Loving Again

chapter Eleven


By the next morning Amanda had a plan. Although she didn’t know the name of the guy who’d contacted her, she now understood what he was after. He’d referred to it in the text he’d sent and it was obvious from what she found in her studio the morning after the murders. In the letter from Tom Webster, her late boyfriend had denied stealing money from his partners, saying Amanda had taken it from his apartment and he thought she’d hidden it in a “safe” place. That was what the intruders had been looking for in her house — a safe full of money.

She didn’t know where the mythical safe was or how much this guy thought she’d stolen. But she could get money from her trust funds to bribe him. If he had the money, he’d leave her alone.

The anonymous text from the night before, like the anonymous note in her studio, also threatened Sam. So the second part of the plan was to keep him away from what she was doing, to keep him safe. She didn’t know what would happen if Sam found out what she was doing. It could end any chance she had for a future with him but she didn’t care. He had to be out of harm’s way. And she was the only person who could make that happen.

She answered the text. Said she had what the sender demanded but it would take her a couple of days to get it. Then she’d deliver it someplace public. As long as he left them alone.

One more text and she’d head for her beach house where she’d be out of everyone’s reach, even Sam’s. Especially Sam’s. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep what she knew from him.

• • •

Sam picked up a message as he was walking up the steps into Central Precinct. It was from Amanda, canceling their dinner.

He went back down to the sidewalk, crossed the street to the park, and called her. He expected her to avoid answering but, surprisingly, she picked up.

“Amanda, I apologize for the way I left things last night. I’m sorry. I handled it badly.”

“Did you get my text?

“A text message? Ah … what did it say?”

“I need to cancel tonight.”

“I upset you. Let’s talk.”

“That’s not it. I’m not feeling — I mean, I think maybe Chihuly’s sick.”

“Can I help you take him to the emergency vet clinic?”

“No, I just need to stay with him.”

“I’ll bring over take-out. You have to eat.”

“He’s not good with anyone other than me when he’s feeling bad.”

“Maybe we can have dinner tomorrow, after you see how he does. Will you call and tell me how things go?”

“Sure. I’ll call.”

“Amanda, I … ” But he was talking to a dead phone.

He tried all weekend to get in touch with her. There was no response. When he drove by her house and her Highlander was gone, he went to the studio. She wasn’t there, either, and Giles said he hadn’t seen her.

Sam left notes, called, texted, emailed, patrolled her street looking for her. Nothing. Where the hell was she?

• • •

Monday morning, Amanda drove back from the coast and went directly to her bank. Her banker was concerned at the size of the withdrawal she wanted and politely asked what she was planning to do with it. A real estate deal, she said, with an eccentric old man who wanted cash. The banker knew she had a number of real estate investments so he reluctantly agreed. But it would take a couple days to get the cash.

• • •

Sam was waiting for the elevator when the door opened and Danny Hartmann got out, a paper cup in her hand. “Welcome to Monday,” she said. “Have a good weekend?” She held the door for him.

He got on the elevator, seeming not to want to share what his weekend had been like. Finally he said, “It’s over. That’s the best I can say about it. How ’bout you?”

“Better than yours, from the tone of your voice.” Sam let the elevator door close before she could say anything else.

She knocked on the door of Lt. Angel’s office.

“Danny. Good. Come on in. Tell me what you have on Kane/Jordan.”

“It gets curiouser and curiouser.”

“Wouldn’t have thought you were the Alice-in-Wonderland type, Danny. Although now that you mention it, you do resemble the Red Queen sometimes.”

“Thanks for the compliment. If that’s a compliment, which I don’t think it is. And how the hell do you know about Alice in Wonderland?”

“Five daughters, remember? Ask me anything about Disney princesses, Alice, Hermione. I‘ve read it all.” He sighed. “Not one super hero or G.I. Joe.”

“At least with Hermione you got Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, a f*cking wizard. But that’s not what you have for me, is it?”

Danny set her coffee cup on his desk and summarized what Amanda had told her. “She may have been wrong to withhold telling us she was there but she’s right about one thing — there are too many similarities to the Webster case for coincidence. And all those coincidences wrap it up neatly. Also like last year.”

She finished off her coffee and pitched the cup in the trashcan. “We’re being led by our noses to see Amanda St. Claire as the perp. Why the similarities to the Webster case, I haven’t figured out yet, but I will.”

“She has a motive.”

“Weak, according to the folks I’ve talked to but, interestingly, established publicly in front of half the Bullseye staff.”

“You think one of them is our perp?”

“I think Kane wanted an audience to establish she had a reason to hate him. I don’t like the time element either. The guy across the street says she was there less than ten minutes. I don’t think she could have done what was done in ten minutes. Add a left-handed perp who brought down a six-footer and the image it paints for me isn’t Amanda St. Claire.”

“Okay, for the moment, let’s accept what you say is true,” Lt. Angel said. “That still leaves her lying about being there. Why?”

“I think she saw something and is too scared to tell me. Maybe the murderer or someone she knew. I’m not sure. I wish she’d trust me enough to talk to me honestly.”

“Let me think about this for a while. Got anything else?”

“A few odds and ends. The guy who saw Amanda there also saw a ‘classy car,’ as he described it. Silver, he thought, or gray, probably a BMW. Liz Fairchild, who owns the gallery where Kane showed his work, has a silver BMW and was on the eastside that night. She was evasive about where she was, even intimated that she might have been a little drunk. I think she was at Bullseye, too.”

“Could Amanda have seen her? Maybe that’s who she’s trying to protect. I imagine they’re acquainted.”

“Yeah, they are. The Fairchild Gallery represents Amanda. Maybe they’re each protecting the other.”

Lt. Angel got up from his desk. “I’d congratulate you on your work but since you’re right, it’s Wonderland quality, I’ll save the awards and decorations until you come back with a name. I will say you’ve turned over a lot of interesting rocks. What’s next?”

“I want to find out whose fingerprints are on the kiln controller and the glass, so I’ll nag the lab. And I’m going back to the Pearl to talk to Liz Fairchild. Maybe now that she’s had a chance to think things over, she’ll have more to say to me.”

• • •

“Detective Hartmann, how nice to see you again.” Liz Fairchild greeted the police officer as she opened the door. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d come during regular gallery hours to see what my artists are exhibiting.”

“Sorry to inconvenience you, Ms. Fairchild, but this isn’t so much about art appreciation as an appreciation for the truth. Or lack of it, in this case.”

“Oh, my, you’re more confrontational than you were the last time you were here.”

“That was the good cop. I’m here today as the bad cop.”

“I thought that was a game you played with two officers.”

“We’re understaffed. Can we go back to your office for a few minutes?”

Liz led the way. “Okay,” she said when they were both seated, “what now?”

“Unless you want to spend the afternoon at the precinct with your lawyer and a couple of officers really playing good-cop/bad-cop, you can tell me the truth about what you saw at Bullseye when you were there the night of the murder.”

Liz took a deep breath and rummaged around aimlessly on the top of her desk. Eventually she looked straight at Danny Hartmann.

“Look, I didn’t lie. I just left out a few things.”

“Lot of that going around,” Danny said.

“I got a phone call while I was eating dinner. A voice whispered that if I wanted to get the contract thing straightened out with Eubie, I should get to Bullseye ASAP.”

“Did you recognize the voice?”

“No. But I went anyway. It wasn’t much of a detour to swing by Bullseye on my way home so I thought what the hell, I might as well go see what he had to say.”

“What did you see while you were there?”

“The building was dark. No signs anyone was there, except for what was parked in the covered parking area: an old brown hatchback, Eubie’s van, and … and a red SUV. Amanda St. Claire’s. With her vanity plate, it’s easy to identify.”

“Was she in her vehicle?”

“No, I didn’t see a living soul. Or a dead one.”

“So, what did you do?”

“It was pouring rain so I stayed in the car and waited for a couple minutes to see if anyone came out. No one showed so I left.”

“Any idea what time it was?”

“Around nine, I’d guess.”

“You’re sure that’s all.”

“Yes, Detective Hartmann. That’s all. I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t see anyone get killed.”

“But you saw Amanda St. Claire’s SUV there about the time two people were killed and that’s why you’ve been evading my questions.”

Liz sighed. “Yes. I did and that’s why I have been.”