Code 61 - Donald Harstad [135]
Hawkins led us to Jessica's dance studio, on Geneva Street, just about downtown Lake Geneva. We all parked, and got out, except for Hawkins. He stayed in his car, with the engine running. He pointed to a door between two stores. “The dark red one, there. The studio is upstairs. Only thing up there.”
“Thanks.”
“You want company? If you do, I could make the time.”
I shook my head. “No, that's okay. We can piss her off all by ourselves.”
“Well, feel free to keep in touch. You need anything, just let me know.”
We squared ourselves, and walked across the street to the dark red door.
“You all set?” I asked.
“You bet,” said Harry. “You two take the lead, and let me just listen in for a bit, okay?”
“Fine with me,” said Hester.
“Well, then … ” I said.
There was a small, brass plaque on the door that said, “Hunley Studios.” The buildings looked pretty old, and I was expecting kind of a dingy, narrow stair in a dingy, narrow staircase. Hardly.
The blond wooden stairs were nearly brand new, nicely varnished, and the pale yellow stairwell was both wider and more brightly painted than I'd expected. The stairs didn't even creak. The stairwell was lined with dance posters, most of them featuring either Jessica Hunley or “The Hunley Dance Repertoire Company.” At the top, we found a large, oak framed, glazed door, again with the sign “Hunley Studios.” As we entered, I noted the time at 11:39.
The music was loud, but pleasant. I recognized it instantly, a thing by Ahmed Jamal and his group, called “Poinciana.” We were in a small waiting room, for want of another word, with three new wooden chairs, and a bulletin board. On it, there were several notes, and a “rehearsal schedule” that indicated today, October 11, was for “rep rehearsal, J & T, 9–5.” I pointed it out to Hester.
“They rehearse for eight hours?”
“Sure,” she said. “Repertory. That's a series of their performance dances, you repeat those all the time so they stay fresh in your head.”
One more reason to be glad Hester was along.
The divider between the waiting room and the studio was only waist-high, and the door was on a swinging hinge. On the other side, I could see a nice hardwood floor, flanked on the right by a line of floor to ceiling windows, and on the left by a long mirror. No bar in front, unlike in the movies I'd seen, which were as close as I'd ever been to a rehearsal. At the far end was a set of lockers, and a table with a large boom box.
There were two dancers working on the floor, in black tights, leg warmers, and sweatshirts. Their feet were bare. They were both facing away from us, but the one with the iridescent hair could only be Tatiana. I guessed the other to be Jessica, and when they both turned in unison, I saw I was right.
I don't know what they thought when they saw us standing there, but they never missed a beat. Now that they were facing us, I could hear Jessica counting cadence, sort of.
“Down and up and down and up,” she said, as they went down on the floor, rose, went down and rose again. Very gracefully, with flowing movements. “And turn two three, ten two three, and point and twist and point, and turn … ” and with that, they had their backs to us again.
I turned to Hester. “Wow.” Not only graceful, it looked a lot like hard work. Not the way they did it, but the way I knew I'd have to do it. Hester just smiled, and watched them as they moved away from us.
Harry nudged me in the ribs. “You get to investigate them? I wanna work in Iowa.”
The music stopped, and so did the dancers. They sort of stood, talking for a second, and then Tatiana walked over to the boom box, and opened a tape case. Jessica came over to us.
“My two favorite officers,” she said. “And are you an officer, too?” she asked Harry, with a pleasant voice.
“Detective Harry Ullman,” he said. “I'm a Wisconsin deputy sheriff.”
“What brings you all to Lake Geneva?” She stood in a completely relaxed pose, and I noted that