Death Angel (34 page)

“Are you saying you believe me?”

“I said ‘might.’ Honest to God, Kate. I
don’t know what to think. I’m still sort of stunned. Do you think we should
call Leidecker?”

Kate shook her head. “Leidecker believes
I’d do anything to prove Richard’s innocence. He’d suspect me of putting the
candy there myself.” She stared at Mike, her eyes steady. “I didn’t put it
there, you know.”

“I believe that, Kate.”

She was warmed by his words. Although it
wasn’t the total conversion she’d hoped for, at least it was a start. After
several minutes of silence, she asked, “What do we do now?”

“Nothing.”

The single word shocked her. “What do
you mean?”

Mike took a long swallow of his drink,
then reached for the bottle of vodka and added some more. He swirled the
contents for several seconds. He took another long drink, then set it on the
counter and folded his arms over his chest.

“I want you to give up the
investigation.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said,
shaking her head in confusion. “After what we know? What about the candy in my
purse.”

When he spoke his tone was harsh.

“That’s exactly why I want you to give
this up. How many people do you think know the significance of
ButterSkots?”
 

“Outside of the police, not too many,”
Kate said. “Leidecker said they were withholding that fact from the media. The
only people who know about it are you, me, and Richard. I suppose he might have
told Chris, but I can’t think of anyone else who would have known.”

“Except the killer.”

Her shock must have been evident.

“Maybe now you can understand why I want
you to give this up. Whether it’s Garvey or someone else, the ButterSkots was
meant as a warning.”

“Why would he take the risk?”

“Maybe he gets off on the risks.”

“I think he wants to frighten me.”

“Well if it hasn’t worked on you, it
sure as hell has me scared.” Mike took a sip of his drink, and when he spoke he
was under control but adamant. “Get it into your head that if the killer is
Garvey, he’s already killed twice and a third time wouldn’t be any big deal.”

His words penetrated Kate’s sense of
outraged justice. Thinking about it she knew he was right.

“I’ll admit I’m scared,” she said, “but
I can’t give this up.”

“Do you know the danger you could be
in?”

When she made no comment, he blew out
his breath in a stream of frustration.
 

“Will you do me a favor? Just cool it
for a few days? I know a couple people that I can question very discreetly. Let
me do that. I should have some answers by Wednesday, and we’ll talk then. Can
you resist the urge to play detective until then?”

“Yes.”

“In the meantime, you have to take this
seriously. If you won’t go to the police, you have to be extra careful. We
can’t ignore the fact there’s a killer out there.”

After Mike left, the house seemed too
large and too empty.
   
Her sense of
security had been violated. Locking up downstairs, she took special care to
check every window and door. If the purpose of the candy had been to frighten
her, it had succeeded.

Upstairs in the guest room, she got
ready for bed. She was grateful that the door had a lock and she felt a slight
release of tension as she heard it click into place.
 

She climbed into bed and huddled under
the covers. The more she thought about the purpose of the candy in her purse,
the more she suspected it was not just a warning, but a message.

To Kate, the message was clear: I can
get to you any time, any place.

He stood at the edge of the clearing,
waiting for the moon to rise above the circle of trees. The silence of the
forest surrounded him. He was wrapped in the security of night. He touched the
outside of his pocket, tracing the outline of the bracelet. It had been his
best talisman. A powerful token.

His first token had been a yellow
ribbon. A bow from Adele’s hair. Even after all these years he could close his
eyes and feel the satiny fabric imprinted on the pads of his fingertips.

He had been ten the first time he saw
Adele. Her parents were coming over to play poker, and when the sitter
canceled, they brought her with them. His mother brought her to the basement
and showed her where the toys were kept.
 

He was in his “cave” and watched her
through a slit in the old woolen blanket that covered the card table. She was
seven, her body soft with traces of baby fat. She had long, curly hair that
bounced and shimmered in the overhead light. He wondered how it would feel to
touch it. Holding her hair in place was a yellow satin ribbon, nestling among
the curls like a golden rope. He was fascinated by her hair and the satin
ribbon.

Even though he hadn’t made a sound, she
was aware of his presence under the covered table. She sat down facing him,
spreading her legs in a wide V and setting the blocks on the floor in the space
between. She built towers of blocks and when they toppled, she flapped her
skirt with mock anger, exposing her underpants. Each time it happened she
stared at the eyehole in the blanket, her eyes smoky with amusement.

She left when her mother called. She
hadn’t said a word to him, but when he crept out into the room the yellow
ribbon lay on top of the pile of blocks.

At night, he kept the ribbon inside his
pillowcase, rubbing it against his cheek to soothe away the pain from the night
encounters. The next time she came, he was huddled in the cave recovering from
a beating. She sat on the floor, holding the blanket apart with her two hands,
and in the illumination from the basement lights, she saw the bruises and
tears.
 

Without a word, she crawled under the
table, dropping the blanket in place, enclosing them in darkness.

She cuddled up against him, plump hands
brushing at his cheeks and touching his hair. She smelled of talcum powder and
shampoo. The scent of cherries masked the musty woolen smell he was used to. In
the dark he stroked her hair, holding a handful up to his nose and inhaling the
fruity aroma.

She ran her fingers over his body as if
she were trying to learn how he was put together. He didn’t like it when people
touched him, but he would have let her do anything as long as she let him smell
her hair. Strange sensations coursed through his body as her hands moved over
him. When she tired of the game, he wanted to touch her in his turn.

One hand remained anchored in her hair
and with his other he touched her face. His fingers skated across skin softer
than anything he’d ever felt. He stroked her, and felt her stir beneath his
hand. The movement excited him. He grew bolder. Sometimes she pushed him away
but when he tightened his hand in her hair, she stopped struggling. He touched
her everywhere. Places he had not known existed. Secret places.

After she left, he took out the ribbon.
Holding it in his hand, he felt a jolt of energy fill his body as he remembered
touching her. She had struggled but it was clear his show of strength had
swayed her. He stared down at the ribbon, seeing and feeling each movement with
renewed excitement. Power flowed into his body from the ribbon.

Adele didn’t return to the basement. He
used the ribbon until the memories began to fade. Over time the golden satin
turned dark and limp and when he touched it he felt nothing.

His hand clenched around the bracelet in
his pocket, bringing his mind back from the past. He held his watch up close to
his face.

It was midnight. He’d chosen the time
specifically even though he normally didn’t believe in superstition. The clouds
shifted and moonlight radiated down into the woods. Listening intently for any
other movements, he walked to the very center of the clearing.
 

He reached into his pocket and withdrew
the talisman. Even in the uncertain light, he could tell that the bracelet was
not shimmering as brightly as it had been. He had noted it several days
earlier, but dismissed it as imagination. Now he was certain.

The charm bracelet was losing its power.

Wings that used to flutter in the light
remained stiff and unresponsive. The robed angel was dull, the golden face dark
and forbidding.

He’d tried other tokens, but they didn’t
hold the power the way the bracelet did. Holding it by the broken clasp, he
extended it toward the moon, as if the mere presence of the mystical crescent
would rejuvenate the life force. He rubbed it against his body.
 

Before this, he could hold the talisman
in his hand and, merely by recalling the events in the forest preserve, he was
able to reach orgasm. The intensity of those memories was fading. Just like
they had with the ribbon. Eventually the charm bracelet would lose all
power.
 

He closed his eyes, picturing another
angel. This one was larger than the one he held in his hand. He could see it
clearly, nestled in the valley between her breasts. The angel necklace caught
the light, shimmering as it rose and fell with each breath. When he needed a
new talisman, he would take it.

Soon. It would be soon.

Kate parked as close as possible to the
grass so that other cars could pass on the narrow roadway. Without looking out
the windows, she turned off the engine, put the keys in her purse, and opened
the car door. She stood on the tarmac, letting the silence of the cemetery seep
into her body.

I
can’t do it.

Closing her eyes, she leaned weakly
against the side of the car. She had not been to the cemetery since the day of
Jenny’s funeral. The memories of her daughter, alive and happy, had sustained
her, and she knew the sight of the grave would bring her face to face with the
long-term emptiness of a life without Jenny.

She’d found another message from All
Saints Cemetery on the answering machine. It was the third request to inspect
the engraving on the headstone to ensure that everything had been done
correctly. This time she knew she had to go.
 

Standing beside the car, Kate stared
blindly across the vast garden of granite stones, each as individual as the
person they identified. How strange it was that the simple details surrounding
death could be so incredibly painful. All she had to do was check two lines of
writing on a gray-white rock. Why did it seem as if each cut of the engraving
tool would open a gaping wound in her heart?

You
can make it, Katie. Kick harder.

Her father’s voice was clear, floating
across the grass on a breeze. He always used to shout that at the swim meets.
No matter how loud the crowd was, she always heard the words.
 

She squared her shoulders, and stepped
onto the grass, weaving through the stones toward the top of the hill where
Jenny was buried. They had chosen the spot because it was shaded by a flowering
crabapple tree and was the highest spot in the new section of the cemetery.
Spring blossoms would flutter down around her and she’d catch the first drops
of rain and feel the warmth of the sun for most of the day.

The first thing she saw was freshly
planted daffodils just starting to open.

“Chris Mayerling,” Kate said aloud. She
remembered the basket of daffodils he’d sent to the house. How kind he was to
take the time and trouble to plant the flowers.

And God knows where he found daffodils
in July, she thought.

It had been good to see him at the Fine
Arts dinner the other night. She felt guilty for not keeping in closer touch
with him.
 

Knowing she couldn’t put off the moment
any longer, Kate raised her eyes to inspect the headstone. She reached for the
trunk of the tree, afraid her legs would give out on her. Seeing the
inscription, she had an overwhelming desire to close her eyes and never open
them again. She tightened her grip on the tree, letting the roughness of the
bark anchor her to reality.
 

Jennifer Louise Warner

 
September 14, 1997 – May 16, 2006

She read the words, lovingly tracing the
sharp-edged letters with her eyes. In the right-hand corner above the name was
the fresh cut image of a winged angel. It had been Richard’s idea; not hers.
Jenny’s guardian angel had not protected her in life, what good to guard a dead
child? Kate glared at the crisp outline of the angelic face.
 

The Angel of Death.

Bitterness accompanied her down the hill
to the car. She opened the door then turned for a last glimpse of the leafy
guardian above Jenny’s grave. She committed herself to continue her search for
the truth. She’d return when justice was done.
 

Richard’s name had to be cleared. The
killer had to be identified.