Part 7 (2/2)

His pen stopped moving in the notebook but he didn't look up and I was glad. That revelation would certainly have brought out the sad face. I was already crying; the sad face would have put me over the edge. ”We're going to search the house tonight.” I got the sense that he wasn't supposed to tell me that by how softly he spoke. I think the police usually like the element of surprise when it comes to searches. ”Wyatt's getting a search warrant now. We don't like to break and enter if we don't have to.” He gave me a knowing look, and I flashed back to the dorm break-in.

I tried to remain calm, but tears were streaming down my face. ”What do you think you're going to find?”

”We're not sure, but anything that Ray left behind, anything that ties him to other women, to Kathy, in particular, is what we're after.”

I took a napkin out of the holder on the table and snorted loudly into it. ”Are you a really s.h.i.+tty cop or do you just feel sorry for me? Why are you telling me this?”

He pulled on his tie. ”Because you asked. And I don't know how you got mixed up in this, so yes, I guess I feel a little sorry for you.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but he pressed his lips together instead.

I wiped my eyes with the soggy napkin. Crawford handed me a clean one from the holder. ”Listen, call Wyatt and tell him he doesn't need a warrant. You can look through the whole house if you want. There's nothing here,” I said.

He took out his cell phone and punched in a number. He got up and walked into the hallway, his back turned to me. When he was done, he turned back around and sat down at the table. ”They'll be here in an hour or so.”

I nodded. ”Will it be all right if I leave while you're looking through my things?”

”Only if it's all right for us to be here without you,” he said. ”Where are you going to go?”

”I can't go far. I don't have a car, remember?” I laughed because I was done crying, and I was in that crazy-hysterical place where laughing turns to crying and vice versa. A big blast of snot flew out of my nose, and I caught it in the napkin, but not before he caught sight of it. I got up. ”I think I've demeaned myself enough for the short time we've known each other, so I'll take my leave.” I put my hand on the door handle. ”Will you still be here when I get back?”

”I'll call you when we're done. Take your phone.”

I reached into my briefcase and got my phone. He stood up, took off his blazer, and hung it neatly on the back of the kitchen chair. The big gun looked even bigger than it normally did, strapped in a leather holster that ran under his arm and across his back. I could see the outline of his badge under his s.h.i.+rt pocket.

”If you don't want me in the house until Wyatt and the other officers get here, I'll wait outside.” He rolled up his left sleeve to just below his elbows. I guess searching through my underwear drawer for evidence was dirty business, and he wanted to be prepared.

I waved my hand dismissively. ”You? You're about the only person I trust anymore, and I didn't even know your first name until two hours ago.”

”It's Robert Edward.” He held out his hand.

I took it. ”Nice to meet you, Robert Edward,” I said. I walked out into the backyard, down the driveway, and into the street, not sure where I was going.

Eleven.

I was sitting in Starbucks in town when my phone rang for the first time. It was nine o'clock, and I had just finished my third cup of coffee. Ray's voice sounded strained.

”Alison, I need some help. They want to hold me overnight. I cannot stay here all night,” he pleaded.

I pulled the sc.r.a.p of paper from my pocket. ”Ray, I got Mitch Klein's number from Max. Call him. He's the lawyer who defended that guy who shot the kid on the subway.”

”You don't understand. You're my one phone call. Call Klein and tell him I'm at the Fiftieth Precinct in a holding cell. He'll know what to do.”

He hung up before I could respond. So they really did enforce the one-phone-call rule. I called Klein. I got an answering service but left the message with the operator, saying that Ray and I were friends with Max and that he was involved in something related to the Katherine Miceli case. I figured that would get his attention and at least get us a call back. High-priced lawyers and high-profile cases went together like peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly.

I was the only person in the cafe. I asked the young woman behind the counter what time they closed. She had on a very small T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans that barely covered her b.u.t.t crack; I prayed that she wouldn't have to bend over for anything. ”Eleven,” she said, and returned to cleaning the big espresso maker. ”You want another? It's on me.”

I pulled a five out of my jeans pocket and got up. I handed it to her. ”No, it's on me. Have one, too.”

”I don't drink coffee,” she said, stuffing the five into the tip jar. ”That stuff will rot your insides.”

Great. Global warming, breast cancer, terrorism, a potentially homicidal ex-husband, and coffee that rots your insides. One more thing to worry about.

She handed me a hot cup of coffee. ”Be careful. That coffee is nuclear hot.”

Nuclear hot. As opposed to just hot, I thought smugly. I sat back down and prepared to take a careful sip. The door to the coffee shop opened suddenly, and a bell jangled, startling me in my over-caffeinated state. Instead of the slow sip I was going to take, the cup jiggled a bit in my hand, and coffee spewed out of the top of the cup. The scalding liquid dribbled from my lip down my chin and into the front of my blouse. The pain ignited every nerve ending in my body, and it was all I could do not to cry out loud.

Crawford stood in front of the table, and handed me a napkin to blot the damage. His tie was off, and the top three b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt were open. I could see a clean, white crew-neck unders.h.i.+rt peeking out. He was holding his jacket, his s.h.i.+rtsleeves rolled up into the neat cuffs that he had started when I was at the house. His demeanor said ”off duty.” He sat down across from me and stretched his legs out in front of him, laying his jacket across his thighs. ”Are you OK?” he asked, taking in my red lip and chin. ”Do you want some ice?”

I shook my head no, but he had already asked the girl at the counter for a cup of ice. He wrapped some in a napkin and handed it to me.

”How did you find me?” I asked, pressing the freezing napkin against my lip.

”I figured you'd be here,” he said. ”There's really nowhere else to go in this town.”

”They don't call you 'detective' for nothing,” I said, and moaned slightly as I removed the napkin from my lip and threw an ice cube into the coffee cup. ”Do you want anything?” I asked him.

He looked over at the girl behind the counter and something registered on his face-it looked suspiciously like disapproval to me-and shook his head. He leaned in and whispered to me. ”I hope she doesn't have to bend over for anything.”

”You find anything?” I asked.

He shrugged. ”Not sure. We took some things out, but I don't think they were yours.”

I wrapped my hands around the cup and jiggled my legs up and down. ”Like what?”

”Can't say.” Under the table, he put his hand on my legs to stop them from moving and left it on my knees.

”I hope you didn't take my vibrator. It's innocent, I tell you!”

He turned crimson and looked around. For an escape hatch probably.

”I'm kidding. I don't have a vibrator.” I looked away. It had been so long that I didn't even know if I still had a v.a.g.i.n.a. Mental note: lay off the off-color s.e.x jokes. ”When's the last time you slept?” I asked.

”A few days ago. Why?” he asked.

”You look like s.h.i.+t.”

He laughed. ”Thanks.”

Something dawned on me. ”Robert Edward, did you sleep in your cruiser outside my house last night?”

His body tensed, and I knew that I was right. It was his car that had pulled away this morning at six-fifteen. ”It's not a cruiser,” he said.

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