Power (26 page)

“What conclusions have you reached?” Jess was dying to hear all of it. Maybe something Lori discovered would help her find the missing piece of the Darcy Chandler puzzle. That would be a welcome respite from getting basically nowhere on the Simmons case.

“Fourteen years ago, both Corrine Dresher and Alexander Mayakovsky were dancers in the Hamburg Ballet, the most prestigious dance company in the world.”

“Dresher was a ballerina?”

“A very good one,” Lori confirmed. “She was like at the top of her game but something happened or changed and she disappeared from the limelight fourteen years ago. I’m thinking that based on the age of her child, she left her career because she was pregnant.”

To belong to such a celebrated and elite dance company would require tremendous dedication and a grueling schedule. Having a child certainly wouldn’t fit into that daily agenda. Why would Dresher give that up at such a pivotal time in her career? Had the pregnancy been planned?

“What about the Russian? Is there any possibility that he and Dresher were more than dance troupe friends? He and Chandler didn’t hook up in New York until twelve years ago, two years after Dresher left Hamburg.” The two decided to marry and came to Alabama and took over her grandmother’s ritzy school. “If Dresher and he had an affair, Chandler may not have known.”

“Not necessarily so,” Lori countered. “Darcy Chandler was also a dancer in the Hamburg Ballet. She was an alternate. Part of the company but not one of the premier ballerinas. She spent her time there way in the background. Like a stand-in three times removed.”

“It would be nice to know the dynamics of their relationships back then.” Expecting the truth from Dresher or the Russian was wishful thinking, Jess figured. And finding members of their old dance troupe would take resources the department would not want to expend on a closed case.

“The point is,” Lori offered, “the three knew each other back then, so Dresher and her daughter’s appearance here last year was more like a reunion. Fourteen years ago Dresher disappeared. Chandler stayed way out of the limelight and then she returned to the US. She didn’t fare much better with the New York City Ballet. Kind of like always a bridesmaid but never a bride. According to the few records I found she remained on staff as a sort of nobody until she moved home to Birmingham.”

“Mayakovsky suffered one knee injury too many and he was out next,” Harper interjected. “That was supposedly the reason for his move from Hamburg to New York where he became a training coach.”

“Until he came here with Darcy,” Jess summarized.

“There is no way all this can be coincidence.”

Jess wholeheartedly agreed with Lori’s assessment. The waiter arrived with breakfast. Jess could hardly contain herself until he’d gone away again. “So if Dresher and the Russian had a thing… and she shows up here fourteen years later with
his
daughter in tow…”

“That would certainly turn Darcy’s world upside down if she discovered the truth,” Lori surmised.

“Her grandmother said something changed about two weeks ago but Darcy wouldn’t talk about it.”

“I have a friend,” Harper announced, “who owes me a favor.”

Jess and Lori exchanged a look. “Go on,” Jess urged.

“He can have a look at certain bank accounts and see if there have been mutual exchanges. Of course, none of what he discovers would be admissible in court.”

“Do it, Sergeant.”

“I’ll make the call now.”

He stepped away from the table. Lori watched him go. The yearning in her gaze was about as inconspicuous as a neon sign.

“If you’re game,” she offered, “I can see if Ms. Butler is available this morning.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to be able to accomplish with all this,” Jess admitted, “but I can’t let it go.” Darcy Chandler’s shoes had been nagging at her for days. She needed to get back in that house. The idea that she was being buried today, the final event in her existence, with so many unanswered questions made Jess feel ill.

“So you and Harper got called on the carpet this morning,” Lori prompted. “I’m missing all the drama.”

Jess stared at her omelet and wished she could revive her appetite. She knew the food would be awesome. Everything on the table looked and smelled heavenly.

“We did,” Jess confirmed. “Burnett will have my hide if I don’t watch my p’s and q’s from now on. We have a big meeting on Monday morning to go over what SPU is about. He scheduled staggered staff meetings for the entire afternoon to ensure the whole department gets what we’re here for.” She stabbed at the mass of eggs and veggies on her plate with her fork. “I made a lot of folks angry but I accomplished the first phase of my goal.”

Lori gave her a nod. “Then you did what you had to do.” She grinned. “Harper told me what happened. He said you put that gangbanger in his place. Scared the hell out of him.”

Jess laughed. “I tried.”

“He also said you talked to your ex,” Lori ventured. “Anything there I need to know about?”

Jess went for another laugh but it fell flat. “Just that he knows the world of gangs inside and out. I needed his help and he came through.”

“Wow.” Lori gave her a knowing look. “Does the chief know?”

“He does and it’s kind of weird.”

“Like watching him with Annette,” Lori guessed.

“Exactly.”

Harper returned to the table. “He needs three, maybe four hours.” He draped his napkin in his lap and prepared to dig into his own omelet. “Then we’ll know if this triangle has been exchanging more than heated words.”

The money trail was frequently littered with bodies and loaded with motive.

• • •

Vestavia Hills, 12:55 p.m.

“Ms. Butler, I appreciate you seeing me.” Jess sat on the edge of the sofa, wishing she didn’t need to do this.

The woman had been through enough. Losing her daughter had devastated her as it would anyone. Eight months was not nearly enough distance from the tragedy to face the kind of questions Jess needed to ask.

Like the Simmonses’ home, this one looked and felt more like a shrine to the little girl who was now gone than a home where people lived. Jess understood that it was the way this woman had survived. She had surrounded herself with memories. Whether or not she would be able someday to slowly sift out some of the past, Jess couldn’t say. Some folks never recovered from losing a child. It was too devastating. It went against nature… against the cycle of life.

Sandra Butler was Jess’s age and had once comanaged a Chevrolet dealership with her husband. But when Michelle was born, she had decided to become a full-time stay-at-home mom.

“I love talking about Michelle.” She smiled, her hands twisting together. “People think it’s too hard so they try to avoid bringing up the fact that I ever had a daughter.” She shook her head. “I need to talk about her but they don’t understand.”

“I know what you mean,” Jess offered. “They think they’re helping you but they’re really just helping themselves. It makes most people uncomfortable to talk about that kind of loss.”

“I believe you’re right.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt, adjusting a nonexistent wrinkle. “You know, I tried so hard to get the police to investigate Corrine and her daughter, but they just wouldn’t listen. I guess that’s why I’m surprised you’re here now.”

This was the second time this week Jess had been accused of being a little late. In reality, she had been too late in the Simmons case to save Jerome Frazier and the same was true with this one. There was no evidence that Michelle Butler’s death was anything other than a tragic accident. Just as there had been none in Darcy Chandler’s until her husband up and confessed for a crime they couldn’t even prove had occurred.

“As we’ve been investigating Ms. Chandler’s case,” Jess disclosed carefully, “it, of course, came to our attention that this same dance studio had already suffered a tragic loss. I noted in your statement that you felt there should have been further investigation of the event that took your daughter’s life.”

“As I told your colleague”—she nodded to Lori—“Katrina is an absolute bully. She made all the girls miserable then and I’m sure she still does. I know she does. I still have lunch with some of the other mothers occasionally. When they can bear to be around me.”

“When you say she’s a bully,” Jess asked, needing clarification, “do you mean physically aggressive or verbally abusive?”

“Both. I’ve seen her push the other girls during rehearsals. And the things she says.” She shuddered. “Katrina would taunt Michelle with the most hurtful comments. She told her she was ugly and couldn’t dance. The worst was how she threatened that when Michelle was out of the way she would be the star.”

“Did no one attempt to stop this behavior?” Bullying was, like the federal deficit, out of control. No one seemed to be paying attention much less doing enough to stop it.

“Katrina was careful. We mothers rarely caught her being bad.” She shook her head. “And you know what they tell us, try to let the children work it out themselves. I can’t tell you how many teachers I’ve had say those words to me and to friends who’ve had children with bully problems. It’s so frustrating.”

“But there were complaints,” Jess suggested.

“Yes. Several of us spoke to both Darcy and Alex. They promised to take care of it but no one ever did. Alex excused the girl every time. He was the one who insisted she should be on the competition team when the kid can’t dance. She has no coordination skills and her posture is atrocious.” She drew in a deep breath and let it go slowly. “It kills me to think that she took my Michelle’s place.”

Without doubt Katrina Dresher had hurt Michelle Butler in life, but there simply was no proof that she or her mother caused her death… or anyone else’s. There were lots and lots of ill feelings. Lots of suspicions. Lots of unanswered questions. But no clear-cut motives and no tangible evidence.

“I knew those two were capable of most anything,” Butler continued. “I warned Darcy that she would be sorry she’d let them into our group. But I’m not so sure she believed me until a few weeks ago.”

Jess snapped to full attention. “What happened that might have made her change her mind?”

“I finally realized it was time to go through Michelle’s clothes and toys. It’s selfish to hang on to all that when others could benefit from them. Some things hadn’t been touched. Like her backpack from school that day. My sister-in-law had collected all of Michelle’s belongings from the hospital and school and stored them away in Michelle’s room. I worked up the courage to open the backpack.” Her eyes filled with emotion. “Touching the things she touched the last day of her life was like touching her. It took my breath away.”

Jess moistened her lips and held on to her emotions. Next to her on the sofa she could feel the tension that stiffened Lori, too.

“I found this paper all folded up in one of those squares and triangles like kids will do when they send silly notes to each other. There were hearts drawn all around on the page. Each heart had a K in it. That’s what Katrina did. Whenever she sent a note or drew a picture for anyone she would draw those damned hearts and put a K in each one.” Her lips started to tremble and the tears won the battle she had been waging.

Jess waited until she had composed herself. “What was in the note, Ms. Butler?”

“One line.” She dragged in a harsh breath.
“Dead ballerinas don’t get to dance.”

A telling chill crept through Jess’s bones. “Ms. Butler, did you show this note to Ms. Chandler?”

Butler nodded. “She asked to keep it so she could go to her husband and the authorities with it. I kept waiting to hear back from her but she never called. Then I heard… that she was dead. Everyone was saying it was an accident just like Michelle’s. But I didn’t believe it. I had almost talked myself into calling the police when I saw the news about Alex confessing.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he would do that.” She wrung her hands together more tightly. “I can’t believe I couldn’t find the courage to make the call. But after being told over and over that I was making something out of nothing, I guess I was afraid that people would start to believe the rumors that I was losing it. I think Corrine or her daughter or both killed my Michelle. If that makes me crazy, then I guess I’m crazy.”

Sandra Butler showed them Michelle’s room and a few photographs of the girls on the dance team. When she at last saw them to the door, Jess managed to maintain her cool until she was in Lori’s Mustang and driving away.

“We have to find that note,” Jess said in a rush, her heart pounding. There was something to this mother’s story. Something evil and festering.

“Where to now?” Lori asked, sounding as breathless as Jess felt.

Jess scrambled through the contents of her bag for her phone. “The Chandler residence.”

“But the memorial service is in less than an hour.”

“I can probably still reach Dorothy Chandler at her own home to get permission.”

“You’re the boss.”

Jess made a call to Dorothy Chandler. She needed to get inside Darcy’s home. Now. This couldn’t wait for better timing.

This couldn’t wait for anything.

• • •

Cotton Avenue, 2:50 p.m.

It hadn’t been necessary for Dorothy Chandler to rush over and unlock the mansion that had belonged to her granddaughter.

The caterers, florist, and musicians were there preparing for the celebration of Darcy’s life after the memorial service. The whole downstairs was set up for an elegant gala. Beautifully framed photos of Darcy from childhood until her death were placed around each room. Trophies and awards held positions of honor. A three-piece orchestra was already playing a lovely melody in the entry hall.

Jess and Lori had threaded their way through the goings-on to get to the second-floor landing.

“Her shoes were there.” Jess showed Lori the place. “Like this.” She removed her own beige pumps and placed them just so. “Exactly like that.”

“Considering where the body was found and this”—Lori gestured to the shoes—“it would be safe to assume she went over the railing here.”