, it’s so hot in there, I don’t know how you can take it.”

“You get used to it.” Hannah pulled out a pink plastic Bic lighter, lit her cigarette, and blew out a cone of smoke. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

“No,” Mary answered, like she always did. She hated the smell of cigarette smoke, but she had her own share of bad habits, including an addiction to chocolate chip cannolis. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I can see you’re busy, blowing glass, or making glass things, or whatever it’s called, it’s cool.”

“Thank you.” Hannah laughed, throwing back her head, and little puffs of smoke came from her mouth. She sat down on the front steps. “I gather you haven’t been in a hot glass studio before.”

“No, never.” Mary sat down beside her. “It looks like an interesting thing to do, like an art form, right?”

“Yes, you could call it that. It’s a lot of things wrapped up into one. I’m still apprenticing, but I love it. I’m just learning to start to make my own designs, which is fun. You start to develop a style of your own.” Hannah’s eyes lit up when she talked about glassblowing, and Mary could see, underneath all her countercultural gear, the upbeat young girl who used to party, play field hockey, and ride horses.

“I think that’s true of lots of things, don’t you?” Mary was thinking aloud because Hannah was easy to talk to, with an open and relaxed manner, and also she wanted to ease her into the heartbreaking subject of Fiona. “For example, I just made partner at my law firm, and I have to find my own way to be a partner. I can’t lawyer the way my partner does, or even the way my best friend does.”

Hannah nodded. “Totally, I get that. It’s like finding your own voice.”

“Right, well said. Well, I hate to bring this up, because I know it’s so difficult for you, so the first thing I have to say is, please accept my condolences on the loss of Fiona, Sue, Mary, and Honor.”

“Thank you.” Hannah’s expression darkened, and she took a long drag on her cigarette, sucking in her cheeks. She paused to collect herself, pursing her lips together and letting the smoke flow from her nostrils. “I’m still processing it, even though it’s so long after.”

“Six years isn’t so long, really,” Mary said, gently.

“I know, but still.” Hannah’s gaze shifted away, then back again. “It’s just weird to be the only one, you know, that’s left. It’s like every memory I have my whole life, except my parents, is with those girls. It’s hard to deal with that. For a long time, like, I basically wished I didn’t have a life before, the memories hurt too much.”

“I understand that.” Mary’s heart went out to her, and even though she knew firsthand how awful and strange the aftermath of murder could be, it was hard to see such a young girl so torn up inside and working so hard to get herself back together.

“I’m over a year clean and sober, and I really feel good, well, not good, but like I can go on, just one more day.” Hannah waved her hand with the cigarette, clearing the air, both literally and figuratively. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to hear my sad junkie story. Let’s talk about Fiona.”

“Okay,” Mary agreed, if only because she could see that Hannah wanted to move on. “Allegra hired my law firm because she doesn’t believe that the man convicted, Lonnie Stall, is the real killer, and she wanted us to find out who is. Is it okay if I ask if you a few questions?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Do you know if Fiona had any kind of relationship with Lonnie? He was one of the waiters at the catering company her parents used, and he was working the party that night.”

“You mean did she date
Lonnie
? The guy that’s in jail?”

“Yes.”

Hannah frowned. “No I don’t know anything about that. The only person she ever dated was Tim Gage. He was her high-school boyfriend.”

“Before we talk more about him, let me ask you another question. Do you know if Fiona ever did any babysitting for Allegra?”

Hannah shook her head. “No, I don’t know anything about that, either.”

“If she had been doing either of those things, would you have known about it, or would one of the other girls?”

“I was closest to her when we were younger because we were both in Pony Club. Typical girls, crazy about horses, you know.”

Mary nodded, though she didn’t. When she was little, she was crazy about saints, studying their stories and their suffering, which was probably why she’d grown into such a carefree and well-balanced adult.

“We’d been friends for so long, the four of us, that I think our alliances shifted a whole bunch of times over the years, you know how girls are, especially growing up.”

“Please, we’ve all been there.”

“But the thing is, none of us were good at keeping secrets, especially each other’s, so we all knew everything about the other. We were a bunch of blabbermouths. If Fiona told any one of us about a fight with Tim, we all knew about it by the end of the day.” Hannah smiled briefly, but somehow it looked like she was wincing. “So, to answer your question, I don’t remember anybody’s saying anything about her dating a waiter, and that’s juicy stuff. We all would’ve known about that. As for the babysitting, it doesn’t make sense to me, because they had Janet and also because Fiona was mad busy with practice, homework, and working for her family.”

Mary made a mental note that it was just what Allegra and Alasdair had said. “Let me ask you a hypothetical. Let’s assume that the killer wasn’t Lonnie Stall, but was someone else, whether they were at the party or not. Just right off the top of your head, who would you suspect, if anyone?”

“That’s easy. Tim.”

“Really.” Mary hid her surprise because she didn’t want to taint Hannah’s answers. “What makes you say that?”

“Because he’s a jealous and abusive jerk, and he was furious that she broke up with him. We all wanted her to dump him for a long time, but she didn’t. He’s just a bully.”

Mary couldn’t process the information fast enough. “How do you know that? Would she tell you guys about fights they had?”

Hannah shook her head, gritting her teeth. “In the beginning, she did, then when we started to rag on him, she shut up. It was like she was protecting him.”

“Nobody wants to hear bad things about her boyfriend, especially when they’re true.”

“Right. And we were young, we didn’t really know about abusive boyfriends or domestic violence, and all that. Our families might suck in various ways, but nobody gets beat up, at least not that I know.” Hannah hesitated, then bit her lip.

“What? Spit it out. We’re brainstorming, and this is really helping.”

“This is going to sound weird, especially since I just trashed him, but, after it all went down, I guess I started seeing Tim. Romantically.”

Mary hid her surprise again, hoping she was getting better with practice. “How did that come about?”

“Oh boy.” Hannah raked her funky haircut with grimy hands and exhaled. “After everyone was gone, we started hanging out to console each other. One thing led to another, and it made me feel closer to Fiona to still have him, because he was such a part of her life. He felt the same way, too, he told me. It was good between us, in the beginning. We really helped each other through a hard time, an impossible time.”

“Then what happened?” Mary asked, but she had a few guesses.

“He became jealous of everyone I talked to, boys, girls, even my shrink. He didn’t like that I spent time doing anything but being with him.” Hannah’s blue eyes glittered with fresh anger. “I’m not blaming him, and I take full responsibility, but I think I started using to get away from him. I needed to escape, and after I started using, I fell in with another whole crowd and finally, he ditched me.”

Mary was trying not to leap to conclusions, but Hannah was sketching in the details she needed to flesh out Tim’s personality. But what she didn’t have was proof. “What if I told you that he was at the party that night?”

“Tim?” Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “He was? You’re sure? We didn’t see him, none of us did. One of us would have told the other if we had.”

“You weren’t with her every minute, were you? Where were you around nine o’clock? Were you in the library with her?”

“No, no. We had been without her for about half an hour. I remember that.”

“How?”

“The band was actually decent. We were dancing. We assumed Fiona was with her family, making the rounds with her parents.”

“Tim was there, Hannah. I have proof.”

“My God.” Hannah’s face went almost as white as her toothpaste hair. “Then I would say he did it. He killed Fiona.”

“You sound so sure. Why?”

“Because I remember something he said, one night. It was early on, before we were hooking up, and he was talking about how much he loved Fiona and how much it hurt when she broke up with him.” Hannah looked away, shaking her head at some faraway memory. “He told me that if he ever saw her with another guy, he didn’t know what he’d do.”

Mary felt a chill, even though she was still sweating.

“I thought it was such a scary thing to say, because we both knew that he meant some sort of violence. When he said it, it was the last thing I ever figured him for. Then, when I started dating him myself, I used to think back to that night and what he said, and realize that not only did he mean it, he would do it. He would go through with it.” Hannah swung her head back to Mary, and the two women locked eyes. “I know Tim, and I knew Fiona, and I can tell you that if he was at the party that night, he was there to see if she was dating someone new. And if he believed she was, I don’t think he could control his anger. Tim Gage may not look it, but he’s capable of murder.”