Heather Graham (25 page)

She didn’t answer.

He opened the door. She was sitting up in bed, staring at him.

“Intruder,” he told her. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m calling it in.”

“Intruder?”

“Someone on your balcony.”

“A thief?”

“Or a murderer,” he said dryly.

He closed her door, and called it in. There wasn’t much that could be done, but Mark told the guys in fingerprinting to give it a try.

Ann had slipped into a cool summer halter dress. She watched the proceedings in her apartment silently, then offered to make coffee. The cops thanked her; she did so. Ralph Fellows, on fingerprints that night, shook his head. “We’ve pulled up some prints, but they’re going to prove to belong to you and Mrs. Marcel. Your shadow wore gloves.” He hesitated and spoke softly. “You’re not just spooked, Lieutenant, are you? You really did see a shadow?”

“I’m not spooked; when the hell have you ever seen me spooked?” he replied angrily.

“Sorry, sorry, sir! Must have been a practiced thief—New Orleans is full of them. Guy who wears gloves knows what he’s doing. We’ll file everything; maybe Mrs. Marcel can get some sleep now. Do we leave a man on the door?”

“No, it’s all right. I’ll be here.”

“Sure. Well...”

The boys drank their coffee, thanked Ann for it, and left. Ann studied him.

“Did you just invent an intruder to prove to me that I was an idiot leaving the balcony doors open and I’d be in big trouble if it weren’t for you?” she demanded.

He stared back at her and swore. “You know, there is a fair bit of crime in New Orleans. I do my best not to drag officers away from doing their best to stop crime when they can.”

He settled back on the sofa, turning his back to her.

Yet...

He was certain she stayed where she was, watching him for a while.

Maybe she even wanted to speak.

Maybe he should speak.

Right. He’d already tried that. Hadn’t his pride taken a big enough blow for the night?

Instinctively, he knew when she turned away and returned to her room.

He slept late. The sun was pouring in through the glass of the now locked balcony doors.

He still felt so groggy. He wondered what had awakened him. The phone. The phone was ringing.

Ann came bursting out of her bedroom. Then she noticed him. She paused, staring at the phone, and then at him.

“It’s your phone,” he said.

“How good of you to notice.”

“Well?”

“The machine is on.”

She frowned suddenly. He could almost see her mind working. Yes, the machine was on. If she didn’t answer the phone, he’d hear whatever her caller had to say.

She made a sudden, awkward dive to reach the phone at the kitchen counter.

Too late. The machine had already picked up.

“Hi, this is Ann. I can’t get to the phone right now. Please leave your name, phone number, and message and I’ll get back with you as soon as possible. Thanks.”

Ann opened her mouth to speak when the message finished.

But the caller began speaking first.

“Mrs. Marcel, this is Roana Jenkins; I’m one of Jon Marcel’s nurses in the I.C.U. I just wanted to let you know that Jon has come out of his coma. Naturally, the doctor informed the police right away, but I wanted to reach you as soon as possible; perhaps you can get here first, I mean, naturally, I know how you feel about the man, and you’ve been so loyal and dedicated to his recovery—”

Naturally! Mark thought irritably. Thank God the good doctor had called the police in first. And if this had been a couple nights ago—before she’d made him toss his cellular into the mud—he’d have been informed already.

He strode to where Ann stood, jerking the receiver from her hands before she could speak. She glared at him furiously. He ignored her. “This is Lieutenant LaCrosse, Ms. Jenkins. Mrs. Marcel and I are on our way.” He smiled grimly at Ann as he spoke to Nurse Jenkins. “Together.”

The phone on Jacques Moret’s desk rang, and he picked it up absently. “Hello?”

“Hello, oh, I did catch you in your office!” the woman on the other end said anxiously. “I tried your home, but Ms. Trainor always did say that you were a tireless worker, coming in very early! This is Sherie, Ms. Trainor’s secretary. We’re growing a little anxious in the office here. Ms. Trainor was due back to work; yet she didn’t come in yesterday morning, and we haven’t been able to reach her at her home so far this morning. We’re hoping that maybe she stayed on in New Orleans and you might know where she is.” Sherie cleared her throat awkwardly. “We’re simply concerned, you know.”

“Of course.”

He stared at the receiver.
Oh, hell. Oh, hell.

He spoke pleasantly. “I don’t think that you need to be too concerned. I can’t really help you because we parted company as planned, but she did say that she was very anxious, now that she’d been in New Orleans, to take a few extra days to do the plantation-route tourist thing, you know?”

“Oh! She’s so efficient, though, she usually calls in.”

“She is the boss, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Maybe she just got carried away with her vacation. I understand that she plans them for other people all the time, but rarely gives herself much vacation at all.”

“That’s true. I’m certainly not saying that she shouldn’t take all the time that she wants and deserves...like I said, we were just concerned.”

“I’m sure things will prove to be all right.”

“Sure. And I’m sure she’ll call in soon. Thank you so much for all your help.”

“I’ll see if there’s anything I can find out.”

“Thank you so very much.”

“Of course.”

The receiver went dead in his hand. He stared at it, horrified.

And very slowly hung it up.

He was sweating bullets.

Ann felt as if she and Mark were a pair of children, playing a game in which one kept trying to walk faster than the other.

It didn’t matter. When they reached the hospital, he took the lead—he was simply bigger, and his hold on her arm was quite restraining.

“I’m the relative,” Ann grated.

“You’re an ex-wife.”

“That counts.”

“Yeah. Tell that to a man paying alimony to more than one.”

As they neared Jon’s I.C.U. room, a young, dark-haired doctor appeared, beaming. “Lieutenant! Good to see you.”

“You too, Michael. How is the patient.”

“He’s going to pull through.”

“How is he now?” Ann asked anxiously.

“Gaining strength. I think you’ll be pleased when you see him. He’s bathed, he’s had some food orally—are you the ex-wife?”

“Yes,” Ann said, glaring at Mark.

“No one has talked to him yet, Lieutenant. If you want time alone...”

“Isn’t the family supposed to get time alone first?” Ann demanded.

“You are the
ex
-wife, right?”

“I’m the one who got him here!”

Mark’s hand clamped down on her arm again. “We’ll see him together.”

“Fifteen minutes. Tomorrow, he’ll be stronger.”

“Thanks,” Mark said.

They started down the remaining short distance of corridor together.

“So you know Doctor Michael, eh?” Ann grated.

“He was an intern when my wife was sick. And he’s friends with my younger son. Who is in medical school now.”

“He would be,” Ann muttered.

At Jon’s door, she took the lead. She hurried in, then paused at the foot of the bed, scarcely believing what she saw.

He was sitting up. His eyes were open. Big and blue. He still looked thin, weak. But so good. He saw her, and smiled.

He saw Mark behind her, and frowned.

“Jon!”

She raced to him, ignoring Mark to reach the bed, to start to throw her arms around him, to awkwardly pause as she reminded herself how weak he still must be.

“A hug from you, I can take!” he whispered to her, holding her tightly. She drew away from him, studying his face as he studied her.

“Oh, God, Jon, you made it!”

“Katie?” he asked anxiously.

“She doesn’t know anything yet. I had the school tell her to get a hold of me, but I didn’t want to worry her and say it was an emergency. You—you were in a coma.”

“You handled it just right. When she does reach you now, I’ll be able to talk.” He stared past her to Mark. “From my jail cell, I imagine. Hello, Lieutenant.”

Ann jerked her gaze from one man to the other. “You know each other?”

“We’ve seen each other,” Jon said.

Mark stared at Ann. “At the club.”

“Am I being arrested?” Jon asked.

“I don’t know yet. Do you remember what happened?”

“Jon, do you know the seriousness—” Ann asked.

“Gina is dead, yes. But I didn’t do it.”

“You told me that, Jon,” Ann said. “The night that it happened. I know that you didn’t do it. But we’re all praying that you can help give the police some lead on what really did happen. You must have seen something.”

He shook his head, wincing.

“Are you in pain, are you all right?” Ann asked anxiously.

“Marcel, if you know something—” Mark began.

“Shadows.”

“What?” Mark said sharply. His eyes, the gray tinged silver sharp, riveted on Ann, then returned to Jon. “Shadows?”

“I don’t know exactly what I saw. There was something, yes. When I was coming to, I must have been dreaming. I saw that night over and over, replaying it in my head. There was something...I might have seen the shadow’s face, a hint of the face, something...for just a split second. Then I lost it. And all I saw was shadows.”

“You don’t know who attacked you?” Ann said with alarm.

He shook his head, and looked at Mark. “LaCrosse, I know what it looks like. I knew at the time. I was probably dying, but it seemed that I had to get to Ann’s because I knew that she would believe that I was innocent. I was supposed to meet Gina just down the street from Ann’s at the Swiss bakery, by the long alley.”

“Where Gina was found,” Mark said.

“Yes. When I got there, I heard her screaming. I charged into the alley. Someone, a shadow, someone dressed in black, was on top of her. I tried to wrench the figure away. It turned on me. I was reaching for Gina...I knew...” He shook his head and started over. “I reached for Gina, trying to get her behind me. She fell into my arms. I knew she was dead. I threw up my arms to try to ward off more blows, but the knife was coming into me. I saw...”

“Saw what?” Ann pleaded.

“Something I lost. A fleeting, split second of—something. Someone.” He stared at Mark. “So—am I going to be charged?”

“The D.A.’s office has a fair amount of evidence against you. You were wearing her blood.”

“You can bring me in on suspicion, then have the D.A.’s office come up with their charges.”

“I can only hold you so long—though I say again, the D.A.’s office has a strong evidence file.”

“Are you arresting me now?” Jon asked.

Mark let out an impatient tcking sound. “You just came out of a coma; there’s a police guard on you. No, I’m not charging you right now.”

“I didn’t do it,” Jon said. He glanced at Ann. “I—I loved her. I was bringing her to meet you that night. I wanted to marry her, but I didn’t want to take you or Katie by surprise; so I thought that I’d bring her to meet you, and we’d all go together to the gallery opening of my
Red Light Ladies
. Ann, my God, you and I had our ups and downs; did you ever know me to be violent?”

“No,” Ann assured him, holding his hand, glaring at Mark.

“I loved her,” Jon repeated. He looked lost. As if it might not really matter if he was charged with her murder or not—one way or the other, she was dead. And nothing was going to bring her back.

Mark took a seat at the foot of his bed. “There’s been another murder as well.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “Not—one of the other girls?”

Mark shook his head. “We don’t know the woman’s name yet. She was strangled to death with a stocking.”

Jon looked puzzled, not understanding the connection.

“She was
in
the club the night she was killed. Lots of people saw her. They just don’t know who they saw her with.”

“So another woman is dead,” Jon said bitterly. “But it helps my case.”

“Yes. It’s unfortunate that another death is what it takes,” Mark said.

“But...if someone out there is killing women from the club, wouldn’t they kill in the same way?”

“Serial killers tend to use the same method, yes. I don’t think that these will fall into the category of serial killings.”

Jon suddenly smiled. “You actually do doubt that I’m your man, don’t you?”

“You have a lot of friends, apparently,” Mark said. “They’ve all insisted that you couldn’t have done it.”

“So you think I’m innocent—”

“No, I don’t think you’re innocent.” He glanced hard at Ann. “My mind is simply open to the possibility.”

Jon kept staring at Mark strangely. “You know, LaCrosse, Gina always said that you were a straight shooter. I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t kill her. Someone else did.”

Ann was startled when she heard a throat being cleared behind her. The doctor had returned.

“He needs to regain his strength,” he reminded them. “Time’s up.”

“I’m going to want to send someone in for a deposition from him tomorrow,” Mark said.

“That will be fine. We’ll have him out of the I.C.U. by tomorrow.”

“Can I just sit here with him, if I promise not to talk?” Ann asked. She was loath to leave Jon right now. She was afraid that if she walked away, he might fall back into a coma again. She needed to be with him for a while to assure herself that he was really on the mend.

Mark glared at her.

“It’s really not advisable,” the doctor said.

“Ann is my closest relative,” Jon said. “I’d like her here. That is—if the police have no objection.”

“I thought she was your
ex
-wife,” handsome young Doctor Michael said. “I don’t think she’s technically related to you at all anymore.”

“I’m the closest thing to family he’s got left,” Ann said. “Well, here, anyway. Our daughter is out of the country. I am his family.”

“Lieutenant?” Jon asked Mark.

Mark suddenly glared at Ann. “You stay here with him.”