Close to the Bone (19 page)

On the other side of the counter the room opened into the living area. The uncurtained picture window let in a small amount of ambient light and showed the peaceful picture of the neighboring homes. But even they seemed ghostly, ominous, and certainly uncaring. She had been left on her own.

The silence grew oppressive. ‘Tell me what happened.’

It took him a moment to begin. ‘I came home to get some cash. It was in the afternoon – I don’t know, four? Diana was washing dishes, I remember that. Right at that sink, there. She – she was so beautiful …’

‘Came home from where?’

‘The bus stop. My car wasn’t running.’

‘But where had you been?’

Even in the dim light she could see him squint at her. ‘Why you asking that?’

‘Why did you bring me here?’

‘Because I want you to see I didn’t kill Diana.’

His thought process finally clicked for her. ‘And investigate who did?’

‘Yes!’

‘Okay. Then that’s what I’m doing – getting as complete a picture of Diana’s life as I can. Where did you come
from
?’

His shoulders slumped an inch, looking decidedly sulky, and he rubbed his side again. ‘I’d been with my crew.’

‘Crew? What crew?’

‘Look … I did a lot of stuff back then—’

‘Oh. You were doing drugs?’

‘That don’t matter!’

‘Fine. So you had been taking drugs during that day, and you came home to get more money so you could do some more. That about sum it up?’

‘Why you going on about that?’

‘I told you – if you want me to investigate, then I need to create a picture of that day. What time did you arrive home? You said four?’

‘I guess four. Maybe five, I don’t know. It was still plenty light out, I remember that. It was still summer, and the days were longer.’

‘And what did Diana say when you came in?’

He shrugged, his form becoming easier to see as the sky lightened outside. ‘She glared at me. She knew where I’d been. We argued about the money—’

‘Wait – before that, did she say anything else? What she’d done that day, if she planned on going out, having company over—’

‘I don’t remember. I think I picked up her purse and she got mad.’

‘Did you take something out of it?’

‘I think so, maybe a couple of bucks. That was all she had,’ he admitted without a note of regret in his voice. But, to be fair, he seemed to be concentrating mightily on recalling as many details as he could. Without much success.

‘What was she wearing?’

‘Wearing?’

‘Yes, James. What clothes did she have on?’

‘I dunno. A shirt – pink, maybe? Jeans?’

In the crime scene photos Diana had been wearing a blue T-shirt with white shorts. ‘Okay. Then what?’

‘I went into the bedroom.’

‘Can you show me?’

Again, no reason other than delay. He seemed more grieving than agitated, for the time being, and not yet provoked into any sort of homicidal rage. Surely, the police were looking for them, perhaps the car’s real owner had just called in the theft, perhaps the nosy neighbor still lived next door and would notice action in the supposedly empty house? Shephard knew his killer had to be James Allman. Wouldn’t he have assigned a patrol to keep an eye on his former home? Or would they reason that, for a man who had been out of jail almost six months, this would hardly be the time for a stroll down memory lane?

She felt a momentary nostalgia for Shephard. If only he were there, with his cop’s training and his cop’s weapon. He would make sure nothing happened to her.

This time James led the way, and she followed. Without a cop’s training or a cop’s weapon.

The bedroom, about ten by ten, had fresh light-colored carpeting and nothing else. James crossed it to the far wall and gestured lightly with one hand. ‘Our dresser was here. Her jewelry box sat at this end. I took the sapphire ring and, I think, a plain gold bracelet. It was real thin.’

‘Did it occur to you that that was her engagement ring?’

‘Huh?’

She repeated the question. It was as if he’d been transported back to that day completely and didn’t see why any sort of sentimental attachment should have an adverse effect on his drug habit. ‘I think so. I knew what it was. I think I thought that if she wasn’t going to wear it, was going to wear that other one, I might as well sell it.’

The utterly self-serving justification of an addict. ‘What else did you do?’

He moved to the other wall, where a long set of doors were slightly ajar. ‘I think I went through the closet. I might have been checking her pockets, or old purses. Sometimes I did that. Sometimes I checked my own.’

‘Where was your jump rope?’

‘My what?’

‘Your jump rope.’

He blinked at her as if she had suddenly asked about the international price ratio. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Where did you keep it?’

A shrug. ‘We had some weights and stuff in the other room, with the computer and the bookshelf. It was probably in there.’

‘Okay. Then what did you do?’

‘I guess I went back into the kitchen.’ He moved past her to the hallway.

She asked if he had entered the spare bedroom. He didn’t remember, didn’t think so, and didn’t pause on the way back to the kitchen.

‘I told her I was leaving – I mean, leaving the house,’ he added to Theresa. ‘Not like I was leaving
her
. But she must have saw the jewelry in my hand and got mad. She said I wasn’t going to leave the house with her engagement ring.’

Theresa stood by the room opening, very still. ‘And then what?’

‘I said I
was
leaving … I
think
I said I was. And then I guess she yelled some more.’

He thought, he guessed, he couldn’t remember. Theresa wondered if that entire afternoon or day or week or year had been one drug-hazed blur. ‘Try and tell me
specifically
what she said. And what you said.’

‘Just shit. Yellin’, and – wait, and then she stopped and said that I might as well get rid of her engagement ring. I remember this because she said it real cold and snappy, like making every word super-clear. I might as well get rid of it because this marriage was over.’

‘I see,’ Theresa breathed.

‘But she said that all the time,’ James warned her, with the carelessness of someone who had made a lousy spouse. ‘So I just turned to go. But then she said, “I know it’s over because I’m in love with someone else. Not you.” Real clear.’

Theresa had to prompt him … softly, as if poking a sleeping bear with a stick. ‘And then what, James?’

‘I said something like no, you’re not, and she said she was. That she was pregnant with his baby. That she was going to have the four kids with him instead, the private school, the clothes and the shoes, some shit like that. I think I stood here – right here, by the door, for the longest time. I thought I should hit her, but it seemed like too much work just then, you know what I mean?’

‘Sure,’ Theresa said, when he waited for a response.

‘I’m pretty sure I said well, if you’re knocked up, then it’s a good time for me to say adios and sayonara. And I left.’

‘That was it?’

‘I walked out the door. I mean, I could have said some other stuff, but then I walked out and across the lawn and went to the bus stop. I – that was probably the bills and change I took from her purse, what I used to get on the bus. Then I went to the pawn shop.’ He shrugged, as if it felt lighter, somehow, to have relived that day and gotten through it.

‘And you didn’t come back?’

‘I couldn’t. The cops picked me up somewhere, I think it was on Prospect, about two the next morning. I don’t know how they found me.’

She considered this. ‘And you had pawned the ring?’

‘Yeah. I went to that place a lot, it’s over on Eighty-Second.’

‘And … that day when you left, the kitchen table was here?’

The change in topics visibly perplexed him. The sun had risen all the way, and she could see him plainly. The house no longer seemed so inimical, simply empty and a bit forlorn.

‘Yeah.’

‘And chairs?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And Diana’s body was found …’ She purposely didn’t finish, but neither did he. Finally, she asked, ‘Did you see the crime scene photographs?’

‘No. My attorney didn’t want to show them to me.’

‘That was probably best. She was here.’ She waved her hand over the linoleum boxed in by the counters. ‘Right about here.’

James stayed by the door, but straightened. ‘You’ve seen the photos?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you see the ring?’ He moved over to her so suddenly that she backed up in alarm. ‘Did you see it?’

‘No! No, you – her hands were at her sides, with the palms up. I can see she’s wearing rings but not what they look like.’

‘But how many?’

‘I – I don’t remember,’ she admitted, though she had looked at the photos only, what, sixteen hours previously? But she hadn’t paid attention. She hadn’t thought it was important. ‘I’m sorry.’

His shoulders slumped again, but he didn’t back off.

Frankly, that had been an error by the crime scene photographer, Theresa thought. Getting a close-up picture of both the front and the back of the victim’s hands was Crime Scene 101. No one from the medical examiner’s office had come out, though, which was another bow to the personal feelings of the staff; the police officers had processed the scene instead.

A musical tinkle of children’s laughter interrupted their tableau. James glanced out the dining area windows and she followed suit, to see the woman next door ushering two impossibly small girls out of her side door. They wore matching pigtails and pastel-colored sweaters, and were heading for a slash of school-bus yellow at the edge of her field of view.

James grasped her arm. ‘Come on.’

She didn’t argue, assuming he meant to leave before witnesses spotted them in the supposedly empty house. They could get to the car and still stay out of sight of the woman’s side door. But instead of turning toward the driveway, he began to drag her in the opposite direction, across the dewy grass between the two houses, where she would be sure to see them. He paused only to remove his hoodie and drape it across the cuffs, spreading it out to hide the pink pads around her wrists.

‘What are you doing? James!’

She felt a sharp point at her back, just to the right of her spine. ‘Stop squirming and play along, unless you want this blade in your lung.’

‘But what are you—’

At the end of her driveway, the woman waved goodbye as the bus released its air brakes and started to move. As soon as she turned she spotted them, of course.

‘Hi,’ James said, in what he must have believed was a friendly tone, but Theresa could hear the strain. ‘We were just looking at the house next door.’

After the slightest pause, the woman – long dark hair, about thirty, dressed in pink pajama bottoms and a tank top without a bra, arms crossed over her chest to avoid flashing her daughters’ classmates, bare feet, a tattoo covering one shoulder and the hint of a limp from an old injury – continued her path toward them. Yes, it might be bizarrely early in the morning for house-hunters, and their different ages and races made James and Theresa seem an odd couple, but still, the house
was
for sale, and one always wanted to check out potential neighbors. If one liked their looks they would be told the house and neighborhood were solid and healthy. If one didn’t, they would be told about the kennel on the next block, how the power went out frequently, and that there had been a ‘boil water’ notice three times in the past year. Oh, and someone had been murdered there.

‘Have you lived here long?’ James asked.

‘Yeah, about four years.’ She, wisely, stopped a good ten feet away. Friendly but not stupid.

‘Did you know the woman that lived in this house before you?’

‘You mean
my
house?’

‘Yeah.’

The beginnings of suspicion crossed her face. ‘Why would you be asking about
my
house?’

Theresa said nothing. She had no idea where James wanted to go with this, and she did have a knife at her back. Unless he decided to harm this woman—

‘I used to live around here and I remember her. Wanda was her name – right?’

The woman relaxed. ‘Yes.’

‘Are you her daughter?’

‘Me? No, we just bought the house.’ Her gaze fell on James’ hand as it gripped Theresa’s arm. A slight frown creased the area between her eyebrows. Perhaps she had also noticed Theresa’s bare feet, but then it wasn’t the kind of neighborhood that required formal attire.

‘Oh, I see. Do you know where she went, where she lives now?’

‘No-oo.’

In his agitation he pressed the knife into Theresa just enough to make her wince. ‘You sure?’

‘What’s going on?’ the woman asked. She glanced at Theresa’s arms as if the hot pink cuffs might be sticking out. ‘Who are you?’

‘We’d just like to know where Wanda went,’ Theresa made herself say, trying her best to sound natural. ‘We were friends when we used to live here.’

She looked as if she didn’t buy that for an instant, but knew she wanted these people off her lawn, and since they weren’t asking about
her
family … ‘She moved to Arizona, the real estate agent said. Her son got a job out there or something.’

‘Oh. Thanks,’ Theresa said, hoping like hell that would satisfy James.

‘Are you
sure
?’ he asked again. The knife blade didn’t waver.

‘That’s what they told me. I think, I don’t remember much,’ the woman said. ‘I never even met her.’

Still he didn’t move.

‘Honey,’ Theresa said, in the most soothing tone she could muster. ‘That’s all she can tell us. We should go.’

‘Don’t you want to know about the house you’re looking at?’ the woman asked, her skepticism now clear. She again peered at the sweatshirt draped over Theresa’s wrists.

‘That’s all right, the real estate agent told us all about it,’ Theresa assured her.

But she had decided, reasonably enough, that she didn’t like their looks. Not at all. ‘A woman was murdered there. Her husband strangled her.’