Smoke Screen

CHAPTER 10

WHEN RALEY STOPPED TALKING, THE CABIN WAS SILENT except for the occasional drip of the kitchen faucet. Eventually he looked across at Britt. “That’s the last thing I remember. Her tongue was in my mouth and her hand inside my pants, and I was thinking, What the hell am I doing? I need to stop this.” He shook his head as though to clear it. “After that, nothing.”

Britt drew a shuddering breath. “That sounds familiar.”

“I thought it would.”

“I don’t remember anything beyond wanting to make it to Jay’s sofa without falling down. Everything past that is completely blanked out.”

“Have you had any flashbacks?”

“I wish I could say yes.”

“You may,” he said. “Some of it came back to me, the way you remember dreams days after you’ve dreamed them. An image flashes and then vanishes before your mind can fully register it. A group of words you know you’ve heard but which make no sense. Like that.”

He reached for his water bottle and drained it, then folded his forearms on the tabletop and leaned across it toward her. “Don’t you think it’s awfully coincidental that we had similar experiences, and in both instances, Jay was behind it?”

“You think Jay set you up with that woman and had her drug you?”

“What do you think?”

The question wavered between them like smoke from a snuffed-out candle. After a time, Britt said, “I don’t want to think that of Jay.”

“No. Because he was a hero. And heroes don’t do things like that. Especially not to their friends.”

She pictured Jay, smiling and disarming. He always had a mischievous twinkle in his eye, but was he capable of treachery on the level that Raley had described? She couldn’t conceive of it. Not the Jay Burgess she knew.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

While lost in thought she’d been absently rubbing the goose egg on the back of her head. Raley had noticed. “It’s caused a dull headache. Do you have a Coke or something?”

He got up, took a canned drink from the fridge, and passed it to her. She opened it and took a sip. “Jay may or may not have had a hand in what happened to you,” she said. “But it doesn’t make sense that he drugged me so I would be an agreeable lover, and then smothered himself by holding a pillow over his face.”

“No. Somebody else came in and did that.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who do you suspect?”

“We’ll get to that. Let me tell you what happened that morning when I woke up in Jay’s guest bedroom.”

“He didn’t live in the same town house as he does-did-now.”

“No. His old apartment had two bedrooms, each with an attached bathroom, separated by a kitchen and living area.”

“Right. The bedrooms were on opposite sides of the apartment.”

Immediately after the words cleared her mouth, she realized she’d given herself away. She looked at him quickly to see if he’d realized the implication of what she’d said.

Of course he had. He said, “No surprise there.”

Her expression wasn’t contrite or apologetic. If anything, it was challenging. “So what? Jay and I dated when neither of us was attached, the affair was over soon. In fact, it was so short-lived it could hardly be called an affair. It was harmless.”

“Harmless, huh? When you’re now suspected of murdering him?”

A long silence stretched taut between them, then she said, “Tell me about the morning following the party.”

He pressed the tips of his fingers into his eye sockets, then dragged his hands down his face, over his bearded cheeks and chin. “I have no memory beyond what I’ve told you. But till the day I die, I won’t forget the absolute horror I experienced when I woke up.”

He came awake but didn’t open his eyes. He lay still, sorting through the days of the week in his mind, trying to determine which day it was. What was on his agenda for today? Was he on duty or off? When would he see Hallie?

Right, he thought, as though his mind had snapped its fingers. This was Sunday. She was coming home.

With that happy thought, he opened his eyes. He was facing a wall, but it wasn’t his wall. It was too close to the bed to be the wall of his bedroom, and besides, it was the wrong color.

Where was he?

He took in more of the wall, the window, and realized he was in Jay’s apartment. Guest bedroom. He recognized it because he’d slept here a few times, when poker games went into the wee hours, when his own place was being painted and the fumes had driven him out. Jay had offered his guest room for as long as it took for the painting to be finished. Once, after a long dinner party, Jay had persuaded him and Hallie to sleep in this bed.

Those occasions he remembered clearly.

But he had no idea in hell how he’d got here last night. It was fairly late in the morning, judging by the light coming through the blinds. They were drawn, but bright sunlight rimmed the edge of each slat.

He rolled onto his back, and the motion caused him to moan. His head hurt like a son of a bitch and felt as heavy as an anvil. He wasn’t sure he could raise it off the pillow, but he was absolutely positive that he didn’t want to try. A motion that extreme would cause his eyeballs to explode. He had the mother of all hangovers, but he didn’t even remember-

He gave a cry of shock when he saw the hand.

It was lying palm up, inches from his thigh, as though seconds before it had been touching him.

That hand, lying supine and still, belonged to a woman.

He bolted from the bed. Or tried. The sheet was tangled up around his legs, causing him to stumble when his feet hit the floor. He landed on one kneecap, so hard it made a knocking sound against the hardwood floor. But in his shock, he barely felt it.

His heart was drumming, and when he heard his own gasping breaths, he willed his mouth shut in order to stopper them. He stood transfixed, but his brain was scrambling, seeking an explanation for the inexplicable.

The woman was dead.

The tanned skin had taken on the ashen hue of death. Her lips were the color of putty. Her eyes, partially open, were beginning to film.

His stupefaction lasted for maybe ten seconds. Perhaps even less. Then his training kicked in, and so did his innate compulsion to act. It wasn’t so much compassion, which denoted forethought and a choice to be valiant. With Raley, it was more like energy, spontaneity, instinct that propelled him to rescue something or someone without his even having to consider it.

He was beside her in a nanosecond, feeling for a pulse. He felt none. Her skin was as cool as marble. Nevertheless, he began giving her CPR.

“Jay!” he shouted. “God dammit, where are you? Jay!” His shouts went unheeded. He could hear no noise in the house except his own labored breathing and his muttered urging for her to move, breathe, revive.

But both his efforts and his prayers were useless. He’d known they would be, but he’d had to try. He continued until his chest was bathed in sweat, until sweat was streaming down his face. Or were those tears of anguish stinging his eyes and rolling down his cheeks?

Finally, weakened by his own exertion, he gave up. He sat back on his heels and stared at her, still trying to grasp how this horror show could possibly be playing out, with him as the lead character.

He reached for the phone on the nightstand. It was an extension to Jay’s landline. He dialed 911. The operator answered.

“There’s been a death. Send an ambulance.” He hung up before the dispatcher could begin asking questions.

His heels made loud thudding noises against the floor as he ran from the room and down the hallway. Jay was in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool, a mug of coffee in his hand, the Sunday newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him. Earphones bridged his head, and his bare foot was tapping out the beat of the music being piped into his ears.

“Jay!”

Raley didn’t think he heard him, but he must have noticed the motion out the corner of his eye. He turned his head and immediately started laughing, which under the circumstances, was obscene. It didn’t occur to Raley until much later what a bizarre sight he must have been. Naked and bug-eyed, flapping his arms to get his friend’s attention.

As soon as Jay removed his earphones, he said, “The girl-”

“You look like the Wild Man of Borneo,” Jay chortled.

“There’s a girl-”

“I know, but I promise not to tell.”

“She’s dead.”

Jay bit back a laugh. His smile collapsed. “What?”

Raley turned and retraced his steps to the bedroom, trusting that Jay would follow him. He did. He stopped in the open doorway, stared at the body with dismay, covered his mouth with one hand. “Fuck me.”

“I tried to revive her, but…” Raley ran his hand over his head. “Jesus Christ.” Thinking he might faint, he bent at the waist, placed his hands on his knees, and sucked in several deep breaths.

By the time he straightened up, Jay was standing beside the bed, studying the still form. “Looks like she’s been dead for a while.”

“I woke up. Found her. Like that.”

Jay wiped his mouth again. “Shit, man.”

“I know. I’ve called 911.”

Jay nodded absently. “Get some pants on.” Raley stared at him, not quite comprehending. “Get some pants on,” Jay repeated.

Staying in one spot, Raley pivoted until he spied his trousers in a heap of clothing belonging to him and the girl. FCUK spelled out in rhinestones, mocking him. He stepped into his pants, pulled them on, did up his fly, but each motion was mechanical.

“What happened?” Jay asked.

Raley looked at him blankly. “What?”

“What happened? Christ, Raley. I’ve got a dead woman in my house. In bed with you. What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He motioned toward the corpse. “I don’t even know her name.”

Jay placed his hands on his hips and looked at him with consternation, then, hearing the distant whine of a siren, dropped the pose and went into action. His eyes skittered around the room until they lighted on a woman’s handbag.

He got it and began rifling through it, coming up with a wallet. He flipped it open. “Suzi with an i. Monroe.” He shot Raley an inquiring glance.

Raley shook his head. “If she told me her name, I don’t remember.”

“I never saw her before last night, either,” Jay said. “I looked around for you, and saw you out on the patio making chummy with her.”

Raley ran his hand down his clammy face. “Yeah, I vaguely remember that. She came up to me and started talking. She gave me a margarita. We walked out…out by the swimming pool, I think.”

Jay was looking at him with incredulity. “I had no idea you were that far gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Raley, you and this chick-” He broke off, shook his head impatiently. “We don’t have time for this now.” The siren’s wail had got louder. It was close now. Jay continued to plow through her handbag.

“What are you looking for?”

“She shows up at a party uninvited, a gate-crasher. What does that tell you? She’s a party girl, right?”

Raley was too befuddled to reason through whatever it was Jay was trying to communicate.

“Ah!” He withdrew a small folded square of aluminum foil from her bag. Barely pinching the corner of it between his fingernails, he held it up where Raley could see it, then dropped it back into the purse. He went down on one knee and examined the surface of the nightstand. “Un-huh.” When he came to his feet, he bent down close to the girl’s still face, examining it as a cop would. “She’s a cokehead,” he said, straightening up and turning to Raley. “Did you snort last night?”

Raley just stared at him, flabbergasted by the question. He and Jay had experimented with marijuana in college but found they got a better buzz from alcohol. Besides it was cheaper, and legal. Jay knew damn well he wasn’t a drug user.

Jay said, “I’ll take your whey-faced expression as a no.”

The siren reached its loudest, then stopped. Jay moved Raley aside as he headed for the door. “I’ll let them in. I’ve got to call the PD. I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t say anything to the EMTs. You’re too shaken to speak, all right?”

“I am too shaken to speak.”

“Good.” Jay gave him a thumbs-up, then left to let the emergency responders in.

Raley knew them. They gaped at him when they entered the bedroom and saw their cohort standing beside the bed with the naked corpse on it. But they did their job without pausing to ask questions of him.

The next half hour passed in a blur. Later, when Raley tried to recall the sequence of events, they overlapped until they became a mishmash of memories, some indistinct, others sharp. Of the night before, he couldn’t remember anything except arriving at Jay’s party with Candy and planning a quick getaway seconds before the girl came up to him.

The EMTs summoned the county coroner, who arrived shortly and confirmed that the body in the bed was definitely dead.

At some point Jay handed Raley a cup of coffee. “I called Pat and George, told them briefly what the situation was. Lucky for us, they agreed to come over, even though it’s Sunday and neither is on duty.”

Pat Wickham and George McGowan, friends of Jay’s in the police department. Both were detectives who solved crimes against persons. Assault, rape, murder.

The thought panicked Raley. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course not. Nothing criminal anyway. You got shitfaced with a woman you didn’t know. Turns out she was a junkie. How were you supposed to know that? You didn’t know she was going to snort after swilling all those margaritas.”

“I only had one, and I don’t think I finished it.”

“More than one, friend.” Jay laid his arm across Raley’s shoulders. “I’ve seen you wasted, but not in years, and never as wasted as you were last night.”

Raley shrugged off Jay’s arm. “I’m telling you, I had one beer. Maybe half of a margarita. I couldn’t have got that drunk,” he insisted.

It was then that Wickham and McGowan arrived. Raley had seen them the previous night, living it up at the party with everyone else. Wickham had been with his wife. McGowan had had an anorexic-looking girl draped on his arm. This morning, they looked hungover, unwashed, and unhappy to be back at Jay’s apartment, especially to examine the body of a dead girl.

“In the guest room,” Jay said, nodding them down the hallway. He and Raley followed.

The somber quartet took up most of the floor space in the compact room. The detectives looked the body over while Jay and Raley stood by, watching.

“Did you touch her?” Wickham asked.

“CPR” was all he managed to say.

Plastic bags had been placed on the girl’s hands. The two detectives turned her onto her side, looking for injuries or wounds on her back. At least that was what Raley surmised.

Jay said, “There’s residue on the nightstand. I think it’s cocaine. There’s a foil packet in her handbag. Dig deeper and we’ll probably find a razor and straw, too. My guess is that she’s a habitual user. She and Raley tied one on. He passed out. She snorted and died in her sleep.”

McGowan said, “Autopsy will tell for sure.”

Raley wasn’t squeamish. In his line of work, he couldn’t be. But hearing the word autopsy in this context made the coffee he’d drunk roil in his stomach. As though sensing his discomfort, Jay scooped his clothes from the floor, took him by the arm, and propelled him out of the room.

“Go get yourself straight.” He passed the bundle of clothing and shoes to him. “Use my bathroom. Shower if you want. They’ll be a while, then we’ll talk.”

Raley moved like an automaton, down the hallway, through Jay’s bedroom, into the bathroom. He threw up. He peed gallons. He splashed his face with cold water, and when that didn’t help relieve his grogginess, he showered, alternating the water from scalding to ice cold.

Feeling a bit restored, he joined the others where they had gathered in Jay’s living area, which was still littered with party debris. Wickham opened the discussion. “Hell of a thing, Raley.”

After that concise assessment of the situation, anything Raley said would be superfluous, so he merely nodded.

“We, uh, found a coupla condoms under the bed, the side you slept on. They’ve been used. We’ll send them to the lab.”

Wickham didn’t pose the question outright, but Raley knew what he was asking. “I don’t know if we had sex or not,” he said. “I don’t remember.”

“She was a babe,” McGowan remarked. “How could you not remember?”

“I don’t remember,” he repeated. The retching had made his voice husky. He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what I do remember.”

McGowan made a motion with his hand. Raley began. “I came with Candy Orrin.” His account lasted through reaching the pool area with the girl-Suzi with an i. “But that’s where things get hazy. I remember thinking that the margaritas were damn strong. I was dizzy, wanting to sit down.”

Jay’s phone rang. He excused himself to answer it, turning his back to the room and speaking low into the receiver.

“You were lying down on the chaise,” Wickham said, drawing Raley’s attention back to him. “My wife and I saw the two of you. Embarrassed her no end. We beat it back to the patio, left you going at it.”

Raley’s cheeks grew hot. “I remember kissing her, or rather her kissing me.”

“Kissing?” Wickham snorted. “Yeah, you probably kissed, too.”

Jay rejoined them. “That was Hallie,” he reported softly. “She was worried because she hadn’t been able to reach you this morning. I told her you crashed here last night and were still asleep.”

Raley had to swallow another surge of nausea. He placed his head in his hands and set his elbows on his knees.

Jay patted him on the back. “It’ll be okay. It could’ve happened to anybody. Especially somebody who’s been working as hard as you have. You didn’t realize you could be slam-dunked by a few margaritas.”

“I had less than one,” he said, sitting up. “One, Jay. And one beer.”

Motion drew his attention toward the hallway. The EMTs were wheeling a gurney with a body bag on it toward the front door. Raley was unable to suppress the nausea this time. As he was rushing toward Jay’s bathroom, he heard McGowan suggest that Jay bring him down to the temporary PD headquarters for further questioning. Jay promised to have him there by one o’clock. In exchange, he got McGowan’s promise to treat this like an accidental death.

“No need to alert the media, is there?” Jay said.

Raley was glad to hear McGowan agree. “No need I can see.”

He threw up again, retching with such violence he was surprised his esophagus didn’t bleed. Finally, feeling that he’d been wrung inside out, he came shakily out of the bathroom.

The apartment was deserted except for him and Jay, who told him what to do and when to do it, because he seemed incapable of making even the smallest decision.

“Want some toast?”

“No.”

“You should get something in your stomach.”

“Okay.”

“Orange juice?”

“Sure.”

“You want to borrow a shirt? Yours has lipstick on it.”

“Thanks.”

It went like that until they left for the police station, arriving promptly at one o’clock. Wickham and McGowan-now showered and shaved-were waiting for them in an interrogation room. “Is this necessary, guys?” Jay asked as he and Raley were ushered in.

“It is if we want privacy,” McGowan said. “We’re doing what we can to keep a lid on this.”

He offered Raley something to drink. He declined. Jay had medicated his headache with analgesics and had forced gallons of water on him for hydration. The toast had helped settle his stomach. He felt a little more like himself, more confident and clearheaded when, for the second time, he talked them through the events of the night before.

When he finished, Jay looked at his two colleagues with an expression that said, Satisfied? They didn’t look ready to lynch Raley, but they didn’t look convinced beyond a reasonable doubt, either.

Raley knew the time had come for him to take the first proactive step toward defending himself. “I’ve been thinking about it. I know I was tired. The margaritas were unusually strong. Chalk it up to abnormal metabolism, whatever. One drink could possibly have knocked me on my ass. It could possibly have prompted me to have sex with that girl. She was a looker, and she came on to me.

“But the amount of alcohol I drank last night couldn’t have completely erased my memory. I just don’t believe that.” He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I think I was drugged.”

The three other men just looked at him blankly, their expressions revealing no reaction to his statement. Finally Jay spoke. “Drugged? By the girl?”

“She’s the one who brought me the drink. She’s the drug user.”

“Alleged,” Wickham said.

“Alleged,” Raley conceded.

“She was,” Jay said. “The stash was in her handbag, and I’ve already tracked down the friend she came with. They were doing coke before they got to the party.”

Raley was surprised that Jay had learned all that in such a short amount of time. He was impressed, both by Jay’s investigative skills and by his friendship. If he doubted one word of Raley’s story, he hadn’t shown it.

McGowan was notified of a phone call and left the room to take it.

Jay glanced at his watch. “When Hallie called, she gave me her ETA. If the plane’s on time, she’s less than an hour out.”

Hallie, Jesus. The pilots would be announcing their initial approach into Charleston. She would be anticipating their reunion at baggage claim. She was probably dabbing some powder on her nose, applying fresh lip gloss, checking her hair, using breath spray, innocently expecting to walk into the arms of her faithful fiancé. It broke his heart to think of the disillusionment she would suffer when confronted with his betrayal.

Neither was overly jealous. Hallie didn’t come unglued if he had a conversation with another woman, and he didn’t think twice about her traveling to Boston with two men from the bank with whom she worked. They trusted each other implicitly.

So how in hell was he going to explain last night to her when he couldn’t even explain it to himself? He tried to imagine facing her and saying what he must. How would he even find the words? What words could he use to make this ugliness any prettier? There weren’t any words to do that. The woman he loved was going to be devastated by what he’d done, and there was no way to avoid it.

Jay pressed his shoulder. “Why don’t you let me pick her up? I’ll give her an overview of what’s happened. If I soften the blow, she’ll be better prepared to hear the details from you.”

McGowan, who had returned, said, “That’s a good plan. At least as far as picking up Hallie is concerned. We need Raley to stay here.”

“What for?” Jay asked.

“Cobb Fordyce. He heard what happened. He wants details.”

Cobb Fordyce was the county’s ambitious DA. It was said he had a sixth sense when it came to which cases were sound enough to take to trial and which to let go. His critics said this sixth sense was based more on ambition than on seeing justice done, but his critics were in the minority. The voting public held him in high esteem. He had always liked headlines, and since the fire and the heroism he had exhibited that day, he had cultivated them at every opportunity.

Angrily, Jay asked, “Who called him?”

“Doesn’t matter, Jay. You’re a cop who had a naked dead girl in bed with your houseguest. Those EMTs know Raley. Sooner or later the DA’s office had to get wind of it.”

“She died of a drug overdose,” Jay exclaimed.

“Then neither you nor Raley has anything to worry about, do you?” McGowan said. “The DA’s involvement is…what do you call it? Routine?”

“Pro forma,” Raley said dully.

“Right,” McGowan said. “Pro forma. Let Jay go pick up your lady at the airport and break it to her gently that your dick got you in a heap of trouble last night. You stay and talk to Fordyce.”

Before he left, Jay pulled Raley aside. “One thing. For godsake don’t say anything more about being drugged.”

“But-”

“Listen, dammit!” Jay said, taking him by the arm and shaking him slightly. “You go talking about drugs in any context, the logical conclusion will be that you and dead Suzi there did them together, and did so much of them that you blacked out and lost your memory and she died.”

Raley covered his head with both hands. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Jay sighed. He left for the airport.

Half an hour later, it wasn’t Cobb Fordyce who showed up. Raley was alone in the interrogation room when Candy walked in. She looked worse for wear, her face bloated from a night of too much drink and too little sleep. Smeared mascara had given her raccoon eyes. She was still wearing her party dress. It was wrinkled. He figured she’d slept in it. He wondered where.

She stood in the open doorway, staring at him for several moments before slamming the door shut and advancing into the room. “I didn’t believe them. It’s true?”

“Unfortunately.”

She tossed her briefcase on the small table and released a deep breath. “Holy Christ, Raley.”

“I know.”

She gathered her hair into a messy ponytail and secured it with an elastic band that had been around her wrist. “Officially I’m here representing District Attorney Cobb Fordyce. He called and asked me could I see to this ’cause he’s in the middle of his son’s birthday party. Grandparents, balloons, a wife who’d be pissed if he left.”

“Does he know we’re friends?”

“I wouldn’t be here if he did. And he would fire me if he ever found out. Where’s your lawyer?”

“Lawyer?”

“Your lawyer, Raley, your lawyer,” she said impatiently. “What’s the matter with you? Are you still drunk?”

“I, uh…”

“Don’t tell me you talked to the police without a lawyer.”

“Not the police,” he said, raising his voice to match hers. “Jay.”

“Oh, Jay,” she scoffed. “And McGowan. And Wickham.” She looked at him with a mix of bewilderment and irritation. “My boss, the DA, would shit if he knew I had said as much as hello to you without a lawyer present.”

“Talk to me, Candy.”

She shook her head sternly. “Not a good idea.”

“Please.” His voice cracked on the word, and that seemed to get to her more than the plea itself.

Her shoulders slumped. She threw a cautious glance toward the door. “Okay. You’ve got three minutes before I turn back into an ADA, so be quick. Friend to friend, tell me what happened.”

To the best of his ability, he did.

“So you admit sleeping with her,” Candy said.

“I woke up beside her.”

“She was already dead.”

“Of course. Yes. I gave her CPR, but I knew right off she’d been dead for hours.”

“You didn’t witness her death?”

He gave her a look. She waved her hands in front of her face. “Forget I asked that. Of course you didn’t. Did you have sex?”

“Maybe. Probably. They found used condoms.”

“Terrific,” she muttered. “And by the way, you’re a cheating asshole, and I wouldn’t blame Hallie if she never spoke to you again.”

“I didn’t do it consciously.”

“Oh, I see. You contend you were unconscious when you fucked her.”

“I contend I was…” Recalling Jay’s advice, he hesitated.

“Was…? What?”

But the caution not to mention drugs couldn’t apply to Candy. Lowering his voice he said, “I think I was drugged.”

“I heard she was in possession of cocaine. You experimented?”

“No, hell no. I think she slipped me some kind of…I don’t know. A date rape drug.” After a moment, he said, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Sorry,” she said angrily. “This is just the way I look whenever a good friend tells me a story that strains credulity.”

“I think that’s what happened.”

She studied him a moment, then pulled a chair from beneath the small table and sat down. “Talk. Hurry. I’m still listening.”

He told her his theory, that the drink Suzi Monroe had given him had been spiked with a mind-altering drug. “They give people temporary amnesia, exactly like I experienced.”

“Right.”

“Well?”

“So does cocaine.”

“Jay said I shouldn’t mention it.”

“Jay was right.” When she saw that he was about to protest, she said, “But okay, I’ll tell Fordyce you’re convinced you were slipped a Mickey. I’m not sure I can convince him. It’s pretty thin, Raley. As a defense, ‘I don’t remember’ is for shit.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you because I know you. But…” She gestured toward the closed door. “The DA, even these detectives, will be skeptical at best. It’s an awfully convenient memory loss. Get a lawyer. Now. Before you say another word to anyone. And get a urinalysis ASAP.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, but her smile was as thin as his defense.