Heart-Shaped Box

  Tyler wore a short-sleeve golf shirt. His hair was beginning to recede back to the crown, leaving a little island in the middle, just above his forehead. He had let this part grow longer than the rest, resulting in a puff of hair three inches long. Maybe he had had hopes of swirling it across the bare spots, but tonight it just hung there, bobbing whenever he nodded his head. Claire thought to herself that women might have to bare a thousand indignities, from push-up bras to brow tweezing, but at least they didn’t have to decide what to do when their hair was only half-gone.

  Although she remembered when Tyler had been as thin as a pencil, now his belt sagged under the weight of both his gun and his belly. His face had the weathered look of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun with a cigarette clenched between his teeth.

  “So when did you decide to go into law enforcement, Tyler?”

  “I’ve been on the job since eighty-one.” She could hear the capitols on “The Job” in his voice. “Of course, there are a few perks to this line of work. Like you meet a lot of women when you’re wearing a badge. Cop groupies, for one thing. A lot of ladies out there have a thing for a man in uniform. All my wives have always been jealous of that. You get pretty girls rubbing against you, swearing that they will do anything, absolutely anything so they don’t get a speeding ticket. Or so the Dee-Wee won’t show up on their record and bump up their insurance.”

  “A ‘dee-wee’?” Claire echoed. Was Tyler bragging about his prowess with women in an attempt to hit on her?

  “To you civilians, it’s called driving under the influence. A DWI.” He cleared his throat. “So - you single? Notice you’re still a Montrose. And no ring.” He waggled his own left hand at her, which still bore a faint white stripe around the ring finger. “My third wife, well, it turned out we didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye. But I haven’t soured on you gals yet.”

  Great. Tyler seemed to be viewing Cindy’s murder as some sort of cop version of The Dating Game. “That’s very flattering, Tyler, but I’m in a long-term relationship.”

  “With that Danny guy?”

  “Dante.” She had wondered who would be the first to mangle his name. “His name is Dante.”

  “Oops! Got me there.” Pointing his index finger at her, he made a “p-choo” noise with his mouth, like a kid pretending to be a cowboy, turning his finger into a gun. Given his current profession, Claire found the gesture a bit disconcerting. Then he looked away and drummed his pen on the desk. “Remember when you used to come over to my house and listen to records?”

  She had been to his house a grand total of one time, but felt it wasn’t politic to say so. “Sure, Tyler. I remember.” How could she forget those three long hours with Tyler sweating and silent beside her on the couch as he studied the liner notes of a Hot Tuna album as if he had never seem them before?

  Tyler’s mind returned to the business at hand, and he picked up the camera. “I’m gonna need to take your photo, Claire. It’s a formality. Strictly for identification purposes. I think we can already rule out any of you gals, right?”

  “What do you mean?” Claire was still asking the question when he lifted the camera to his face. Afterward she pressed the flat of her hands over her dazzled eyes. She heard the camera whir as it spat out the photo, and then a click as Tyler put it down on the desk to develop.

  “You saw how he left her. Clothes half ripped off. I’m thinking what we’re looking at here is a botched robbery slash attempted rape. You get a load of some of those skels who hang out in front of the slots? A bunch of low-lifes who gamble until the ATM machine won’t give them any more money. And Cindy looks rich. She was hammering those drinks back pretty regular, so my guess is she didn’t notice when the perp followed her out hoping to score some easy cash. Then he took her purse, and got a little too turned on when she put up a fight.”

  Skels, dee-wees, perps - Tyler seemed to be using as much cop shoptalk as possible. Something nagged at Claire. “You think someone raped her?”

  “Well, I won’t know until we get the lab reports back. But you saw how he left her, naked to the world. And how she was acting earlier tonight. Half-sloshed, doing a cheerleading routine for God’s sake, like she was still in high school.” He lowered his voice, as if his words were more for his own ears than Claire’s. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Who would ever have guessed that twenty years later it would be Cindy Weaver trying to impress Dick - I mean Richard - Crane?” He shook his head. “Cindy always was a hot little number. Maybe with all that she had to drink, she could of sent someone the wrong signals.”

  “What are you talking about?” Outrage surged through Claire. She straightened up in her chair. “If someone thinks a woman is sexy, does that give him the right to rip her clothes off and kill her?”

  “Simmer down, Claire. That’s not what I was saying.”

  That had been what Tyler was saying, but she decided it wasn’t worthwhile to argue the point. Instead, Claire thought about how they had found Cindy. Tyler was right, Cindy’s purse had sagged open, hollow-looking, as if someone had taken something from it. And again, she saw Cindy’s breasts, nearly spilling out of the gold satin bra, and how her skirt had been tugged up around her waist.

  The Polaroid had finished developing. Claire picked it up and looked at it. In the photo, she wore an uncertain half-smile that didn’t fit the occasion. After years of being ordered to smile for the camera, she guessed it was reflexive. Due to some oddity of the flash, her hair appeared blond instead of red, a cascade of curls falling past her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, her skin washed out and pale. And glaring like a beacon at the edge of her chin, her zit seemed to have shrugged off its protective covering.

  “You’re still a damn-fine looking woman, Claire.” Tyler didn’t give her a chance to reply, which was just as well as she didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound as if she were begging for more compliments. “Oh, I almost forgot. I need your name, address, phone number, and occupation.” When she looked at him questioningly, he said, “It’s just for the record. Plus if we need to get a hold of you later.” He drummed his pen against the edge of the desk the whole time he spoke, and she wondered if his nervousness was giving him away.

  Claire told him her name and address, while another corner of her mind tried to decide whether to make up a phone number or give him her real one. She wouldn’t put it past Tyler to call her up and ask her out, Dante or no Dante. But in the end, she gave him the right number. Her occupation gave her pause. She finally settled on, “I do volunteer work.”

  Tyler tipped her a wink. “I read in the Oregonian about how you inherited that painting that everyone made a fuss about. Must be a nice life.” Claire kept quiet, figuring it wasn’t worthwhile to point out that she had given ninety-nine percent of the painting’s proceeds to the World Jewish Restitution Organization. When he realized Claire wasn’t going to rise to the bait, Tyler said, “How well did you know Cindy?”

  “As you probably remember, we didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

  “Yeah, Cindy was the top dog at Minor, wasn’t she? Or maybe I should say top bitch.”

  “Tyler! Don’t forget she’s dead.” She remembered what Maria had said about Cindy making fun of Tyler’s childhood stutter. Even though Maria had said it had taken place behind Tyler’s back, he must have known.

  “Did you talk to her tonight?”

  Claire shook her head.

  “Did you see her having any kind of argument or disagreement?”

  “No. The only time I really paid attention to her was when she was doing that cheering thing.”

  “What about Logan? You were friends with him before, right? Did you notice him following Cindy around, watching her?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There have been some reports that he was acting strangely around her.”

  “Logan might be a little different, but he’s a little different around everybody, not just Cindy.”

  “U
h huh.” Tyler nodded his head, clearly not convinced. “Did you leave the bar before you found Cindy’s body? Did you notice anyone leaving the bar tonight anytime after nine o’clock?”

  “Well, I know I didn’t leave.” Claire tried hard to think about who had been in the Hoe-Down Room and who hadn’t. But it had been too chaotic to remember if anyone had been missing for ten or fifteen minutes. People had been in and out of the room all the time - to grab a smoke, to go to the bathroom, to try their luck by dropping a quarter in the slots. Finally, she had to shake her head. “No one in particular.”

  “Before I forget, let me take your fingerprints.” He reached for her hand, and she tried not to stiffen. “This is just a formality,” he said as he pressed Claire’s fingers against the black ink pad, then rolled them on a piece of stiff white paper. “Did you touch anything at the scene?”

  Claire tried to remember. “No, I don’t think so. Dante was the first one to touch her, and he told us she was cold. Wait a minute - Cindy’s box. Jessica picked it up and I told her not to. I knew she shouldn’t be touching it.”

  “Did you touch it yourself?”

  Claire thought back. “I don’t think so. I was just starting to tell Jessica to put it back when I realized the box was identical to the one I got.”

  He looked up from his notebook, his expression alert. “The one you got - what are you talking about?”

  She realized Tyler didn’t yet know that there had been other boxes besides the one found in Cindy’s hand. Quickly, she sketched it in for him. As he took notes, his self-inflated posture seemed to sag.

  “So you’re saying that in addition to Cindy, you, Jessica, Rebecca, Maria, Sunny and Nina all got these boxes?”

  Claire counted on her fingers. “That’s right. What do you think it means? Some people said it might be a serial killer. Do you think that’s a possibility?

  “A serial killer? They could be right.” He gave her a humorless smile. “I guess the only we’ll ever know is if we find another one of you ladies dead.”

  ANIL8

  Chapter Twelve

  From the interview with Richard Crane

  As he picked up the camera, Tyler said, “Hey, you used to be the one taking the pictures, but now it’s me.”

  Richard held himself stiffly as the picture was taken. The flash from the Polaroid reflected off the shiny fuschia satin cowboy shirt he wore under his elaborately fringed jacket. The long nose that jutted from his pale face cast a strange shadow, like the blade of a knife.

  “What did you say you were going to use this for again?” Richard asked.

  “With the hotel staff or any witnesses we turn up. We can’t keep anyone here, and most of you are only in town for the weekend. So I need to get your name, address, and occupation for the record.”

  “Richard Crane, 320 Cherry Street, Seattle, Washington. I’m the CEO of Simplex Corporation. We manufacture a line of high-speed modems.”

  “So Dick, I mean Richard, how well did you know Cindy?”

  “I wouldn’t say that I really knew her, at least not well. As you know, she was a very popular lady at our high school. But Cindy and I didn’t exactly move in the same circles. I would venture to say that I probably knew her better than she knew me. I don’t think I was really on her radar screen.”

  “Is that so?” Tyler made a note, then looked up. “What about you dating her, as was referenced tonight?”

  Richard flushed to the top of his high forehead. “That was only once, and a very long time ago. I doubt she remembered me.”

  “I didn’t get that impression. The way I remember it, she was leading a cheer for you.”

  “She was just showing me a little of one of the new routines she’s working on for her business as a cheerleading consultant. I guess we were the last people to ever see her cheer.” He pushed the hair out of his eyes. “God, what a waste. A woman like that, cut down in her prime.”

  “What did you talk about with her tonight?”

  “We exchanged a few words. She seemed very interested in my line of business, wanted to know how things were going, how many units we were selling, things like that.”

  “Things like that,” Tyler echoed, not bothering to hide the sarcastic spin to the words.

  Richard set his jaw and looked Tyler straight in the eye. “I found she evinced interest in everyone. We all knew her, didn’t we? Or at least we wanted to. I was surprised to see her with her husband with her tonight, but she told me she had only asked him to come along because she was nervous. Nervous! As if she had any reason to be nervous.”

  Tyler looked up, his face alert. “What do you mean, you were surprised to see her husband her tonight?”

  “I’d heard that they were in the process of getting a divorce.”

  Tyler started. “A divorce? Where did you hear this from?”

  Richard looked down at his narrow white hands. He laced his fingers together, then lowered them to his lap. “I don’t really remember. I guess it must have been a rumor.”

  Tyler made a note. “Did you see her arguing with anyone tonight?”

  “There may be one person you ought to be talking to. Sometime in the latter part of the evening, I went to the restroom. And when I came out, Cindy was standing near the door talking to Wade Mertz. You know, the man who was on the football team? She seemed angry. And he was holding his cheek, and I saw a red mark on it. Like she had slapped him.”

  “Could you hear what either one of them was saying?”

  “No. Her tone was too low. But it was intense. Intense and angry.”

  “And Wade? Was he angry, too?”

  Richard’s tone couldn’t mask his disappointment. “No. No, he wasn’t. He appeared to be laughing. And that was just making her angrier.”

  “Were you aware of anyone leaving the bar after, say, ten p.m.?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to who was in the bar and who wasn’t. There were a lot of people. It was kind of overwhelming. Everyone had a lot of questions about Simplex.”

  “How about Logan West? Did you talk to him or see him leaving at any point?”

  “Is he a suspect?” Tyler let the long silence stretch out. “I suppose you can’t answer that. I remember in eighth grade we had a lot of the same advanced classes together, but by our senior year, Logan was ... broken. Now that you mention it, I might have seen him go in and out a couple of times. But then again, he is a smoker, isn’t he? Although maybe he wasn’t there during the last part of the evening. I can’t be sure, though.”

  “And did you yourself leave the bar at any time tonight?”

  “No. No, I didn’t. Not until” - Richard’s voice broke for the first time - “not until I saw Cindy lying on the ground.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the interview with Jessica McFarland

  “Take my picture?” Jessica was already pulling a compact and a tube of lipstick from her purse. “Give me just a second.”

  “This isn’t for publication, Jessica.” Tyler drummed his pen on the desk. “It’s just in case we turn up witnesses. I don’t need someone telling me they saw Cindy when it turns out they saw you.”

  Jessica’s words were muffled as she pursed her lips to meet the scarlet wand. “But I’m brunette and Cindy is - I mean was - blonde.” Slipping the cap back on the lipstick, she gave her reflection a satisfied smile. Then she remembered the occasion for her primping. She looked up at Tyler, her eyes widening as she suddenly began to blink back tears. “I still can’t believe this has happened. It is beyond belief. Cindy was just so full of - life! When I saw her lying there, alone, cold, violated.... I wanted to cry out - where is the justice? Why has someone so alive been taken from us?” A tear spilled down her cheek. “Quick - take the picture before my mascara starts to run.”

  The camera whirred and spat out a picture. Tyler put it face down on the desk. “You and Cindy ran in different circles in high school, right?”

  “There was still thi
s connection between us.” She thumped her cleavage with a closed fist. Tyler’s gaze lingered on the gentle sway of her breasts.

  “A connection?”

  “At Minor, we may not have run in the same circles, but we admired each other’s work, you know? We both knew excellence when we saw it. Cindy was born to be a cheerleader - and I was born to tread the boards, as we say in the theatre world.” Seeing Tyler’s blank expression, she added, “That means I was meant to be on stage.”

  “Did you talk to Cindy tonight?”

  “A little bit. She wanted to know what it was like to work with people like Nikki Kidman and Kevin Spacey.” If she was hoping for a reaction from Tyler, an acknowledgment of these famous names, Jessica didn’t get it. “Then she told me a little bit about her experience being on ESPN judging the national cheerleaders’ competition.”

  “What kind of mood would you say she was in?”

  Jessica shrugged her shoulders. “Good. Cindy always liked being able to talk about herself. I’m sure you remember that from high school.” Tyler scribbled something in the notebook, and she leaned forward. “What are you writing down, anyway?”

  He flipped the notebook closed and pulled it back. “Sometimes the smallest clues can catch a perp.”

  “So you’ve worked on this kind of case before?”

  He gave her a curt nod.

  “It must be especially complicated because you know everyone involved.”

  “I’m a professional. I’ve learned how to separate my emotions from the facts.” He flipped open the notebook again, although now he held it closer to his body. “Did you see Cindy arguing with anyone tonight?”

  Jessica was already shaking her head. “No. But I did see something else you might be interested in.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well.” She drew the word out as she leaned closer to him. “I could be wrong. I only caught a quick glimpse. I was looking for Sawyer to ask him about how his campaign was going. I couldn’t find him, so I pushed open the doors to go look at the casino, see if he was maybe out there. And you know who was out there?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Belinda and Kevin. He was leaning over that table. And I don’t think they were just talking. I saw the look on her face. I think they might have been kissing.”