Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [11]
“I dunno,” Butts said. “It’s not the science that’s wacky on this one, it’s the psychology.”
“Ah,” said Kathy. “So that’s why you confided in Doc Campbell here.”
Lee rolled his eyes. He was a PhD, not an MD, but Butts had insisted on calling him “Doc” ever since they first met. He wasn’t sure whether Kathy was making fun of him or Butts—or both of them.
“We’re not even sure there’s a connection yet,” Butts said, lowering his voice as the sleek young, white-aproned waiter delivered their drinks. “But there’s a coupla pretty weird deaths within a week, both staged to look like suicides—but badly staged, y’know, suggesting they weren’t no suicides.”
“That’s why you think they’re linked?”
“Yeah, maybe—or maybe not. The two vics are real different, and as far as we can make out, there’s no other connection between them. Didn’t know each other—weren’t even the same age or profession.”
“What about race?” Lee asked. “You said they were both white.”
“Yeah, sure, but that’s not much to go on. We’re still lookin’ into their backgrounds, but so far we got bubkes.”
“So what are the details?” Kathy said, gulping down a swallow of beer. It was delicious—cold, a little sweet but with a nice bitter edge.
Butts told her the puzzling particulars. Two men, both dead, one electrocuted and the other drowned—both clumsily staged suicides, “phony as a tuxedo on a rooster,” as he put it. Kathy had no idea where he got his sayings—he had a gift for odd metaphors.
“Chuck Morton hasn’t called you yet?” she asked Lee.
“Nope,” he replied.
“That’s odd,” she said. “It’s right up your alley.”
“That’s what I’m sayin',” Butts agreed. “Hey, I’m starvin'—you wanna order?”
They did. Butts ordered a steak, and Kathy got the same thing she always did—the Moroccan chicken. It was terrific as ever—tangy, spicy, and a little sweet, but the real winner was the spinach fettuccine in lemon caper sauce that Lee ordered. After trying one bite Kathy kept looking at it so longingly that Lee finally threw his hands up and pushed the plate toward her.
“Go ahead—have the rest. I can tell you want it.” He turned to Butts and laughed. “She always does this. No matter what she orders, she always wants what I have.”
“I do not!” Kathy protested, but she gobbled up the rest of the fettuccine greedily.
“Hmm,” Butts remarked, chewing on his steak. “I guess you suffer from pasta envy.”
“Touché,” Lee said, poking Kathy in the ribs.
Butts smiled broadly, obviously pleased with himself. Kathy pretended to be irritated with both of them, but in truth she was feeling good—a little tipsy, full of excellent food, sitting in this charming restaurant with a man she loved. Happiness filled her like helium; she was buoyant as rising dough. She wished she could always feel the way she felt right now. Later, she would think back to that evening and wish she could have stopped the hands of the clock right then and there.
CHAPTER FIVE
As soon as Lee unlocked the dead bolt to his apartment door, the phone rang. He rushed through the living room to answer it, but he wasn’t quick enough—by the time he reached it, the phone had stopped ringing.
“Damn,” he muttered, throwing his coat on the couch. He looked at the caller ID, which read UNAVAILABLE. That meant someone was calling from a blocked number—or that they had dialed *69 before calling him to hide their identity. Either way, he wouldn’t be able find out who it was and call them back.
Kathy trailed in behind him, closing the door after her.
“Just missed it?” she said, sinking down on the couch.
“Yeah,” he said. “They blocked caller ID, too, so I don’t know who it was.”
“Who would be calling you at this hour?”
“My first thought would be my mother,” he replied, “but she doesn’t even know what caller ID is, let alone how to block it.”
“Maybe they’ll leave a message.” She rubbed her stomach and grimaced. “Oh, I am so full. I can’t believe I finished the rest of your fettuccine. I’m terrible, aren’t I?”
Lee laughed. “One of these days I’m going to order something you really hate, like liver, so I can