Ricochet

Chapter 2

DUNCAN WOULD TAKE THE SEVERED TONGUE-NOW SEVERAL months old-to the ME in the morning. For the time being he placed it in an evidence bag and returned it to his refrigerator.

DeeDee was aghast. “You’re not going to leave it in there, are you? With your food?”

“I don’t want it smelling up my house.”

“Are you going to have the place dusted for prints?”

“It wouldn’t do any good and would only make a mess.”

Whoever had been inside his house, either Savich or one of his many errand boys-Duncan guessed the latter-would have been too smart to leave fingerprints. More disturbing than finding the offensive, shriveled piece of tissue was knowing that his house had been violated. In and of itself, the tongue was a prank. Savich’s equivalent to na-na-na-na-na. He was rubbing Duncan’s nose in his defeat.

But the message it sent was no laughing matter. Duncan had detected the underlying threat in Savich’s taunting good-bye, but this wasn’t the retribution that threat foretold. This was only a prelude, a hint of things to come. It broadcast loud and clear that Duncan was vulnerable and that Savich meant business. By coming into Duncan’s home, he’d taken their war to a new level. And only one of them would survive it.

Although he minimized his apprehension with DeeDee, he did not underestimate Savich and the degree of his brutality. When he launched his attack on Duncan, it would be merciless. What worried Duncan most was that he might not see it coming until it was too late.

He’d hoped the incident would relieve him of having to attend the awards dinner with DeeDee. Surely she wouldn’t require him to go now. But she persisted, and ultimately he gave in. He dressed in a dark suit and tie and went with her to one of the major hotels on the river where the event was being held.

Upon entering the ballroom, he took a cursory glance at the crowd and stopped dead in his tracks. “I cannot believe this!” he exclaimed.

Following the direction of his gaze, DeeDee groaned. “I didn’t know he was going to be here, Duncan. I swear.”

Judge Cato Laird, immaculately attired and looking as cool as the drink in his hand, was chatting with police chief Taylor.

“I formally release you from your obligation,” DeeDee said. “If you want to leave, you won’t get an argument from me.”

Duncan’s eyes stayed fixed on the judge. When Laird laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkled handsomely. He looked like a man confident of the rightness of every decision he’d ever made in his entire life, from the choice of his necktie tonight to declaring Savich’s murder trial a mistrial.

Duncan would be damned before he tucked tail and slunk out. “Hell no,” he said to DeeDee. “I wouldn’t pass up this chance to escort you when you’re this gussied up. You’re actually wearing a skirt. First time I’ve ever seen you in one.”

“I swore off them once I graduated from Catholic high school.”

He made a point of looking at her legs. “Better than decent. Fairly good, in fact.”

“You’re full of shit, but thanks.”

Together they wove their way through the crowd, stopping along the way to speak to other policemen and to be introduced to significant others they hadn’t met before. Several mentioned Duncan’s days in jail, the sentiments ranging from anger to sympathy. He responded by joking about it.

When they were spotted by the police chief, Taylor excused himself from the group he was speaking with and approached them to extend his congratulations to DeeDee for the commendation she was to receive later that evening. While she was thanking him, someone addressed Duncan from behind.

Turning, he came face-to-face with Cato Laird, whose countenance was as guileless as that of the lead soprano in his dad’s church choir. Reflexively Duncan’s jaw clenched, but he replied with a civil, “Judge Laird.”

“Detective. I hope there are no hard feelings.” He extended his right hand.

Duncan clasped it. “For the jail time? I have only myself to blame for that.”

“What about the mistrial?”

Duncan glanced beyond the judge’s shoulder. Although DeeDee was being introduced to the mayor, who was enthusiastically pumping her hand, she was keeping a nervous eye on him and Laird. Duncan felt like telling the judge in the most explicit terms what he thought of his ruling and where he could shove his gavel.

But this was DeeDee’s night. He would hold his temper. He would even refrain from telling the judge about the unpleasant surprise he’d had waiting in his home upon his return.

His eyes reconnected with the judge’s dark gaze. “You know as well as I do that Savich is guilty of the Morris hit, so I’m certain you share my misgivings about releasing him.” He paused to let that soak in. “But I’m equally certain that, under the circumstances, you ruled according to the law and your own conscience.”

Judge Laird gave a slight nod. “I’m glad you appreciate the complexities involved.”

“Well, I had forty-eight hours to contemplate them.” He grinned, but if the judge had any perception at all, he would have realized that it wasn’t a friendly expression. “Please excuse me. My partner is signaling for me to rejoin her.”

“Of course. Enjoy the evening.”

The judge stepped aside and Duncan brushed past him.

“What did he say?” DeeDee asked out the side of her mouth as Duncan took her arm and guided her toward the bar.

“He told me to enjoy the evening. Which I think includes having a drink.”

He elbowed them through the crowd to the bar, ordered a bourbon and water for himself and a Diet Coke for her. Another detective in their division sidled up to them, awkwardly holding a drink in one hand and balancing a plate piled with hors d’oeuvres in the other.

“Hey, Dunk,” he said around a mouthful of crab dip, “introduce me to your new squeeze.”

“Eat shit and die, Worley,” she said.

“What do you know? She sounds just like Detective Bowen!”

Worley was a good detective but one of the “yahoos” that DeeDee had referred to earlier. Never without a toothpick in his mouth, he held one there now, even as he ate from his plate of canapés. He and DeeDee had an ongoing contest to see who could better insult the other. The score was usually tied.

“Lay off, Worley,” Duncan said. “DeeDee is an honoree tonight. Behave.”

DeeDee was always in cop mode. Having worked with her for two years, Duncan thought that was possibly the only mode she operated in. Even tonight, despite the skirt and the lip gloss she’d smeared on for the occasion, she was thinking like a cop. “Tell Worley what we found in your house.”

Duncan described the severed tongue. He indicated a chunk of meat on Worley’s plate. “Looked sorta like that.”

“Jeez.” Worley shuddered. “How do you know Morris was the rightful owner?”

“Just a guess, but a pretty good one, don’t you think? I’ll take it to the lab tomorrow.”

“Savich is pricking with you.”

“He’s a regular comedian, all right.”

“But coming at you where you live…” Worley rearranged his toothpick and popped the questionable chunk of meat into his mouth. “That’s ballsy. So, Dunk, you spooked?”

“He’d be stupid not to be a little spooked,” DeeDee said, answering for him. “Right, Duncan?”

“I guess,” he replied absently. He was wondering if, when the final showdown came, he would be able to kill Savich without compunction. He supposed he could, because he knew with certainty that Savich wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

In an effort to lighten the mood, Worley said, “Honest, DeeDee, you look sorta hot tonight.”

“Little good it’ll do you.”

“If I get drunk enough, you might even start to look like a woman.”

DeeDee didn’t miss a beat. “Sadly, I could never get drunk enough for you to start looking like a man.”

This was familiar office banter. The men in the Violent Crimes Unit gave DeeDee hell, but they all respected her skill, dedication, and ambition, all of which she had in surplus. When the situation called for it, the teasing stopped, and her opinions were respected equally with those of her male counterparts, sometimes more. “Women’s intuition” was no longer just a catchphrase. Because of DeeDee’s perception, they’d come to believe in it.

Knowing she could fend for herself without his help, Duncan turned away and let his gaze rove over the crowd.

Later, he remembered it was her hair that had first called her to his attention.

She was standing directly beneath one of the directional lights recessed into the ceiling thirty feet above her. It acted like a spotlight, making her hair look almost white, marking her as though she were the only blonde in the crowd.

It was in a simple style that bordered on severity-pulled back into a small knot at the nape of her neck-but it defined the perfect shape of her head and showed off the graceful length of her neck. He was admiring that pale nape when a nondescript woman who’d been blocking his view of the rest of her moved away. He saw her back. All of it. Tantalizing square inches of bare skin from her neck to her waist, even slightly below.

He didn’t know jewelry could be worn on that part of the body, but there it was, a clasp made of what looked like diamonds winking at him from the small of her back. He imagined the stones would be warm from her skin.

Just from looking at her, his skin had turned warm.

Someone moved up behind her, said something. She turned, and Duncan got his first look at her face. Later, he thought that maybe his jaw had actually dropped.

“Dunk?” Worley nudged his arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I asked you how jail was.”

“Oh, just peachy.”

The other detective leaned toward him and leered. “You have to fight off any cell mates looking for romance?”

“No, they were all pining for you, Worley.”

DeeDee laughed so suddenly, she snorted. “Good one, Duncan.”

He turned away again, but the blonde had moved from the spot where he’d seen her. Impatiently his gaze scanned the crowd, until he located her again. She was talking to a distinguished-looking older couple and sipping a glass of white wine with seeming uninterest in both it and the conversation. She was smiling politely, but her eyes had a distant quality, like she wasn’t quite connected to what was going on around her.

“You’re drooling.” DeeDee had moved up beside him and followed his stare to the woman. “Honestly, Duncan,” she said with exasperation. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Can’t help it. I’ve fallen into instant lust.”

“Rein it in.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Don’t want to, you mean.”

“Right, don’t want to. I didn’t know that getting struck by lightning could feel so good.”

“Lightning?”

“Oh yeah. And then some.”

DeeDee critically looked the woman over and shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess. If you’re into tall, thin, perfect hair, and flawless skin.”

“To say nothing of her face.”

She took a noisy sip of her Diet Coke. “Yeah, there’s that. I gotta give credit where credit’s due. As usual, your sexual radar homed in on the dishiest babe in the room.”

He shot her his wicked smile. “It’s this gift I have.”

The couple moved away from the woman, leaving her standing by herself in the midst of the crowd. “The lady looks lost and lonely,” Duncan said. “Like maybe she needs a big strong cop to come to her rescue. Hold my drink.” He thrust his glass toward DeeDee.

“Have you lost your mind?” She stepped in front of him to block his path. “That would be the height of stupidity. I will not stand by and watch as you self-destruct.”

“What are you talking about?”

DeeDee looked at him with sudden understanding. “Oh. You don’t know.”

“What?”

“She’s married, Duncan.”

“Shit. Are you sure?”

“To Judge Cato Laird.”

“What did he say to you?”

Elise Laird set her jeweled handbag on the dressing table and stepped out of her sandals. Cato had come upstairs to their bedroom ahead of her. He was already undressed and in his robe, sitting on the side of their bed.

“Who?” she asked.

“Duncan Hatcher.”

She pulled a pin from her hair. “Who?”

“The man you were talking to in the porte cochere. When I went to pay for the valet parking. Surely you remember. Tall, rugged, in dire need of a haircut, built like a wide receiver. Which he was. At Georgia, I believe.”

“Oh, right.” She dropped the hairpins next to her handbag and uncoiled the chignon, then combed her fingers through her hair. Facing the mirror, she smiled at her husband’s reflection. “He asked if I had change. He needed to tip the parking valet and didn’t have any bills smaller than a ten.”

“He only asked for change?”

“Hmm.” Reaching behind her she tried to undo the clasp of the diamond brooch at the small of her back. “Could you help me here, please?”

Cato left the bed and moved up behind her. He unfastened the clasp, pulled the pin from the black silk with care, then handed her the brooch and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. “Did Hatcher address you by name?”

“I honestly don’t remember. Why? Who is he?”

“He’s a homicide detective.”

“Savannah police?”

“A decorated hero with a master’s degree in criminology. He has brains and brawn.”

“Impressive.”

“Up till now he’s been an exemplary officer.”

“Till now?”

“He testified in my court this week. Murder trial. When circumstances forced me to declare a mistrial, he lost his temper. Became vituperative. I found him in contempt and sentenced him to two days in jail. He was released just this afternoon.”

She laughed softly. “Then I’m sure he didn’t know who I was. If he had, he would have avoided speaking to me.” She took off her earrings. “Was the woman with him his wife?”

“Police partner. I don’t believe he’s married.” He slipped the dress off Elise’s shoulders, sliding the fabric down her arms, baring her to the waist. He studied her in the mirror. “I guess I can’t blame the man for trying.”

“He didn’t try anything, Cato. He asked me for change.”

“There were other people he could have asked, but he asked you.” Reaching around her, he took the weight of her breasts in his palms. “I thought he might have recognized you, that you might have met before.”

Meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, she said, “I suppose it’s possible, but if so, I don’t remember it. I wouldn’t have remembered speaking to him tonight if you hadn’t brought it up.”

“Untrimmed dirty-blond hair isn’t attractive to you? That shaggy, scruffy look doesn’t appeal?”

“I much prefer graying temples and smoother shaves.”

The zipper at the back of her dress was short. He smiled into the mirror as he pulled it down, following the cleft between her buttocks, then pushed the dress to the floor, leaving her in only a black lace thong. He turned her to face him. “This is the best part of these dull evenings out. Coming home with you.” He looked at her, waiting. “No comment?”

“I have to say it? You know I feel the same.”

Taking her hand, he folded it around his erection. “I lied, Elise,” he whispered as he guided her motions. “This is the best part.”

A half hour later, she eased herself from the bed, padded to the closet for a robe, and pulled it on. She paused briefly at her dressing table, then went to the door. It creaked when she pulled it open. She looked back toward the bed. Cato didn’t stir.

She slipped from the room and tiptoed downstairs. Her insomnia concerned him. Sometimes he would come downstairs and find her on the sofa in the den, watching a DVD of one of her favorite movies. Sometimes she was reading in the living room, sometimes sitting in the sunroom, staring out at the lighted swimming pool.

He sympathized with her sleeplessness and urged her to get medication to help remedy it. He chided her for leaving their bed without waking him when he might have helped soothe her into sleep.

Recently she had begun to wonder if his concern was over the insomnia, or her nocturnal prowls through the house.

A night-light was left on in the kitchen, but the route was so familiar she could have found her way without it. Whatever else she did when she came downstairs, she always poured herself a glass of milk, which she claimed helped, and left the empty glass in the sink to ensure never being caught in a lie.

Standing at the sink, sipping the unwanted milk, she hoped that Cato would never catch her in the lie she’d told him tonight.

The detective had known who she was; he had called her by name.

“Mrs. Laird?”

When she turned, she was struck first by his height. Cato was tall, but Duncan Hatcher topped him by several inches. She had to tilt her head back to look into his face. When she did, she realized that he was standing inappropriately close, but not so close as to call attention to it. His eyes had the sheen of inebriation, but his speech wasn’t slurred.

“My name is Duncan Hatcher.”

He didn’t extend his hand, but he looked down at hers as though expecting her to shake hands with him. She didn’t. “How do you do, Mr. Hatcher?”

He had a disarming smile, and she suspected he knew that. He also had enough audacity to say, “Great dress.”

“Thank you.”

“I like the diamond clip at the small of your back.”

She coolly nodded an acknowledgment.

“Is that all that’s keeping it on?”

That was an improper remark. And so was the insinuation in his eyes. Eyes that were light gray and darkly dangerous.

“Good-bye, Mr. Hatcher.”

She was about to turn away when he moved a step closer, and for a moment she thought he would touch her. He said, “When are we going to see each other again?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When are we going to see each other again?”

“I seriously doubt we are.”

“Oh, we are. See, every judge who finds me in contempt and sends me to jail? I make it a point to fuck his wife.”

He made it sound like a promise. Shock rendered her speechless and motionless. So for several seconds they simply stood there and looked at each other.

Then two things happened simultaneously that broke the stare. The woman she now knew was his partner seized Duncan Hatcher by the arm and dragged him toward the car that a parking valet had just delivered. And Cato appeared in her peripheral vision. As he approached her, she turned toward him and managed to smile, although the muscles of her face felt stiff and unnatural.

Her husband looked suspiciously after Hatcher as the woman hustled him into the passenger seat of the car. Elise had feared Cato would confront her then about the brief exchange, but he hadn’t. Not until they were home, and by then she’d had time to fabricate a lie.

But she wondered now why she had lied to her husband about it.

She poured the remainder of the unwanted milk down the drain and left the glass in the sink, where it would be conspicuous. Leaving the kitchen, she returned to the foot of the curving staircase in the foyer. There she paused to listen. The house was silent. She detected no movement upstairs.

Quickly she went down the center hallway and into Cato’s study. She crossed the room in darkness, but once behind the desk, switched on the lamp. It cast dark shadows around the room, particularly onto the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that formed the wall behind the desk.

She swung open the false shelf that concealed the wall safe and tried the handle, knowing already that it wouldn’t budge. The safe was kept locked at all times, and even as they approached three years of marriage, Cato had never entrusted her with the combination.

She replaced the shelf of faux books and stepped back so she could study the bookcase wall as a whole. Then, as she’d done many times before, she broke it down into sections, focusing on one shelf at a time, letting her gaze slowly move from volume to volume.

There were countless hiding places in this bookshelf.

On a shelf slightly above her head, she noticed that one of the leather-bound volumes extended a fraction of an inch over the edge of the shelf. Coming up on tiptoe, she reached overhead to further investigate.

“Elise?”

She whipped around, gasping in fright. “Cato! Good Lord, you scared me.”

“What are you doing?”

Her heart in her throat, she took the diamond pin from the pocket of her robe, where she’d had the foresight to place it before leaving the bedroom. “My brooch.”

“Is that all that’s keeping it on?”

It surprised her that her memory would replay Duncan Hatcher’s suggestive remark at this moment, when her husband was looking at her curiously, waiting for an explanation.

“I was going to leave it here on your desk with a note so you’d see it before you left in the morning,” she said. “I think some of the stones are loose. A jeweler should take a look.”

He advanced into the room, looked at the pin lying in her extended palm, then into her eyes. “You didn’t mention loose stones earlier.”

“I forgot.” She gave him a small, suggestive smile. “I got distracted.”

“I’ll take it downtown with me tomorrow and drop it off at the jeweler.”

“Thank you. It’s been in your family for decades. I’d hate to be responsible for losing one of the stones.”

He looked beyond her at the bookcase. “What were you reaching for?”

“Oh, one of your volumes up there isn’t lined up properly. I just happened to notice it. I know how finicky you are about this room.”

He joined her behind the desk, reached up, and pushed the legal tome back into place. “There. Mrs. Berry must have dislodged it when she was dusting.”

“Must have.”

He placed his hands on her upper arms and rubbed them gently. “Elise?” he said softly.

“Yes?”

“Anything you want, darling, you only have to ask.”

“What could I possibly want? I don’t want for anything. You’re extremely generous.”

He looked deeply into her eyes, as though searching for something behind her steady gaze. Then he squeezed her arms quickly before releasing them. “Did you have your milk?” She nodded. “Good. Let’s go back to bed. Maybe you’ll be able to sleep now.”

He waited for her to precede him. As she made her way toward the door, she glanced back. Cato was still standing behind his desk, watching her. The glare of the lamp cast his features into stark relief, emphasizing his thoughtful frown.

Then he switched off the lamp and the room went dark.