Crisis (5 page)

"Some of these Middle Eastern guys can be brutal with their women," Jack said.

"So I've heard," Lou said. "Is that bruising and black eye from the bullet wound?"

"I doubt it," Jack said. Then he turned back to Steve and Allen. "Have our pictures been taken of the body?"

"Yes, they have," Steve Marriott called from over near the door.

Jack pulled on a pair of latex rubber gloves and carefully separated the woman's dark, almost black hair to expose the entrance wound. There was a distinct stellate form to the lesion, indicating that the muzzle of the gun had been in contact with the victim when it had discharged.

Carefully, Jack rolled the woman's head to the side to look at the exit wound. It was low down below the left ear. He straightened up. "Well, that's more evidence," he said.

"Evidence of what?" Lou asked.

"That this wasn't a suicide," Jack said. "The bullet traveled from above on an angle downward. That's not the way people shoot themselves." Jack formed a gun with his right hand and placed the tip of his index finger as the hypothetical muzzle next to his temple. The plane of the finger was parallel with the floor. "When people shoot themselves, the track of the bullet is generally almost horizontal or maybe slightly upward, never downwards. This was a homicide staged to look like a suicide."

"Thanks a lot," Lou grumbled. "I was hoping your deduction about her being naked would prove to be wrong."

"Sorry," Jack said.

"Any idea how long she's been dead?"

"Not yet, but a wild guess would say not that long. Anybody hear a gunshot? That would be more accurate."

"Unfortunately, no," Lou said.

"Lieutenant!" one of the uniformed policemen called out from the doorway. "The crime-scene boys have arrived."

"Tell them to get their butts in here," Lou responded over his shoulder. Then, to Jack, he asked: "Are you done or what?"

"I'm done. We'll have more information for you in the morning. I'll be sure to do the post myself."

"In that case, I'll try to make it, too." Over the years, Lou had learned to appreciate how much information could be gleaned from victims of homicide during an autopsy.

"All right then," Jack said, snapping off the gloves. "I'm out of here." He glanced at his watch. He wasn't late yet, but he was going to be. It was seven fifty-two. It was going to take him more than eight minutes to get to the restaurant. He looked at Lou, who was bending over to examine a small tear in the sheet several feet away from the body in the direction of the headboard. "What do you have?"

"What do you think of this? Think it might be where the slug penetrated the mattress?"

Jack leaned over to examine the centimeter-long, linear defect. He nodded. "That would be my guess. There's a tiny bit of bloodstain along the edges."

Lou straightened up as the crime-scene technicians carried in their equipment. Lou mentioned getting the slug, and the technicians assured him they'd do their best.

"Are you going to be able to get away from here at some reasonable time?" Jack inquired.

Lou shrugged. "No reason why I can't leave with you. With the diplomat out of the picture, there's no reason for me to hang around. I'll give you a lift."

"I've got my bike," Jack said.

"So? Put it in my car. You'll get there sooner. Besides, it's safer than that bike of yours. I can't believe Laurie still lets you ride that thing around the city, particularly when you guys see so many of those messengers who get flattened."

"I'm careful," Jack said.

"My ass you're careful," Lou responded. "I've seen you streaking around the city on more than one occasion."

Jack debated what to do. He wanted to ride the bike for its calming effect and also because he couldn't stand the odor of the fifty billion cigarettes that had been smoked in Lou's Chevy, but he had to admit that with Lou driving, the car would be quicker, and the hour was fast approaching. "All right," he said reluctantly.

"My goodness gracious, a spark of maturity," Lou said. He took out his keys and tossed them to Jack. "While you're dealing with the bike, I'll have a word with my boys to make sure they are squared away."

Ten minutes later, Lou was driving north on Park Avenue, which he claimed would be the fastest route uptown. Jack's bike was in the backseat with both wheels removed. Jack had insisted that all four windows be rolled down, which made the interior of the car breezy but bearable, despite the overflowing ashtray.

"You seem kind of wired," Lou said as they skirted Grand Central station on the elevated roadway.

"I'm worried about being late."

"Worst case, we'll be fifteen minutes late. In my book, that's not late."

Jack glanced out the passenger-side window. Lou was right. Fifteen minutes fell into the appropriate time frame, but it didn't make him feel any less anxious.

"So, what's the occasion? You never said."

"Does there have to be an occasion?" Jack responded.

"All right already," Lou said, casting a quick glance in Jack's direction. His friend was acting out of character, but Lou let it drop. Something was up, but he wasn't about to push it.

They parked in a no-parking tow zone a few steps away from the restaurant's entrance. Lou tossed his police vehicle card onto the dashboard.

"You think this is going to be safe?" Jack questioned. "I don't want my bike getting towed along with your vehicle."

"They're not going to tow my car!" Lou said with conviction.

The two men walked into Elio's and entered the fray. The place was packed, particularly around the bar near the front door.

"Everybody is back from the Hamptons," Lou explained, practically yelling to be heard over the general din of voices and laughter.

Jack nodded, excused himself to those in front of him, and squeezed sideways deeper into the restaurant. People juggled their drinks as he brushed by. He was looking for the hostess, who he remembered as a soft-spoken, willowy woman with a kind smile. Before he could find her, someone tapped insistently on his shoulder. When he turned he found himself looking directly into Laurie's blue-green eyes. Jack could tell she had taken her "freshening up" quite seriously. Her luxurious auburn hair had been let out of her restrained, workaday French braid and cascaded to her shoulders. She was dressed in one of his favorite outfits: a white, high-collared, Victorian-style ruffled blouse with a honey-brown velvet jacket. In the half-light of the restaurant, her skin glowed as if illuminated from within.

To Jack she looked terrific, but there was a problem. Instead of the warm, fuzzy, happy expression he was expecting, she appeared more like amber and ice. Laurie seldom bothered to conceal her emotions. Jack knew something was wrong.

He apologized for being late, explaining how he'd been called out on a case, where he'd met Lou. Reaching behind him, Jack pulled Lou into their sphere of conversation. Lou and Laurie exchanged several cheek-to-cheek air kisses. Laurie responded by reaching behind her and drawing forward Warren Wilson and his longtime girlfriend, Natalie Adams. Warren was an intimidatingly well-muscled African American with whom Jack played basketball almost nightly. As a consequence, they had become close friends.

After greetings were exchanged, Jack yelled that he would find the hostess to inquire about their table. As he began pushing his way toward the hostess stand again, he sensed that Laurie was right behind him.

Jack stopped at the hostess's podium. Just beyond there was a clear buffer zone that separated the people dining from those standing around the bar. Jack caught sight of the hostess in the process of seating a dinner party. He turned back to Laurie to see if her expression had changed subsequent to his apology for being late.

"You weren't late," Laurie said, as if reading his mind. Although the comment was exonerating, the tone wasn't. "We had just got here a few minutes before you and Lou. It actually was good timing."

Jack studied Laurie's face. From the set of her jaw and the compression of her lips, it was clear she was still irritated, but he had no idea what was troubling her. "You look out of sorts. Is there something I should know?"

"I expected a romantic dinner," Laurie said. Her tone was now more wistful than angry. "You never told me you were inviting a horde."

"Warren, Natalie, and Lou are hardly a horde," Jack responded. "They are our best friends."

"Well, you could have and should have told me," Laurie responded. It didn't take long for her irritation to resurface. "I was obviously reading more into the evening than you intended."

Jack looked off for a moment to control his own emotions. After the anxiety and ambivalence he'd expended planning the evening, he was unprepared for negativism even if it was understandable. Obviously, he'd inadvertently hurt Laurie's feelings while being so absorbed in his own. The fact that she was counting on the two of them being alone hadn't even occurred to him.

"Don't roll your eyes at me!" Laurie snapped. "You could have been more communicative about what you had in mind for the evening. You know that I don't mind any time you want to go out with Warren and Lou."

Jack looked off in the other direction and bit his tongue to keep from lashing back. Luckily, he knew that if he did, the evening could well become unsalvageable. He took a deep breath, resolved to eat crow, and then locked eyes with Laurie. "I'm sorry," he said with all the sincerity he could muster under the circumstances. "It didn't occur to me you would take offense with it being sort of a dinner party. I should have been more up-front. To be honest, I invited the others for support."

Laurie's eyebrows pulled together in obvious confusion. "What kind of support? I don't understand."

"At the moment, it would be hard to explain," Jack said. "Could you give me a little slack for like a half-hour?"

"I suppose," Laurie said, still confused. "But I can't imagine what you mean by
support.
Yet I do appreciate your apology."

"Thank you," Jack said. He breathed out forcefully before looking back into the depths of the restaurant. "Now, where's that hostess and where's our table?"

It took another twenty minutes before the group was seated toward the rear of the dining room. By then, Laurie had seemingly forgotten her earlier pique and was acting as if she was enjoying herself, with easy laughter and animated conversation, although Jack felt she was avoiding looking at him. She was seated to his immediate right, so all he could see was her sculpted profile.

To Jack and Laurie's delight, the same handlebar-mustached waiter who'd waited on them during their prior dinners at Elio's appeared at their table. Most of those previous meals had been delightful, although some had been less so, yet still unforgettable. The last dinner, a year previously, had been in the latter category, and it had marked the nadir of their relationship, occurring during a month-long break from living together. It had been at that dinner that Laurie had revealed to Jack that she was pregnant, and Jack had had the insensitivity of flippantly asking who the father was. Although Jack and Laurie had subsequently patched up their relationship, the pregnancy had had to be terminated in short order. It had been a tubal ectopic pregnancy necessitating emergency surgery to save Laurie's life.

Seemingly on his own initiative, although actually on Jack's prior request, the waiter proceeded to distribute long-stemmed flutes. He then opened a bottle of champagne. The group cheered at the sonorous pop of the cork. The waiter then quickly filled everyone's glass.

"Hey, man," Warren said, holding up his bubbly. "To friendship."

Everyone followed suit, except Jack, who instead held up an empty hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to say something right off the bat. You've all wondered why I've invited you here tonight, particularly Laurie. The fact of the matter is that I needed your support to go through with something I've wanted to do for some time, but have had trouble marshaling the courage. With that in mind, I'd like to make a toast that's rather selfish."

Jack thrust his hand into the side pocket of his jacket. With a struggle, he managed to extract a small, square box made of distinctive, shiny robin's-egg-blue paper and tied with a silver bow. He placed it on the table in front of Laurie and then lifted his glass. "I'd like to make a toast to Laurie and myself."

"All right!" Lou said happily and with emphasis. "To you guys." He raised his glass. The others did the same, except for Laurie.

"To you guys," Warren repeated.

"Here, here!" Natalie said.

Everyone took a drink, except Laurie, who was transfixed by the box in front of her. She thought she knew what was happening, but she couldn't believe it. She fought against her emotional side, which threatened to bubble to the surface.

"You're not going to participate in the toast?" Jack questioned her. Her immobility aroused an unwelcome doubt as to what he had thought her reaction would be. All of a sudden, he questioned what he would say and do if she refused.

With some difficulty, Laurie pulled her eyes away from the carefully wrapped box and locked onto Jack's. She thought she knew what was inside the tiny package but was afraid to admit it. She'd been wrong too many times in the past. As much as she loved Jack, she knew he labored under the strain of psychological baggage. There was no doubt he'd been severely traumatized by tragedy prior to their having met, and she had acclimatized herself to the chance he might never get over it.