Sketch of a Murder

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Nita jumped the curb with her motorcycle and skidded to a stop in front of a two-car garage with dirty white paint slivers peeling from it. Dawn's black Porsche was nosed in close to the overhead garage door. Her lips tightened. Damn woman! What the hell is she playing at? At least she isn't dead.

As she set her helmet on the seat of her bike, the lieutenant's Malibu bounced up over the curb. He parked in front of the ambulance, its red lights raking bloody fingers across the once-white, clapboard house.

He slammed the car door so hard it echoed along the deserted nighttime street. She flinched then braced for his anger as he hustled up the cracked cement sidewalk.

"He could've killed her!" The words were ground out from between gritted teeth as he shoved into her personal space.

Her own anger boiled up. She stretched her neck until she nearly thrust her face into his. "Don't you think I know that? She ditched Albert and O'Hara! What the hell can I do about that?" Guilt twisted her guts. He had assigned her to watch over Dawn. She'd failed miserably.

Abruptly he dropped his gaze, scrubbed a hand over his short hair, anger gone like a camera flash. "Hell, I know that. Dawn's always been bullheaded. Going to get her killed one of these days." He stepped around her and hurried into the house.

She walked into the entryway right behind him. The foyer was a tiny square of slate-floored space that held a coat rack and a braided throw rug that had seen better days. Instead of walls, furniture delineated the spaces.

Dawn sat hunched over on the edge of a soft-cream, leather couch in the living space. A low, bull's-eye maple coffee table, with a neatly folded newspaper lying on one end, had been shoved to the middle of the area. EMT was stenciled across the back of the black jacket of a petite woman kneeling on one side of Dawn, fingers on the reporter's wrist as the second hand swept the face of her watch.

The lieutenant had hunkered down in front of her, engulfing her free hand between both of his. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, but her smile was obviously strained. "Yeah, I'm fine, Mike. Really. Go do what you need to do." She pulled her hand free and patted his arm. "Honestly."

He shoved to his feet, concern written in the lines of his face. "Give your statement to Sergeant Slowater, okay?"

Nita watched him leave before she whirled on Dawn. "What the hell did you think you were doing, ditching my people? Don't try to say you didn't know they were there."

Dawn cocked her head, squinting up at Nita. "If they were so clumsy that I saw them, you can be sure The Avenger knew where they were, too. Besides I'm not dead, so what're you doing here?" Her bald attempt at teasing Nita into a less confrontational mood came out pitifully weak.

"You know damned right well why I'm here." She planted her fists on her hips and focused on the EMT, who busily stuffed her equipment into a black bag. "You done with her? Can she answer questions?"

The slight woman grasped her medical kit and stood. "Yes, Sergeant, Ms. Samira is able to answer questions." She flashed a sympathetic smile in Dawn's direction. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Dawn mumbled. "Looks like I might need it."

Jaw tight, Nita surveyed the room. A breakfast bar separated an immaculate kitchen from the neat living space. Copper-bottomed pots hung from an overhead rack. Stainless steel appliances sparkled under the bright fluorescent lights. What is this guy? Some kind of neat freak?

Kelly Anderson, an assistant prosecutor, sat on a tall, curved-back stool at the breakfast bar. Another man, slender with shaggy auburn hair brushing his polo shirt collar, sat at a two-person dining table on the far side of the kitchen and under the window.

Michael loomed over Anderson while Detective Albert sat attentively listening to the other man. Detective O'Hara darted everywhere, supervising the house search.

A cooperative attorney. Who said miracles don't happen. She turned her attention to Dawn, her head resting in her hands, elbows propped on her knees, eyes closed.

"Hey, you okay?" Nita's voice softened as she perched on the edge of the couch.

Not opening her eyes, she murmured, "He sounded so sane."

If she'd been a hound, Nita's nose would have twitched. "You're sure it was a man?"

The other woman opened her eyes. "Not really. It sounded like he was using a voice synthesizer or something."

Her shoulders slumped. Another dead end. "Did you see him at all?"

With her fingertips, Dawn massaged her temples. "No. Just felt one of his hands."

"His hand?"

"You won't find prints. It felt like he was wearing some kind of thin leather glove. I could feel his knuckles beneath the material, but no identifying characteristics." She slowly unbent. "Can you take me home?"

Eyebrows dipped low, she gave a small shake of her head. "I'm on my bike."

"You can drive my car. Please?"

Unwillingly swayed by the wan look of Dawn's face, she said, "We need a statement from you..."

"You can do that at my place, can't you? Please."

"Let me talk to the lieutenant."

Ten minutes later, Nita seethed as she drove Dawn's Porsche. "You willingly drank orange juice knowing it was drugged?"

Wisely, Dawn kept her face turned toward the passing cityscape.

At the Belltown condo they took the elevator from the parking garage up to Dawn's fifth floor apartment. She leaned against the eggshell-white hallway wall as Nita unlocked the door and swung it open.

For a long minute she stared from the doorway into Dawn's living room, disconcerted. The room was decorated in warm earth tones, everything from the painted walls to the furniture, to the scattered rugs.

"Surprised?" Dawn stepped around her, shuffled to the beige couch, and sank onto its plush cushions. "Would you mind playing hostess and getting us something to drink? I feel like I've run a marathon. If you want to make it, there's both coffee and tea. I'd like to have some sun tea from the fridge. Glasses and cups are in the cupboard over the stove."

"You should feel wrung out. Drinking drugged orange juice!" She muttered as she headed for the kitchen, a tiny room with only a breakfast bar separating it from the living room.

When she handed Dawn a glass of sun tea, the reporter used her chin to point at the desk across the room. "Would you get my laptop, please?"

"What am I? The butler?" But she set her tea on the table at the other end of the couch and went to get the computer. After she handed it to Dawn she picked up her glass, intending to sit in the chair close-by.

"Sit here, next to me." Dawn patted the cushion. "Really, I won't bite, promise. Besides, I need to show you something."

She set the glass back on the table and took a seat close to Dawn, eyes locked on the small screen.

A few quick strokes on the keyboard and the DVD drive whirled to life. Nita skimmed the pages as they were pulled up. At the end of the DVD, she leaned against the arm of the couch and angled her body towards Dawn. "Where did you get this?"

"The Avenger gave it to me tonight."

Arms tight across her chest, she asked in a deceptively mild voice, "Why the hell didn't you give us this when we arrived at Anderson's?"

Gaze as hard and cold as steel on a winter's morning, the reporter looked at her. "I needed a copy. You would have confiscated the disc before I had the chance to see it, much less copy it."

Unable to refute the truth, Nita's arms loosened and fell to her sides. "When did you intend to turn over this evidence?"

A forefinger pointed at her laptop. "As soon as it's done copying."

"What else did you learn that I should know?"

"Two things." Dawn held up two fingers, ticking off the points as she spoke. "He knows Kelly Anderson. And he wanted me to share this DVD with you. He said, quote, 'I will find it amusing to observe the reaction of the good sergeant.' He specifically meant you. "