A Shred of Truth (15 page)

My objectivity, as I knelt beside Felicia, was already in question.

“I tried to help,” Freddy C vowed. “Found her right there.”

The pool of blood had grown and oozed over the concrete to settle in the cracks. There were plenty of reasons to leave everything untouched and call the cops. Of course, Meade would eventually connect this with my surveillance at the hotel, so any hopes of my escaping future interrogation were negligible.

I looked down. I had to know. Had to see for myself. My fingers eased around the nape of her neck to her carotid artery.

“She didn’t budge,” Freddy was saying.

Clammy skin. No pulse.

“Tried talking to her, but not a word. Not one.”

“She’s gone.”

“Didn’t touch her,” Freddy repeated. “I tried to help.”

“I know. I believe you.” I lifted my head. “Are we all clear?”

He looked toward Fourth Avenue, where a car sped by. Sounds of drunken bravado rang out, most likely from the strip club two blocks away, the one place open late here on a Saturday night. Along Oak Street, a breeze stirred residual heat and lingering odors.

“I’m gonna turn her over,” I said.

My homeless friend filled his lungs, gripped his beard with one hand.

“Felicia?” I rested my palm on her back. She was gone, yet some misguided sense of formality had me talking to her. “Sorry, but I need to see what he did to you.”

Freddy tensed. “I didn’t—”

“Not you. Keep watching for me, okay?”

My hands moved over her wounded shoulder, took hold, and eased her onto her side. Blond hair dangled over a slack mouth where pinkish blood had foamed.

I blinked. Took a breath.

This afternoon these lips had pressed against mine. Earlier this evening they’d downed white zinfandel. For three years Felicia and I had shared a rocky relationship, and we’d spent the last two apart. I wasn’t the man for her—that much I knew—but she’d flown to Nashville to see
me
. All she’d wanted was another chance.

My inexpert examination continued, but the work of the razor knife was clearly responsible for her death. Even with the moon working as a spotlight, the depth of the stab wounds was impossible to judge. Muscle and skin had contracted at these points, her body’s attempt to hold itself together. A coppery-blood scent stirred in the breeze, almost triggering my gag reflex as I took in the damage to her midsection.

I winced.
Gimme strength here
.

I knew I shouldn’t be handling anything—“contamination of a crime scene” and all that desensitizing mumbo jumbo. Nevertheless, I closed the folds of her robe and draped her jacket gently over her.

I looked up at Freddy nervously shifting side to side. “Let’s get you outta here.”

“The police. They need to come.”

“Yes, I’ll call them. First, let me take you somewhere safe. You don’t wanna be mixed up in this. You’re sure you didn’t touch anything?”

“Nothing.”

“No blood on your shoes? Double-check.”

He nodded and checked. Pointed to me. “Your hands.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

“But … who did this? We can’t leave her. No, we can’t do that.”

“Doesn’t seem right, does it?”

“She’s all alone.”

“You wanna wait for the cops?”

“Me? I … Maybe you.”

“Here’s the plan,” I said, scrubbing my hands against my jeans. “We rush downtown and make a call before anyone else stumbles upon her. Metro will be here within minutes. They’ll take care of her.”

Freddy nodded.

We tramped to the car and headed downtown. Soon I’d be a prime suspect. Detective Meade knew of my contact with Felicia. I needed extra time. A police investigation would only complicate things with AX.

Turning onto Sixth, I nearly collided with an old Pontiac GTO descending from the direction of Fort Negley, a Civil War site atop St. Cloud Hill. The gleaming muscle car blasted its horn. Beside me, my friend grabbed his armrest.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” I apologized. “My mind’s not all here.”

I couldn’t shake the questions. Had Felicia bled to death? Would I have been able to save her with a makeshift tourniquet? She’d been more concerned that I go after my mother—at least who she thought was my mother. Had she known AX’s plan all along?

Go. Before he … takes her
.

One selfless act before breathing her last.

Next to me Freddy C was muttering, “Too late. I was too late.”

The same self-accusation kept grinding through my head.

Ten thirty-two p.m. I called the cops from a pay phone at Third and Broadway. I spoke anonymously, gave a minimum of details, and prayed they’d respond rapidly.

Driving back toward Centennial Park, we watched a pair of Music City’s finest speed by in a noisy bluster of spinning red and blue lights. My heart raced. Freddy flinched in the seat beside me. Minutes later we eased along the park’s perimeter.

“Sure you don’t want a soft bed for the night?” I asked.

“No, thank you.”

“We have a spare room. My brother won’t mind.”

“I’ll be fine, just fine.” He waved at a flowering magnolia. “Drop me here.”

I braked and watched him clamber out. “Freddy.”

He turned toward me with a haunted expression.

“I was with her before you got to her,” I told him. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Seriously,” I said. “Thanks for waiting there with me.”

“That’s the way friends oughta be.”

“Absolutely.”

A police cruiser sat at the corner, with a clear view of our brownstone building. Meade had been true to his word, providing extra patrol on our block. Even with the security cameras watching the property, my brother seemed better guarded by a person toting a gun and a badge.

I could hear it now though: “A call was placed at 10:32, Mr. Black. A woman’s body was discovered on Oak Street, with multiple stab wounds. Officer So-and-So reports that you pulled into your residence thirteen minutes later. Circumstantial? Really? And what about the bloodstains on your pants? Or those hair follicles and ski-mask threads in the back of your car?”

I rolled forward. Evidence on wheels.

My course of action was obvious: Proceed directly to Metro. Do not pass Go. Play on the right side of the law. But a different game was already in motion, and until I could track down Felicia’s killer, his new set of rules was in effect.

Nosed the other direction, I stopped beside the cruiser. My hands dropped into my lap. The sliced side of my face stayed turned away. No fear. No guilt.

“Hi there.”

The cop’s window came down, and he gave me a wary eye. “Good evening.”

“Everything okay, Officer? I’m Johnny Ray’s brother.”

“Johnny Ray Black? Good song that boy’s got on the radio.”

“He’s worked for it.”

“Catchy, no doubt about that. ‘Where’d I go so wrong …’ ”

I joined him. “In tryin’ to do things right?”

“Nothin’ like a good country tune. Back in the early days of the Grand
Ole Opry, my mother’s cousin played the Ryman a couple of times. Great fiddle player.”

Clipped to the man’s uniform, a radio squawked. With an uplifted finger, he angled his head to listen. The dash lights and on-board computer painted him in hues of green. Though I don’t know much about cop lingo, the subject of the transmission was clear: “unidentified Caucasian female …”

I exhaled through narrowly parted lips.

“Been some commotion over on Fourth.” The officer tweaked the volume knob and leaned toward me. “A couple of these dispatchers, they just about yell into the dang radio. I’m getting up in age, true enough, but my hearing’s just fine.”

“You need to go?”

“Not yet. They’ve already sent the nearest units by GPS.”

“Hi-tech.”

“Causes some real mix-ups. A car might be close as the crow flies but on the wrong side of the interstate or miles away.”

“Never thought about that.”

“Neither did they.” He waved me on. “I’ll let you get where you were going.”

“Thanks for keeping an eye out.”

The radio squawked again, and he expelled a tired sigh. By the time I’d parked in the lot beside my brother’s Ford Ranger, the cruiser had completed a U-turn and sped away.

Well, his night was about to go down the flusher.

Johnny met me in the entryway. “Where’ve you been? Had me worried sick.”

“Don’t ask,” I snarled at him.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

I shook my head as he clapped a hand on my arm. If I’d rehearsed this, I would’ve looked him in the eye and conveyed the evening’s events in a dispassionate voice. Instead, by dealing with Freddy’s state of mind and Felicia’s fate, I’d sidestepped my own emotions. A knot began to form in my throat. “Forget it.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I sniffed. “Maybe I have.”

“Now you’re talkin’ nonsense.”

“Probably.” I bowed and shook my head.

“What happened to Felicia?” When my eyes snapped up, he added, “You ever manage to track her down?”

At that point I collapsed in his arms and let it all go.

A
sword dangles over my head. Its razor tip skims through my hair, tingles along my skin. Its shadow sways against the wall that faces me, stabbing down the concrete toward my chair, then pulling away. Shackles hold me in place.

Movement at my back. She’s here, strapped to a chair behind me.

“Mom?” Our shoulders are touching. “Where were you?”

“I had to hide.”

“Why didn’t you come find us?”

“Why didn’t you find
me
?”

“You were gone. And I was six.”

“I never meant to leave you, Aramis. But I was alone too.”

From her lips, the sound of my name is a sweet ointment drawing bitterness from my chest. This is it, our chance to be mother and son again. Her shiny hair brushes against mine with assurance. My eyes cloud. Steeling myself, I sit up straighter, but the overhead sword swings by and splits hot furrows in my cheek. As I slouch to the side, I spot a mangled red tricycle in the corner. Cigarette butts litter the floor.

“Where, Mom?” I insist. “Where’ve you been?”

Her tone turns frosty. “With him.”

“Him?”

In response to my question, a metal door scrapes over the floor. My eyes grow wide.

Who has brought us here? Can we escape?

He is approaching. No, he’s here. Already in the room—spying, watching.

“Show yourself!”

“I’m right here.”

“Okay, I’ll play your game. Just let her go. Please.”

“And what gives you the leverage to negotiate?”

“I’ll do what you want. You want gold? Fine. Leave her alone—that’s all I ask.”

His voice is syrupy. “I already told you: I want you to give me a ring.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Yes you do.” From an unseen hand, splatters of red create dripping initials on the wall, with nothing but the sword’s thin shadow to divide them.

“AX. I know. But what does that mean?”

“It should be obvious.”

“I have no idea.”

“Your sins have blinded you.”

The door slams, and the taunting presence seems to fade. At my back, my mother quivers with quiet sobs. I lean against her, to comfort her with my nearness, but her sorrow spreads into my own neck and shoulders, shaking me, shaking …