April frowned, worried about the predicament Sergeant Joyce had put her in with Jamal and the puppy. Joyce had told her to return the dog to Jamal. And April was also intrigued by the change in Milicia. Yesterday the woman had been hostile, insecure, frightened of the police. Now she had invited the detective on the case into a house whose owner was in critical condition, was openly revealing her plan to remove what she wanted from the house, and chatting happily about the sister who had only the day before tried to strangle her.
“It’s a real horror, isn’t it?” Milicia preened in front of the mirror, at home in the cluttered room, much too comfortable with the situation. “Just the kind of thing Camille liked.” She laughed softly.
April’s scalp tingled. She shivered, uneasy about a lot of things. One was the way Milicia was now gripping the little dog. It clearly wasn’t her dog. The puppy struggled in her arms, trying to get down. And time was passing. She was going to be late for her exam. April had no more than thirty seconds. She told herself to get Milicia to sign a release for the dog and get out of there.
Instead, she said, “You don’t seem very upset about your sister.”
Surprised, Milicia swung away from the mirror to look at her. “Oh, honey, I’ve been upset for twenty years. Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up with a wacko sibling? Believe me, I cried a lot. But I’m not crying anymore.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry she’s going to prison, but she hurt me. She hurt other people. She can’t get away with it. That’s what our laws are for.” Her voice was suddenly harsh.
In Milicia’s arms, the dog whined deep in its throat. Milicia glared at it, then abruptly put it down. Free, the tiny animal raced out of the room. April could hear it charging up the uncarpeted stairs. Probably going to the third floor, searching for its mistress.
“What happened yesterday? What made Camille turn on you?”
“I told them at the station. She was upset by all their questioning. She had a headache. I suggested she lie down and get some rest.” Milicia’s eyes glittered. “I helped her upstairs and turned down the bed. She didn’t want to lie down there.”
“Why?” April asked. “Why didn’t she want to lie down?”
Milicia shrugged, raising her shoulders twice for emphasis. “How do I know what sets her off? The woman’s crazy. Anybody can see that.” She narrowed her eyes at April, frowning a little, her mood changing. “She’s crazy. Crazy and violent. What more do you need to know?”
Now April shrugged. “Was she afraid of lying down?”
“What are you saying? What are you getting at?”
“I’m just wondering. Your sister just seems more like a victim than a murderer to me.” April said it mildly, but she knew she was pushing it. Instantly, Milicia flared up.
“Are you accusing me of something?” She took a step toward April, suddenly revealing a powerful undercurrent of rage.
For the first time, April realized what a big woman she was. The skimpy camisole revealed how wide her shoulders were, how deep her rib cage, well fleshed, with round pendulous breasts. Her bare arms had the definition of someone who worked out with weights. The full skirt of crinkled purple silk, billowing out from her waist, only expanded her impressive bulk.
“Why the questions?” Milicia demanded. “What are you getting at? Don’t you believe me?”
“Any problem with my asking?” April asked calmly. Still, she eased away from her, toward the door. She felt threatened by the woman, increasingly uneasy about being alone with her in the empty house. April was supposed to be somewhere else; she could almost hear the seconds ticking by as she lingered. Why didn’t she just go? She glanced toward the door, willing herself to leave.
“I answered all your questions. I told you what happened. I told you everything.”
April edged another step toward the door. Time was passing. She must go.
“Don’t back away from me,” Milicia cried. “Why are you backing away from me? Why do you all do that?” A muscle in her cheek twitched.
Why do you all do that? Who was Milicia talking about? Who else had backed away from her? April felt the weight of her off-duty handgun. The gun was in her purse. Her purse hung by a strap on her shoulder, touching her hip. There was no unobtrusive way to get her hand into it. She was alone, off-duty, on her way to her Sergeant’s test, couldn’t get to her gun without alerting Milicia, couldn’t seem to get out of the house.
Milicia towered over her. “Don’t back away from me,” she said hoarsely.
April stopped. “I’m not backing away from you. I have to go, that’s all. You want to sign a release for the dog?” As if to get the release, she reached for her bag.
Now April could hear the dog pattering down the stairs. It hadn’t found its mistress, was coming back.
“I didn’t touch her. She backed away from me for no reason. No reason,” Milicia said fiercely.
“Backed away? How did Camille back away?” April asked.
“Attack. I said attack. Can’t you hear?” Milicia took a step closer to April.
Now she was near enough for April to feel her heat and smell the deep heavy perfume she wore. Milicia reeked of hot musk and fury. As April recoiled from the smell, her foot caught on the ornately carved ball foot of a table and she almost lost her balance.
“Hey, watch that,” April said sharply. “Don’t touch me, I’m a police officer.”
Milicia made a sound like a branch snapping. Her long arm snaked out and grabbed April before she could maneuver around the cumbersome table.
“Let go!” April tried to recover her balance. “I don’t want to hurt you. I said let go.”
Milicia’s grip was unexpectedly painful. April’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel her terror mounting. Milicia had begun to shake her, like a dog with a sock. Her sharp fingernails bit into April’s shoulders, right through her jacket. Her head snapped back as Milicia picked her up easily, and her feet left the ground. In the huge mirror April could see herself suspended, like a little Chinese doll.
The grotesque mirrored image of herself struggling in Milicia’s powerful arms brought the last moments of the two dead girls into hideous focus. Also the ancient memory of an academy instructor, six feet four and built like a linebacker, holding her off the ground with one hand, laughing his head off at the sight of her helpless, flailing arms.
You want to be a cop, little girl? Then don’t struggle. Use your pussy little brain and kick the shit out of me.
I said, KICK ME, Officer.
Yessir, whatever you say, sir. As she had done more than once in her life, April relaxed into a dead weight, then slammed her knee into the softest place of an opponent’s body. In Milicia’s case it was the stomach.
The vicious blow caught Milicia by surprise. She doubled over, gasping for air. Released, April stumbled backward, hitting her head against the crown of a column with a marble bust on it. Still propelled backward, she hit the hard brass corner of the bulky table with the ball feet. The table prevented her from crashing to the floor. She held on to it, fumbling in her purse for her gun.
“You’re crazy. You kicked me,” Milicia screamed as soon as she could find her voice. She hugged her stomach. “You hurt me.” Her face was contorted with surprise and rage.