Listen to the Shadows (16 page)

“Are you sure?” Jonathan asked anxiously. “You don’t have to subject yourself to this, you know.”

“I know. But it’s okay.”

He nodded. To the sergeant he said, “Speed up your questions, then. And use a little care in asking them.”

The man appeared totally undaunted by the attack, although when he began to speak again, both his manner and his tone of voice had softened considerably. He was almost pleasant.

“This Charlie Black,” he was saying, “he any relation to the Blacks who used to own most of the land around here? Goes back a bit before your time, though,” he said, scratching absently at his head beneath the police hat.

“Yes, he is,” Katie replied, recalling her aunt telling her about Black Lake being named for the Black family, and that Charlie was the last living member. They’d been farmers. She related what she knew.

“Yep,” the sergeant said, hitching up his pants. “Biggest farm around way back then.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Tell me a little more about this Joey Smith.”

At some point during the questioning a part of Katie seemed to detach itself, hearing the dialogue and watching the scene unfold as if viewing some macabre play.

“It’s a place to start,” he said. “It’s possible the person responsible—that’s if the drowning wasn’t accidental, mind you— which I doubt—is someone you know. Or at least someone who knows you. There could be some small incident, something that seemed insignificant at the time, but that could prove important now.” He tossed Jonathan a challenging look. “Maybe the good doctor here might even help in that area. Maybe he could even put together—what do they call it?—Oh, yes, a psychological profile of the man we’re looking for.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help, of course,” Jonathan said. “But there’s not always the domineering mother in the background, Sergeant. Or the brutal father. Sometimes there is just—evil.”

After a long silence, Sergeant Miller turned impatiently from Jonathan, grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like freakin ’ witch doctor.

At last, all the questions asked and answered as well as she could answer them, the policeman left, and she and Jonathan were alone. Katie dragged herself out of the chair and wandered into the studio where she watched through the glass doors opening onto the balcony, as two men in white coats fitted what she knew to be Jason’s body into a green bag, which looked horribly like a garbage bag. As one of the men began to zip it up, Katie jerked her head away.

“You mustn’t stay here alone tonight, Katherine,” Jonathan said. “Is there someone who could stay with you? What about Drake Devlin?”

The suggestion struck her like a blow to the heart, and she felt her remaining calm threaten to slip away. No, dammit! No, she would not let him see her cry. “I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry about me.” As Katie followed him out the door into the bright sunshine, fresh pain washed over her. The perfect autumn day seemed somehow a final betrayal to Jason.

Halfway way down the steps, Jonathan turned. “Oh, by the way, Devlin called while you were upstairs. He was quite concerned about you.”

She hadn’t heard the phone ringing. She must have been in the shower.

“I identified myself this time,” he added with a faint smile. “He hung up before I could get his number. But I expect you know it anyway.”

“Yes,” she lied. “Did you tell him…?”

“He already knew. Heard it on the radio.”

Suddenly she did not want Jonathan to leave. She did not want to be alone. “Will you be going back to the hospital?” She had dismissed his remark about no longer practicing psychiatry. “I imagine your patients must be feeling neglected by now.”

“Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you. I’m not seeing any patients, except on an emergency basis. I’ve taken a year’s sabbatical. You will call Drake Devlin—ask him to stay with you?”

Not trusting herself to speak, she could only nod. Jonathan came back up the stairs to where she stood holding the door open. He cupped her chin in his hand, tilting it upward so that she was forced to meet his eyes. “About last night,” he said softly. “Don’t make more of it than what it was, Katherine. You were distraught. You needed someone. I was there, that’s all. No one but you and I need ever know. Somehow I don’t think—Drake would understand.” The gesture, the words, the half-grin seemed to mock her.

Fighting tears of pain and humiliation, she said, “I’ll call him the moment you leave.”

Alone now, Katie tracked down Peter Machum in New York. She dialed the number of the hotel. When she hung up, she hoped she would never have to do anything so difficult again in her life. But at least Peter hadn’t had to hear the news through the media.

As she turned from the phone, it rang.

It was Drake. “Katie, my God, what the hell’s going on out there? Are you all right? I heard the news on the radio. Please, can I come out there? I want to be with…”

“I’m going in to work, Drake,” she said with a calmness she did not feel. “Will you come to The Coffee Shop this morning?” Surprisingly, she was glad to hear Drake’s voice. Glad he had called. “I—really do want to talk to you.”

“Going into work? Katie, are you…? All right, I’ll see you there.”

She would tell him what she had to in person. She at least owed him that much. She hoped she would still have his friendship. She could use a good friend right now. Oh, Jason. She sagged into a chair and let the tears come.

When she arrived at the restaurant, a flushed and clearly disturbed Mrs. Cameron met her at the door. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you in here this morning, Katie. You should be home.”

“I thought it would be better if I was working. Anyway, I’ve missed too much time already.” Mrs. Cameron said nothing further, but her expression spoke loudly. She didn’t want Katie here, and it was not out of any concern for Katie’s welfare. “I’ll just put this overnight case behind the cash register,” Katie said quietly, not understanding. “If that’s all right.”

Her employer glanced curiously at the overnight case Katie held, shrugged her indifference and left.

As the morning wore on, Katie found herself confusing orders, dropping dishes, and trying not to see the curious, suspicious glances of both staff and customers. Yet no one came right out and questioned her about what had happened, or offered a word of sympathy. One customer, a woman who always seemed so pleasant, refused to be served by Katie. From behind the cash register, Katie could feel Mrs. Cameron’s sharp eyes, like burning coals, watching her. What was going on? It was as if she were being blamed for something. Why? What had she done?

It occurred to her as she refilled a customer’s coffee mug that she must seem terribly callous coming in to work with her friend lying on a cold slab in the morgue. The thought produced a picture in her mind, and she began to shake, spattering the back of her hand with the scalding liquid. Bursting into tears, Katie fled to the kitchen where she lay her head against the large refrigerator. Its hard coolness felt soothing on her forehead, contrasting with her burning hand. Mrs. Cameron had been right; it had been foolish to come into work this morning. She was a mess. Katie whirled at the slight pressure on her shoulder.

Frank Cramer drew back his hand, his smile quickly fading at Katie’s expression of fear.

“Katie, I only wanted to…” His thin, deeply creased face turned beet red as Katie rushed past him.

In her haste to get away, she came face to face with Joey out in the hallway. He was carrying a pail of blackened, soapy water, and some of it sloshed onto floor. A sour smell mixed with creosote drifted up to her. Joey was staring at her. Then he smiled. What did he always wear that stupid, mindless smile? Joey? Was it Joey? Did Joey—murder Jason? Oh, God.

He set the pail down, spilling more water onto his big boots. “Hi,

K—Katie, you still my gurfriend?” came the inevitable question.

“No, I’m not your girlfriend, Joey,” she cried, tears blinding her. “I never was. Please, just leave me alone.”

Like a child unjustly punished, Joey’s face crumbled, hurt filling his eyes. He lowered them and reached for the pail.

Her regret was immediate and Katie’s hand went out instinctively to touch him. “I’m sorry, Joey,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean…”

His pathetic attempt at a smile of forgiveness wrenched her heart. Despising herself, she watched him turn his face from her, hefting the pail of water with the strength of a man and the awkwardness of a child.

Heaviness descended on her like a wet, black shroud.

“You can go home now, Katie.”

Mrs. Cameron stood before her. Her eyes and voice were firm in their decision. Unyielding. Obviously, she had just witnessed the scene with Joey.

“I’ll be all right. I just…”

“Get some rest,” Mrs. Cameron interrupted. “Francine is managing quite well.”

“I need this job,” Katie said, and hated the plea she heard in her voice.

“We’ll see, Katie. Right now, there’s—too much talk. Take some time until it dies down.”

“Talk? I don’t understand. What kind of…?”

“I’ve made up a month’s severance pay for you.”

Clearly, it had been decided even before she arrived this morning that her services were no longer required. But why? She knew it had to be something other than her losing time. But what? What had she done? What were they saying about her?

Forcing herself to stand taller, she said, “Thank you. You’re more than generous. Could I ask—just one last favor of you, Mrs. Cameron?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember Drake Devlin—the man I was planning to go out with on the night of my accident?”

“I remember,” she said without hesitation. “A nice young man he was.” Flushing a little, she added pointedly, “A real man.”

Looking into the woman’s eyes, seeing the unveiled contempt there, even embarrassment, Katie suddenly understood everything. The media (probably thanks to Sergeant Miller) had not ignored the homosexual angle in the case, and she was somehow being made part of something sordid, something unhealthy. This was a smaller town than she’d thought.

“He’ll be in later this morning,” she said, refusing even to acknowledge the unspoken accusation. People believed what they wanted to believe. “The overnight case is his.” Here was something else they could discuss among themselves, she thought bitterly. Something else they’ll enjoy speculating on.

“I’ll see that he gets it,” Mrs. Cameron said stiffly.

Katie scribbled a hasty note to Drake and slipped it inside the case.

After rezipping it, she went back out to the kitchen, knowing she couldn’t leave without first apologizing to Frank. Surely he would know the strain she was under and forgive her. Yet, she managed only to say his name before he turned on her, his face livid with rage and indignation.

“You’re just like all the rest,” he lashed out, waving the egg turner dangerously in the air. “You think you’re so good Frank Cramer shouldn’t put his dirty hands on you. But I listen to the news, Katie— you’re not what you pretend. You think Frank Cramer is nothing, only a useless drunk. Well, I’ll show you. I’ll show everyone.” With that, he picked up a stainless steel pot and flung it at the side wall where it made a loud thunk against the bricks, then bounced along the tiled floor. “Frank Cramer is an artist!” he proclaimed to Katie and the world at large.

“Frank, you’re wrong,” Katie stammered into the tirade. “I mean…”

“I don’t care what you mean,” he yelled, the vein pulsing visible in his forehead. He turned away from her to furiously scrape two scorched, smelly eggs from the grill into the garbage can. The back of his neck was purple.

Katie walked out of the kitchen feeling totally numb, as if something in her had shut down. As she reached for her coat on the rack, Mrs. Cameron came up to her. Wisps of white hair had escaped her usually neat braids. “You know Frank,” she said in a kindly voice. “He gets a little crazy sometimes. He’ll be okay. You know as well as I do what the real problem is. Frank likes you, Katie.”

It was the only warmth the woman had shown her since she got here but Katie was far removed from its having any beneficial effect. As she let the restaurant she heard Mrs. Cameron’s voice, sharp and angry, behind her. “Joey, when you take the truck out to do an errand, don’t stay half the day. And don’t leave here again at night without mopping up this floor.”

Poor Joey, Katie thought as she let the heavy door close behind her for what she knew would be the last time. And yet she couldn’t really blame Mrs. Cameron for chastising Joey. No more, she supposed, than she could blame Mrs. Cameron for firing her.

She did, after all, have a business to run.

The talk though. That was something else. It was ridiculous and sickening.

Katie drove home in a daze. In her studio, still wearing her coat, she curled up on the cot in a fetal position and fell into a sleep so deep and sound she might have been drugged.

Soon, she dreamed.

She was sitting in a corner of a cold, dimly lit room surrounded by dark forms—human forms? Straining in the near-darkness, she saw that they were not human forms at all—but strawmen. The throat of each lay open, a gaping wound oozing blood that dripped onto the cement floor, where each drop became a small puddle, quickly spreading its red-blackness over a larger and larger area, until all the floor was covered in blood. Katie felt its warm stickiness under her.