Brazen Virtue (26 page)

As she’d told Ed, people always talked to her. Usually within minutes of an acquaintance they were telling her things reserved for family or the closest of friends. It was something she’d always taken in stride, but now, just now, she thought it would be wise to analyze it.

Did she have that kind of face? Absently Grace ran a hand over her cheek. That might be part of it, she decided, but it probably had more to do with her being a good listener, as Ed had suggested. She often listened with half an ear while she worked out a plot complication or characterization. But because she listened well, half was apparently enough.

People trusted her. She was going to exploit that now. She was going to harden herself and make Kathleen’s killer trust her. When he trusted her enough, he’d come to her. She moistened her lips and smiled as the installer told her about his son’s phenomenal play at second in his last game.
When he came to her, she was going to be ready. She wasn’t going to be taken by surprise like Kathleen and the others.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Hadn’t she spent most of her life structuring plots? This was the most vital story she’d ever manipulated. She wouldn’t make a mistake.

She and the installer were on a first-name basis by the time she led him downstairs and through the front door. She wished him luck on his son’s game that afternoon and said she expected to see Junior in the majors in a few years. Alone, she thought of the shiny new phone sitting on the little desk in the corner of her bedroom. In a matter of hours it would ring for the first time. She had a great deal to do before that.

Making the call to Tess helped. Perhaps the approval hadn’t been without reservations, but Grace had more ammunition now. Satisfied, she picked up her sister’s keys and held them tight in her hand. It was right; she was sure of it. All she had to do was convince everyone else.

She wasn’t shaking when she drove to the station this time. Her strength was back and with it a determination to finish what she’d started at Fantasy. Out of habit, she turned the radio up loud and let Madonna’s latest pouty number blast through her head. It felt good. She felt good. For the first time in weeks she could really appreciate the full-fledged spring that had burst on Washington.

The azaleas were in their glory. Yards had violet and scarlet and coral bushes bunched together. Daffodils were beginning to fade as tulips usurped them. Lawns were green and receiving their Saturday trim. She saw young boys in T-shirts and old men in baseball caps pushing mowers. Baby’s breath and Dogwood added fragile white.

Life renewed. It wasn’t really corny, she thought. She needed badly to hang on to that. Life had to do more than go on, it had to improve. It had to justify itself year after year. If weapons were being tested somewhere in a desert,
here the birds were singing and people could worry about the important things: a Little League game, a family barbecue, a spring wedding; those were important things. If Kathleen’s death had brought her grief, it had also brought her the belief that the everyday was what really mattered. Once she had justice, she could accept the ordinary again.

Pretty suburbs gave way to concrete and testy traffic. Grace swerved around other cars with a natural competitiveness. It didn’t matter that she rarely found herself behind the wheel. Once she was there, she drove with a breezy kind of negligence that had other drivers gritting their teeth and swearing. She made two wrong turns because her mind was elsewhere, then pulled into the parking lot beside the station.

If she had any luck, Ed wouldn’t be in. Then she could explain herself to the stern-faced Captain Harris.

She saw Ed the moment she walked into Homicide. The little flutter in her stomach wasn’t anxiety, she discovered. It was pleasure. For a moment she simply watched him and absorbed. He was sitting behind a desk typing with a steady, two-finger style.

His hands were so big. Then she remembered how gently, how devastatingly he’d used them the night before. This was the man who loved her, she thought. This was the man who was willing to make promises to her. And this was a man who would keep them. Because the urge to go to him, to put her arms around him came so strong, she crossed the room and did just that.

He stopped typing to close his hand over hers on his shoulder. As soon as she’d touched him, he’d known. There was her scent, and her feel. Several cops smirked in his direction as she leaned over his shoulder to kiss him. If he’d noticed, he might have been embarrassed. But he only noticed her.

“Hi.” He kept her hand in his as he drew her around. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

“And I’m interrupting. I hate it when people interrupt me when I’m working.”

“I’m nearly finished.”

“Ed, I really need to see your captain.”

He caught it, the trace of apology in her voice. “Why?”

“I’d rather go through it all just once. Is he available?”

Thoughtful, he studied her. By this time he knew her well enough to understand she would say nothing until she was ready. “I don’t know if he’s still here. Take a seat and I’ll check.”

“Thanks.” She held his hand a moment longer. Around them phones rang steadily and typewriters clacked. “Ed, when I tell you what I have to say, be a cop. Please.”

He didn’t like the way she looked at him when she asked. As she did, something curled into his stomach and lodged there, but he nodded. “I’ll see if I can find Harris.”

Grace took his seat when he left. In his typewriter was the report on Mary Beth Morrison. Grace tried to read it with the same kind of detachment with which Ed had written it.

“Come on, Lowenstein, just let me look at it.”

At the sound of Ben’s voice, Grace turned and watched him troop into the room on the tail of a slim brunette.

“Go find something to do, Ben,” Lowenstein suggested. She carried a cardboard box tied with string. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes to get out of here and make that mother-daughter lunch.”

“Lowenstein, be a pal. Do you know the last time I had any homemade pie?” He leaned closer to the box until her forefinger jammed into his stomach. “It’s cherry, isn’t it? Just let me look at it.”

“You’ll only suffer more.” She set the box on her desk, then shielded it with her body. “It’s beautiful. Work of art.”

“Does it have that fancy braided crust?” When she only smiled, he looked over her shoulder. It could have been sympathy cravings, he told himself. Hadn’t he felt
queasy this morning? If he was going to have Tess’s morning sickness, then at least he was entitled to her cravings. “Come on, just a peek.”

“I’ll send you a Polaroid.” She put a hand on his chest, then spotted Grace across the room. “Who’s the knockout sitting at Ed’s desk? I’d kill for a jacket like that.”

Ben glanced over and grinned at Grace. “Give me the pie. I’ll see if I can make a trade.”

“Knock it off, Paris. Is that Ed’s new lady?”

“You want gossip, you gotta pay for it.” When Lowenstein stared at him, he relented. “That’s her. Grace McCabe. Writes first-class murder mysteries.”

“Really?” Lowenstein’s bottom lip jutted out as she considered. “Looks more like a rock star. I can’t remember the last time I sat down with a book. I can’t remember when I had time to read a cereal box.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in the funky and very expensive sneakers. Funky and expensive. The two words seemed to suit the woman, but Lowenstein wondered how Ed fit in. “She’s not going to break Ed’s heart, is she?”

“I wish I knew. He’s nuts about her.”

“Seriously nuts?”

“Dead seriously nuts.”

Anticipating Ben, she laid a hand on top of the box. “Here he comes now. Christ, you can almost hear the violins.”

“Getting cynical, Lowenstein?”

“I threw rice at your wedding, didn’t I?” And the truth was she had a soft spot for romance. “I guess if you can talk a class act into marrying you, Ed can carve hearts with Greenwich Village.” She nodded toward Ed. “Looks like you’re being summoned.”

“Yeah. Lowenstein, five bucks for the pie.”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Ten.”

“It’s yours.” She held out her palm, then counted the
singles Ben put into it. Already planning on eating half for lunch, Ben slipped the box into the bottom drawer of his desk before he followed Ed into Harris’s office.

“What’s up?”

“Miss McCabe requested a meeting,” Harris began. He was already half an hour behind schedule and anxious to be gone.

“I appreciate you giving me the time.” Grace smiled at Harris and almost managed to charm him. “I won’t waste any of it, so I’ll get right to the point. We’re all aware that Fantasy is the link between the three attacks that have already taken place. And I’m sure we’re all aware there’ll be others—”

“The investigation’s in full swing, Miss McCabe,” Harris interrupted. “I can assure you we have our best people working on it.”

“You don’t have to assure me of that.” She sent Ed a last look, hoping he’d understand. “I’ve thought about this a great deal, first because of my sister, and second because murder has always interested me. If I were plotting this out, there would be only one logical step to take at this time. I think it’s the right one.”

“We appreciate your interest, Miss McCabe.” When she smiled at him again, Harris felt almost fatherly. But she still didn’t know diddly about real police work. “But my people are much more experienced with the reality of investigation.”

“I understand that. Would you be interested if I told you I think I’ve found a way to trap this man? I’ve already taken the steps, Captain, I simply want to apprise you of them, then you can do whatever you think necessary.”

“Grace, this isn’t a book or a television show.” Ed interrupted her because he had a feeling, a very bad feeling, that he knew where she was heading.

The glance she gave him was apologetic and worried him even more. “I know that. You don’t know how much I
wish it were.” She took a deep breath and faced Harris again. “I went to see Eileen Cawfield.”

“Miss McCabe—”

“Please, hear me out.” She lifted her hand a moment, not so much in a plea as in a gesture of determination. “I know that every lead you’ve had has been a dead end. Except Fantasy. Have you been able to shut down the company?”

Harris scowled and shuffled papers. “That sort of thing takes time. Without cooperation, a great deal of time.”

“And every one of the women who work for Fantasy is a potential victim. Do we agree?”

“In theory,” Harris answered.

“And in theory, is it possible for you to put guards on all of them? No,” she answered before Harris could. “It can’t be. But you could put guards on one person. On a person who understands what’s going on, on a person who’s willing to take the chance, and more, already has a link with the killer.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Ed said it quietly, too quietly. That more than anything warned Grace that he was ready to explode.

“It makes sense.” To calm herself, she dug in her bag for a cigarette. “It was Kathleen’s voice that first drew him. When we were growing up, we were always mistaken for each other over the phone. If I’m Desiree, he’ll want to find me again. We know he can.”

“It’s too loose, too risky, and it’s just plain stupid.” Ed bit off the last words as he looked to his partner for support.

“I don’t like it either.” Ben said it, but he saw the merit of Grace’s plan. “Solid police work is always better than the big play. You’ve got no guarantee he’ll fall for it, less that you can anticipate his actions if he does. In any case, Mrs.
Morrison’s on her way in to work with the police artist. Any luck and we’ll have a composite by the end of the day.”

“Fine. Then maybe you’ll pick him up before any of this becomes necessary.” Grace lifted her hands, palms out, then dropped them. “I’m not going to bank on it when we’re talking about a nearsighted, terrified woman in a dark room.” She blew out a stream of smoke and prepared to drop the next bomb. “I spoke with Tess this morning, and I asked her what she thought about the chances of this man being pulled in by the same voice, the same name, even the same address.” She looked at Ben because it was easier than looking at Ed. “She told me he’d find it next to impossible to resist. It was Desiree who started him. It’s going to be Desiree who finishes him.”

“I trust Dr. Court’s opinion,” Harris put in, holding up a hand to block Ed’s protest. “I also believe, after three attacks, it’s time we tried something more aggressive.”

“The task force,” Ed began.

“Will still go into operation.” Harris tapped the top folder on a pile. “The press conference Monday morning will go as scheduled. The bottom line is we don’t want another fatality. I’m willing to give this a shot.” He turned back to Grace. “If we move on this theory, we’ll need your cooperation at every step, Miss McCabe. We’ll assign a policewoman to take the calls from your house. You can be put up at a hotel until and if it works.”

“It’s my voice,” Grace said flatly. And her sister. She wasn’t about to forget it had been her sister. “You can set up all the policewomen you like, but I’ve already made arrangements. I’m working for Fantasy, and I start tonight.”

“The hell you do.” Ed rose and, grabbing her arm, pulled her from the room.

“Wait a minute.”

“Shut up.” Lowenstein, on her way to the coffee
machine, backed up and let Ed pass. “I thought you had a head on your shoulders, then you come up with this.”

“I’ve got a head, but I won’t have an arm if you yank it out of its socket.” He was through the door and into the parking lot with Grace scrambling and puffing behind him. She began to wonder if it was time to give up smoking.

“Get in your car and go home. I’ll tell Cawfield you’ve changed your mind.”

“I’ve told you about orders before, Ed.” It wasn’t easy to catch her breath and hold on to her temper, but she did her best. “I’m sorry you’re upset.”

“Upset?” He took her by the forearms. He was very close to lifting her up and tossing her bodily into the car. “Is that what you call this?”

“All right, I’m sorry you’re a madman. Why don’t you count to ten and listen to me?”

“There’s nothing you can say that’ll convince me you haven’t gone crazy. If you’ve got any sense left, if what I feel means anything to you, you’ll get in your car, go home, and wait.”