The Dead Room (19 page)

“It doesn’t make much difference now,” he said. “It’s a matter of public record. Your boss found the body. The city’s being terrorized, but everything’s okay because Alan Andrews is on the job.”

She popped an olive into her mouth. “You committed a burglary, you know.”

Teddy shrugged. “At the boathouse?”

“I could probably get the charges reduced to trespassing, but you’d have to plead guilty.”

“You think the judge will go easy on me?”

She thought it over and shook her head and they laughed. By the time they’d finished their second martini, the question seemed forgotten and he found her appraising him again. He turned away and looked at the people sitting at tables ordering dinner. Somehow the restaurant had become full without them noticing. Two groups seated close by with menus in their hands were eyeing them carefully. Teddy understood why when he checked his shirt again. He’d almost forgotten about how he and Powell had spent their afternoon. Almost been able to let it go.

“I know a place that won’t be so crowded,” Powell said. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll have one more before the storm hits and call it a night.”

Teddy agreed, and to the delight of the waitress, they paid their bill and left. As they walked to their cars laughing about it the way you would after two drinks, Powell got into a late-model BMW and told him to follow her. They drove east toward the Delaware River, the roads wet but clear of snow. When they reached the waterfront district, Powell made a left, heading north. Teddy was surprised, thinking she was leading him to a place on South Street. A few blocks later, she pulled to a stop beside a parking space on the street and tapped her horn. Then she idled ahead, letting Teddy have the space and turning into a private garage.

Teddy’s curiosity was up. As Powell stepped out of the garage and met him on the sidewalk, she pointed at the building. The place wouldn’t be crowded because it wouldn’t be public. Powell had brought him to her home.

It was a large condo on the fifth floor, its open design taking advantage of the Delaware River from every window. The construction had been high end, and Teddy noted the quality of craftsmanship at a glance. Powell’s furniture was more casual, the feeling of warmth hitting him as she switched on a series of low-wattage lamps and made her apologies for not cleaning up.

Teddy noticed the wide staircase leading upstairs. He hadn’t expected a second floor and turned to the fireplace as Powell stepped into the kitchen. Over the mantel he saw a painting by a local artist he recognized and knew had hit the big time. It was a simple landscape depicting the fields and forests meeting the Schuylkill River—a long way upstream from the city—with two figures standing in the foreground. But there was a dream-like quality to the work, almost surreal in its use of color. Teddy thought of Diana Ong’s painting,
Land of the Midnight Sun
. It was almost as if the artist wanted the viewer to take one last look at the valley before the sprawl took over and the image vanished for good. Even more intriguing, it felt as if the people were in motion, like maybe they were disappearing, too.

“You like the painting?” Powell asked.

Teddy nodded, turning to watch her mix the martinis on the other side of the counter. That smile was back, and he noticed she’d slipped out of her shoes.

“I like the whole place,” he said.

He was trying not to look at her long legs. Her tangled hair. The way her lips were parted. He was trying to remind himself that their relationship was nothing more than professional.

She passed a martini over the counter and lifted her own. They took quick sips so none of the gin would spill. The drink tasted stronger than the two he’d ordered at the restaurant and he noticed the glass was bigger. He’d have to be careful, have to keep cool.

“Follow me,” she said, easing her way out of the kitchen.

They crossed the living room to a doorway. Powell entered first and sat down on the couch against the wall without turning on the lights. Teddy noticed the chair pressing against the couch and rested his drink on the coffee table as he sat down in the darkness. It was a small, narrow room. The wall facing the river rose three feet from the floor giving way to a single sheet of plate glass. He looked outside and saw two tug boats dragging a container ship up the river as the snow fell from the sky. The view was incredible and spanned from the Benjamin Franklin Bridge all the way down to the Walt Whitman.

“I bought the place because of this room,” she said in a quiet voice. “It’s peaceful. I like to sit here for a little while before I go to sleep.”

“Who wouldn’t,” Teddy said.

They sipped their drinks and settled back in their seats.

“When did you start at Barnett and Stokes?” she asked after a while.

“Three months ago.”

“So this is all new.”

He nodded. “I joined the firm because of their real estate department. Then this happened. Who knew?”

She smiled. “How big’s your debt from school?”

“Huge and scary. What about yours?”

“I finally got it paid off two years ago.”

There was an antique cabinet between the couch and chair. Powell opened the door and switched on a receiver, scanning the dial until she found some soft jazz. When she turned back, she sipped her drink and rested her legs on the coffee table.

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.

It was the sort of question that seemed innocent enough. Still, the sexual tension in the room felt as if it had just gone nuclear. Teddy felt the rush, the burn, his eyes moving up her legs and across her body until they reached her face. She’d been watching him. Even in the darkness, her eyes had a certain reach.

“I haven’t really had time,” he said. “Between the bar exam and a new job, I haven’t been getting out much.”

“Me either,” she said. “And the people I work with are so damn depressing.”

They laughed. It was a nervous laugh. The kind of laugh you make when your entire body hits the afterglow.

“Do you think you could keep a secret?” she said after a moment. “Break the rules for one night and then never do it again?”

He thought it over. “You mean forget that it ever happened?”

“Something like that.”

He leaned forward and kissed her.

It was a gentle kiss, their mouths just opening, their tongues swirling back and forth and finding their way to the middle. They kissed again and again, smoother and deeper. As Teddy lowered himself onto the couch beside her, she reached around his shoulders and gathered him in. The smell of death was lingering in their clothing, but the scent of her skin as he kissed her neck was even stronger.

Teddy watched as she unbuttoned her blouse and opened her bra. When her breasts bounced out, he touched them with his fingers. They were soft and smooth and felt like something one might find in paradise. Lowering his lips to them, he caught her smile and heard a light moan. He could feel her slipping out of her skirt, unzipping his pants and reaching inside. She sank to the floor and in between his legs. She was pulling his pants away, squeezing him and stroking him. Death had vanished, finally and completely, overtaken by the scent of her sex in the air. He found it intoxicating, better than any dream. When he looked at her blond hair falling off her shoulders, her swollen breasts and gorgeous face, their eyes met for a moment. Then she smiled again and went down on him.

TWENTY-FOUR

Jim Barnett hung up the phone, reviewing the changes he’d penciled in that Nash had asked for. Before their conversation, he’d thought the press release was perfect. But now, reading it a second time, the copy seemed even more perfect. Nash’s suggestions were subtle but necessary, he realized. A word here and another one there. They were the observations of a true legal genius, and Barnett laughed. He admired Nash and looked forward to working with him. As he thought it over, he shook his head and rose from his desk. He was more than grateful that Teddy had come through.

It was after eight. His assistant, Jackie, had gone home two hours ago, but she’d prepared her computer for the press release and left the monitor on. All Barnett had to do is type in the changes and hit SEND. Jackie’s computer would take care of the rest.

He sat down at her desk and switched on the desk light. Because of the energy crisis, the overhead lights in the hall were turned off at seven. Barnett was a skilled typist and the whole thing only took ten minutes. He checked the screen carefully for any mistakes. Grabbing the mouse, he moved the curser to the icon marked SEND and gave the button a heavy click. When the modem began screeching, he walked into his office for his coat and briefcase, downed another pill and killed the lights.

It was late and he wanted to get home. The weather forecasters had been calling for another storm since last night. He wasn’t worried. He’d left his Mercedes in the garage, deciding on the Grand Cherokee just in case.

As he pulled out of the garage, he noticed the snow covering the streets and switched to four-wheel-drive. Adjusting the heat, he flipped on the wipers and set out for home. There wasn’t much traffic. In spite of the storm, he estimated the trip from the city to Villinova wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes.

He slipped a CD into the player, a new movie score his wife Sally had given him at breakfast, and turned up the volume. As he cruised down the expressway, he tried to sort through what he’d accomplished today. Not much, he realized. Most of the morning and afternoon had been spent in a jumbled blur. He’d been eating tranquilizers like they were Good ‘N Plenty all week. He needed to get a grip on things. Take control of himself, but there was so much at stake. Everything he’d worked for.

The thought of losing what he had sent a dead chill up his spine and he broke out in a cold sweat. Nash had warned him that given the mood of the city, their press release might fall on deaf ears. His plan to force Andrews’s hand might not work out. The body count was rising, the case against Holmes, on the verge of spinning out of control.

He looked back at the road, trying to find his lane through all the fucking snow. When he spotted a car ahead, he backed off the gas and moved over to the right lane. He’d follow the bastard, keep his eyes on the taillights and let him do the hard work.

His mind began to wander again. By now Jackie’s computer would have sent his edited press release to every newspaper and TV news department in the city. He’d even asked Jackie to include Andrews’s personal fax number, knowing it would really piss the guy off. This was more than just a press release announcing that William S. Nash had joined the legal team that would defend Oscar Holmes for the murder of Darlene Lewis. It was a warning shot sent across the bow of the district attorney’s office.

So why was he suddenly overcome with doubt? Why was he still sweating?

Barnett turned the music down, trying to pull the upside out of the haze. He’d watched Alan Andrews’s press conference on TV tonight from his office. Andrews coming off like he was some kind of conquering hero from the parking lot at the morgue. Andrews thinking he’d gotten off scot-free after sending some poor asshole to his grave. Well, all that was in the press release and would be dredged up again. That’s what Nash’s name was about. His standing and reputation would work like a vice. Barnett wondered how Andrews would react, wishing he could see his face when he read the press release. Andrews might be playing the city’s next savior tonight, but tomorrow would be another day. If he wanted a career in politics, Andrews would be forced to play ball. If not, then all he’d be is another prick.

If it worked, Barnett reminded himself. Only if it worked.

He hit the brakes and swerved, almost missing the Gulf Mills exit. As he glided down the ramp, he made a short left, then another at the light onto Route 320. He was close now. Almost home.

The snow was deeper here, the road not yet plowed. Still, the Grand Cherokee climbed the winding hill without much effort. Marveling at the smooth ride, he made a left, then a right onto Berkley Lane and eased down the drive.

He’d made it. He could see the lights on in the kitchen. Sally busy putting together a late dinner. He stopped before the garage and looked out the driver’s side window at the snow on the ground. Better than six inches. Reaching behind his seat, he pulled his rubbers out of the cargo bag and slipped them over his shoes. He kept the engine running, the lights on, then hit the locks and got out to open the garage door.

As he trudged through the snow he thought about how nice it would’ve been to have a remote. But their house was a Victorian that he and Sally had spent years restoring down to the most infinitesimal detail. The garage was a converted stable. Even though the two-acre lot was wooded, the stable could be seen from the road. Changing the style of the doors to accommodate an electric door opener wasn’t an option and never would’ve worked out.

Barnett waved the snow away from his face, giving the heavy wooden door a hard push to the side and hoping Sally had thought to light a fire in the den. But as he stepped off the concrete pad into the snow, he lost his footing on the ice and slipped.

It was a hard fall—the glare of the headlights in his eyes as he lay flat on his back and tried to get his bearings. He’d hit his head, but didn’t think he was hurt. Didn’t think he’d broken any bones. He looked back at the car and noticed that the driver’s-side door was open. He thought he’d closed it. Given the falling snow, he normally would. As he lifted his right leg and slipped onto his back again, he wondered if that last tranquilizer had been one too many, or maybe he was just getting old. Either way, he was glad Sally hadn’t seen him fall because he felt embarrassed.