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Flipping through the small notebook he’d been consulting, the younger cop read from his notes. “Anise Borden. Self-employed. 6789 Seventeenth Avenue.”
“I thought you said they were married.”
He looked up from his notes. “They are…or were, I guess I should say. But she uses her name. She’s some kinda artist.”
“What else?”
“That’s it.” Carter dropped his voice. “I took a statement from her but maybe you can make more headway. It was ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and not much else. She couldn’t have plugged the guy herself since she was standing right beside him but she’s an icicle.”
“Is she in shock?”
“The medics checked her out and said she’s fine.”
Bishop stared at the widow. “Then I guess I better see what I can do.”
“Good luck. I think you’re gonna need a blow-torch to thaw that one out.”
Bishop made his way toward the woman, stopping first to check with the medical people then talking with some of the other crime scene investigators. He wanted to give her plenty of time. It took some folks longer than others for reality to soak in.
Ten minutes later, when he stood directly before Anise Borden, she lifted her eyes. He would have bet green, but they were blue. A pale, almost colorless blue.
“I’m Daniel Bishop,” he said. “Investigator, HPD. People call me Bishop.”
She held out her hand and he shook it. In contrast to the rest of her polished perfection, her palm was rough, the skin etched with lines. He wondered about it then spoke. “I’m sorry about what happened here tonight. It’s bad enough to lose someone but to have to go through this, too.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was low and soft, as controlled as her expression. “Can you catch whoever did this?”
“We intend to,” he said. “But we’ll need your help.”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can.”
He studied her as she spoke, the details he’d missed from down the street registering now. Beneath the white jacket, she wore jeans and a black T-shirt. She didn’t have on a wedding band, but the rest of her jewelry, a gold chain and hoop earrings, was simple and elegant. He’d dated a woman once who worked at Tiffany’s and she’d told him nice jewelry was like a designer swimsuit—the less there was to it, the more it cost. An equally expensivelooking leather handbag sat at Anise Borden’s feet. It was covered in blood.
He asked her to tell him what had happened and she did, her manner composed. He interrupted once to ask her to point out where she’d been standing and when she finished, he spoke bluntly.
“I’ll need to question you more later but the first thing I want to ask is the most obvious. Do you have any idea who might want him dead?”
She blinked then looked him straight in the eye. “I know exactly who wanted him dead. Unfortunately I don’t have a clue what her name is.”
THE TALL COP DIDN’T REACT to her words. He simply nodded. “Tell me more.”
Anise handed him Kenneth’s cell phone. “He got a call right as we were leaving the bar. I answered it because he was in the restroom. It was a woman and she said—no, she promised—she would see him dead.”
“That must have been upsetting.”
“I was surprised, to say the least. When he came out, I gave him the phone and asked him about it, but he said it wasn’t important. He said he had a client who was in trouble with the IRS and she’d been threatening him for quite some time.”
“What was her name?”
“He didn’t tell me. We walked to the curb and then…” She stopped and gathered herself. “Then he was shot.”
“What did Mr. Capanna do?”
“He’s an attorney. A tax attorney. He helped people manage their income so their taxes would be as low as possible. He assisted with audits and things like that—”
She broke off when she looked at her hands. They were still red with Kenneth’s blood, the lines and scars filled with it. If she didn’t know better she would have thought she’d been using Gamblin’s alizarin crimson with maybe a bit of cadmium red medium thrown in to bring out the blue. The color under her nails would have matched the paint perfectly. Her chest went tight in midbreath, a band of disbelief cutting off air as the cop spoke again.
“Had he lost any big cases lately? Someone who might be mad at him?”
She shrugged in an expression of helplessness. “I don’t know. He said he was having problems at the office but I wasn’t listening….”
“What’s the name of his firm?”
“He has an office off Richmond and Sage. The name of his company is Capanna and—”
Before she could finish, the sound of Sarah’s strident voice cut through the crowd of milling cops and curious bystanders. Anise jumped to her feet, her eyes searching for her friend. A second later she spotted her and began to wave. “Sarah! Over here!”
Sarah started forward but a uniformed woman reached out and stopped her. The argument escalated until Anise turned to the man beside her and put her hand on his arm. “Please tell them it’s okay. She’s my friend.”
He looked over Anise’s head and called out someone’s name. The cop who’d been restraining Sarah turned, saw Bishop, then lifted the tape. A moment later, Sarah was there, her strong arms wrapping Anise in a hug that almost made her break down. She managed to pull herself together before she did and introduced Sarah to the investigator.
Sarah ignored Bishop. “My God, Anise, what happened? Robin and I were leaving the gallery and the lights caught our attention so we came down to see what was going on. Then I—I saw Kenneth. I don’t understand….”
“I don’t, either,” Anise answered. “We walked outside the restaurant and someone shot him. Just like that. Out of the blue. I…I don’t know why or who or—”
The policeman interrupted Anise’s stuttering explanation. “I’m sorry, I know this is difficult, but I have to ask you some more questions. Perhaps your friend could wait?”
Sarah turned to the cop with the fury of a mother bear. “You’re going to have to ask those questions later, Mr. Bishop. This woman is in shock and I need to get her to a hospital. In fact, I can’t believe you’re holding her here like this! Can’t you see she’s shaking?”
Anise tried to intervene but she realized Sarah was right. She had begun to tremble—violently. She clenched her teeth in an effort to make the quivering stop but it didn’t work. Lifting her gaze to Bishop’s, she spoke. “I…I think Sarah might have a point. Could this wait?”
Anise could see he wanted to refuse, but when their eyes met, he couldn’t. A wave of gratitude hit her as he gave in.
“Of course,” he said. “We have your address. I’ll be by as soon as I finish up here.”
THEY ARGUED BRIEFLY over whether or not Anise should go to the hospital. Disagreeing with Sarah was generally a pointless activity but this time, Anise won. She didn’t bother to question why; she just closed her eyes and let Sarah drive her home. By the time they arrived, her trembling had subsided but on the inside a sick feeling had started to take hold.
“You go take a hot shower,” Sarah instructed once they were inside. “I’ll make some tea.” She started down the narrow hallway to the kitchen then stopped. “Why don’t you give me your clothes? I’ll take care of them.”
Anise looked down at her bloody jacket. “I can’t,” she said woodenly. “The police…they want them. Could you get me a paper bag?”
Sarah nodded, then hurried down the hall. When she came back, a brown grocery sack in her hands, Anise was standing in the same spot. Sarah led her to the bathroom. Pulling the shower curtain, she twisted the faucets on full force. “Can you get undressed by yourself?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen. Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
The door closed behind her and Anise sat down on the toilet, the tiny room filling with steam as her fingers went to her T-shirt and then her jacket. The fabric was stiff but she managed to get the buttons undone. Slipping out of her jeans, she folded everything carefully and put it all in the paper bag. She creased the top of the bag and set it aside.
Nausea swamped her a moment later. She barely had time to get the lid up before the hot gush came. When it was over, she stepped into the shower.
The tears that came next were as unexpected as the vomiting. And just as violent. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t catch her breath and that brought with it a claustrophobic panic. Then she gasped loudly and air filled her lungs once again. The last time Anise had cried had been the day of the fire. Crying hadn’t helped her then, she’d realized, so why bother? She hadn’t shed a single tear over anything since and she tried to keep her emotions in just as tight a check.
Her efforts to stay in control failed her tonight, though, and she didn’t know why. Grief wasn’t the reaction sweeping over her; she and Kenneth hadn’t been close for months. It was simple horror. She couldn’t forget the image of him in her arms. The sounds he’d made, the blood everywhere, his body going limp…
She held her face under the showerhead and let the water pelt her. For five minutes she didn’t move, then finally she reached for the soap and began to scrub. When she cut off the water and pulled the curtain back, Sarah had opened the door.
She stood on the threshold, a mug in one hand, alarm on her face. She’d obviously heard Anise crying. “Do you want your tea or something else?”
Shaken by the storm still swirling inside her, Anise didn’t move. She couldn’t move. Sarah pulled a towel from the bar beside the shower and handed it to her. “Dry off,” she fussed. “You’re gonna get chilled.”
Anise took the towel from Sarah’s hands and dropped her face into its warmth. For a second she hid her face in it, her hair dripping, then she wrapped it around her body and accepted the mug of tea.
Sarah leaned against the door frame, a frown on her forehead. “Are you okay?”
“As okay as I’m going to be, at least for a while.” Her voice trailed off and she had to force herself to speak again. “I…I don’t even know how I feel, to be honest. It’s not like we were still in love or anything but I can’t stop shaking. And I keep thinking about what he looked like.” She shuddered. “I’ve never had anyone die in my arms before….”
“I can’t believe it even happened.” Sarah shook her head. “Who on earth would do such a thing? Do they think it was random or…”
“I don’t think they think anything right now,” Anise answered. She took a sip of the hot tea, some of her equilibrium returning as she told Sarah about the phone call Kenneth had received. The doorbell rang in the middle of her explanation.
“That’s Madelyn. I called her as soon as I could.” Sarah straightened then went to open the door for Anise’s neighbor. Madelyn Sutcliff had been friends with Anise and Sarah since they’d met ten years previous. Sarah had taken on one of Madelyn’s sculptures to sell and over time, the three had grown close. Madelyn served as the mother figure, the wise older woman, the one who had all the answers. Having a master’s degree in counseling helped as well. When she entered Anise’s living room a few minutes later, though, she had nothing but questions, her expression pained, her apprehension obvious.
“Oh, Anise…sweetheart! I don’t know what to say!” She crossed the room and enveloped Anise in her arms, her touch as comforting as the heavy bathrobe Anise had put on. “I’m so sorry!”
Anise patted Madelyn on the arm. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “It’s so awful….”
“Tell me what happened.”
The three women took their usual places in Anise’s living room but the conversation was so far removed from anything they’d ever discussed before the situation felt surreal. For what was beginning to feel like the hundredth time, Anise explained how Kenneth had died. Thirty minutes after Madelyn arrived, the doorbell rang again. They looked at each other then Anise spoke. “That’s got to be the cop.”
“He’s just going to have to wait,” Sarah announced, jumping up from the couch. “You’re exhausted! You can’t talk to him now. I’ll tell him he has to come back later—”
“No.” Anise rose to her feet as well, her answer stopping Sarah’s progress toward the door. “I want to get it over with. I’ll talk to him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“I know what you think, Sarah. Everyone always knows what you think. But this time, you’re wrong. I…I need to talk to him, okay?”
Anyone else would have taken offense at Anise’s words; Sarah ignored them. She threw open the front door and glared at the detective on the front porch.
“Anise can’t talk to you right now,” she said. “She’s too upset. You’re going to have to come back tomorrow.”
Before the man could answer, Anise came up behind Sarah and put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “That won’t be necessary. I can talk to you now.” Her eyes met Daniel Bishop’s, and underneath her touch, she felt Sarah stiffen.
“That’s good.” He ignored Sarah as effectively as Anise did, his own gaze steady and direct. “Because tomorrow might be too late. I need some answers tonight if I’m going to catch who did this.”
Sarah huffed her indignation. “You can’t be serious, Anise! You need to res—”
The investigator’s attitude was mellow but beneath it was a subtle strength impossible to dismiss. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Ms. Levy. I’m sure you understand why.”
“I don’t understand at all.” Sarah crossed her arms and stood her ground.
Anise felt Madelyn at her elbow. She introduced the older woman to Bishop, then watched as she took Sarah’s arm.
“We have to let the man do his work, Sarah. You come to my house. Anise can call us when they finish and we’ll come back.” She flashed Anise a look of sympathy. “We’ll spend the night with you, sweetheart.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Anise leaned over and kissed Sarah on the cheek, then did the same with Madelyn. “I’ll be fine. You two go on.”
Madelyn nodded but Sarah began to shake her head.
“Leave,” Anise said firmly. “I’ll call you after we finish.”
“You promise?” Sarah asked. “Cross your heart and hope to die? Stick a needle in your eye?”
Anise smiled at the childhood whimsy. How many times had she and Sarah made those pledges to each other? Too many to count, she was sure. She made an X over her chest. “I promise.”
Bishop stepped aside and held the door open. Sending him one last glare, Sarah walked past the cop and Madelyn followed.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOUR FRIENDS ARE very protective,” Bishop said as soon as the door closed behind the women. “How long have you known each other?”
“Forever.” Anise led him into her living room. “Would you like a cup of tea? We were having one when you came.”
A drink would have been better but he kept that to himself. “Tea would be nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
He followed her to the kitchen, taking in the small house as they went down a short hallway. He’d been surprised when he’d learned she lived in the Heights. The modest one-story bungalow was typical for the older neighborhood but he’d mentally put her in a classier, more expensive part of town. A lot of artist types were fond of the area, though, so it made sense.
The hall opened into a galley kitchen, a glass-topped table at one end in front of a wall of windows that revealed a well-tended backyard. She had lights at the base of all the trees. They threw spooky shadows everywhere.
“How long is forever?”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “A very long time. Sarah’s parents raised me after my mother died and I met Madelyn through the gallery when I was in my twenties. Sarah owns Levy’s Art Gallery downtown and she represents both of us.”
“Officer Carter told me you’re an artist.”
“That’s right.”
He expected her to elaborate but she didn’t so he said nothing more. There would be time for that later. The answers he didn’t get usually told him more than the ones he got, regardless.
“You have a nice place here.” Turning to the window, he watched her reflection in the glass. She moved with grace as she filled the kettle and gathered the tea supplies. “It’s very comfortable. The Heights is getting popular. Prices are rising.”
“I bought it ten years ago.”
“Was that before you got married?”
