Cole bared his teeth. “What a rush, right?”
She unclipped the fanny pack and toed off her shoes. “But I didn’t leave empty-handed. I found an interesting fact for Donald to chew over in the morning and of course…” She dug in the fanny pack and held up the metal figure of a rook. “…a new keepsake.”
Hefting it in her hand, she crossed to her desk and rolled open the top. From a drawer at the back, she took a key and unlocked the curio cabinet. Humming, she stood at the open door rolling the rook back and forth in her hand while she contemplated the shelves. Presently she leaned down to a lower shelf and set the rook next to the jumping horse figure.
After giving the rook a pat on its crenellated top, she straightened, skipping her fingers up the shelves as she did so…and pausing occasionally to fondle an object. Her hum gave way to a dreamy smile.
Anger flared in Cole. “Remembering the fun we had collecting those, are we?” Each of those objects represented people left feeling violated…never able to feel safe at home again.
With his anger, though, came a spark of hope. Killing Sara and him had to rank tops on her “fun” scale. Would she go to the objects that let her relive the experience?
She took a small carved red lacquered box from the top shelf and stood turning it over in her hands, her fingers tracing the carving. Could it be Sara’s?
Probably not, he decided as he realized she was pressing on parts of the carving. It was a puzzle box and must be hers if she knew how to open it. Puzzle boxes, he reflected, made good hiding places. Certainly for items she might prefer not to leave in plain sight. Hope jumping in him, Cole watched her hands intently, memorizing the movements.
After another minute of pressing here and sliding a piece of carving there, a drawer slid out the side. Irah pulled out a cloisonne butterfly pendant. A pendant that he remembered from Bon Vivre, dangling into Sara’s cleavage.
Cole bared his teeth. “Gotcha!” Triumph that quickly gave way to anger and revulsion at her smile, the glowing satisfaction of someone sated with sex. “You got off shoving Sara’s head into that toilet, didn’t you. Or are you remembering the really big fun…the terror in her eyes down in the garage, when she was fighting to breathe but realized she was going to die!”
Though he had never been a hothead, Cole wanted to kill her…to reach in and grab her heart…short circuit it. Except killing was, as the cliche went, too good for her. To give Sara justice, Irah had to be booked, jailed, tried, and convicted…with every twisted detail laid out in the newspapers and court for public viewing. And for whatever comfort his and Sara’s families could take from it.
After letting the butterfly swing on its chain for a minute, Irah hung the chain on the top of cabinet door and pulled the drawer out farther. A feeling like a deep sigh of contentment spread through Cole. Oh, yes…this was definitely a gotcha! Inside lay an inspector’s star with his number on it.
Razor had to know about this!
He shot back to the Central Station. Only to find Razor gone.
Rather than try to locate him, Cole waited for the chance to use a computer. In this division, the machines in the holding cell area never stayed idle for long, he knew, so he tried to work fast, keeping the message short: razor…sis has a souvenir from me. specter.
He barely finished before an officer headed toward him. Hopefully the officer passed the message on to Razor, but rather than wait through where-did-this-come-from-what’s-it-about to see, he went back to work. He had suspicion, paranoia, and nightmares to create.
First stop, a quick jog to the Columbus/Broadway intersection to suck up heat, then a ziptrip to Lamper’s place again.
He found Lamper at the microwave in his kitchen, removing a large mug with the tag of a tea bag hanging over the side. Cole waited while he discarded the tea bag and carried the mug out to the livingroom. A book lay open on the ottoman of the Eames chair. Lamper sat down but did not pick up the book. Nor did he more than sip the tea before setting the mug on a side table. He glanced at front door, then at the front windows — which had the drapes closed now — and past his table and chairs to the French doors. Clearly on edge.
Cole smiled. Good. Opportunity knocked.
He backed into the hallway and visualized himself as Irah. Then stepped into the livingroom.
Lamper’s start lifted him almost out of the chair. Continuing the motion, he stood the rest of the way. “I don’t know how you got in here this time since I locked the bathroom window, but you could have come to the front door.”
Cole shook his head. “That would have been too easy.”
Lamper’s mouth thinned. “At least you got my message.”
Message? Cole remembered the phone ringing while he waited for Irah. Her machine answered it somewhere downstairs, but he had not bothered trying to hear the message the caller left.
“I don’t know why you took that piece of my trophy, but I’ll thank you to return it.” Lamper held out his hand.
Cole kept smiling. “I prefer to keep it.”
Lamper’s lips thinned still more. “I’d hoped to straighten this out without going to Donald.”
“Good idea.” Cole put knife edges on the words. “He’s already annoyed about you whining to him about me. You don’t want to piss me off, too. I’ve already warned you that’s a bad idea. That’s why I’m keeping your trophy piece, to remind you not to screw with me.”
Lamper flushed. “Don’t threaten me. Donald won’t stand for it. And since you’re not going to return the rook, I don’t know why you bothered coming back. Get out.”
He had more nerve that Cole expected. Too angry to be intimidated, or that much belief in Flaxx?
Belief in Flaxx, Cole decided. Changing that was going to take some work. Or maybe, it occurred to him, change it was the last thing he wanted. His mind raced. He could use the loyalty against them.
Was it possible to change shapes in the middle of a materialization? How much energy would that use? Only one way to find out.
“Irah didn’t come back,” he said. “You fell asleep there in your chair and this is a dream.” He visualized himself…and with downward vision watched himself morph.
Lamper’s jaw dropped.
Cole said, “Why don’t you have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Because I have things to say. This is a cautionary dream.”
Questions leaped in his eyes, but Lamper seemed unable to make his voice work. He dropped into the chair.
Cole sat on a virtual chair facing him. The morph used a chunk of energy. He needed to move as little as possible now. “Yes, cautionary dream. Today was very upsetting, so your subconscious has cooked up this dream to sort things out. Because Dunavan’s a cop, he’s being used as the voice of order and warnings. Irah represents disorder. You’re on the money there. She’s lethal.”
Lamper blinked. “Lethal!”
“Yes.” Cole leaned toward Lamper. “Burglaries and setting fires aren’t enough of a thrill for her anymore. She’s moved on to murder.”
“Murder?” Lamper’s expression went skeptical. “That’s- ”
“Ridiculous? No. Your subconscious wouldn’t be talking like this if you didn’t suspect something like that.” He paused. “She killed that firefighter.”
He stiffened. “That was terrible, but…it was an accident.”
“In the eyes of the law it’s murder. And you know there’s more. The remarks she’s made about people disappearing have you worried that there’s a connection to Sara dropping out of sight. That’s what made you call Hamada, even though you wouldn’t tell him. Or maybe you don’t realize it consciously. Listen. You need to pay attention to your gut feeling. For some reason she wants Donald to mistrust you. She could have been the outside the washroom. You know what a good mimic she is. What if her plan is working?”
Lamper came up stiffly in the chair. “No. Donald wouldn’t- ”