Between the Lies (Book One - The Northern Lights Series) (5 page)

“No, Alan. It looks easy. If this detective is as smart as she must be to have gained her position, she knows that too. A negotiator and take-over expert like you knows there is always more to the deal than meets the eye. All it takes is one person to look a little deeper in the right place.”

“Just cooperate. It will be better for you in the long run,” he said.

Tired of him, I clicked off and said to Harper, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

I walked a block with her to the blue Impala parked by the curb. “I parked back here so no one from the Lyons Shipping building would witness this if I had to take you in. Your coffee offer made this a lot easier on all of us. I’m sure the press has been alerted,” she said pushing the unlock button.

I stood by the door, not sure what to do. “Sit up front,” she said. “You’re a person of interest, but not a suspect.”

As she started the car, I smiled and a crazy thought skipped across my mind. I guess it showed because she asked, “What?”

“I feel a little like Rizzoli and Isles,” I said.

“You wish,” she said as she pulled away from the curb.

The ride was quiet from that point on. I thought about the blond kid with the green eyes I grew up with. Mickey had been a good friend. We had a fort and hid there from the world. When I had time, I would grieve his death, but right then, I was relieved. Gus was dead, and the fire destroyed what I’d always feared: the proof of what I’d done to the man who raped me on my sixth birthday.

Before we got out of the car, I said, “It’s perfect you know—Mickey’s job. When we were kids, he loved to watch re-runs of
Columbo, Starsky & Hutch,
and
Kojak
with his mom. He wanted to be one of the good guys. I’m glad he was.”

The detective interviewed me in a plain conference room with a two-sided mirror, a guy with a video camera, and two other officers standing along the wall, glaring at me. We sat on heavy metal chairs around a long stainless steel table that was anchored to the floor.

At first glance, an observer might have assumed no one was in charge and that our exchange was a friendly meeting, but they would have been mistaken. Harper had complete control over everyone in the room.

She reminded me of a symphony conductor, and I imagined her tapping and then raising her baton, expecting we’d all play our parts without error. I was the only one without sheet music. She’d be watching my every move, and I had no idea what I’d be revealing.

I felt a butterfly invasion rise up in my stomach. Mickey was dead and there were people in this room and on the other side of the mirror who believed I’d done it.

I watched Harper quietly manage the team, organize the evidence, and sip her own coffee. Every move was both graceful and efficient. The men’s immediate responses to her requests proved their respect for her. She wasn’t part of some equal-opportunity quota. She was the real deal. When she sat down across from me, she signaled the guy with the camera to begin recording.

“Olivia Morgan, although you’re not under arrest, you are being questioned regarding the murder of FBI agent Mickey Olson. The FBI has requested that I take the lead on this part of the investigation. You’re here without an attorney in a spirit of cooperation, and have agreed to have this interview recorded. You are not under arrest. Do you agree, and are you ready to begin?”

“Yes,” I said answering both questions. I wondered if my agreement would make or break me. There was no way of knowing for sure.

She nodded and looked into my eyes. There wasn’t a smile or any manipulation using good cop/bad cop. It was her team, me, and the truth. A strong calm emanated from her into the space between us and into my mind. The woman had powerful vibes.

“Do you recognize this knife?” Harper asked.

“The design on the handle is the Lyons family crest, and it looks like it matches the set in the apartment where I live.”

“Are you missing a knife?”

“I don’t know. Although I cook for myself, I don’t use the knives very often. I live alone and buy my meat and vegetables in small portions, ready for cooking. Besides the one in the apartment is especially sharp; I’m always afraid I’m going to cut myself with it.”

“When is the last time you used a knife like this one?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but I did dust one like the one you’re holding a week or so ago. Mr. Lyons is not fond of finding dust on the family’s belongings.”

“How did you dust the knives?”

“I wiped them off with a damp dish towel.”

“Using this knife, block and dry rag, show us exactly what you did.”

When I inserted the knife into the wooden holder Harper said, “Let the record show the angle Ms. Morgan demonstrated matches her fingerprints on the knife and do not match the angle the victim was stabbed.” She turned to me and said, “That’s all for now, Olivia. Thank you taking time out of your day to help us. One of my officers will take you home.”

“Would it be okay if I call a cab? I’d like to run a few errands on the way home.”

“Sure. Thanks again.”

“This is it?’

“For now.”

“Can you explain in greater detail why you’re releasing me?”

“I can. The way your fingerprints are on the knife and the angle in which Mickey Olson was stabbed don’t match. Although his blood is also on the knife, it looks like it was put there and left for us to find.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps the murderer wanted to distract us for a while.” She held the glass door open for me. “It’s likely I’ll be calling you in a day or two to talk again. You will be available?”

“Yes.”

I called for a taxi from the entrance to the station. I couldn’t do anything about Mickey’s murder and wanted to distance myself from everything. The only way I knew to do that was to immerse myself in some art. Years of creating in secret meant I had only a few tattered sketch books and some worn-down pencils. I was going to need an hour or two in an art supply store where I could pick up drawing paper, the really good stuff, some quality pencils, maybe a few Copic sketch markers, chalk, paint, brushes, and an easel. Maybe I’d even replace my old 35mm camera with a digital version. Of course, then I’d need a new printer, extra ink, and a boat load of photo paper.

To top off my art binge, I’d stop in at Barnes & Noble. I’d buy some big, beautiful books full of photographs of other people’s art and some poetry books for inspiration.

On the way home my taxi driver mentioned we were being followed at what he called a ‘discreet distance’ by two unmarked cars. “So lady, you want me to ditch them?”

“No, that’s okay. They’re my body guards.”

“Wow. That’s cool. You somebody famous?”

“Yes, secretly famous and if you keep quiet about it, there’s a big tip in it for you.”

He grinned at me and drove the rest of the way in silence.

I decided to try and relax. It was simple: Harper’s men were watching.

After Lloyd helped me get my packages out of the taxi and up to the apartment, I told him to expect a delivery guy from the nearby Chinese restaurant. Then I called in my supper order.

Lastly, I phoned Harper. “The guys you have following me need some work in hiding themselves,” I told the detective.

“Guys?” she said. “I have one man on you, and he wasn’t supposed to hide. I wanted you and your stalker to see him.”

“There are two of them. One is in a black Dodge Charger, and the other is driving a dark blue Ford Taurus.”

“The guy in the Dodge is ours. The other guy isn’t. Can you see the street from one of your windows?”

“Yeah.”

“You should be able to see my officer. Do you still see the other vehicle?”

I peeked out the window and saw one not-so-undercover cop in what Mickey would have once called a muscle car.

“The other guy isn’t where I can see him.”

“Okay, I’ll let my officer know he hasn’t been out there alone. How do you know so much about cars?”

“Mickey was a car guy. He loved them, especially the classics, and talked about them all the time when we were hanging out. We didn’t date, but he took me to car shows and was always showing me pictures from car magazines. I can’t remember anything he told me about engines, but I never got out of the habit of seeing cars. I still notice makes, models, and sometimes know the years.”

I took a deep breath.

“Harper, I haven’t seen Mickey since I left home, but I’m really going to miss him. Until now, I always knew he was out there somewhere and on my side no matter what. You know?”

“Yeah. I had a friend like that too. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be better when my spring rolls get here.”

“Did you order enough for two?”

“Yes. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah. I’m also wondering if you can help me. Since you’re an artist, do you think you could sketch the car you saw today?”

“I used to be pretty good at it. I gave Mickey drawings of cars for gifts. They were all I had to offer him.”

“Great. I like to combine my meals with police work.”

Her words brought me up short: girlfriends, we weren’t.

Harper arrived first. I’d just let her in when Lloyd announced over the intercom my delivery guy was at the desk.

“Send him up.”

“Busy around here tonight,” Harper said.

“Not my norm, I assure you. It’s usually just me, and from time to time Alan would visit. If it weren’t for you cops I’d have no friends at all.”

“You need a life.”

“I intend to get one someday soon,” I said.

We stood in the open doorway waiting for the food. A teenager stepped out of the elevator carrying a black delivery bag. It took me a second to notice that wasn’t all he had.

“Where’d you get that rose?” I demanded in a harsh whisper so forceful it hurt my throat.

“A dude at the curb offered me twenty bucks to bring this to Olivia Morgan,” he smiled and offered me the bag and the vase.

“What dude?” Harper asked, slipping on a pair of latex gloves.

“The one in the blue car.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No. All I could see was the money.”

Harper took the vase. She set it on the hall table and asked the kid for his contact information. Then she asked him for the twenty given to him by the stranger. She replaced it with one of her own. “If this guy offers you a twenty again, take it, and do your best to get a better look at him. If you can give us a description of him, I’ll give you another twenty. But do not let him know you’re working with the police. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, accepting her business card.

“Did he give you a message for me?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. He said, ‘Tell her I remember everything.’”

I took the bag of food into the kitchen while Harper sent the kid on his way, an extra ten dollars in his hand as an expression of her gratitude. Tingly numbness was wrapping me up in its tentacles again.

“Olivia, who sent you this rose?” The edge in her voice shook me out of my shock.

“I’m not sure, but I’ve received two others.”

“What did you do with them?” she asked.

“I put the notes in my bank box.” I said, my throat felt dry and my hands were shaking.

“What did you do with the roses and vases?” she asked.

I explained they had appeared and disappeared then my stomach rumbled.

“We’d better eat before what’s in there escapes,” Harper joked.

I was grateful the restaurant had carefully wrapped the butter lettuce in a chilled container, and the other ingredients in an insulated, but disposable foil container. While I arranged things on a china platter, Harper set the table with the paper plates and plastic utensils from the bag. We filled up our lettuce with savory chicken, vegetables, and peanut sauce.

We sat down and after her first bite she said, “I’m going to have to check and see what building security has for us. There must be cameras all over the building.”

“There are, but Lloyd tells me there’s no evidence anyone but myself and the Lyons have been up here.”

“Huh. That’s strange. Does it bother you?”

“Sure. It makes me wonder if someone tampered with the cameras.”

“How well do you know the security guy?”

“Well enough to know that although he doesn’t believe me, he’s a good guy.”

After supper, she said, “Draw the car you saw. Any details will help.”

I took an antacid tablet, and drew the car Harper hadn’t sent to follow me. In the process, I remembered the license plate number. All she said was, “Nice detail. You’re talented with a pencil.”

I felt a silly grin nudge itself onto my face. “Thanks,” I mumbled. It was pleasantly strange having someone see and appreciate what I could do.

“This calls for a celebration,” she said. “Where can a woman get a piece of cheesecake in this part of town?”

“In the coffee shop in the lobby. It’s one of their specialties,” I said.

“Well, let’s go party ourselves through some calories.”

She bagged the vase and rose then called someone to meet her in the lobby.

“Lead the way.”

A uniformed officer stood at Lloyd’s desk, and he took the vase from Harper. “Don’t let anything happen to that,” she told him.

Merle was on duty. Harper told him she wanted a copy of the evening’s security video. When he resisted, she said, “Mr. Lyons promised he and all of his staff would assist the FBI and my office in every way they could. I’d like to be able to let him know how much I appreciate your help.”

He promised to get her a copy in the morning. She said, “No, I’ll be in the coffee shop for the next hour or so, you can burn a copy of what you have now onto a DVD and give it to me before I leave. I will not forget your help on this case, Merle. When you reapply to the force, I will be sure your application gets a personal review.”

He stood a bit taller and promised to deliver the DVD to her promptly.

Harper had blueberries on her cheesecake, and I had chocolate, caramel, and pecans. My police escort raised her right eyebrow and asked, “That kind of night, huh?”

“You betcha. For the first time in my life, stress is making me hungry. Normally, I starve,” I said.

She pushed her plate away and asked, “Do you have a weapon?”

“No. Why?”

“The notes and the roses are real. You’re feeling threatened and someone has easy access to you. That bothers me. I’d like to know you can protect yourself.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’m not sure, but you need to be able to stop anyone interested in attacking you.”

Her words should have stolen my appetite, but instead they increased it. I ate with a vengeance.

“You don’t always eat like this do you?” she asked.

“No. Alan would never have allowed that.” As my answer slipped out into the open, I was as surprised as she was. I sounded like Ma—an abused woman.

“He never hit me or anything,” I hurried to tell her. “He just wanted me to be a woman of class, elegance, and beauty. That meant thin, quiet, and in my place. That’s all.”

“Have you ever been to a zoo and watched a tiger pace her space as if in constantly looking for a way out, knowing there is none?”

I nodded.

“How do you feel watching them?” she asked.

“Sad for the animal. Why?”

“That’s how I feel watching you,” she said before taking a bite of her cheesecake.

“You see a tiger?”

She swallowed and said, “I see a captive. The big cat is beautiful, thin, and well-cared for. On the surface, it has everything it needs to survive, except the freedom to thrive.”

Merle entered the coffee shop and walked up to the table. “Detective Harper, here is the DVD you requested.”

“Thank you, Merle,” she said with a nod.

He quickly returned to his post.

When our plates were empty, she escorted me to the elevator and said, “Good night, Olivia. Be very careful.”

In the apartment, I re-drew the car from different angles, and something else appeared on the page—a round bumper sticker I’d seen on the trunk. The car was a rental. I called Harper with the news.

“Hello.” She sounded a little groggy.

“Did I wake you up?”

“I’m usually in bed at this time unless there’s a new crime scene.”

I looked at the clock and said, “Wow. Two-thirty. I’m sorry. I have another drawing for you.”

“Do I need to see it now?”

“No. It can wait.”

“Okay. Keep it somewhere safe so it doesn’t disappear like the roses.”

“You believe me?”

“I do until you prove me wrong.”

I tucked the drawing under Jillian’s mattress before snuggling back under her blankets.

“Mickey, wherever you are, I wish I was still drawing cars for you and not the cops,” I whispered.

My tears dampened my pillow as I grieved the loss of my only pal.