He sighed. “What else is new?”
Lou turned to leave.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “What if Kathleen was not Ken Chapman’s first victim?”
“You think he slept around during his marriage?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he dated someone after his divorce, before he met Janet. Can you find out for me?”
“I’m on it,” Lou said.
When he left, I turned my attention back to the files. As I read the details in the police reports, the same thought kept running through my head: If I do nothing, a couple of years from now this could be Janet, or even Kimberly.
I could not believe Janet was planning to marry this bozo.
I remembered something Kimberly said a month ago when she told me about her mom’s engagement. She said she didn’t believe her mom was in love with Chapman.
“Why would she marry a guy she doesn’t love?” I’d asked.
“I think Mom would rather be unhappy than lonely.”
CHAPTER 2
The state capitol building in Charleston, West Virginia, is composed of buff Indiana limestone. Its dome rises 293 feet high and is gilded in 23.5-karat gold leaf. I was standing directly below it, in the capitol rotunda, staring at the statue of Senator Robert C. Byrd when I heard her high heels clopping across the marble floor.
Alison David.
“Call me Ally,” she said, extending her hand.
I shook her hand and introduced myself.
“So,” she said, “what do you think of our capitol building?”
Ally David had on a navy jacket with three-quarter sleeves and a matching pencil skirt. Her satin tank top featured a scoop neckline that offered the promise of superb cleavage. It took some effort not to drool while admiring the way she put her clothes together.
“Impressive,” I said. “But I’m confused about the statue.”
“How so?”
“Well, I know you can’t toss a cat in West Virginia without hitting a building that has his name on it,” I said. “But I thought you had to be dead at least fifty years before you got a statue.”
She smiled and gave me a wink. “We West Virginians have a pact with Senator Byrd. He sends us the pork, and we let him name the pigs.”
Alison David was the type of career woman who, without saying or doing anything out of the ordinary, gave the impression she was a creature of heightened sexuality. I wondered if this was a natural phenomenon or something she had purposely cultivated.
“Is it just me,” I said, “or does it appear your illustrious senator’s hand is pointing directly at my pocket?”
She forced a half smile, but I could tell I was losing her. Small talk isn’t my strong suit. “So,” I said, “where are you taking us for lunch?”
“Someplace close,” she said.
I waited for her to elaborate, but she chose not to. Unable to think of anything witty to say, I settled for, “Sounds perfect,” which caused her to arch an eyebrow and give me a strange look.
We walked a block together and entered Gyoza, a small Japanese restaurant that proved trendier than its anonymous exterior might suggest. Inside, tasteful Japanese prints hung on bright red walls. The lighting was muted but was bright enough to read the menus. In the center of the restaurant, a bronze-laminate sushi bar separated the sushi chefs from the diners, and glass-fronted coolers atop the bar displayed tidy arrangements of colorful seafood. There were a couple of empty two-top tables with white linen tablecloths. Ally picked one, and we sat down.
“Gyoza?” I said.
Ally lowered her eyes and smiled at me, and the way she did it made me wonder if gyoza meant something dirty.
“Gyoza,” she said, “is a popular dumpling in Japanese cuisine. It’s finger food, like pot stickers, but with different fillings. Most people order meat or seafood, but I like the vegetarian.”
A waitress appeared, and Ally did in fact order the vegetarian gyoza. I asked if the spider roll was authentic.
Our waitress looked confused and said, “This one very hot. Very, very hot! Yes, is spider roll."
“Spider,” I said.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “Spider. Is very hot.”
I feigned shock. “Do you mean to tell me there’s an actual spider inside?”
Ally David’s eyes skirted the room. She gave the waitress a tight smile, and the two of them exchanged a female look, as if my comment confirmed some sort of conclusion they’d already drawn about me. Ally said, “Perhaps I should translate.”
“Please do,” I said.
“The spider roll is composed of tempura soft-shell crab,” she said.
“Composed,” I said.
“That’s right.”
I may have detected a hint of annoyance in her voice.
Ally wasn’t finished with me. “Spider is the name of the roll,” she said, “and nothing more.” Then, as if she couldn’t stop herself, she added, “Why would you even think such a thing?”
I shrugged. “Eel is eel, right? And tuna is tuna, yes?”
Ally David looked at her watch. “I don’t mean to be brusque, but I’ve got a one o’clock and it’s already twelve fifteen. You wanted to talk to me about Ken Chapman?” she said.
“I did.”
I was not insensitive to the fact that our waitress continued to wait patiently for my order. “I’ll have …” I briefly looked through the menu again.
“Anytime today would be nice,” Ally said.
“I think I’ll try … the spider roll,” I said.
“For the love of God,” Ally said.
“Very, very hot,” our waitress warned. “Not recommend,” she said.
“But it’s on the menu,” I said. “So people must order it.”
“Yes, yes,” she said. She pointed to a large man sitting alone at the sushi bar. “He already order. I bring to him very soon.”
I smiled. “Then I’m sure it will be fine,” I said.
She nodded and sprinted away to place the order.
“Are you always this …”Ally searched for a word, gave up, and tried again. “Could you possibly be this obtuse?”
I shrugged and looked at her but she lowered her eyes and pretended to be intrigued by the place setting. I spoke to fill the silence. “Did you and Chapman date before his divorce became final?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No. Ken was legally separated when we met.”
There were delicate white china cups in front of us, and black lacquer soup bowls. I picked up my cup and tilted it so I could see if it said “Made in China” on the bottom. It didn’t.
“How long did you guys date?” I asked.
Ally looked up from the place setting to stare at me. “Can you tell me again what my dating Ken has to do with national security?”
“Like I said on the phone, we’re just building a profile,” I said. “Mr. Chapman is currently engaged to a woman whose former husband was a CIA operative.”
Ally made her eyes big and lowered her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Is that against the law?” she asked. She rolled her big eyes at me the way my daughter Kimberly does. Only instead of being exasperated, Ally was mocking me.
“Against the law? Not in and of itself,” I said, sounding pathetic even to me.
“And yet,” she said, “simply by dating me and becoming engaged to another woman, Ken has managed to become a threat to national security! Perhaps I ought to call Senator Byrd’s office to sound the alert.”
This wasn’t going the way I’d envisioned. She was trying for smug and achieving it. She was also smarter than me, and I hate when that happens. There was but one thing to do: seize the initiative. I played the trump card God provided: I stared directly into her cleavage.
“During the time you dated Ken Chapman,” I said to her boobs, “did he ever beat you?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
“But you’re aware of his history, yes?”
She sighed. “I’m up here, perv.”