His mind was rolling. Teddy was thinking clearly again. When he looked up, he found Powell appraising him. She took a step closer, staring at him like maybe she’d been reading his mind. Teddy shrugged it off and handed her the checkbook. When he thanked her, she didn’t step back.
“Let’s go get a drink,” she said.
TWENTY-THREE
It had begun to snow. The restaurant was just off campus and nearly empty, and they were shown to a table by a window in the back. Powell ordered a Bombay martini, dry with three olives. Under normal circumstances, Teddy would have asked for a beer. But with the weight of what he’d seen that day still with him, he told the waitress to make it two.
As they waited for their drinks, Powell gazed out the window watching the snowflakes float to the ground without saying anything. Teddy realized that what Detective Vega had told him before the autopsies wasn’t necessarily true. Getting used to it was something a medical examiner might achieve, but for the rest of the world the prospect would take more than time. Even Powell, a seasoned prosecutor who’d probably attended a hundred autopsies, looked as if the afternoon was still preying on her mind.
The waitress arrived with their drinks. As she set them down on the table, Teddy couldn’t help but notice something was wrong. She stepped away quickly, her banter forced.
“It’s the smell,” Powell said when they were alone. “That’s why we got the window table in back.”
Teddy wasn’t sure what she was talking about until Powell sniffed her own blouse. On her cue he pulled his shirt to his nose and inhaled. It was the smell of death. The scent he thought he’d only been carrying around in his head. The odor had permeated their clothing.
“You’ll have to get your suit dry-cleaned,” she said. “It’s the only way I know to get it out.”
They sipped their drinks. The gin was smooth, rolling through him and sparking an immediate glow. He could feel his shoulders and neck loosening up and was glad he’d ordered the martini rather than a beer.
“There’s a problem with your story,” Powell said after a moment.
“What story is that?”
“The way you found Valerie Kram’s body at the boathouse. The reason you were there.”
She wasn’t grilling him. Instead, she appeared relaxed, and he thought he detected a faint smile.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“The assistant warden called and said you visited Holmes today. When he walked you out, he noticed you were carrying a picture of Valerie Kram. Obviously, you showed that picture to your client. You wouldn’t have done that if he’d already told you where she was.”
Nash had been right about her. She was smart. Even if she remained preoccupied by the physical evidence, she was still doing her job. Still searching and trying to understand. And she was also stunning. Teddy tried to ignore her looks, but the martini had a firm grip on him by now. His eyes kept drifting over her face.
“But that was never my story,” he said. “When I saw her, I didn’t know who she was. Andrews assumed that Holmes told me where to find her. I’m glad you agree that it couldn’t be true.”
That hidden smile of hers burgeoned and she leaned closer. “Come on, Teddy. I need to know why you were there for my own peace of mind. In a way it’s embarrassing that you found the body. Like maybe everyone at my end dropped the ball.”
“Everything I told you yesterday happens to be true. I went to the boathouse because I had a meeting.”
“A date with Dawn Bingle.”
He caught the sarcasm in her voice, the glint in her eyes. She seemed to think the name was funny and that he’d made it up on the fly. She was leading him along, rooting the story out, having fun while she needled him. It was more like a tease, and the playfulness was as much a relief as the gin.
The waitress appeared, interrupting the moment and standing ten feet back as she checked on them. They turned to the window and weighed the progress of the snow. It was picking up, but the streets remained clear. They decided to order another round, and the waitress hurried off somewhat concerned.
“I saw your face tonight,” Powell said. “You knew about the ten others.”
“Not until this morning.”
“You’re investigating the case. You went to the boathouse looking for Valerie Kram. You went because somehow you knew she’d be there.”
“I had a date with Dawn, remember?”
She sipped her drink. “So now it’s Dawn. I thought you said you never met. What’s she look like?”
“Slim and pale,” he said. “Almost transparent, like she’s not really there.”
Powell laughed. But for his own peace of mind, he wished he had the answers and could tell her what she wanted to know. He remembered the letter in his briefcase. The death threat. He looked at Powell’s smile in the dim light and didn’t want it to go away. This wasn’t the time or place to show her what he’d received in the mail. When the waitress arrived with their second round, he watched Powell down what was left in her glass and pour the olives into her new one. Teddy did the same, and the waitress left.
“It doesn’t make much difference now,” he said. “It’s a matter of public record. Your boss found the body. The city’s being terrorized, but everything’s okay because Alan Andrews is on the job.”
She popped an olive into her mouth. “You committed a burglary, you know.”
Teddy shrugged. “At the boathouse?”
“I could probably get the charges reduced to trespassing, but you’d have to plead guilty.”
“You think the judge will go easy on me?”
She thought it over and shook her head and they laughed. By the time they’d finished their second martini, the question seemed forgotten and he found her appraising him again. He turned away and looked at the people sitting at tables ordering dinner. Somehow the restaurant had become full without them noticing. Two groups seated close by with menus in their hands were eyeing them carefully. Teddy understood why when he checked his shirt again. He’d almost forgotten about how he and Powell had spent their afternoon. Almost been able to let it go.
“I know a place that won’t be so crowded,” Powell said. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll have one more before the storm hits and call it a night.”
Teddy agreed, and to the delight of the waitress, they paid their bill and left. As they walked to their cars laughing about it the way you would after two drinks, Powell got into a late-model BMW and told him to follow her. They drove east toward the Delaware River, the roads wet but clear of snow. When they reached the waterfront district, Powell made a left, heading north. Teddy was surprised, thinking she was leading him to a place on South Street. A few blocks later, she pulled to a stop beside a parking space on the street and tapped her horn. Then she idled ahead, letting Teddy have the space and turning into a private garage.
Teddy’s curiosity was up. As Powell stepped out of the garage and met him on the sidewalk, she pointed at the building. The place wouldn’t be crowded because it wouldn’t be public. Powell had brought him to her home.
It was a large condo on the fifth floor, its open design taking advantage of the Delaware River from every window. The construction had been high end, and Teddy noted the quality of craftsmanship at a glance. Powell’s furniture was more casual, the feeling of warmth hitting him as she switched on a series of low-wattage lamps and made her apologies for not cleaning up.