The Spider Bites Read online

  It seemed a mile away. I felt my way along the fence until I came to a gap. I turned and headed for the light. The power failure ended in the middle of the street in front of me. The other side of the street had lights, music blaring and flickering television screens. I blinked and headed north. Toward noise and traffic and people.

  At West Central Avenue I turned right without thinking. I walked past restaurants and shops. Past a little park with a statue of someone in it. No one knew who he was. Or why he was there. Maybe he used to be important. At the corner was a four-story apartment building. I looked up. There were lights on in the top-floor corner apartment. I walked up to the front door and tried to open it. It was locked. I reached into my pocket for my keys. Then I remembered I didn’t have keys to the apartment anymore.

  “Rick! Great to see you. Welcome home.” The voice was loud and cheerful. It belonged to the male half of the couple who lived on the third floor. They were leaning on each other. He grinned at me. She giggled.

  “Hi,” I said. “Was it a good party?”

  “Great!” They unlocked the door and held it open for me. It was a safe question. They were always coming back from a party. I smiled.

  “Thanks. It’s nice to be back,” I muttered and held the elevator door open for them.

  So much for thinking that no one could recognize me.

  * * *

  When the door opened, I walked into the apartment like I still lived there.

  “Rick,” said Angela. “What in hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I got caught in the blackout.”

  “What are you talking about? Come into the living room and sit down like a civilized human being,” she said.

  I walked into the living room. Tony was sprawled on the big armchair. My big armchair. Across from him was Mark. The guy from the park. My stomach twisted in a spasm of pure rage and jealousy.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE APARTMENT

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked the guy from the park.

  “Angela and I are old friends,” said Mark.

  I’d never heard of him. That made this little get-together seem even more awkward.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I snapped.

  “You’re dripping blood.”

  “My god,” said Angela. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” I reached up and touched the side of my head. It was wet. I looked at my hand. There was blood on it.

  “Sorry,” I said, staring at the blood. “The power went out. I walked into something in the dark and hit my head. Stupid of me. But I’m fine.” I was talking too much. I knew it but I couldn’t stop.

  “Sit down,” said Angela, pushing me onto the couch. “Can you give me hand, Mark?”

  They headed for the kitchen. Tony came over and sat down beside me.

  “Why in hell did you come back?” he asked.

  “I wanted to find out what was going on,” I said.

  “Nothing until today.”

  “Did I tell you I got a message from Rodriguez?” I whispered.

  “Rodriguez? What did he want?”

  “Hard to tell. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly from him. It was from one of his guys. But it sounded like having the current investigations into his activities dropped was worth a million or two to him.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told his little friend he was talking to the wrong guy.”

  “Look, Rick, we have to talk. Seriously. Tomorrow.” He stood up and went back to the armchair. Angela and Mark came in with a stack of towels, a first-aid kit and a basin filled with water. I tried to get up.

  “Sit still,” said Angela crossly.

  I sat still. She mopped up the blood and slapped a square dressing on the side of my head.

  “Does your head hurt?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “Mark, get me some ice from the freezer, will you? Put it in a plastic bag.”

  “Right away, captain,” he said.

  “Look straight at me, Rick.”

  I did.

  “You look wonderful, baby,” I said. “And I feel like hell.”

  She stared into my eyes.

  “I don’t think you have a concussion. But what happened?” she asked again. “Who hit you?”

  “The lights went out over by the house and I walked into something in the dark.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Angela. “You said that already. I didn’t believe it the first time either.”

  The last thing I heard was Angela saying, “You guys better go. I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll see you in the morning, Mark.”

  When I woke up again I was lying on the couch, covered with a duvet. Someone had stripped me down to my underwear. There was a pillow under my head.

  The sun was pouring in the window. My watch was sitting on the coffee table by the couch. It was almost nine o’clock. There was a note on the table.

  Hi. I’m at work. Help yourself to coffee and anything else you can find in the kitchen. There are plenty of clean towels in the cupboard. I’ll pick you up here at 11:00. We have to be at headquarters at 11:30 to be interviewed. See you then. Angela.

  It wasn’t exactly affectionate. But it wasn’t dripping hate either. I got up cautiously and headed for the shower.

  After a shower, coffee, toast and juice, I was feeling reasonably okay again. I tidied up the mess I made in the kitchen and took more coffee into the living room. I grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil from Angela’s desk. I looked at it for a while, and then I put down a word or two for everything that had happened yesterday. Man in basement. Fire. Susanna. And so on. I ended up with fifteen or twenty of them.

  After studying them, I took out a pencil and drew lines connecting them. I erased some of the lines and connected them up in different ways. In the end I had a small web of possible connections. And a few glimmers of an idea.

  It was time to get to work again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SPINNING THE WEB

  I checked my little address book. I found Luke’s name. He was a kid who had worked with me for a while. That was a couple of years ago. He was clear-headed, hard-working and careful. And I had recommended him for promotion. I phoned him. It was time to call in a few favors.

  I made two more phone calls after that. The first took a long time. At last my contact came up with some answers. I jotted them down on my chart. A picture was emerging. The last call was brief. It was in Spanish.

  “Hi, Paco,” I said. “Ricardo Montoya. I need to contact Rodriguez.”

  The answer wasn’t encouraging.

  “What’s he doing in Mexico?” I asked.

  “Christmas is coming, Ricardo. He’s gone to see his family.”

  “It’s still October, Paco,” I said. “Look, I have to talk to him. Can I phone him? Will he phone me?”

  “Send him an email,” said Paco. He gave me an address. “That’s what I do. Just remember that someone is probably reading his mail. Don’t confess to any crimes.”

  Judging by the howls of laughter, he thought that was pretty funny.

  “Thanks, Paco,” I said. “I’ll remember that.”

  I sent it from Angela’s computer. She still hadn’t changed her password. It was just a brief note in Spanish. Rodriguez. Did you know Freddie Hancock died in a fire yesterday? Who lit the match? Ricardo Montoya.

  The answer came back before Angela returned to pick me up. Ricardo. It must have been you. Thanks and well done. And if it wasn’t you, someone else is trying to slit your throat. Not me. Why burn down the barn just to kill a rat? R.

  It was depressing. Even the crooks figured I had wiped out Freddie.

  * * *

  Angela turned up before eleven. She was carrying a garment bag over her arm. She came sweeping into the room like a brisk wind.

  “Here,” she said
. “Clean clothes.”

  “Where did you get them?”

  “At your hotel.”

  “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “It was easy. I flashed my id, your room key and a note from you giving me permission. No problem.”

  “I don’t remember giving you a note…”

  “You don’t? That’s funny. I thought you had. If you’d rather go downtown in bloodstained clothes and muddy jeans, okay. I’ll take them back.”

  “Dammit, Angela. Of course I wouldn’t. Anyway, thanks.”

  I came out of the bathroom in clean clothes, looking respectable. For the first time I really noticed the apartment.

  “It looks just the same,” I said. “Only not as messy.”

  “You know why that is,” she said.

  “I’ve changed,” I said. “Honest, I have. For five months I’ve been living in a small room with three other guys. I’ve learned to be neat. I can’t believe how big the apartment looks. It’s amazing.”

  “The owner wants to sell off the two top floors as condos,” she said. “I’m considering buying this place, if he doesn’t want too much money for it.”

  I started prowling through it, thinking of what I had thrown away.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get going.”

  * * *

  As soon as we walked into the stationhouse, we saw Susanna.

  “Poor Susanna,” said Angela. “This must be tough for her. Who’s the big guy with her?”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “It’s Greg. The guy in the park who was waiting for his date.”

  “Maybe the date was Susanna. That’s very interesting.”

  “Yes. It would explain why he’s here.”

  Susanna turned and saw us. “Do you know where we’re supposed to go?” she asked.

  “The last room on your right,” said Angela, pointing.

  They headed off like a pair of greyhounds at the track. We followed them. Slowly. Two men ushered us in and stood beside the door. To keep us there, I guess.

  I recognized the room as soon as we walked into it. Green and brown paint. A long table at one end. Ten or twelve battered desks lined up facing the table. I spent a lot of time in it when I first started. At training sessions. And endless meetings.

  Luke was sitting behind the table. Beside him was one of the guys from the Crime Scene Investigation unit. The third man was a sergeant from another division. He looked familiar. Luke was resting his hand on a stack of papers. Tony, Susanna, and Greg were already sitting at the desks. We joined them.

  The sergeant looked at us and checked a sheet in front of him. “We appreciate you coming in, since you’re all witnesses in this case. Except for Mr. Greg Hill, who is here as a friend of Susanna Vicars.”

  “She asked me to come in with her,” said Greg. “She’s upset because of her mother’s death.”

  “Very understandable,” said the sergeant. “And I’m sure she has our deepest sympathy.”

  Luke handed him a thin folder. The sergeant opened it and glanced over the material in front of him.

  “Good,” he said briskly. “Each of you can cast light on yesterday’s tragic events. The fire. The death of Cheryl Vicars and of an unknown person.”

  Luke handed him a sheet of paper.

  “That person has been tentatively identified as Freddie Hancock.”

  Everyone nodded but Susanna. But I don’t suppose the sergeant expected her to.

  “You are all here voluntarily to make a statement. Once you have signed your statement, you should be free to leave.”

  Should be free to leave? I would have been happier if he had said, “You will be free to leave.” I looked over at the uniforms standing at the door. I wondered if anyone else noticed what he had just said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  Now I remembered that smooth, gentle voice. Sergeant Frank Donovan. I used to watch him lay traps with that kind voice and gentle manner. His sympathetic smile suckered people into saying just what he wanted. I had learned a lot from him in my early days on the force. Then he was promoted, and I lost track of him. I thought he had retired long ago.

  “Sergeant Montoya,” he said. “When the fire broke out, you were at your lawyer’s office, I believe. Is that so?”

  The door squeaked open. Mark Davies slipped in and sat on the other side of Angela.

  I waited until he was settled.

  “I don’t know, sir,” I said. “When did the fire break out?”

  “When were you at your lawyer’s office?” asked Donovan.

  “I had an appointment for two o’clock. I got there about ten minutes early.”

  “Did anyone see you at ten minutes to two?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “Three people. My lawyer’s partner and a law student who works there were in the reception area talking to Amanda. She’s the receptionist. Maybe five minutes after that, a courier came in with a package.”

  “Thank you. And now, Sergeant Marchetti?”

  Tony explained that he was on his lunch hour, eating across the street from 52 Division.

  “Thank you. Ms. Vicars?” And we went through the others, Susanna having her hair done, Angela and Mark at work. “And you, Mr. Hill?” he asked.

  Greg looked up, a little bit shocked.

  “I was at work. It should have been my afternoon off, but I was called out. But it shouldn’t matter, because I’m not really a witness, am I? Just a friend of Susanna.”

  “Of course,” said Sergeant Donovan and reached out his hand. Luke put another folder in it. We sat there staring at him as he read through it. He looked up.

  “The fire. We need to establish the cause of the fire. We’re hoping you might be able to give us some useful background information.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Susanna.

  “Was Mrs. Vicars a careless, easygoing sort of woman? Did she smoke?”

  “Neither one,” said Mark quickly. “A non-smoker and a worrier.”

  “Could you explain that, Mr. Davies?”

  “She recently installed smoke detectors on every floor, fire extinguishers in all three kitchens, and put in a fire escape from the second and third floors.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “We were friends. She asked my advice. I recommended the firm that installed the safety equipment. Then I inspected the house after it was done. I can assure you that everything was installed properly.”

  “Is this an area you specialize in, Mr. Davies?” asked Sergeant Donovan.

  “It is.”

  Donovan wrote something on the folder in front of him and handed it back to Luke. Luke passed another folder to the sergeant.

  “And now we come to the identity of the man in the basement,” said Donovan. “He has been tentatively identified as Fred Hancock. At the time of his death, he appeared to be living in Sergeant Montoya’s apartment. What can you tell us about him, Sergeant Montoya? Was he renting the apartment from you? Or was he a friend you were helping out?”

  “Neither one, sir,” I said. “But I had run into him in the course of my work. He did not have my permission to be in my apartment.”

  “Who was paying the rent?” asked the guy from CSI.

  “I had paid the rent until the end of December,” I said, trying to remember where I had put the receipt that Cheryl had given me.

  “How long had he been living in the apartment?” asked Donovan, looking around.

  “I don’t know, sir,” I said. Long enough to pile up a sinkful of dishes. But I wasn’t going to bring that up.

  “I would say that he arrived sometime after Friday morning,” said Mark Davies. “Mrs. Vicars did not mention him on Friday. On Tuesday she was disturbed about a stranger living in the basement. Apparently he had changed the lock on the apartment.”

  “You spoke to her on Tuesday?” Mark nodded. “Had she invited the stranger in?”

  “I don’t know
,” said Mark. “She was a private sort of person.”

  “Sergeant Montoya, did you know Mr. Hancock?” asked Donovan.

  Everyone in the room knew that I had known him. Except, maybe, Greg.

  I nodded. “He had been involved in an investigation that I was working on.”

  “When you say involved, what do you mean?” asked Donovan.

  “He was an informant. He was prepared to testify against a person of interest to us. This person could have been charged with serious offenses,” I said carefully.

  “So it is possible that the fire was started to dispose of Mr. Hancock, and that Mrs. Vicars’s death was an unfortunate coincidence. ‘Collateral Damage’ as they call it.”

  “It is certainly possible, sir.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TONY

  Sergeant Donovan left. We all spread out a bit and made statements. They were read, checked and signed.

  Susanna and Greg grabbed their coats and left without a word to anyone.

  I turned to Angela. “How about lunch?”

  “Sorry,” she said, “I have to get back to work.” She opened her wallet and pulled out a card. “Your room key,” she added. “I borrowed it. Call me tonight.”

  I watched her walk out with Mark Davies, laughing about something.

  “Tough luck,” said a voice behind me. A familiar voice.

  “Hi, Tony,” I said.

  “Quit worrying about Angela and let’s get some lunch. We have a lot of stuff to talk about.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  “She quit, you know,” said Tony. “Right after you left town. She was upset. And a couple of the guys were making bad jokes about you being in trouble. She blew up and walked out.”

  “She has a temper,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Tony’s favorite Italian restaurant was crowded. But the owner found us a table. They like him there.