“The cathartic solution in these things is to look them in the eye and tell them to screw off.”
She smiled and said, “Next time, I’ll call you and ask how to handle it.”
I didn’t seem to be having much luck staying on cheerier topics, so I tried again. “Why didn’t you follow Lisa into the JAG Corps?”
“I actually considered it. But my father’s getting older, my youngest sister was just starting high school, my mother’s dead… you understand?… Somebody had to stay nearby. Lisa did the heavy lifting when we grew up. It was her turn to go into the world and follow her dream.”
Sometimes in the midst of a pleasant conversation, something perfectly innocuous gets said, but it isn’t at all innocuous. We both, I think, experienced the same jarring, nasty realization that Lisa’s dream had just ended in a nightmare. And like that, the mood was killed.
She took a few more sips of wine. I took a few more sips of wine. We avoided each other’s eyes.
Then I said, “Janet, be honest. What’s your interest in catching this guy?”
“As in, justice or revenge?” I nodded, and she said, “I’m a law enforcement officer. I work inside the system and believe in it, for all it’s worth.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
So we’d both said the right words. Actually, for me, justice was revenge, especially if the killer got to squat on the hot seat. But I wasn’t sure she wanted that same order. We returned to the task of eating our pizza, and trading small talk, but the mood was irretrievably dead, and then the tray was empty and Dom Jimmy Jones was clearing the dirty dishes, and presenting our bill.
On the way out, I said to Janet, “I’ll drive you back to the hotel.”
She replied, “Not yet. I thought we’d go search Lisa’s apartment now.”
“What?”
“It’s not far. I’d like to search it now.”
“I thought we agreed we’re facing a serial killer.”
“And I thought we agreed that’s speculative. Martin and Spinelli can work that angle.”
“Translate that for me.”
“We’ve taking precautionary measures.”
“Precautionary?”
“Yes. At least, somebody should consider other motives and possibilities.”
This was very obtuse and I found myself wondering if Janet Morrow knew something she hadn’t yet shared, that she had some tangible reason to suspect that the facts, as we currently understood them, had a few holes.
If so, for some reason she had not shared those reasons with me. Which was odd, but I’d also spent enough time with this lady to appreciate that she played by her own rules. In short, the only way I was going to get to the bottom of this was to go along for the ride, which brought to mind that ancient warning-curiosity killed the cat.
But I’m a dog person. Surely I was safe.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Speaking of cats, the manager of Lisa’sapartment complex was actually named Felix. Lisa had lived in a pleasant yet sprawling maze of cookie-cutter townhouses in Alexandria, a few turns after the Duke Street exit off I-395. The complex appeared modern, perhaps fifteen years old, was spacious, clean, and well-tended; a nice starter village for upwardly mobile professionals. There were plentiful Saabs and Volvos, and also trees, shrubs, and flower beds, and had it not been December, the place would’ve been bursting with manicured prettiness and gleeful yuppies flipping burgers on backyard grills.
After I showed my military orders appointing me as survival assistance officer, and Janet flashed the ID that verified she was the victim’s sister, Felix, who seemed friendly enough, agreed to let us into her apartment. Felix, incidentally, was built like an old spark plug, and had the appearance of a former fighter, with the shambling, disjointed movements of a guy who got better than he gave.
We walked a few yards with Felix in the direction of Lisa’s townhouse before he said to Janet, “Listen, yer sister, she was somethin’ special. A real sweetie, that one.”
Janet replied, “Thank you.”
He seemed uncomfortable. “I, uh, well, we were pals.”
“Oh… I didn’t know. We didn’t know a lot about her life down here. She usually traveled up to see us.”
“Yeah, I know that. I always kept an eye on the place when she left.” After a moment, he added, “Everybody ’round here liked her, y’know. Real popular, that girl.” After another moment, he asked, “Hey, there gonna be a funeral?”
“Yes. We just haven’t decided where yet.”
“Keep me in mind, would ya?”
“I will, Felix.”
We walked on in silence for a while. He finally said, “She used to have me over for barbecues, when the weather was decent. Most folks here… I hear from ’em when they got complaints, y’know. Always appreciated that about Lisa. She was real special.”
Janet smiled warmly. “You must’ve been very special to her, too.”
He grinned, stared down at his big feet, and led us up the path to her townhouse door. He dug a ring of keys out of his pocket, studied them, then selected one. He stuck it in the keyhole and tried turning it. Nothing.
He bent over and studied the key. “I don’t get it. It’s the right key.”
I suggested, “Maybe she changed her lock.”
He shook his head. “I used it to get in, y’know, the day she died, to shut off the heat and gas, so the bill don’t run up.”
He reached down to his toolman belt, withdrew a flashlight from a loop, flipped it on, and directed the beam through a side window. He stuck his face to the pane of glass and then muttered, “Ah, Christ.. . would ya look at that.”
I peeked over his shoulder. Coats were littered on the floor, some chairs tipped over, and I remarked, “I take it this wasn’t like that when you went in?”
“Lisa kept the place real neat. Good tenant that way.”
My question had obviously been misconstrued, but his reply placed the timing of the break-in somewhere between the day of Lisa’s death and this moment.
I asked him, “Can you replace windows?”
“I’ll do it,” he insisted, “No charge to you.”
He pulled a wrench off his toolman belt, crashed it into the living room window, then swung it around, enlarging the hole, proving himself to be a man of deed and little thought. A line of smaller windows was beside the door; knock in one of them, reach through, unlock the door, and voila. He climbed over the sill and worked his way to the front door, unlocked it, and allowed us to enter. Janet flipped the light switch that illuminated the hallway. Felix flipped the switch for the living room and kitchen.
The sight was a combination of mayhem and efficiency. Janet wandered around, stepping over broken pictures and toppled furniture.
I said, “What were they looking for?”
Janet said, “I… oh my God… let’s check Lisa’s bedroom.”
We rushed down a short hallway to the bedroom at the end. As with the rest of the apartment, it had been violently tossed. The mattress had been yanked off the bed, a bookshelf flung over, pictures torn off the walls. A jewelry box lay on the floor. I used a foot to flip it on its side-empty.
“Don’t worry about that. There should’ve been a computer in here,” said Janet, pointing at a small desk in the corner.
We returned to the living room. I asked, “Did Lisa have a stereo, a television, a microwave?”
“Of course.”
“They’re all gone.” My eyes caught on a family photo of Lisa, her father, and her sisters; the same one I’d seen in her father’s home, the five of them laughing and sailing, their hair whipped by the wind. The picture lay on the floor, covered by shards of broken glass. Janet caught my eye and noticed it also. We both froze for a moment.
I suggested to Janet, “Lisa’s address is in the phone book. Her murder was announced on the news. There are thieves who listen for those kinds of things.”
“Or maybe it was arranged to appear that way.”