Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (16 page)

Kris checked her puffy reflection in the
rearview mirror. She’d better not wear this brand of makeup to the
beach this summer. Waterproof, it was not. "I've been better, but
let's go."

Eric spoke to the female dispatcher through a
Plexiglas window in the lobby. A twenty-year-old bronze plaque on
the wall listed members of the Fremont Police Station Building
Committee. One name in particular caught Kris's attention.

Thomas H. Harper, Sr. Yvonne's father.

The dispatcher directed Kris and Eric down
the corridor. They walked past the communications center of video
monitors and computers, an officer drawing a diagram at a long
counter and a row of recharging flashlights mounted on the
wall.

Eric knocked on an open door marked
"Lieutenant." A slight man with thinning hair and glasses glanced
up from his mahogany desk. His brown-and-white speckled mustache
bristled beneath a hawkish nose. Triangular patches were stitched
to the sleeves of his white shirt.

He half-rose to greet them, gold badge
glittering. Kris noticed a gun in his holster and handcuffs
attached to his belt. On the wall behind him, hung a mirrored ebony
plaque with "A Policeman's Prayer" written in calligraphy.

Lieutenant Frank gestured toward two chairs.
"Have a seat. Miss Langley, I presume?"

"Call me Kris. This is Eric Soares, Irene
Ferguson's grandson."

"A pleasure to meet both of you. Irene is
quite a lady. What can I do for you?"

Eric sank into a chair beside Kris. "We want
to re-open Diana's case."

"This case won't be closed until everyone
involved is dead. If we get a lead, we'll follow it, but after
twenty-five years, our odds are pretty nil. Tell me about this
investigation of yours. Do you have something new?"

"We were hoping you'd help us," Kris said.
"No one was ever arrested. Obviously, there wasn't enough evidence,
but do you have a gut feeling about who did it?"

Lieutenant Frank closed down, his wiry body
stretching taut. "I can't tell you that. A police investigation is
confidential."

"Even to family?" Eric asked.

"Especially to family."

"What about Vince Rossi? How good is his
alibi?"

"Which part of confidential don't you
understand?"

"This is crazy," Eric said. "You might know
something that could help us."

"It works the other way around, son. If you
know something, I'll listen."

"But-"

"I've gone through this a dozen times with
your grandmother. She's accepted it, and you'll have to do the
same." Lieutenant Frank extended a finger along his cheek. "Irene
know you're stirring things up?"

"Yes," Kris answered.

Concern shone in the lieutenant's flint gray
eyes. "She called me every month for years. Last time was to say
she'd put Diana's story on a couple of unsolved murder web sites. I
told her to be careful. Those web sites can charge big money. I'd
hate to have Irene get her hopes up again."

"We think it's worth a try," Eric said. "You
obviously don't."

Lieutenant Frank shifted, toying with his
wedding band. "All I'm saying is be realistic. We've interviewed
the same people over and over. The stories don't change. Look, son,
don't you think I'd love to close out my career with this case?
That was the biggest crime to hit Fremont in years. Diana's death
is an open wound. If you throw me a bone, I'll chew it, but that's
all I can do."

"Couldn't the department have done more to
solve it?"

"Son, I know that case like the back of my
hand. I know every move Diana made, from the blueberry muffin she
ate for breakfast till she left the pizza place that night. I've
gone through the statements so many times, I can recite 'em. We
tried every angle. Tell me what we should've done different."

Sighing, Eric pressed a hand to his forehead.
"I don't know."

Lieutenant Frank unclipped a ballpoint pen
from his pocket and reached for a notebook. "Tell you what. I'm
willing to listen. What have you got?"

"For starters, I met Jared Peyton and he
claimed that he didn't make the harassing phone calls," Kris said.
"He seemed sincere, but Diana's friend Raquel thinks he did
it."

No reaction from Lieutenant Frank.

"I found out that he married Yvonne Harper,
an old high school classmate of Diana's," she continued. "You
must've known her father, Thomas."

"Good man. He died a few years ago. Go
on."

"She was furious we were questioning her
husband, and implied that Diana was ..." Kris faltered. She hadn't
even told Eric yet, she'd been so preoccupied with Bruce's
story.

"That Diana was what?"

Kris winced inwardly.
I'm sorry,
Diana.
"Promiscuous. She claimed Diana had an affair with her
high school teacher, Alex Thaddeus, and indicated she probably got
involved with a string of other men when she was older."

"Are you serious?" Eric asked.

"Yvonne had no basis for that," Kris said.
"But it's true Diana had a crush on Alex."

"I'm sure it was one-sided," Lieutenant Frank
said. "Alex Thaddeus taught my kids. Besides, Diana was twenty-one
when she was killed, not in high school. I doubt they'd seen each
other in a long time."

"Then why would Yvonne bring it up?"

"I'd say she was trying to get you off her
husband's back. Sounds normal to me. What else?"

"Vince Rossi wasn't too happy to see us."

Lieutenant Frank tossed the pen onto the desk
and spread his hands. "I don't imagine he would be. Look, it's
great that you're committed to this, but you've got nothing. If
you're determined to go on, keep me posted."

Kris stood. "We should warn you, the
Fremont Daily News
is planning a story. I work there."

"I don't know if more publicity is good or
bad. When the DA's office looked into the case fifteen years ago, I
suggested that Irene call the media, but she was afraid how they'd
portray Diana. Now, it seems a little late."

"But you'll talk to the reporter?"

"It's not Bruce, is it? I swear, he thinks
he's covering the N.Y.P.D."

"Actually, it is him."

"Wonderful." Lieutenant Frank muttered under
his breath. "Yeah, I'll talk to him."

Eric and Kris didn't speak until they got
outside. Eric leaned against the railing, a chilly breeze ruffling
his dark hair. He chewed his fingernail. "That was useless. I only
learned one thing -- from you. Do you believe that rumor about
Diana and her teacher?"

"I don't know," Kris said. "It ticked me off
at first, but we can't rule it out. I'll run it by Raquel."

"I guess she'd be more inclined to know than
Mom or Gram. It just sounds so sordid. Diana wasn't like that."

She didn't respond, distracted.

"What is it?" Eric asked.

Kris started toward the car. "I have an idea.
Let's get out of here."

***

They retraced Diana's steps, beginning with
the former Rossi's Bar, a video store near Fremont State College.
Lieutenant Frank knew Diana's every move, but Kris needed a clearer
picture. They stopped before the original pizza place, now a fish
and chips restaurant, and then found the vicinity of Jared's
apartment building.

Kris watched out the passenger window as
college students carried overflowing baskets into a Laundromat. "I
think he lived around here. It must have been torn down."

Eric turned up the heat. "Last stop?"

"I guess."

He headed to the Fremont State baseball
field. Kris shuddered at the white trees extending bony arms. A
ghostly parade.

Eric stared outside into the winter drear.
"If Jared did it, the murder couldn't have been premeditated. He
couldn't know he'd run into Diana at the pizza place. Could
he?"

"He might have lost control, then dumped the
body as fast as he could," she said.

But the garbage bag -- where would Jared get
it? If he'd killed her in his apartment, wouldn't the police find
traces of blood? Wouldn't neighbors see him drag out a body?

Unless someone wanted to frame him. Kris
sighed. Maybe a stranger had killed Diana. Maybe they'd never
know.

Conversation flagged into silence. The radio
announcer predicted a blizzard for the next night. Good. She hoped
Holly cancelled her boring party.

Eric drove Kris back to her apartment and
idled the engine out front. He turned to face her. "It must be
tough getting ready for work now. I can't imagine working a night
shift."

"I enjoy it," Kris said. "It’s nice and
quiet. Less people."

"Your boyfriend must miss you, unless he
works those hours, too. How long have you guys been together?"

She gulped. She'd forgotten about the
boyfriend lie spun at his parents' house. "To be honest, I wouldn't
exactly call him my boyfriend. It's not that serious."

Oh, God, what was she doing?

"In that case ..." Eric closed the space
between them and his lips descended on hers. They hovered there
long enough to heat her blood.

A spear of pleasure penetrated her as he
parted her lips again. Kris thrilled to the taste of his mouth
against hers and his fiery moist breath. Her hands climbed up the
soft folds of his bomber jacket and wove through the strands at his
collar. She flattened her palms against his shoulders and inched
back.

"I've wanted to do that for awhile," Eric
said. "I've been trying to get up my nerve since Hyde Park. My
band's playing at Xaviers Saturday night. If you're not doing
anything, maybe you could come with me. We can get something to eat
beforehand."

Kris's heart jacknifed in her chest. Why
hadn't she let him believe she was in a committed relationship? She
had ruined Nicole's chances of growing up and falling in love. She
didn’t deserve this wild excitement pulsing through her veins.

"I can't," Kris said. "My sister's having
this get-together. I promised I'd be there."

His eyes flickered with disappointment.
"That's okay. It'll probably snow anyway."

"I'd better go inside, or I'll be late for
work."

Eric nodded, fiddling with the key in the
ignition. "Stay in touch. If you need my help on the case, let me
know."

"Thank you." Kris licked her dry lips,
wanting to say more, but her mind came up blank.

So she said nothing.

***

Diana wandered Kris's bedroom, white toga
shining in the moonlight. Coldness seeped into Kris's bones.

She wanted to run, but she couldn't move.
Couldn't scream.

She was a human statue.

Blood caked Diana's limp brown hair and
smeared her forehead. Her pale face looked gaunt, barely more than
a skull. She stopped before an easel and waved a paintbrush. Red,
tan and green bled together, surging onto the canvas like a
ruptured artery.

"What ... what do you want?" Kris asked. "Why
are you here?"

A soft giggle came from the closet.

Nicole stepped out of the darkness, holding
Marmalade. Moonlight reflected off her cracked glasses, distorting
her black pupils. Twin braids fell to her swollen throat.

Marmalade hissed.

Kris jerked up in bed, drenched in sweat,
damp sheets twisted around her. She bit her tongue to stop
screaming and wolfed down breaths of air. Shadows wavered over the
walls. A cat lay curled beside her.

Chipmunk, it was just Chipmunk. His eyes
slitted, he sleepily lifted his head. Kris flicked on the lamp,
extinguishing the blackness. She had tumbled into bed at 1 a.m.,
exhausted. Eric's kiss had plagued her at work, sneaking into her
brain as she raced to meet deadline.

Hugging her chest, Kris paced the room. She
hadn't experienced such a vivid nightmare since moving back to
Fremont, but the dreams never died. They lurked in her
subconscious, waiting to attack. Just when she'd feel safe, another
would strike.

She knelt on the floor in her cotton pajamas
and buried her face in Chipmunk's warm fur.

***

Kris sipped hot chocolate between obits,
groggy and lethargic. She deleted a paragraph that had cropped into
an obit twice. A prickly sensation drummed at the back of her eyes
and the base of her neck. Praying her aspirin would kick in soon,
she massaged her forehead.

She had tried to nap all afternoon, imagining
herself near the ocean, sunlight shimmering over the blue green
waves, salt pungent in the air. She had scribbled in her journal,
recording dark images from her dream. According to experts, seeing
the details in black and white made the memories less scary.

The experts were wrong. Nothing gave her
control. The nightmares would haunt her forever.

Her thoughts turned to Eric Soares. Kris
closed her eyes, shutting out his hurt expression. Perhaps she had
been wrong to suspect his motives for tagging along on her
interviews. She couldn't deny the chemistry burning between them.
He had kindled her interest from the beginning. Kris remembered the
way his tender lips sought hers and the strange somersaults it
elicited in her stomach.

It didn't matter how good the kiss had felt.
It was wrong. Her headache sharpened with another pang.

Bruce sauntered over, extending a press
release. It fluttered onto her desk in slow motion. "This has to be
typed ASAP. I promised it would get in tomorrow."

Four pages of scrawled handwriting. Kris
pushed the sheet back into his hands. He'd picked the wrong night
to order her around. "I have eleven obituaries and the society page
to proof. Forget it."

His blue eyes innocent, Bruce pointed to her
hot chocolate. "How busy can you be? You have time for a coffee
break."

This wasn't about a press release; it was
about the Diana Ferguson case. He resented that she'd found a big
story on her own.

"I'm not your personal typist," Kris said.
"You can't give me something trivial on deadline."