The Switch (10 page)

After being photographed as they'd been found, the linens had been stripped from the bed, bagged, and sent to the crime lab for testing. But there was a bloodstain in the center of the mattress that hadn't completely dried.

She stared, transfixed by the horror of it.

"We figure he was standing about where you are now," Lawson told her. "There was some loose dirt there on the floor that he must've tracked in from outside. She was probably asleep."

"I hope so." Her remark was only half audible.

"She was found lying on her back. Nude. Was that normal? Is that how she usually slept?"

"I think so. Not always."

"We found a pajama top on the bed, but the bottoms haven't been located."

She looked at him for an elaboration, but he glanced away. "There were no resistance wounds on her arms and hands. Seems it was quick. If that's any comfort."

Her eyes strayed from the mattress to the nightstand. It had been dusted for fingerprints. The powder had left a messy residue on the ruby pendant. She looked over at Lawson, a question in her eyes.

"Yeah, go ahead," he said.

She picked up the pendant and closed a fist around it.

The walls screamed to be noticed. Not that she could have avoided noticing them. The printed letters were large and well formed, except for the ones that had dripped rivulets of blood. The killer had felt comfortable enough to take his time and get his message across.

WHORE. MOTHERCUNT. BREED-FUCKER.

She stared at the writing, wondering first about the sick individual who could have done this, marveling at the unbridled rage or hopeless psychosis that had plunged someone into such depths of depravity.

Then she reread the words, concentrating on their meaning.

In one heart-stopping instant, she deciphered them. Realization struck her like a blinding light. She even covered her eyes and recoiled, crying out, "Oh, my God, oh, my God!"

She spun around and tried to flee the room, but she ran squarely into Lawson. "Ms. Lloyd? What's wrong? What is it?"

"Oh, my God!" she screamed. "It was supposed to be me! It should have been me!"

She tried to fight off his hands as she stumbled into the hallway, but he was stronger and wouldn't let her go. Once outside the room, he propped her against the wall. She closed
her eyes, but that didn't stop the tears. She caught her lower lip between her teeth in an attempt to contain the keening sounds issuing from her throat.

Lawson had her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Talk to me. What's with the words? What do they mean?"

Another commotion erupted at the front door. "Let me in. I was told to come here. What's happened? What's going on?" Jem Hennings was trying to push his way through a human barricade of uniformed policemen.

"Are you Hennings?" Detective Lawson barked.

"Who the hell are you?"

The other officers obeyed the abrupt motion of Lawson's hand and stepped aside, allowing Jem Hennings to come in. He strode up to Lawson, who showed him his badge. "Dallas PD."

Clearly baffled, Jem reached past the detective and took her hand. "For God's sake, Gillian, you're as pale as a ghost. Are you all right? What the hell is going on?"

Before she had an opportunity to respond, Lawson said, "Gillian was taken away in an ambulance."

"An ambu— Why?" Jem's gaze swung back to her. "Melina? What's wrong? Has something happened to Gillian?" No one said anything. When next he spoke, his voice was shrill. "Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Hennings."Jem faced the detective. "Gillian is dead. She was found murdered in her bed this morning."

He opened his mouth but didn't emit a sound. He staggered backward a step or two and gaped at them with disbelief. Then he turned toward the other policemen still clustered near the front door, as though willing them to contradict the unbelievable news.

Eventually he managed to gasp, "That's impossible."

Their funereal expressions must have confirmed it for him, because he covered his mouth for several seconds before dragging his hand down his chin.

"Would you like to sit down, Mr. Hennings?"

He shook his head. "You said she was... was murdered?" His eyes strayed beyond them, then, before either could react, he charged past.

"Wait!"

"Jem!"

Their grasping hands came up empty. Neither could stop him. But he drew up short when he reached the threshold of the bedroom. "Oh, God," he moaned. "Oh, no." He covered his head with both hands.

"Jem, I'm sorry." "Melina... ? What... ?"

She moved up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Come away, Jem. Sit down with me. I need you beside me. We need each other."

His sobs were painful to listen to. It took some urging, but she managed to turn him around. Leaning into each other, they staggered into the living room, where they sat down side by side on the sofa. He groped for her hand, squeezed it, raised it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.

"Melina, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Did you find her?"

"A neighbor who came over early to borrow coffee."

She was moved to see the tears collecting in his eyes.

To Lawson's credit, he gave them several minutes alone to comfort one another. Eventually he sat down on the ottoman as he had before, ungracefully, bulky shoulders hunched, looking like a frog squatting on a lily pad.

Jem had composed himself. He mopped his face with his handkerchief, then addressed Lawson. "What happened?"

He gave Jem a rundown of the known facts. "She sustained multiple stab wounds, several of which could have been fatal. It appears to have been an act of vengeance. Rage for sure."

"Who could have been enraged at Gillian?"

"That's what we're going to find out. Anything you can tell us might help." Jem nodded vaguely and Lawson continued. "When did you last speak to her?"

"Last night. I came over here with a gift. A ruby pendant." "We found it on the nightstand."

"I have it,
Jem." She opened her hand. The piece of jewelry had left a heart-shaped impression in her palm.

Jem lifted it from her hand and smiled wistfully. "It looked beautiful on her. She was wearing it when I left."

"What time was that?" Lawson asked.

"Uh, nine or so, I think," he replied, rubbing a spot on his temple. "Do we have to do this now? I need some time."

"If you would indulge me by answering a few more questions." Reluctantly Jem signaled for the detective to continue. "How long were you here?"

"Not long. Gillian was ready for bed when I arrived. I gave her the pendant and left."

"Just gave her the gift and left?" "Basically."

Lawson said nothing for a moment but used the time to take Jem's measure. "That's a valuable piece of jewelry, Mr. Hennings. Was last night a special occasion?"

"Yes."

"Care to share?" "It was private." "Private."

"That's right."

Lawson tugged on his lower lip as though mulling over a contradiction. "So you just came and went. Around nine o'clock." "Yes."

"And you said Ms. Lloyd was ready for bed when you got here?"

"She was very tired. She'd
had an eventful day. She was al
ready in pajamas." "Pajamas."

"Am I not speaking clearly, Detective Lawson? Or is there something wrong with your hearing?" Jem asked testily. "Why are you repeating my answers? Jesus Christ! My
fiancée
has been found murdered—"

"
Fiancée
?"

"
Fiancée
?"

She and Lawson spoke in unison, neither concealing their surprise.

"You were engaged?" the detective asked.

Ignoring him, Jem turned to her, looking chagrined. "This should have been happy news, Melina. I'm sorry you had to hear it under these tragic circumstances."

"You were engaged?" she repeated.

"I know you two confided everything to each other. But Gillian and I made a lover's pact not to tell anyone for a while." "When did this come about?"

"A few weeks ago."

"Had you set a wedding date?"

"Not yet. We were taking first things first."

He gave her a significant look, and she realized that he was referring to the Al, which he obviously didn't want discussed in front of Lawson. "I see."

"It was tough to keep the secret," he said, smiling sadly. "Especially from you."

"It must have been."

"There was no engagement ring on her finger," Lawson noted. "You're sure that it was official and that Ms. Lloyd had agreed to marry you?"

Jem rounded on the detective. "Of course I'm sure. What do you think? That I'm making it up?"

Lawson shrugged. "Are you?"

"Why would I?"

"Because it might be easier for a homicide investigator to believe a
fiancé
rather than a boyfriend who drops by at bedtime with an expensive gift but who doesn't spend the night. Were you angry because Gillian sent you packing last night and didn't invite you to stay over?"

Jem sprang to his feet. "You think I did that?" he shouted, angrily pointing toward the bedroom. "I loved her. She was going to be my wife."

"Jem."

"Calm down, Hennings." Lawson was unfazed by Jem's angry outburst. "Nobody's accused you of anything. I'm just tossing out some options."

"Your options stink."

"I just want to make certain I've got your story straight." "It's not a story. It's the truth."

"Fine. Sit down."

Jem was fuming and looked ready to fight, but he resumed his seat. "Did he put you through the third degree, too, Melina?"

"I had to answer some questions, yes."

Lawson continued as though Jem's outburst had never occurred. "You said Ms. Lloyd was wearing pajamas." "Yes," Jem hissed. "Boxer shorts and a matching top." "She wasn't wearing any when she was found."

"Then she must've taken them off when she went to bed." "We found the top. No bottoms."

Jem's posture became rigid. "Your implication is insulting to both Gillian and me."

"I'm not implying anything. Why are you so defensive?"

Jem remained mutinously silent. Lawson picked up his questioning. "After you left here, did you go straight home?" "Yes."

"Can anyone corroborate that?"

"The doorman at my building. I live in a high-rise just off Oak Lawn. I left my car with the parking garage attendant. It remained in the garage until I left for work this morning. You can check it out."

"I will."

"There's no need for you to do that, Detective Lawson. It would be a waste of your time."

Jem jerked his head around to her. "What do you mean, Melina?"

Both he and Lawson had been startled not only by the quiet quality of her voice, but also by the statement. Even the other policemen in the room stopped what they were doing and paused to listen. The policewoman who'd treated her with such kindness was regarding her expectantly.

She addressed the detective. "There's no need for you to check with the personnel at Jem's building. I can corroborate his story."

"Melina, what—"

She shook her head to stop Jem's shocked protest. "I know you were here at nine o'clock last night. You left about nine-fifteen. After... after you left, I rinsed the conditioner off my hair."

For several seconds he stared at her with misapprehension. Then his lips parted in wordless surprise. "That was..."

"Me," she said gently. "I was the one here with you last night." He was still too stunned to speak, so she turned to the detective, who was now regarding her with a mix of astonishment and suspicion.

"When we were kids, my sister and I often switched identities," she explained. "We played tricks on babysitters, schoolteachers, friends, even relatives. It was a child's game to us, a challenge to see if we could pull it off without being discovered. We always got away with it." She returned to Jem, who was still looking at her with patent disbelief. "I guess we still can."

Finding his voice, he stammered, "But. . . I kissed you."

"And I stopped it before it got too heavy. Remember?"

He was still mystified. "But why? Why last night?"

She took a deep breath. "It was my idea. A silly, frivolous whim. I suggested it yesterday at lunch. Gillian refused, with very good reason. She reminded me that we're no longer children. But I called her later and pressed the point. I told her I wasn't feeling well, which wasn't exactly true, but I wore her down until she finally agreed to switch places last night. I was here with you, Jem. She escorted my client."

"What do you mean, '
escorted'?" Lawson wanted to know

She explained the nature of her business to the detective. "Last night I was responsible for taking. Colonel Christopher Hart—"