The Mirror and the Mask (15 page)

The intercom buzzed.

“Go ahead,” said Annie, shifting in her chair. “Answer it.”

“We're not finished,” he said, pressing a button. The receptionist's voice purred, “Two police officers are here to see you, Mr. Bowman.”

“Did they say what they wanted?”

“Just that they need to speak with you right away.”

He scratched the side of his face. “I guess you better send them in.”

“I'm forgetting my manners,” said Annie. “I should have offered my sympathy on the death of your wife.”

His eyes filled with suspicion. “Thanks.”

“Terrible accident.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Have you got a life insurance policy on her, too?”

His mouth opened.

“I know about the one you had on my mom.”

“It doesn't mean anything. I took one out on me, too. We were always strapped back then. If one of us died, the other wouldn't have been able to pay the rent on the apartment and have any money left over.”

“Makes sense.”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

“Come in,” he said, rising.

Two plainclothes officers walked into the room. One was short, gray haired, and stocky, the other a bit taller and bald.

“Mr. Bowman?” asked the gray-haired cop.

Jack nodded.

“I'm Sergeant Ramos. This is Sergeant Sterling.” He motioned to his partner. “We'd like to ask you a few questions. Probably best to do this privately.”

“I already talked to two officers yesterday.”

“Right,” said Ramos, unzipping his leather jacket. “That was the Washington County Sheriff's office. We're Stillwater PD. My partner and I are taking over the case.”

Jack circled around his desk and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you both.” Turning back to Annie, he said, “We'll have to continue this another time.”

“Fine,” said Annie. Nodding to the officers, she crossed to the
door. She left it slightly ajar on her way out. Standing in the hallway, she listened.

“We won't get the official autopsy report back on your wife for another few days,” said Ramos. “However, after examining her yesterday, the ME said it looked like her death may not have been accidental.”

“Sit down,” said Jack.

Annie heard some rustling.

Ramos continued, “Your wife sustained a matrix of severe injuries yesterday afternoon. A shoulder fracture. Multiple contusions and lacerations on the head and body. As I said, we don't have the final report back yet, but preliminary indications suggest some of the injuries were inconsistent with a fall down the stairs.”

“Inconsistent?”

“There's a good chance her death will be ruled a homicide.”

Nothing was said for several seconds.

“Officers are on the way to your house as we speak with a search warrant.”

“But . . . don't I have to be there?”

“That's certainly your right. However, I did call a few minutes ago and your daughter's home.”

“I need to be there. I don't want anyone questioning her unless I'm with her.”

“Legally, that's not necessary. She's over eighteen.”

“She is not. Who told you that?”

“She did.”

“She's seventeen. Her birthday isn't until next month. I don't want you talking to her unless I'm with her.
Is that understood?
”

Annie bent her head closer to the door. She wondered if Sunny knew something Johnny didn't want her talking about. That was certainly the implication. Surely the cops had picked up on it.

“Of course, Mr. Bowman,” came the other man's voice. Sergeant Sterling. It was the first time he'd spoken. “We're just beginning our
investigation. We're not accusing anybody of anything. But we have to ask questions.”

“What questions?”

“Well, for one, where were you yesterday afternoon between one and five?”

“
I'm
a suspect?” He sounded indignant.

“At this point, we have to question everyone.”

“If you'd just answer the question,” said Ramos.

“I . . . I was at a job site in Bloomington. I was there all afternoon.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“Around noon.”

“And what time did you leave?”

“After I listened to my voice mail. My son called to tell me what happened at the house.”

“What time was that?” asked Sterling.

“I don't know. Five? Five thirty?”

“Can anyone verify that information?”

“I suppose. I
didn't
murder my wife.”

“No one is saying you did,” said Ramos, trying to sound conciliatory.

“I'm not trying to be difficult. I'll help any way I can.”

“That's good to know, sir.”

Fearing they were all about to file out, Annie made a beeline for the elevators. Johnny had told the truth about one thing. He never learned.

 

 

 

A
nnie returned to Curt's condo around dinnertime, still feeling keyed up by the leftover adrenaline from her conversation with Jack. Dooley met her at the door, wagging his tail.

“Hey, little guy,” she said, picking him up. “I missed you. Where's Curt?” she asked, kissing the top of his head. In the kitchen, she found a note propped against the coffeemaker.

Annie—

Took Dooley out just after three.

Filled his water dish in the kitchen.

Home by seven, promise, with takeout.

Hope you like Thai food.

C
.

Annie had no intention of telling Curt where she'd been today, but she was hoping he'd be home. She needed something to take her
mind off the conversation with Johnny—or Jack. She had to remember to call him Jack now, even in her thoughts.

“I feel totally . . . slimed,” she said, smoothing the fur on Dooley's chest. “You know? Polluted. Like I've been wading through a sewer. That man is so slick I'm surprised he doesn't slide right off his chair.”

Dooley looked up at her, cocked his head.

She'd received a call from Jane and thought about calling her back but decided against it. She did want to talk some things over with her, but figured she'd stop by tomorrow and do it in person.

“This place is a mess,” she said, striding into the bedroom. Curt, as usual, hadn't made the bed or removed any of the dirty dishes from the matching nightstands.

Annie spent the next half hour working off her adrenaline buzz by cleaning. She found some fresh sheets in the laundry room and changed the bedding. As she carried the second load of dishes out to the kitchen, the landline rang. She checked the caller ID and saw that it was security. Someone was downstairs asking to be let in.

“Hello?”

“Buzz me in,” came an excited female voice.

“Ah—”

“Curt?”

“No, Annie.”

“Oh, shit. Look, it's Sunny. Let me in, okay?”

Annie pressed 4 on the phone pad and held it down for a good twenty seconds. She loaded a few more dishes into the dishwasher, then went to the door and opened it. Sunny stepped off the elevator a few seconds later. Her eyes looked red and puffy, as if she'd been crying.

On her way down the hall, she said, “Where's my brother?”

“Out.”

She stopped halfway to the door. “Out where?”

“I don't know. But he'll be back by seven.”

“Shit, shit,
shit
.” She backed up against the wall and doubled over, as if she'd been kicked in the stomach.

“You're welcome to come in and wait.” Annie felt sorry for her, but even more than that, she wanted a chance to talk to her.

Sunny crossed her arms and pressed them to her midsection. “What's that?” she asked warily, eyes zeroing in on Dooley.

“My dog.”

She adjusted her oversized round glasses. “He's cute. Is it a he or a she?”

“A he.”

“He bite?”

“No. He's very gentle.”

She moved closer, offered her hand for him to sniff. “I like dogs. Curt and I had one once.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“You two must be pretty tight. How long have you known him?”

“A few days.”

She appeared to digest that as she entered the condo. Dropping down on the couch in the living room, she unzipped her motorcycle jacket. She looked lost. “What time is it now?”

“A little after six.”

She tapped a few fingers over her small, plump mouth. “I had to leave the house. I couldn't stand being there another minute.” She lowered her chin, watched Dooley circle and flip down on one of the Oriental rugs.

Annie wanted to cut through all the bull and ask her about her relationship with Jack, but she held back, knowing she needed to handle this first conversation carefully.

“My mom's death. You probably haven't heard. It might be ruled a homicide. The police were crawling all over the house today. I didn't know what to do, so I came here.”

“You did the right thing.”

“It's like . . .” Her mouth convulsed and she began to cry. “I can't even explain it,” she said, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. She removed her glasses and set them on the coffee table. “My mom and I, we didn't get along. But . . . she's not
there
anymore. I can't talk to her. She's really gone . . . forever.”

Annie wasn't sure if she should move closer, try to comfort her, or if she should keep her distance. She settled for taking a seat on the other end of the couch. “My mom died when I was twenty. I'm not sure I hated her. Maybe I did, I don't know. It took me years to get to the point you are now, to where I missed her so bad I knew it was an ache that would never go away.”

“Yeah,” Sunny whispered, choking on a sob. “That's exactly how I feel.”

They sat on the couch for a while, Sunny crying, sniffing, batting at her eyes, crying some more. Annie hoped that her presence and the fact that she did understand—more than Sunny would ever know—would be a comfort.

“She was having an affair,” said Sunny finally, pulling some tissues out of her jacket pocket and blowing her nose. “Nobody knows but me.”

“With who?”

“A guy she works with. His name's Kristjan Robbe. They've been friends for years.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard them talking on the phone.”

“You think Jack knew?”

She shook her head.

“If she was cheating on him—”

“What? You think he pushed her down those stairs. Is that what Curt told you? No way.
No way
.”

“Then who?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I don't know. I don't want to know.”

Annie's cell buzzed in the pocket of her painter pants. She pulled it free but didn't recognize the name or the number. “Hello?”

“Is this Annie?” The man had a thick Indian accent.

“Speaking.” She could hear loud music in the background.

“My name is Raj Banerjee. I am the bartender at McGill's on Washington. There is a guy here who must leave. He gave me this number. His name is Curt.”

“What's wrong?”

“He is falling-down drunk, that is what is wrong. We stopped serving him half an hour ago, but he will not go.”

“Just a sec.” She glanced over at Sunny. “Do you know McGill's on Washington?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Is it far?”

“No, it's just down the block.”

Returning to the bartender, Annie said, “We'll be there in a few minutes.” She flipped her cell phone closed.

“Something wrong?”

“Your brother. He's drunk and the bar wants him out.”

“Drunk? Curt?”

“You think that's unusual?”

“Well,
yeah
. All he ever thinks about is med school. He's doing rotations this year. Between that and studying, he hardly has time to eat.”

“Well, whatever's going on, we need to go get him. If he's really as wasted as this bartender says, I can't get him back here by myself.”

“Sure, I'll help.” On her way to the door, she kept shaking her head. “It's Mom's death. They were always so close. More like friends than mother and son.”

No, they weren't
, thought Annie.
What the hell was going on?

 

A riot of bodies and loud music met Annie and Sunny as they entered McGill's a few minutes later. Annie scanned the crowd, spotting Curt
sitting at the bar. His head was bent, resting against his hand. He looked about as depressed as she'd ever seen him. She pointed him out to Sunny and then began to press her way through the crowd.

Sunny was even more aggressive than Annie, pushing people out of the way in order to get to him first. She whispered something in his ear. Curt rocked back, nearly falling off the stool.