Murder 101 Part 7

I looked up at him. "Your name is Bobby?"

He smiled. "Yes."

It occurred to me that I hadn't known that fact. "What's going on with Ray? Is he in trouble?"

Sad face again. "I'm not sure yet. We're taking him in for questioning." He leaned his elbow on the roof of the car, and there was that d.a.m.n gun again. "Are you going to be all right driving home?"

"I think I'll be fine." I looked at the control panel. Getting an aeronautics degree from NASA would be easier than trying to turn on the air-conditioning. "I've never driven a car that didn't have window cranks, but I should be able to figure it out." I thought about Ray in a room being questioned, and I started to figure out what was going on. He was a suspect in the murder. I couldn't think of any other reason why he was going to end up at the police station. I was pretty sure that being a s.h.i.+tty husband wasn't against the law, even though I had given some thought to calling my local councilman on that one.

Crawford leaned down and I got a whiff of a light scent that reminded me of clean laundry. He held out the plastic key tag. "Whatever you do, just don't hit this b.u.t.ton. That will set off the alarm. I don't think you need to set it. Everything else should be straightforward." He paused for a minute. "I don't get the sense that the car will be stolen in your neighborhood, but if so, I also don't get the sense that you'd be really broken up about it." He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"You're absolutely right about both things." I got in the car but left the door open, one leg out. "He's an a.s.shole, but he's harmless." I said the words but wasn't sure if I believed them at that moment. I hadn't believed that he would cheat on me, so what was to say that he wouldn't kill, too? I felt a sob rising in my throat. "You know, secret vasectomies and all." I closed the door and quickly backed out of the spot. I looked in the rearview mirror as I drove away, and Crawford was still in the parking lot looking at the car with his sad, handsome face.

Ten.

I left campus and merged onto the Saw Mill River Parkway, going north. I had never had a car so responsive and had to keep myself from going eighty miles an hour all the way home. I didn't know why, but I was crying so hard that I had to blow my nose into the sleeve of my blouse. I guess I still had a soft spot for Ray that would take a long time to harden. He had hurt me worse than anyone I could imagine, but we had been together for a long time. I wondered aloud if he would be so upset if he thought I was going to end up in jail.

Ray had one of those fancy voice-activated cell phone things attached to the console. Since I wasn't Ray and I was sure he didn't have Max's number stored in his phone, I punched in her number as I was driving and hoped that she would be able to hear me. She picked up after four rings.

"Max, it's me. Listen, Ray needs help. What was the name of that hotshot lawyer you used to date? The one who defended the guy who shot the kid on the subway?"

"Mitch Klein," she said. "What's going on? Are you crying?"

I sniffled loudly. "Yes. I went to Ray's office, and those two cops were there. They're taking him in for questioning on the Miceli thing. I don't know why." I noticed that I was going eighty again and slowed down. I came to the light at Executive Boulevard and stopped. "Call me in a half hour or so and give me the number just in case he needs it. Can you do that?"

"Sure. I'll call you in a half hour."

Ten minutes later, I'd managed to pull the car up my driveway, get out, and lock the doors without incident, priding myself on the fine execution. I let myself in through the back door, threw my briefcase on the kitchen table, and took out my remaining can of Foster's. I opened it and guzzled most of it down, some of it running down either side of my face. I found a crumpled-up paper towel on the counter and ran it over my face to sop up what hadn't ended up in my mouth. In moments, I had the golden glow that I had not been able to replicate with martinis or red wine.

I went into the powder room off my front hallway and turned on the light. My face was red and blotchy from crying, and my mascara had run down my cheeks. I filled the white porcelain basin with water and washed my face with the antibacterial hand soap that I kept on the sink. Now my face was red, blotchy, dry, and germ-free.

I went up to my bedroom to change my clothes. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a clean T-s.h.i.+rt out of my drawers and shook off the mules. I took everything I had on and threw the pile into the hamper. The phone rang just as I had taken a pair of flip-flops out of the closet and put them on. It was Max.

"Mitch Klein," she said, and recited the number. "I already spoke with him and told him to expect your call."

I jotted the number down on a sc.r.a.p of paper next to the phone. "Thanks, Max."

"What's going on?" she asked. "Do the police really think that Ray had something to do with this?"

"I don't know. It looked serious when I showed up at his office, and being taken in for questioning can't be good."

"Let me know what happens. Make sure you tell the police that Ray is an a.s.shole, but relatively harmless."

I had to laugh. "I already did, Max." I hung up and put the sc.r.a.p of paper in my pocket.

The crunch of gravel outside my window, followed by the warning beeps of a commercial truck in reverse, made me go to the window to investigate. As I pulled the shade aside, I saw a tow truck backing up my driveway. I dropped the shade and raced back down the stairs.

I ran out the back door and into the yard. The tow truck was hooking the rear end of Ray's car to a winch and pulling it up onto the flatbed. Detective Crawford stood to the side of the tow truck, watching impa.s.sively, one arm hanging down and the other lazily resting on his gun. An NYPD police car with two uniformed officers inside sat at the bottom of the driveway, flashers revolving; they had been accompanied by a Dobbs Ferry car with two officers in it. Crawford looked up when he heard the back door slam.

"We need the car, Alison," he said. It was the first time I had heard him use my name.

"For what?" I yelled over the din of the winch.

"Ray is a suspect. We're impounding the car and its contents so that we can do a thorough investigation. We have reason to believe that Ray knew Kathy Miceli."

"Of course he knew her. She was in his intro biology cla.s.s," I yelled. He looked at me. "Don't look at me with the sad face," I said, putting my head in my hands. I knew what that meant. She was in his cla.s.s but "knew" was the operative word.

He looked confused. "Let's go inside." He walked over to the tow-truck driver and motioned to the officers in the police car. After exchanging a few words, he turned back to me. "Did you leave anything in the car?"

I thought for a moment and remembered my briefcase on the kitchen table. I shook my head.

"Can you get me the keys?"

He held open the back door and waited for me to enter. I handed him the keys, and he went back outside. After a few minutes, the noise died down as the police car, the tow truck, and Ray's car left my driveway. Crawford came back in and sat down across from me. We sat at the kitchen table, me with the can of Foster's in front of me. A happy beer commercial with swinging singles it was not.

I felt drained. "Can I get you something?" I asked, trying not to forget my manners.

"Can I have some water?" he asked.

I pulled myself up from the chair and opened the refrigerator. There were several bottles of water on the top shelf and not much else. I handed him one and sat down. "I hope you don't want a gla.s.s," I said, and slumped back into the chair.

He opened the water and took a long drink. "I need to ask you a few questions."

"You have got to get a better opening line," I said wearily.

"You're upset."

"You think?" I rubbed my hands over my eyes.

"We have to investigate every single angle," he said, trying to justify Ray's being questioned.

"I know. Why Ray?"

He didn't answer. "Did Ray have a set of keys for the Volvo?"

I thought for a minute. "Yes. He told me that he lost them a few weeks ago."

"When did he move out?"

"Six months ago."

He took out his notebook again and flipped to a clean page. "And when was your divorce finalized?"

"The same week that my car was stolen."

His pen stopped moving in the notebook but he didn't look up and I was glad. That revelation would certainly have brought out the sad face. I was already crying; the sad face would have put me over the edge. "We're going to search the house tonight." I got the sense that he wasn't supposed to tell me that by how softly he spoke. I think the police usually like the element of surprise when it comes to searches. "Wyatt's getting a search warrant now. We don't like to break and enter if we don't have to." He gave me a knowing look, and I flashed back to the dorm break-in.

I tried to remain calm, but tears were streaming down my face. "What do you think you're going to find?"

"We're not sure, but anything that Ray left behind, anything that ties him to other women, to Kathy, in particular, is what we're after."

I took a napkin out of the holder on the table and snorted loudly into it. "Are you a really s.h.i.+tty cop or do you just feel sorry for me? Why are you telling me this?"

He pulled on his tie. "Because you asked. And I don't know how you got mixed up in this, so yes, I guess I feel a little sorry for you." He looked like he was going to say something else, but he pressed his lips together instead.

I wiped my eyes with the soggy napkin. Crawford handed me a clean one from the holder. "Listen, call Wyatt and tell him he doesn't need a warrant. You can look through the whole house if you want. There's nothing here," I said.

He took out his cell phone and punched in a number. He got up and walked into the hallway, his back turned to me. When he was done, he turned back around and sat down at the table. "They'll be here in an hour or so."

I nodded. "Will it be all right if I leave while you're looking through my things?"

"Only if it's all right for us to be here without you," he said. "Where are you going to go?"

"I can't go far. I don't have a car, remember?" I laughed because I was done crying, and I was in that crazy-hysterical place where laughing turns to crying and vice versa. A big blast of snot flew out of my nose, and I caught it in the napkin, but not before he caught sight of it. I got up. "I think I've demeaned myself enough for the short time we've known each other, so I'll take my leave." I put my hand on the door handle. "Will you still be here when I get back?"

"I'll call you when we're done. Take your phone."

I reached into my briefcase and got my phone. He stood up, took off his blazer, and hung it neatly on the back of the kitchen chair. The big gun looked even bigger than it normally did, strapped in a leather holster that ran under his arm and across his back. I could see the outline of his badge under his s.h.i.+rt pocket.

"If you don't want me in the house until Wyatt and the other officers get here, I'll wait outside." He rolled up his left sleeve to just below his elbows. I guess searching through my underwear drawer for evidence was dirty business, and he wanted to be prepared.

I waved my hand dismissively. "You? You're about the only person I trust anymore, and I didn't even know your first name until two hours ago."

"It's Robert Edward." He held out his hand.

I took it. "Nice to meet you, Robert Edward," I said. I walked out into the backyard, down the driveway, and into the street, not sure where I was going.

Eleven.

I was sitting in Starbucks in town when my phone rang for the first time. It was nine o'clock, and I had just finished my third cup of coffee. Ray's voice sounded strained.

"Alison, I need some help. They want to hold me overnight. I cannot stay here all night," he pleaded.

I pulled the sc.r.a.p of paper from my pocket. "Ray, I got Mitch Klein's number from Max. Call him. He's the lawyer who defended that guy who shot the kid on the subway."

"You don't understand. You're my one phone call. Call Klein and tell him I'm at the Fiftieth Precinct in a holding cell. He'll know what to do."

He hung up before I could respond. So they really did enforce the one-phone-call rule. I called Klein. I got an answering service but left the message with the operator, saying that Ray and I were friends with Max and that he was involved in something related to the Katherine Miceli case. I figured that would get his attention and at least get us a call back. High-priced lawyers and high-profile cases went together like peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly.

I was the only person in the cafe. I asked the young woman behind the counter what time they closed. She had on a very small T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans that barely covered her b.u.t.t crack; I prayed that she wouldn't have to bend over for anything. "Eleven," she said, and returned to cleaning the big espresso maker. "You want another? It's on me."

I pulled a five out of my jeans pocket and got up. I handed it to her. "No, it's on me. Have one, too."

"I don't drink coffee," she said, stuffing the five into the tip jar. "That stuff will rot your insides."

Great. Global warming, breast cancer, terrorism, a potentially homicidal ex-husband, and coffee that rots your insides. One more thing to worry about.

She handed me a hot cup of coffee. "Be careful. That coffee is nuclear hot."

Nuclear hot. As opposed to just hot, I thought smugly. I sat back down and prepared to take a careful sip. The door to the coffee shop opened suddenly, and a bell jangled, startling me in my over-caffeinated state. Instead of the slow sip I was going to take, the cup jiggled a bit in my hand, and coffee spewed out of the top of the cup. The scalding liquid dribbled from my lip down my chin and into the front of my blouse. The pain ignited every nerve ending in my body, and it was all I could do not to cry out loud.

Crawford stood in front of the table, and handed me a napkin to blot the damage. His tie was off, and the top three b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt were open. I could see a clean, white crew-neck unders.h.i.+rt peeking out. He was holding his jacket, his s.h.i.+rtsleeves rolled up into the neat cuffs that he had started when I was at the house. His demeanor said "off duty." He sat down across from me and stretched his legs out in front of him, laying his jacket across his thighs. "Are you OK?" he asked, taking in my red lip and chin. "Do you want some ice?"

I shook my head no, but he had already asked the girl at the counter for a cup of ice. He wrapped some in a napkin and handed it to me.

"How did you find me?" I asked, pressing the freezing napkin against my lip.

"I figured you'd be here," he said. "There's really nowhere else to go in this town."

"They don't call you 'detective' for nothing," I said, and moaned slightly as I removed the napkin from my lip and threw an ice cube into the coffee cup. "Do you want anything?" I asked him.

He looked over at the girl behind the counter and something registered on his face-it looked suspiciously like disapproval to me-and shook his head. He leaned in and whispered to me. "I hope she doesn't have to bend over for anything."

"You find anything?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not sure. We took some things out, but I don't think they were yours."

I wrapped my hands around the cup and jiggled my legs up and down. "Like what?"

"Can't say." Under the table, he put his hand on my legs to stop them from moving and left it on my knees.

"I hope you didn't take my vibrator. It's innocent, I tell you!"

He turned crimson and looked around. For an escape hatch probably.

"I'm kidding. I don't have a vibrator." I looked away. It had been so long that I didn't even know if I still had a v.a.g.i.n.a. Mental note: lay off the off-color s.e.x jokes. "When's the last time you slept?" I asked.

"A few days ago. Why?" he asked.

"You look like s.h.i.+t."

He laughed. "Thanks."

Something dawned on me. "Robert Edward, did you sleep in your cruiser outside my house last night?"

His body tensed, and I knew that I was right. It was his car that had pulled away this morning at six-fifteen. "It's not a cruiser," he said.