Little Death by the Sea (27 page)

She nodded carefully and deposited the ice
bag in a bowl on the coffee table.

“He doesn’t expect me in.”

“
Bon
. And the police?”

“Laurent, what do you want me to tell you?”
She winced in pain again and lowered her voice. “I gave Detective
Burton another call. He hasn’t called me back.”

“
C’est incredible!”

“Well, I’m not really surprised. On the other
hand, cops swarming all over the place isn’t going to get me any
closer to figuring this thing out. It’ll just ensure that my
neighbors permanently refuse to talk to me. And I’ve got a few more
questions to ask them now.”

“And the note?” Laurent gestured to the
folded piece of paper on the coffee table in front of them. When
they had returned from the hospital, they had found it jammed in
the slot of Maggie’s mailbox.

Maggie picked up the note and reread it. The
handwriting was a tight, almost European style with elongated,
loopy “l’s” and “t’s”.

“
Stay away. Stop doing what you are doing.
I’m watching you. If you don’t back off, I will kill you.”

She dropped the note back onto the coffee
table.

“Well, maybe the police can get something off
it.” She sighed and eased back into the couch pillows. “Besides our
fingerprints, I mean. But we still don’t need a whole S.W.A.T. team
of cops here to check one lousy note for prints.”

Laurent shrugged.

“Drink your tea, please,
cherie
,” he
said wearily.

She felt a sudden urge to tell him not to
worry. That she’d stop asking questions and stop trying to find out
what happened to Elise. She knew their lives would settle down if
she did. And surely her love for Laurent was big enough that she
could give him that much? She watched him with guilt and caring and
said nothing.

The phone rang. Maggie pulled back onto the
couch. She wasn’t in the mood for phone conversations.

Laurent picked it up and spoke into the
receiver:

“
Allo
?” His face softened and he
smiled slightly. “
Une moment
,” he said, covering the
receiver. “It is Brownie. I can tell him you—“

Maggie shook her head and held out her hand
for the receiver.

“Hey, Brownie,” she said.

Laurent took the empty brandy glass into the
kitchen.

After she hung up the phone she padded
barefooted to the bedroom door. She wore a faded pair of navy sweat
pants and a light cotton sweatshirt. Laurent was peering into the
refrigerator, his back to her, rigid and expectant.

“He wants to meet me for lunch tomorrow,” she
said.

“Ahh, yes?” Laurent turned his head slightly
over his shoulder.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“I don’t mind,
cherie
. We French are
secure!” He smiled and turned to face her. She moved forward and
slipped easily into his arms.

“Good thing,” she said. “Makes up for my
wobbly American ways.”

He tilted her chin up with his fingers and
kissed her lightly on the mouth.

“Perhaps a little food would help?”

“No food,” she said firmly, kissing him back.
“Oh! What happened to the little dog? The one that was with me last
night?”

“Oh, it is a bad dog. He is the reason you
are walking into the woods in the middle of the night.”

“He’s not a bad dog. Laurent, what did you do
with him? I thought you liked him.”

“I am teasing you.” He wiped his hands on a
dish towel draped over his shoulder and she moved back to the
kitchen doorjamb to watch him. “He is with the
animale
docteur
. Yes?
Monsieur
Danford has taken him there.”

“Oh, Laurent, do you trust that guy? He’ll
probably chop him up for a stew to cook on his hot plate or
something down there.”

“I am telling him I will be very disappointed
if the little dog is not getting well. He is taking him to the
docteur. Pas de danger
!”

“Okay, but check on him, okay? Did you see
how cut up he was? His little feet? God, it was awful.” Maggie
wandered over to the dining room table. Her typewriter was still
sitting there, her notes still stacked beside it.

The outdoor buzzer sounded. Maggie looked
questioningly at Laurent, who shrugged. She depressed the button.
“Yes?” she said into the intercom.

“Miss Newberry? Detectives Burton and
Kazmaroff. We’d like to come in if we could.”

3

Gerry hung up the phone and tapped the base
of it with a mechanical pencil. Mugged! In her own parking lot.
Wait until Darla heard about this.
She’ll be calling Qantas
Airlines herself.

He stood up and raked up the Venetian blinds
on his window with a jerk on the dangling cord. The full blaze of
the morning sun shot through the window. Mean temperature in
Auckland in summer is 78 degrees with less than ten percent
humidity. He turned away from the sight of cars and trucks moving
at a slug’s pace down the street below. Situated on an isthmus, the
views of harbor and beach are enjoyable from every vantage point of
the city.

Gerry leaned over his desk and engaged the
public address system, clearing his throat loudly at the same time.
“Attention, all hands,” he said into the speaker. “This is your
captain speaking. There’ll be a short meeting in the conference
room in ten minutes. That is all.” He felt a rush of adrenaline
push through his veins. He’d been waiting for this, the point of no
return. The crossed-over line.

He straightened his tie and patted down the
pockets on his double breasted suit. He knew what he would say, no
further preparation was necessary. It was annoying that Maggie
wasn’t here but he’d describe it all to her later.

He jumped at the knock on his door. It pushed
open and Patti’s blonde head popped through.

Gerry coughed. “Er...yes, Patti?”

“I can’t make the meeting, Gerry.” She
entered the room, her clothing making its entrance first. A loud
complaint of a hair bow was knotted in her hair, something ruffly
and pink. Wasn’t there an age limit on women wearing bows in their
hair, Gerry wondered? The rest of her outfit was reminiscent of the
psychedelic sixties. Dramatic swirls of red and yellow were
captured in a glimmering polyester pleated skirt with matching
overblouse. As usual, Gerry thought, she looks like she’s trying to
offend before she even opens her mouth.

“Can’t make it?” He knew he sounded formal.
It was just the right tone. After his announcement at this
morning’s meeting, he’d have very little to worry about from this
place. Or from Patti.

“I’ve got a job interview, if you must know,”
she said, her mouth pressed together in a punishing line, her hands
folded across her colorful chest.

He nearly smiled. She was so obviously
baiting him. A perverse part of him—the part of him that was almost
free—felt the impulse to drop to both knees and scream, “God, no,
Patti! You can’t leave! Please, won’t you change your mind?” And
all for the twisted pleasure of seeing the look on her face. As it
was, he bit back the smile and merely shrugged.

“Okay. You don’t need to be there.”

“I’ve decided to leave the company, Gerry,”
she said, taking a step forward.

“So have I, as a matter of fact,” he
said.

Her mouth fell open and, for the first time,
he could see small blemishes around the bottom part of her face.
Her surprise was real and unchecked.

“What?” she sputtered.

“I’m leaving. That’s what the announcement
is. To say I’ve decided to leave.”

“Because of me?”

The suggestion was so absurd that Gerry
nearly laughed in her face. Instead, he paused as if considering it
and then shook his head.

“No, Patti,” he said. “I am not leaving
because of you. I am leaving...” He turned and waved a hand at the
scene outside his window. “...because of everything.” He liked the
sound of that. Maybe he’d use it in his speech to the others. “I
wish you luck, though. I don’t think you’ve been happy here and
it’s probably a good idea you’re looking elsewhere.”

It was true. The freedom he felt by cutting
his ties—even by breaking the news to just one person—was profound.
He felt energized, yet relaxed, capable of talking honestly about
anything. Maybe Janis Joplin was right: freedom’s just another name
for nothing left to lose.

He felt great.

“I see,” she said. She stood facing him in
her ridiculous dress, her arms pressed in a Joan-of-Arc fold across
her chest, her eyes burning with some indecipherable passion.
“Well, that’s it, then,” she said.

“I wish you luck, Patti.” He felt more in
control than he ever had before. He watched her shoulders sag
beneath her dress, her head sink into her shoulders. A sad smile
crept onto her face.

“Thanks, Gerry,” she said in a voice softer
and more sincere than he’d ever heard from her. She held out her
hand to him. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she
said.

“Just a little peace,” he said. “And I
will.”

She moved toward the door. “Take care of
yourself.”

“You too,” he said happily, buoyed with his
factory-fresh, hither-to-untried ability to handle any situation.
He smiled at her until she closed the door behind her. Then he
turned for one last look out the window, patted down his suit
pockets again, and went out to tell the rest of the world.

4

“Well, it’s sort of complicated,” Kazmaroff
said, shaking his head at Laurent’s proffered coffee pot. He turned
to face Maggie. “We’ve got a confession, and a believable one at
that—“

“Why did this Donnell-guy kill Elise?” Maggie
asked. She sat on the couch, next to Laurent, a chipped mug of tea
in her hands. Opposite them, in mismatched tub chairs, sat
Kazmaroff, in his cool chinos and Vuarnet sunglasses, and Burton,
precision-pressed and held together like a rubber band around a
bundle of nerves.

“He just did,” Burton said, a tinge of
harshness to his voice as if to belie all doubt and argument from
any corner. He wiped his hands on the knees of his Sansabelt slacks
and examined his nails. They were yellow and chewed.

Maggie saw Kazmaroff give Burton an annoyed
look and she wondered who to believe. Did Kazmaroff not think they
had Elise’s killer in custody? She didn’t feel she could ask him
with Burton present.

Burton rubbed his hands together and made a
squeaking popping sound with them.

“Miss Newberry,” he said. “Even a psycho
thinks he’s got a reason to kill, you know? I mean, it may be a
nuts reason, but it makes sense to him.”

“I think what Miss Newberry wants to know,
Jack, is, does this mean that the guy who killed her sister—did he
do it because he had a specific reason against her sister?”

“I understood the question, Dave.” Maggie was
surprised to hear the bite in the detective’s voice. It had always
been clear that their partnership was not heaven-sent but the
relationship had obviously deteriorated with the investigation. “If
you’re suggesting this guy had to have a reason to kill your
sister, I would have to say ‘probably not’. There was no reason.”
he flipped open his notebook and looked at a page of notes.

Maggie felt tired all of a sudden. She wanted
to go take a nap. For the rest of the week. She felt a chilling
nimbus of loneliness envelope her as the detectives subtly
retracted any help or support.

“So, what do you think?” Laurent’s voice
boomed out impatiently, causing Maggie to look at him with
surprise.

“Er, what do you mean?” Dave asked
uncertainly.

“Maggie’s sister is killed and two months
later Maggie is attacked and it means nothing?”

“It’s quite possible...” Burton reached for
his notebook again.

“
Pfut
!” Laurent rolled his eyes. “And
it is the coincidence? Eh?”

Burton shifted uncomfortably in his chair,
his eyes still on his notebook. “It doesn’t necessarily mean
anything—“

“Why doesn’t it mean anything?” Maggie asked,
beginning to show her impatience.

“Look,” Dave Kazmaroff leaned forward,
resting his elbows on his knees. He gave her a look that suggested
he would now tell her some inside dope. Maggie began to see why his
partner couldn’t stand him.

“There’s a lot of crime in this city,” he
said, smiling warmly at her. “Coincidence that your sister would be
murdered one month and you mugged the next? Maybe, but absolutely
believable. What’s less believable is that they’re connected in
some way. If that’s what you’re saying?” He addressed this last
comment to Laurent and ran a hand through his hair.

Now it was Burton’s turn to look irritated
with Kazmaroff. He stood up and carefully picked up the note on the
coffee table that Maggie had shown them earlier. He dropped it into
a little zip-lock plastic bag and sealed it firmly with his thumb
and forefinger.

“We don’t know exactly what’s going on at the
moment, Miss Newberry. We think we got our killer—I know we got
him—but we haven’t had time to make some of the other pieces
fit.”

Yeah, like my sister
, Maggie
thought.

“I’ll take this downtown and see what the lab
guys can make of it. Dave and I’ll have a look-see at the woods on
our way out and we’ll give you a call later on. Might not be
today.”

She nodded and wagged a hand to indicate she
didn’t much expect it would be.

“Meanwhile, I wouldn’t take any more midnight
walks in the woods. Even without psychotic killers on the loose,
Buckhead isn’t as safe as it used to be. That drug dealer—the guy
we originally held as a suspect for your sister’s killing?--he
still roams loose around here. You just can’t afford to play Anne
of Green Gables in a big city like this, Miss Newberry. Okay?”

She nodded politely at him wondering if they
could arrest her if she asked Laurent to throw them out on their
shiny polyester keisters.