Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) (10 page)

Empathy Delacroix: The Lie

Tom on the other side of that door is the worst possible outcome there can be short of a photo hound being in here snapping pics.  “EM!” Tom hollers through the door.

Good grief, hold your horses!
  “I’m coming!” I call as I unlock the door, slapping a smile on my face as I fling it open.  “Just the man I was hoping to see,” I lie.  The only man I want to see is tucked away in the corner of the room and is going to have to endure this farce personally.  But it has to be done to protect him.

“What’s taking you so long?”  Tom’s head oscillates on his neck as he searches the room.  Sheer force of will keeps me from peering over my shoulder nervously at my refugee’s hiding spot.

In order to distract Tom, I twist my body so he gets a glimpse of my open back.  “You know how dresses can be.  I’ve been having trouble with mine.  Would you be so kind as to help?” I purr.

Tom sucks air in through his teeth as his eyes rove the lines on my bare back.  I have never allowed something like this before and am aware what his assumption will be.  It will take months to restore the damage from this charade.

The door shuts and Tom’s voice is drenched with seduction.  “Help you out of it, I hope?”  I close my eyes so he doesn’t see them roll. I can only imagine what Richard is thinking.  I dare to look towards the screen. I will owe him big time for staying back there.

Tom’s ice-cold fingers run down my spine and make me hiss before laughing.  “Not now, Tom!  You have guests who are wait-”

“Let them wait, Em.”  His hot breath descends on my shoulder just before his lips leave a gentle kiss.  “Do you know how many sleepless nights I’ve endured stalked by this very image?”

I honestly don’t care. I am pretty confident all he has ever needed to do was roll over to find someone to bury his suffering in.  “Then one more night won’t kill you,” I chastise him but manage to keep my annoyance out of my tone.  “The zipper needs to go up.  Are you the man for the job or do I need to borrow your phone and call Trevor?”

“I’m more than man enough,” he practically purrs.  The zipper traces a painfully slow path up my spine.  Once at the top, I take his hand and pull him through the door.  We need to go.  Richard isn’t going to sit in secret much longer.

“Thank you so much.  I don’t know what I would have done without you.”  The Broadway gossip whores will go into a frenzy just seeing Tom and me, hand in hand.  They have suspected us of a secret affair for years.  I hope that it is enough to clear them from the hall and provide the escape route Richard needs.

Richard Giordano: An Even Emptier Room

The door shuts, and I exhale.  What just happened? 
You heard Em manipulate and lie to a man who has known her for years, that’s what just happened!
  And she orchestrated the whole thing in lightning speed. 
If she could dupe him so easily, who’s to say you aren’t actually the sucker?
  Joe had been right.  This woman is dangerous.  She is lying to someone, either Worthy or me.  That isn’t something I can be a part of, no matter who it is.

Photo-bloggers or not, I will be damned if I am going to sit in this room for ten minutes.  My mind keeps putting her in my arms and against my body.  The memories are so real I can feel her warmth and taste her.  At the time, I truly believed she wanted me.  But after hearing her trilling laughter, seeing how close they were through the screen, I’m not so sure anymore.  Half of me wants nothing more than to race out there and punch Worthy square in the nose.  The other half is numb because of what I heard.

Leaving evidence of our seductive detour no longer concerns me so I head back to the ballroom.  I find the results of another game of musical chairs when I get there.  My empty seat is now sandwiched between the captain and Steve.

“Took you long enough, Dick,” Steve comments.  “You get a little carried away?”

I sink into my chair as Frisco’s worried eyes accost me from across the table.  She can tell I’m not happy with the outcome of my absence.  I push the food around my plate like some child who’s unhappy with their meal.  I grab my drink to try to wash away my shame but cringe when the captain mentions Em.

“Steve and I have been talking about your key witness, Rich,” the captain says.  “We want to run something by you.”

Does it seriously have to be now?  All I want to do is think about anything but Em
.  The mere mention of her name makes my body quiver with the memory of how she felt when crushed against it.  I look at the captain as I down my drink.  “Yeah?”

“You okay?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow.  I wave him off and spin my glass around in my hand.  The crystal refracts the lights in the room while I wait impatiently for him to continue.

Steve speaks up next instead.  “I was telling the captain about your theory that she may have seen more than she’s aware of.  We want to hook her up with the head guy-”

“Psychologist,” the captain and I correct him together.

“Whatever,” Steve says.  “Since you can get her to tell us almost anything, we want you to set it up.  See what more we can collect from her.”

They both think Em talks to me because she likes me.  I now wonder if she does it to deflect suspicions of her guilt.  She fled the crime scene, after all. 
Then she waited for you at the precinct without talking to the lawyer
.  That could’ve have been another lie though.

“Yeah,” I exhale in an exasperated effort to stop my internal argument.  “I’ll do it.”  The lights in the room dim again as the music gets louder.  My guess, dinner is over.  I have a date on the dance floor.

Empathy Delacroix: The Dance

The hand shaped burn on my bare shoulder tells me who is behind me.  A smile lifts my cheeks as I turn to face Richard.  But the man standing behind me isn’t whom I expect.  This is not the man who swept me away into a passionate dream.  He looks the same, but this man is cold, hard, and distant.

This stranger takes my hand roughly and silently leads me to the dance floor.  Stiff arms fold around me as we begin an awkward dance.  I look into eyes that are void of all emotion. “Is there something wrong, Richard?”  Is it possible someone caught him coming out of the room?

“You tell me, Ms. Delacroix,” his flat voice answers.  Oh, now that cannot be good.  I am desperate to figure out what has happened between our interlude and now that so changed his demeanor but find myself at a loss for what to say.  “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

I melt back into his arms, relieved.  There is nothing to be concerned about.  He reverted to a professional exchange because we are in public.  The tension resulted from his internal fight against his longings. 
Alright, remember there can’t appear to be anything between us. 
But I can’t help but smile as I gaze into his eyes. “What did you have in mind?” I saucily inquire.

“Can you come down to the precinct?” the emotionless voice demands more than asks.  “We need you to talk to our psychologist about what you may have seen the afternoon of Annie’s death.”  A pit falls into my stomach.  There has always been a playful timbre to our interactions, which puts me at ease, but now something is amiss.

“Um, sure.  If you think that will help,” I reply apprehensively. I take a deep breath and shift to move closer to whisper in his ear.  In response, his hand squeezes mine and the strength in his arms maintains the distance between us.  Panic grows inside me and tears sting my eyes.  “Why?” 
If it turns out to be the as bad as you think, you can’t let him see how upset you are.

The old Richard shimmers in front of me for the span of one heartbeat.  His body softens and his eyes warm.  He is still there. 
What happened?
  Then in the blink of an eye, he is gone and this robot wearing his flesh is back.  I don’t stop him from bringing his lips to my ear.  His voice is tight when he begins.

“Because,
Ms. Delacroix,”
the way he says my name is a knife through my chest, “you seem to know more than you should about what happened to Annie.”  I close my eyes to keep the tears from falling.  This doesn’t surprise me; I had just expected it sooner.  “And given the performance I just overheard, I’m not so sure you’ve been upfront about it all.”

Surely, this is some cruel joke I will make him pay for later.  The wheels in my mind run rabid. 
Did he get what he wanted from me in the dressing room?  Is it possible he played me?

“You can’t be serious,” I gasp but when I pull away, the truth is in his eyes.  What he felt for me less than thirty minutes ago is gone.  I’m angry that I fell victim to whatever game he is playing; angry that I am now a toy he has grown bored with. I pack away every ounce of whatever it is I am starting to feel for him.  I’ve been a fool, but I won’t be any longer.  “Alright,
Detective Giordano
, if that’s what you truly think.”  I pause hoping my Richard will break through and end all this nonsense.  He doesn’t.  “You have my number.  Text me the time.  I’ll be there, but afterward you’ll only be allowed to contact me through my attorney.”

Richard Giordano: Holding

“W
hat in the hell did you do last night?!”

I should have called in sick today.  I had barely slept.  Last night was a blur.  Em’s face pursued me all night.  I remember being blissfully happy one moment and wretchedly depressed the next.  My memories are a mixture of flashes of us kissing mixed with images of her pained eyes begging me to stop her suffering.  The empty bottle of bourbon I tripped over this morning had been full before I left for the Gala.

“Rich Giordano, I asked you a question!” Frisco shouts while standing over me.  She tracked me down in one of the holding cells.  It had been the only quiet place in the precinct.  Until now.

“I heard you, Frisco; you can stop yelling.”  Last night may have been a blur with the images mixed together, but I remember what I did and why.  “It was for the best.”

Quick as a whip, her hand cuffs me upside my head.  “Have you lost your damn mind?”

I have continuously asked this question to myself since I stumbled out of bed this morning.  How did a pretty face enchant me so quickly?  This time when Frisco’s arm darts out, my hand snaps around her wrist before she makes contact.  “Enough!” I snap.

It is irritating that she scurried in here supporting camp Em. I stand to tower over her.  “Let’s just say I didn’t like what I saw when the curtain lifted and I was afforded a peek at the real Empathy Delacroix.”

Frisco crosses her arms over her chest. “And what exactly is that?”

“A manipulative, treacherous, two-timing fraud.”

Frisco narrows her eyes to glare at me and repeats my words slowly and deliberately. “Then she sure fooled me last night.” 
What?
  My alarmed features draw out her explanation. “I don’t think someone who truly is that awful would have been so inconsolable.  Guess who I had to catch a ride with since you abandoned me at the Gala?”

Inconsolable?  Frisco’s explanation waters the seeds of doubt I had been wrestling with since Em fled my arms last night. I could feel them taking root.  I rally my rage and ignore my growing internal turmoil.  “Then allow me to give you fair warning,” I counter.  “She works in the theater.  Faking emotions is a job requirement.”

What Frisco says next is barely above a whisper.  “Em wasn’t acting, Rich.  She was distraught and heartbroken.  I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think she was falling in love with you.”

It does sound crazy; but I also know my own chest felt like it was ripped out as I watched her flirt with that jerk Worthy.  “Maybe she had a fight with Worthy,” I counter in an effort to make myself feel better.

Frisco shakes her head.  “I don’t think so.  If that’s what you need to believe to get through the rest of your life, though,” she shrugs.  “Her heartache was caused by you, and you alone.”  It is no surprise when the drunken walls I built to protect myself crumble at Frisco’s revelation. 
What did I do?
  “Did you really accuse Em of having something to do with Annie’s murder?  After all this time of adamantly maintaining that your gut told you she was innocent?”

I sink back onto the bench.  The entire scene unfolds in my mind of Em and me on the dance floor.  “I did.”  I’d been so angry - I can’t a hundred percent remember at who.

“What happened after you left that made you think that?” Frisco asks as she sits down beside me.  The despair weighing down my heart laces every word as I trudge through the events from the night before.  Now a bit more sober my mind organizes them somewhat back in order, at least the major plot points anyway.  “So you didn’t see them together?  You just overheard their exchange?”  I don’t answer her.  “I see.  Why didn’t you just ask her?

“I saw their shadows through the screen, and I can’t ask her - there’s no way to know if she would lie or not.  You weren’t there, Frisco.  I hardly know this woman.  Let’s say her feelings for me were genuine.”

“They are.”

“Fine.  But even if that’s true, you didn’t see the speed with which she put that whole sham together.  It was instantaneous.  I can’t be with someone who’s able to lie so easily.  Not with my job.”

“Oh, Rich.”  Her tone is drenched with sympathy.

Finally, Frisco is on my side.  A comforting arm slides around my shoulders.  “This has nothing to do with Em.  This is about Sara.” 
Um, no.  I heard Em with Worthy last night.  I haven’t seen Sara in years
.  It is Em’s lie that enraged me.  I just wish I knew whom she had lied to.

Frisco turns my face to hers.  “Look, you and I both know that woman’s ghost has been sabotaging all of your relationships since.  However, at some point you have to let her go.  You have to stop punishing yourself for something that was her fault; stop blaming every woman you meet.  Set yourself free.”

As she lays all that out, my body convulses from the reality in her observation. 
Did I really let old fears from Sara kill my chances with Em?

Empathy Delacroix: The Sideshow

My attorney explains to me what is about to happen and reminds me I’m not required to answer any questions I don’t want to.  Tom was thrilled when I called asking for the number of his attorney. I wasn’t using him but had asked for a referral and found this yammering, expensive suit.  He is nice enough, I guess.  I only met him a few hours ago.  But it’s hard to get sound legal advice when you can’t explain to your attorney how and why you experienced a murder.

Tom wanted to come, but between my new attorney and Sabene, I don’t want this to turn into a three-ring circus.  I dread seeing Richard.  Dread seeing the hate in eyes that once looked upon me with such longing.

They are all there: Richard, Steve, their captain, and some woman I’ve never met who looks barely out of college.  After the introductions, where I obstinately avoid meeting Richard’s gaze, they lead me to an interrogation room with two chairs and a table.  The blinds are open so I assume that the exchange will not only be recorded, but I will also be the live entertainment.

“Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Delacroix?” the psychologist starts.

“Yes, do you?”  It is a snarky response but considering the captain breaches the subject at Richard’s desk, I think it is a stupid beginning.

There is a slight coloring of her cheeks as she hesitates to continue. 
Something isn’t right here.
  “Yes.  What I meant to say was do you understand why the detectives think you may have actually been a witness instead of just the person who found the body?”

Yes, because of my bothersome vision.
  “Because I have made a few comments about what it may have been like for her.”

“Why did you do that?  A violent death isn’t something most people care to pour over.”  There is a flicker in the upper right corner of her eyes when she speaks.  “Ms. Delacroix?”  A shake of her head accompanies the sound of my name and I can’t believe what I see.

I stand and approach her slowly as she attempts not to flinch.  “Hand me the earpiece,” I demand with an open palm.  She tries to avoid me, and claims my accusation is false, but it all falls apart when I snatch the damn thing out of her ear myself.

What kind of sideshow are they running!
  I bring the damn thing to my own ear and speak directly to my invisible audience.  “I’m guessing you thought a woman would put me more at ease, but she lacks the experience to handle the web of lies I might spin.  Well, you’ve made a grave mistake.  Either remove this pretender from my presence and cease with the stunts or consider this interview over and our interactions done.  I expect an answer now.”

A deep, disembodied voice answers.  “Send her out and give me a moment.”

I dismiss the girl and sit down to wait with dwindling patience. 
Whose idea had that disaster been?  Richard’s?  He flat out called me a liar last night!

True to his word, the
real
shrink comes into the room putting an end to my depressing ponderings.  “My apologies, Ms. Delacroix.  We find most women who’ve potentially suffered from traumatic events prefer to interact with another woman.”

I sort of get it after seeing him.  Taller than Richard, thicker than Tom, and black as the night, he doesn’t scream, “Tell me everything.”  But I’m now agitated.  “You should have asked,” I respond with biting alacrity.  “I came in here willingly.  Just as I’ve always been willing to give any help I can to aid in catching Annie’s killer. I don’t appreciate having my time wasted based on assumptions of my potential behavior.  If I’m truly still considered an asset to this case, then I expect to be treated as such.  If my categorization has changed, then I request my lawyer’s direct presence.”

There is a pause as we both stare at each other, but nothing happens.  “Do you often think of your dancer’s death?” he finally asks as he takes a seat.

Every damn day.  Just as I’ve been harassed by
all
the unsavory images I’ve seen through my lifetime.
  “As much as anyone who saw what I saw, I suppose,” I answer in a modulated tone.

“Why do you think that is?  Were you two friends?”

“Not precisely.  She worked for me.  This was her first show as a regular cast member and in some ways she reminded me of myself.”

“When you think of her death, do you see her or yourself?”

Having never realized the experience of her death had left me feeling as if it was my own, I answer honestly.  “Myself.”

“Do you do that often, Ms. Delacroix?  Replace yourself to suffer what you imagine your loved ones did?”  This question puts my back up because it implies he is aware of my parent’s own premature deaths.  The only person who could have told him is Richard. 
How dare him!
  “Ms. Delacroix?”

“I’m not sure I fully understand your implication,” I state, even though I do.  It has nothing to do with self-inflicted misery and everything to do with actual understanding, with living through every last fear, every stopping heartbeat.  Even now, I’m sick with the memories of all the deaths
I’ve
survived.

“Do you suffer from survivor’s guilt?  It just as easily could have been you on that stage.” 
Nice recovery, shrink
.

After saying I don’t feel remorseful about having lived while Annie died, I continue to answer his probing questions as honestly as I can without giving away the truth about myself.  The truth will just lead to a life in a padded cell or a lab, neither of which are things I want.

“Well, that concludes my questions, Ms. Delacroix.”  I stand to leave and freeze when he remains seated.  “Please, relax in your seat.  I would like to hypnotize you to see what I can extrapolate from your memory.”

I don’t move.  “Why?”

“Because I agree with the detectives,” he says.  “I don’t think you did it but I believe there are some repressed memories that would be useful to the investigation.  Please, sit down.”

He just assumes that I will agree to this.  “No.”

Since this is the first time I have not been forthcoming, I’m not surprised at his open astonishment.  “I thought you wanted to help?”

“I do want to help.  But if I’m in a trance, I’ll have no way of knowing what information you’ll decide to just pluck out of my brain.”  He may have hurt me, but I am not willing to put Richard at risk.  I need to remain in full control of the information I divulge, both for myself and for him.  The shrink continues to pressure me to grant him access to all my deepest thoughts with assurances he will only ask about Annie’s death.

The door swings open and draws my eyes because I figure it is my lawyer coming in to put this to an end.  A man opened the door to rescue me, just the last one I anticipated.

“She said no.” Richard speaks to the shrink, but he locks his eyes on mine.  “Thank you for your continued assistance, Ms. Delacroix.  We’ll call you if we need anything else.”

Richard looks as though he has more to say, but I end this whole fiasco.  “You’re welcome, Detective Giordano.”  The man holding the door open for me is the one I had been falling for over the course of this investigation.  Seeing him again, the cruelty I experienced in those five minutes from last night almost felt imagined; like it was a nightmare, but I know it wasn’t.  “Remember that from now on all contact is to go through Mr. Sanchez.”  Richard jolts at my reminder and I feel ill.

Richard Giordano: Outside Interrogation

Em brushes past me out of the room, and I desperately want to take her in my arms.  I was among the crowd who witnessed the interview.  I couldn’t help but be amazed at her acumen when she called us out.  No one has ever picked up on the pretender before.  We do it because the shrink is an imposing figure, and in many cases does more harm than good when getting the information himself.

Before the disagreement surrounding the hypnotism, my side of the two-way mirror had decided that she was no longer on the suspect list.  The financial records were clear and we found no physical evidence or motive to link to her.  However, I insisted to be the one to tell her.  I owe her an apology.  I want to erase those humiliating five minutes.  I wait until the psychologist goes back into the observation room to begin. “Em, can we talk?”