The Spider Bites (4 page)

“I guess,” said Angela. She grinned suddenly. “Us city girls don't usually think about stuff like that. But what's so important about Wednesday?”

“It's Cheryl's day off. Remember? Ever since I first met her. She always took Wednesdays off.”

“So?”

“Whoever set fire to the house wanted her dead too.”

“Maybe. If he knew she was there.”

“Lots of people did. She was always home asleep on Wednesday afternoons. Catching-up time, she called it.”

“Could be,” said Angela. “So how about that beer?”

“I haven't had a beer since I last saw you,” I said. “Or any other kind of booze. I was always too tired to go out with the crew after work.”

“No wonder you're so thin. We can go for coffee, if you want.”

We decided to go for coffee.

“Have you eaten?” I asked. We were strolling along, looking for someplace quiet.

“No, have you?” asked Angela.

“No. I watched Susanna eat most of a large pizza. It killed my appetite. Now I'm starving.”

“Come on,” said Angela. “How about a steak? My treat.”

* * *

The steak house was almost empty. And very quiet. The waiter took our order and left us alone.

“Tell me,” I said, “what have you heard about Freddie since I left?”

“Freddie who?”

“Come on, Angela. You know who I mean. My Freddie. The one who got me into this mess. The Freddie who swore in court that he had bribed me to suppress evidence. Dealer in drugs, women and anything else. If you could make money from it, Freddie was mixed up in it.”

“Ah,” she said. “That Freddie.”

“I think maybe he was the body in my apartment,” I said. “So I'm interested.”

“I can understand that.” She stopped to think.

I stood up. “Take your time,” I said. “I'm off to the men's room.”

“Sure,” said Angela. “Go right ahead.”

When I came back, she was putting her cell phone into her shirt pocket. I raised an eyebrow. She laughed.

“You still do that. It's easier to ask, you know. I was talking to my boss.”

“At nine o'clock at night?”

“Sure. I have a new job. Didn't I tell you? The pay is good, but they want me to carry my mobile around all the time. That way, someone can call me at four in the morning. But they hardly ever use it.”

The waiter put a platter of Italian-style antipasto and two plates down on the table.

“What did he want?” I asked, helping myself.

“Would I be on call for tomorrow's late shift. No big deal. Anyway, Freddie was sentenced in May,” said Angela. “Just after you left for the farm.”

“And?”

“He'd cut a deal—but you knew that— and told them everything they wanted to hear. So he got six months once they deducted time served. He was out in less than five, I think.”

“So he just got out,” I said. “But Freddie's small-time. He had nothing to do with those drug deals he confessed to.”

“Why confess to them then?”

“Money. Rodriguez wanted to get rid of me. I was getting too close to him. So they paid him to frame me. By saying we were in it together.”

“Are you sure? Or are you seeing conspiracies everywhere these days?”

“I'm sure,” I said.

“So why burn down the house with him in it?” asked Angela. “What's the point? Wouldn't Rodriguez want him to be a witness in your trial?”

“That's what bothers me,” I said. “It doesn't make sense.”

“Can I treat you to a glass of wine with your dinner?” she said.

“No. I have to stay awake. I'm going back to the house tonight.”

“Why?”

“Don't you think I have to see what's happening, Angela?”

“A waste of time, I would think,” said Angela. “Tony said they were stopping for the night soon. He was anyway. Rachel's going to kill him if he doesn't come home. She invited two couples over for dinner.”

“You'd think she would have learned by now,” I said.

“He'll never be home every night at six,” said Angela. “You never were. Of course, neither was I.”

“And you'd think she'd get tired of yelling at him.” I leaned forward. “Listen carefully, Angela,” I whispered. “I think I can I hear her now.”

We both burst out laughing. Rachel's temper was one of our old jokes.

“But it doesn't matter if he isn't there. I'm going anyway. I have a feeling it might be a good idea.”

“You always were crazy,” said Angela. “But if you want to sit there in the dark, go ahead. Just don't forget that you still have stuff at the apartment. You should come by and pick it up.”

“What did I leave behind?”

“Just stuff.”

“I'll call you later. Tomorrow for sure.”

“Do that. Here come our steaks. I hope you can squeeze in a few minutes to eat yours.”

“You don't have to be like that, Angela. I'll make time. I'm starving.”

CHAPTER NINE
GREG

I
went back to the park. This time I was sitting on the bench, relaxed and comfortable. There were only a couple of cops in uniform left at the scene. But the CSI team was there. And I recognized a couple of guys from the fire marshal's office. They were still working too. They don't like arson. No one seemed to notice me this time.

Then I saw someone walking over the wet grass toward me. I straightened up. He looked familiar. He was the man who had been talking to Angela.

“Terrible fire,” he said, pausing to look across the street. “I'm surprised there aren't more people out here.”

“Maybe it's too cold and damp for them,” I said.

“No. Usually with a big fire, you'll get a whole crowd standing around up to their knees in snow,” he said. “Even at four in the morning.”

“I guess. The morbid fascination of fire scenes.”

“That's it. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Go ahead. Do you like watching fires? Is that why you're here?” I asked.

“No. I knew the woman who died,” he said. “Her name was Cheryl. She was a genuinely nice person.”

“Really?”

He turned and looked at me.

“I know that sounds weak, but I don't say it about many people. I'll miss her.”

We sat there, saying nothing.

“We have company,” he said. “This is turning into a popular spot.”

I turned to look. A big guy was crossing the street toward us. He was clearly visible in the bright lights. He looked neat and clean-cut. Like a model for men's work clothes. He stopped beside our bench and stared at the ruined house. “What's going on?” he asked. He shrugged a backpack off his shoulder and set it on the ground.

“There was a fire,” I said.

“Well, yeah. I can see that. Why are you guys sitting here? Are you waiting for something to happen?”

“No,” I said. “Just getting some fresh air.”

“What about you? What are you doing?” asked the man sitting next to me.

“Hanging around,” said the newcomer. “Waiting for my date. She won't be ready yet. I got off work early tonight.”

“You work late?” I said.

“Sometimes. I'm an electrician, so I get called out when there's trouble.”

“And there was trouble tonight?”

“Sort of. Whose house?”

“Mine,” I said. “At least, I had an apartment in it.”

“Jesus!” he said. “You must be upset. Did you lose much?”

“It was just a small apartment. There wasn't much in it.”

The man sitting beside me stood up. “I'll leave you two here to watch over the house. There's not much I can do for Cheryl now.” He turned to me. “If you rented her apartment, you must be Rick.”

“That's me,” I said.

“I'm Mark,” he said. “Mark Davies.” He reached out and shook my hand. “She used to talk about you.”

The other stranger moved closer. “I'm Greg,” he said. “Greg Hill. I'd better get going too.”

They walked together through the wet leaves. At the sidewalk, they paused and said something to each other. Then Greg walked south. Mark walked north. They both disappeared into the dark night. I sat where I was, thinking.

* * *

The CSI team was finally packing up. They put the last of the plastic bags filled with samples into boxes. They stacked the boxes carefully in their van. Then they went back over the ground again, checking. When that was done, they spread large sheets of heavy plastic over most of the ruin. One by one, the floodlights were turned off. The CSI team left one light burning, got in their van and drove away.

CHAPTER TEN
ATTACK

I
was alone in the park, staring at the wreck of my apartment. There was an empty police car parked on the street. The two cops who had been left to guard the scene were leaning against it, talking quietly. The crime scene was deserted.

I sat on that bench and thought about Freddie. There were still people around. A car drove by. Two women walking together hurried down the street. They stopped to look at the house and then started off again. For a while I could hear their footsteps. They got fainter and fainter; then they stopped. A door slammed in the distance.

The night was deadly quiet. I returned to my thoughts. I was trying to figure out why someone would murder Cheryl and Freddie both. It wasn't hard to figure out why someone would murder Freddie. But Cheryl? I tried to see the link between them. It wasn't easy.

Then suddenly I couldn't see at all.

* * *

I blinked, panic-stricken. The whole world had gone black. But I could still hear. There was a screech of brakes. I turned. Two bright lights were shining in my eyes. A car. It seemed to have stopped in a panic. Then it started up again and came down the street, moving slowly.

That was a relief. I hadn't lost my sight. But all the houses were dark and the streetlights had gone out. The car's headlights lit up the two cops who had been left behind. One of them opened the door to the patrol car. The interior light went on. I could hear him talking. Calling in a report on the power failure, probably. The car kept going down the street, paying no attention to anyone or anything.

I looked around. The glow of city lights lit up the clouds a few blocks away in every direction. So the power had gone out just around here.

I decided to take advantage of the temporary darkness. I slipped across the road to the house. I figured I probably had at least fifteen minutes before a crew turned up and fixed the problem. I could do a lot of searching in fifteen minutes. I took out my flashlight. I could get into the basement a lot faster if I had some light. But then I thought about those two guys who had turned up in the park. And the two cops on the street.

I changed my mind. I went by feel instead, depending on my memory of the shape of the ruined building. I made my way over to the kitchen window in the back. It was broken. Reaching out cautiously, I found jagged pieces of glass still in the frame. I took them out, one by one. As soon as I had enough space, I reached in to open the latch. And stopped. I heard a tiny click. Then a faint scraping sound. Something was moving around nearby. Very quietly. A night-prowling animal? I drew my hand out of the treacherous window frame. And listened. Another faint sound of movement.

I froze. Then something heavy cracked a piece of glass beside me. It seemed as loud as a pistol shot. I pulled my knees up to my belly and kicked out in the direction of the noise. I made contact. Someone swore.

I felt a sharp, brutal pain on the side of my head. Nothing more.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
NEW DIRECTIONS

I
came swimming up to consciousness, feeling sick and dizzy. With a funny taste in my mouth. I lay very still, listening. Nothing moved. The world around me was calm and peaceful. Except that someone had whacked me on the head. I rolled over onto my hands and knees, feeling for my flashlight. It was gone. I pushed myself to my feet and kicked over a pile of broken glass.

“You in there,” yelled someone. “Stop where you are. Come out with your hands above your head.”

I wondered how I was supposed to do that.

“Or we're coming in to get you,” he added.

“Hey, Jeff,” said another voice. “He's over here. The other side of the street.”

I heard the sound of heavy footsteps running and another shout of “Stop where you are!” I straightened up, more cautiously this time. I leaned against the wrecked back wall of the house. A piece of rubble slithered over another piece of rubble. The wall began weaving back and forth.

No. The wall wasn't moving. I was. I waited until the world went back to normal. Then I took a step. Okay. I moved over to the driveway. Very carefully. I walked back to the garage. There the darkness was total. Something ran past my foot. A rat? Or a cat? A cat or a rat. The words repeated themselves over and over in my head.
Cat
,
rat
.
Rat
,
cat
. “Stop that,” I said.

I couldn't tell if I said it out loud. The thought that I might have scared me enough to get me moving again. Leaning on the garage with one hand, I managed to reach the back fence. I went out the gate and into the alleyway. I moved to the other side and felt my way along. These alleys were lined with high fences. Most of them had gates that were kept locked at night.

The glow in the night sky seemed even brighter here. The power must be on nearby, I figured. But I was trapped in this alley, deep in the shadows. And feeling sick and dizzy. I had to get out. The closest exit that I could remember was at the back of a convenience store. There was a walkway running beside it. It led through to the next street.

It seemed a mile away. I felt my way along the fence until I came to a gap. I turned and headed for the light. The power failure ended in the middle of the street in front of me. The other side of the street had lights, music blaring and flickering television screens. I blinked and headed north. Toward noise and traffic and people.