Tell Me No Lies (16 page)

Inside the kitchen, Greenlaw was already suited up in his white clean-room garb, booties and all, field kit open.

Hank stood in the doorway and called to him as he was carefully pulling off a pair of latex gloves, rolling the tops down over the fingers so as not to contaminate the scene with trace evidence of his own. "What do you have so far?"

The highly trained patrol officer tiptoed over. "Got a knife from the floor near her hand. But she was cooking, so that's not out of line. No sign of a struggle, no visible wounds. I don't know. Probably a natural. Looks like we'll have to wait for the autopsy."

"I'm coming in."

"Okay, but put on some booties."

The officer handed him a pair from the field kit, and Hank complied before moving into the kitchen.

The white-haired woman was on the floor where she'd fallen. He scanned the scene, took in the position of the body, the counter with bowls of meat and rice, onions glistening in a pan on the stove. The smell lingered, boiling cabbage, onions, some kind of herb, dill maybe. But no blood. Unless you counted the raw meat she'd been mixing.

He asked to see the knife, gloved up, and removed an ordinary kitchen knife from the evidence bag, maybe four inches long. The kind you might use to chop vegetables. He sniffed along the blade, thought he caught a faint oniony whiff. He rebagged the knife and stared down at Sonya.

What happened to you?

She gazed back at him, face frozen in a grimace that could have been terror. Or just death playing tricks. Secrets. The dead always kept secrets.

He recalled Sonya's fear yesterday and how Alex had put her arm around her, gentled her, comforted her. He swallowed hard.

"Whatever develops, I want to see it before you do."

"You got it, Detective."

Hank stepped out, removed the shoe coverings, placed them in a crime scene trash bag and went to look for Alex.

She was in the living room. He remembered it as it had been the night of the party, with the governor shaking hands, photographers flashing pictures, and Alex cozying up to Miki Petrov.

Now she sat on a couch, still and white-faced, misery etched in every line of her body.

Parnell stood when Hank entered and met him before he reached the couch. The lieutenant's body was an effective blockade, and Hank squelched a flash of impatience.

"How is she?"

"Pretty torn up."

"You baby-sitting?"

"Until I figure out what's going on. What was she doing with you?"

"She came to the fruit stand. I was there. I showed her around. End of story."

"Why the special treatment?"

Rapidly, Hank tallied his options zip it or spill it. He didn't like keeping things from Parnell. First off he usually smelled a con. Second, he was good at what he did and Hank respected that. But he opted for the former anyway, though he couldn't say why. Didn't want to know why. "I questioned her about the Luka Kole case. We found an article about the Russian oil deal in his wallet It mentioned her. I followed up."

"Is that the lead you were chasing the night of the party?"

"More or less."

Parnell frowned. "Why the hell didn't you say something about this?"

"It didn't pan out. I was going to write it-up." Eventually.

Parnell nodded but was clearly unhappy. "I don't like being kept out of the loop, Hank."

Yeah, wait until he found out the rest The way he'd caught Alex at Kole's apartment, her relationship to Kole. Protecting Alex or his case? Either. Both. Besides, it wasn't as if he was going to ruin his career.

"Yes, sir." He tried not to gaze over Parnell's shoulder at Alex. He couldn't exactly plow down his commanding officer, but he was itching to get to her. "You want me to handle this?"

"You're on call, it's yours. Looks like natural causes. The autopsy will tell for sure, but shouldn't be too much of a problem."

Hank cleared his throat. "Can I... uh... see her?"

Parnell looked back at Alex, who still sat stiff and quiet "She doesn't have much to say, but yeah, sure. I have a baseball game to go to anyway. My youngest is playing." He started to step aside, then stopped. "I don't want you harassing her. You got a buzz up your ass about the Kole murder, keep it to yourself. One thing has nothing to do with the other."

"No problem, boss."

"And keep me informed. Of everything. Even the stuff that doesn't 'pan out'"

Hank recognized the dig for what it was and nodded.

"She's important to this city," Parnell said, "so keep the kid gloves on and the VIP treatment up."

Hank nodded. "Yes, sir. Absolutely."

And then Parnell was gone, and only Alex was left in the room.

He walked up to her slowly, letting her get used to the sight of him. People in shock were sometimes startled by the slightest things. But Alex didn't say or do anything as Hank eased himself on to the couch next to her. Her eyes were dull, and she stared out toward something across the room, though he doubted she was seeing much of anything.

"Alex, can I call someone?"

Alex heard his voice, but wasn't quite sure what he had said.

"I'd like to call someone to stay with you."

The sounds penetrated, but not the meaning.

"So you're not alone. Can I call someone?"

Finally, the words took shape, made some kind of ironic sense. He wanted to find someone to comfort her, to stand vigil with her. She almost smiled. Poor Detective Bonner with his endless stream of relatives. He had no idea, did he? "No. There's no one to call."

"Are you sure? How about..." He hesitated, then, "How about Petrov? You seemed... close to him."

A joke. He was making a joke. Petrov to comfort her? He'd killed Sony a. Just like he'd killed everyone else.

A wail went off in her head. Why had she pushed so hard? The past was over, done. She couldn't change it, what did it matter? But she had insisted. She had pressed and shoved and finally brought Petrov down on all of them.

"Please, no." She had done this. Her. All her fault She thought of the body lying on the kitchen floor, and almost shattered with remorse. "Just go. Let me be."

So cold. She shivered with it.

He disappeared, but like a bad dream he came back, bringing a sweater with him. It was Sonya's, from the closet by the front door. He wrapped it around her shoulders, and she inhaled the fragrance of the past. Of the last living link to it.

Who would call her Sashenka now? She would be Alex, forever cold, cold Alex.

She felt a tear slide down her cheek, heard a muttered curse.

"Who is your doctor, Alex? Let me call him and get something for you. To help you sleep."

Sleep? She couldn't sleep.

In a corner of her mind she knew the police were there, doing whatever it is they did to old dead women. To her
nyanya.
Her nanny, her friend.

If she sat still long enough, eventually they would go. They would take Sonya with them, and there would be no one. Nothing.

Just silence and revenge. And maybe only silence.

Someone was tugging her up. Oh, yes. Hank. Detective Bonner was here.

Dangerous. She mustn't talk to him.

But he didn't ask any questions. Gently, he pulled her up, led her through the hallways. He had his arm around her. That was strange.

Uniforms passed by in a blur, dark blue and white, and then she was in a different room. He sat her on the edge of a bed.

"Stay here. I'll be right back."

It took a minute to realize she was in one of the guest rooms. She rose but couldn't remember why. Then he returned, and she found herself sitting again.

"Here. I found these in one of the medicine cabinets. Take one. It will help you sleep."

She stared at the pill in his hand. At the glass of water.

"Take it, Alex. Lie down for a bit. Let the shock wear off."

The thought of sleeping made her stomach turn. How could she sleep when Sonya would never wake? "I can't."

He set the pills and the water on the bedside table. "Alex, I'm sorry for your loss. So sorry."

"Go. Please. Just go." She couldn't bear to look at him, at the concern stamped on his face.

"I won't let you stay here alone. If you won't let me call someone, come to the farm with me."

The farm? If she hadn't been distracted by him, if she hadn't allowed herself to be enticed by apple blossoms and little girls, she would have been here with Sonya. She could have protected her, prevented whatever had happened. She wouldn't go back to the farm. She would never go there again.

"I'm going to check on what's happening," he said, when she didn't answer. "Stay here. Lie down."

She nodded, glad to see him go.

Obediently, she lay down on the bed. Tears leaked across her face and rolled down her neck. She despised them. What was the use of crying?

She closed her eyes against the wetness, but the tears kept coming. With a keening moan she rolled over and let them come.

***

Hank watched the medics push the gurney with the black body bag toward the waiting ambulance. He dismissed the two uniforms, then checked on Alex.

Wrenching sobs came through the closed door, and he backed away, moved by her grief. She'd always seemed so self-contained, it was hard to hear her break apart like that. People always said it was good to get it out, but he knew that getting it out was sometimes more painful than holding it in.

He left her alone and went back to the kitchen, where the apples still sat on the floor.

One by one, he picked them up and put them in the refrigerator. Then he scraped the pie off the floor and threw it away.

The mess on the counter would have to be dealt with. He debated whether to wait for Alex; it would give her something to do. But in the end, he did it himself, dumping the meat and cabbage and taking the garbage out of the house.

By the time he was through he hoped Alex might have calmed down. When he checked on her, the sobs had stopped, but she didn't answer his knock. He cracked open the door and peeked in. She was asleep. The heavy drugging kind of sleep, he hoped, which would give her some relief for hours.

He called Apple House, told Rose what had happened. She clucked in sympathy. "Of course you should stay," she told him.

"Ma, don't be crazy. I can't do that." "She shouldn't be alone." "She's asleep. She won't even know I'm here." "I'll know. Do it for me, Henry, if not because it's the right thing to do." Christ.

He hung up the phone, trapped by his damn sense of decency and his mother. A grown man no less.

Grumbling, he checked on Alex again. She was still out. He left her that way, and returned to the kitchen. Quiet had descended like snow, muffling and oppressive, and he wondered why Alex had buried herself away like this.

The answer was there, somewhere in the house, and he found himself searching for it. With bands of glass that opened on to dense forest, her home was rambling and big-roomed. Too big for two people, let alone one. How did she deal with the isolation?

Pushing farther into the house, he found what was probably her bedroom. Spacious enough to set up house in, it had a separate sitting room, both wallpapered in huge overblown roses on a black background. Fascinated, he stood in the doorway. What did the decor say about her?

He would have predicted something cool and white, something unemotional. But the roses were passionate and the dark background sensual. Another side to his ice princess? A side she kept hidden like so much else?

And then he was overtaken by an underground impulse. A cop's impulse. He hadn't forgotten that picture he'd spotted on the news. Could it be here, somewhere in her room?

A rhythm quickened in his head. Any search he conducted would be entirely illegal.

Then again, he already knew Kole was her father, so turning up the photograph wouldn't be evidence he'd need

So why do it?

He scanned the room, chary of entering, and tried to answer the question. Curiosity. A need to know more about her. A need he didn't understand, but was compelled to honor.

For some reason. Some unknown, hidden reason.

Secrets. Always secrets.

Was there was a link between Kole and Petrov? If so, what did Alex know about it?

But there was no link. Hadn't he already come to that conclusion? Hadn't Parnell told him to backoff?

But his feet were already taking him inside her room, his hands already opening drawers and closets.

She wouldn't like him for this.

Yeah, well, she didn't like him for a whole lot of other things anyway.

He found the box high up on a closet shelf, back behind a slew of shoe boxes. Gingerly, he took it down, men

opened it

The photograph he'd seen during the WBRN broadcast was right on top. A much younger Alex outside what looked like a school or university, and Luka Kole, all dolled up in an ill-fitting suit and tie.

Hank smiled. He liked being right

Lifting out the framed picture, he saw piles of other snapshots below it. Several more of Kole, and then many of Alex as a child with another man. And then several of the three of them. Kole, a teenage Alex and the second, unidentified man. Her stepfather? No, not in a picture with Kole. The three of them stood outside an official-looking building, the men in clumsy suits with lapels the size of bus fenders. Another showed them on a porch with a lake in the background, the unidentified man dressed in dark slacks and a droopy sweater that looked like a remnant from World War II. And there they were again, in front of a huge, black car with little diplomat flags on the front end, the men wearing those same square-cut suits.

He checked the backs. Some were dated, some weren't. A couple had handwritten labels, but they were in Russian, which he couldn't read.

He found a picture of Sonya, too. Much younger, with brown hair and smiling blue eyes. Alex was in her lap, grinning at the camera. Her front tooth was missing.

The picture sent a spasm of grief through him. For Alex and all she had lost.

He dumped the photos on the bed, remembering those clawing, tortured sobs. Who were all these people? Alex always seemed as though she'd sprung whole from the mind of Zeus, a perfectly formed adult. But she hadn't. She'd had friends, family. A childhood.