Flipping on the overhead light in the kitchen, she walked hesitantly over to the drawer where she kept her knives.
“Please,” she whispered. She opened it slowly, staring down at the empty slot where the vegetable knife should have been. Her throat tightened. She closed her eyes.
Above her, she heard the floor creak.
“David?” she called. A hit of adrenaline burst inside her like a bomb. “David, is that you?” She dashed back to the foyer and bolted up the steps to the second floor. “David, it's me!”
She glanced down the hall toward the bathroom, noticing that the door to the third floor was open. She rushed for the stairway and took the steps two at a time. For many years she'd rented out her third floor. But it was empty now.
“David! Stop! We have to talk!”
When she reached the top, she saw that the door to the outside stairway was open. “David, wait!” She plunged through the screen door, out onto the landing just in time to see him leap from the stairway into the backyard.
“David! Please!”
But it was too late. He'd already rushed across the backyard, jumped the fence, and disappeared into the alley. As she stood looking down into the yard, an electric chill ran through her. Why wouldn't he talk to her?
She stood there for a few seconds more, her mind racing in too many directions, and then closed the door and went back downstairs to the second level. He'd probably come here because it was the only safe place he could think ofâuntil her presence chased him out. She glanced into the guest bedroom, then walked down the hall to the bathroom.
“Good God,” she said, sucking in her breath, seeing David's bloody clothing in a heap on the floor. There was blood in the sink and blood on several of her towels. Checking behind the shower curtain, she saw that the showerhead was still dripping water. He must have just finished when she'd come in. He'd taken a shower, cleaned himself up. But he hadn't had enough time to get rid of his clothesâor, put another way, the evidence.
Rushing back to her bedroom, Jane could tell by the disordered look of her closet that he'd rummaged through it until he'd found something to wear. Sweats, most likely, since they weren't anywhere near the same size.
And that left her with another difficult question. What did she do with his clothes? By all rights, she should turn them over to the police. She sat down on her bed and dropped her head in her hands. Luberman deserved to die. Isn't that what David had said? She didn't disagree, but she couldn't protect a murderer.
Could she?
If she did, she was pretty sure it would make her an accomplice. Ifâand it was a big ifâhe
had
murdered Luberman. She couldn't bring herself to believe that the David she used to know could kill a man. He might have beaten Luberman to a bloody pulp, and enjoyed every minute of it, but murder? No. And yet, David wasn't the same man she used to know.
The longer Jane sat on her bed, the clearer the moral question became: Could she live with herself if she turned his bloody clothes over to the police without first making sure he was guilty? She knew what the law required, but her own sense of loyalty required, in this instance, something different.
Jane ran downstairs and retrieved a large plastic garbage bag from a box under the sink. After stuffing David's clothing inside, she spent the next couple of hours cleaning the bathroom. She doubted she got all the blood evidence, but then the police would have no reason to examine her house. She hoped. She took the garbage bag out to her garage and hid it in a box with a bunch of gardening tools.
The sun was coming up when she finally drove away.
“W
here have you been!” demanded Cordelia. “Do you know what happened here last night?”
“I know,” said Jane, dumping herself on the couch next to Mouse. She hugged him, kissed his neck.
Cordelia bent over and sniffed Jane's clothes. “You smell like bleach.”
“I do? Must be that new laundry detergent I'm using.”
One eyebrow shot upward. “Didn't you leave wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans?”
Jane shrugged. “Can't remember.”
“Well, I do. And now you have on a black shirt and gray cords. What's the deal? You're hiding something.”
“Me? No way. I know better than to hide things from you. I've learned my lesson.”
“Well, I should hope so.” She eyed Jane a moment more, then flopped down on a chair with a tired sigh. “Where were you?” she said, lifting her legs onto an ottoman.
“Out trying to find David.”
“I heard he took off. Not very smart.” She looked frazzled, like she hadn't slept all night. Which she probably hadn't. And as luck
would have it, her tiredness no doubt saved Jane a whole lot of explaining.
“Have you talked to Joanna?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me? I was down in her loft until about fifteen minutes ago. She's ecstatic.”
Jane nodded and looked away.
“Well, ecstatic andâ” She cleared her throat. “Death is a sad circumstance, I realize, but ⦠oh, hell, she's thrilled. So am I. That man deserved what he got.”
“I suppose.”
“Joanna called Freddy. Instead of staying in L.A., he's flying back. He's already on the plane. Joanna wants us to come down to her loft when he gets back so we can celebrate her freedom.”
Sure, Jane understood how Joanna must feel with Luberman out of her life for good, but with all the questions surrounding David and his potential involvement in the murder, celebrating sounded a little premature.
“Come on, Janey. Don't look so dour. Joanna's free! She can come and go as she wants. The show must go on and all that crap. I told her that I'd give her a couple of days to rest and recuperate, and then we'd start rehearsals.”
“Great,” said Jane, knowing she hadn't put quite the sense of joy in the word that Cordelia might have liked. “Did Nolan talk to her?”
“Yes, at great length.”
“The police come to any conclusions while I was gone?”
She shook her head. “Nolan said he'll call you if he hears anything.”
Jane was pretty sure that even though Nolan wasn't bosom buddies with Sergeant Dreashon Johnson, he'd still find a way to get information about the ongoing investigation. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was ten after six. “You know, Cordelia, I've got to catch some shut-eye. Otherwise, I'll be walking into walls by afternoon.”
“You can
sleep
at a time like this?”
“I can give it the old college try.”
“Hattie should be home by ten. That's another reason
I'm
wide awake.”
“Good for you.” Jane gave Cordelia a congratulatory chuck on her arm. “See how nice it is to be up during the early morning hours?”
On her way back to her makeshift bedroom, she called over her shoulder, “Hey, why don't you take this once-in-a-lifetime chance to go outside and examine the morning dew.”
Â
Shortly before noon, Jane was awakened by the sound of a shriek. She cracked an eye just in time to duck as Cordelia leaped through the curtains and landed next to her on the chaise.
“Hey!” she shouted. After making sure she had no broken bones, she sat up.
“Octavia just called.”
“Oh, goodie.”
“She heard what happened here last night on the morning news. She said she and Radley had talked about it and decided they couldn't bring Hattie back to a place where two men had just been murdered.”
Jane groaned. It had never occurred to her Octavia would use that. Not that she didn't have a legitimate point. “What did you tell her?”
“That
I
hadn't done the murders, so what was her problem?”
“I'm sure she loved that. How long did she say she's keeping Hattie for?”
“She was dialed up to high witch, let me tell you. She wouldn't commit to anything, but they're extending their stay. All I can say is just freakin'
faboo.
As if no murders ever happen in L.A. or London. This world is seriously depraved, Jane.
I'm
not responsible for it!”
“Did you get a chance to talk to Hattie?”
“Octavia said she was taking a bubble bath, couldn't be disturbed.”
“That is
so
bogus,” said Jane.
“Tell me about it. She's separating me from her, little by little, day by day. But it won't work. Unlike my sister, Hattie has a heart.”
Jane's cell phone rang. It was on the table next to the chaise. “God, I need a vacation.”
“You're on vacation.”
“Then I need a vacation from my vacation.” Flipping it open, she said hello.
“It's Nolan. How you doing?”
“Better, thanks.”
“We need to talk about your face.”
“But not now.”
“Okay, not now. But we
are
talkin'. Have you heard from David?”
“Afraid not.” The fact that she'd seen himâthat he'd left his bloody clothes in her houseâwas a fine distinction she decided to ignore. The idea that the murder weapon probably belonged to her wasn't so fine a point, but then Nolan hadn't directly asked her about it. When it came to David, so many things had piled up so fast, she hadn't had a chance to talk to him about any of them. Now she was glad she hadn't. If he ever found out what she was keeping from him, it might be the end of their friendship. She hated all this sinning by omission stuff, but she didn't see that she had a choice.
“You've got to find him, Jane. You must have some idea where he's gone.”
“I'm working on it.”
“At the very least he's a material witness.” He paused. “The cops like him for Luberman's murder, you know.”
“I figured as much.”
“He had motive and opportunity. I'm inclined to agree. But you think he's innocent?”
“To be honest, I don't know.”
“Well, here's what I just found out from a friend in the ME's office. They put a priority on the autopsy. Looks like before Luberman made it to the Linden Building, he'd been shot at close range in the chest. The police traced the blood trail back to an alley outside the Singapore Bar. It's a dive not far from the lofts.”
Jane sat up straight. “What do you suppose all that was about?”
“The cops aren't sure. They stopped by the bar this morning, talked to the owner, who also happened to be there last night. They showed him a photo of Luberman and he said he recognized him, that he'd come in around one A.M., sat alone at a table in the back until sometime around one-thirty, when another guy showed up and joined him.”
“What did the other guy look like?” asked Jane.
“Not much of a description. White. Baseball cap. Dark clothes. The bartender said he never really looked at him. They must have left fairly soon after the second guy showed up.”
“Together?”
“He couldn't say because he didn't see them leave, but the cops are pretty sure they went outside to the alley, got into some kind of scuffle, and two shots were fired. One from Luberman's twenty-two and the other from the second guy's thirty-eight. They know it was a thirty-eight because that's what hit Luberman in the chest. They also found two different blood types in the alley.”
“Butâ” It didn't make any sense. “Luberman gets shot and the first thing he does is head over to the Linden Building?”
“Exactly. He picks off the guard and uses the guard's keys to let himself in.”
“And then what?”
“Again, the cops aren't sure. But it seems like he must have met someone in the stairwell who had a knife. Get this. He had thirty-two knife wounds in his chest, his back, several on his arms, a couple to his neck. He'd already lost a lot of blood, so when he got knifed, he bled out pretty fast.”
“Minutes?”
“Yeah. Minutes. And then, and I know this sounds crazy, but it looks like someone kicked him, broke some ribs, one of his legs, crushed part of the back of his skull. I mean, the guy was already dead and his killer was still waling on him.”
“David told me he kicked Luberman.”
Silence. “Did you tell that to the police?”
“I didn't ⦠I mean ⦠no.”
“Jane? What were you thinking? Withholding evidence is a crime.”
“But if David kicked him after he was dead, that means he didn't kill him.”
“You don't know that. He could have knifed him, then maybe he went to wash his hands, or have a smoke. People do crazy stuff at times like that. Maybe, when he came back to see if Luberman was dead, he started kicking him. Whoever killed Luberman was in a state of pure rage. This murder was personal. The killer knew Luberman and wanted to annihilate him.”
Jane felt like she'd been rolled over by a steam shovel. But what Nolan said made sense. The therapist had already told Jane that David was dangerous. How much more proof did she need?
“Did he say anything else to you?” asked Nolan.
“He said that when he found Luberman, he was pretty sure he wasn't breathing.”
More silence. “Why was David in the stairwell?”
“He didn't say.”
“Seems kind of fishy, don't you think?”
“Maybe he was just coming in. He could have been out on the town.”
“And just happened to find Luberman right after he died? You believe that?”
“I don't know. It's possible.”
“Look, Jane, when you find him, I suggest you call me before you try to talk to him. I know you consider him a friendâ”
She lowered her head. “I hear you.”
“I'm sorry, but with what you just told me, I'd say it's not only probable but likely David's our guy.”
She felt a heaviness in her chest, that same sense of dread that had been dogging her ever since David had left the water on in her house all night. She knew it wasn't the act of a man who was in control of all his faculties. She'd wanted to believe he was okay, just tired, or distracted, in the midst of relationship problems, business or personal problems, so she'd made excuses. She'd excused the destruction to her house, the heavy drinking, the attack in the barn. Was this
new parasomnia diagnosis just one more in a long line of excuses? Was she refusing to see what was right in front of her face?
“Thanks for calling,” she said. “Will you let me know if you hear anything more?”
“Yeah. But you've got to promise me something, too, Jane. No more withholding evidence from the policeâor me.”
“Right. Should I call and tell them what I didn't tell them last night?”
Nolan sighed. “No, just leave it for now. If we're lucky, it won't ever be an issue.”
“Okay. Keep in touch.”
As soon as she closed the phone, Cordelia was all over her for a replay of what Nolan had said.
“I'll tell you, but I have to eat something first.”
“Fine,” said Cordelia, leaping up.
Jane saw now that she was wearing a black halter-top dress with a sequined belt and a shredded handkerchief hem. It looked like the perfect evening wear for after that unexpected shipwreck. Totally inappropriate attire for the middle of an autumn day in chilly Minnesota. And of course, that's what made it so Cordelia.
“Tuck in your shirt and follow me down to Joanna's apartment. The official celebration starts at noon. Not that I'm exactly up for it. I thought Hattie would be with us. But we can't let Joanna down.”
“Oh, Cordelia,” said Jane, lying back against the pillows. “I don't feel like celebrating.”
“But you feel like eating, right? She's having it catered. It's just a small affair. You and me and Joanna and Freddy. Oh, and Faye, too. It is a
must do.
Come on.” She tugged on Jane's arm. Since she had the strength to flip Jane into the air, catch her, and carry her downstairs if she wanted to, the tug was a sop to Jane's reticence.