Darker Than Any Shadow - By Tina Whittle Page 0,28
bone and muscle and sinew. It did not admit the blade willingly. It fought it every inch.
“Have you ever stabbed anybody?”
Trey shook his head and reached for the diced ginger. “No. But I’ve been stabbed.”
“Really? Where?”
“Right thigh, just below the hip.”
I knew the scar. I’d assumed it was from the accident, like the delicate silver scars on his chin and at his temple, or the four titanium screws in his spine, or the pin in his knee.
“What happened?”
“A nine-year-old boy attacked me with a paring knife.” He stirred the ginger into the vegetables. “I was arresting his mother. Child endangerment plus possession with intent to sell.”
He tapped the spoon on the edge of the pan. The pungent steam curled upwards, and he adjusted the heat, then covered it with the lid.
“Tell me again why you’re…I’m looking for a word.”
“Investigating?”
He nodded.
“Because of Rico.”
“Rico asked you to do this?”
“No.”
He waited. I swirled the wine in my glass. I knew what my brother’s psychologist explanation would be. Eric would look at me seriously through his gold-rims and say, you meddle in other people’s live as a way of exerting order in a chaotic universe, assuming power that you don’t have but that nonetheless provides an illusion of control.
This was the reason I hadn’t called him yet. I could get away with keeping him in the dark longer than usual because he was in Australia for two weeks, at an Industrial and Organizational Psychology Conference. He’d find out eventually, of course, but I planned on putting it off for as long as possible.
“Rico’s my best friend,” I said. “I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s dragged me out of what I wanted into what I needed. I intend to return the favor.”
Trey waited some more.
I sighed. “But I’m involved too. Maybe not as a suspect, but that could change any second now, you know that as well as I do. And I can’t sit quietly and wait for that tide to turn.”
Trey didn’t ask any more questions. If there was one thing on the planet he understood, it was the need to do something that perhaps made no sense to anyone else. He drove a Ferrari and wore Armani and exercised two hours a day. I tampered. We tolerated this about each other.
I watched him slide the fish into the pan, the fragrance of ginger mingling now with the sizzling vegetables. It felt unreal, like a bubble that might burst if I poked it. Who was I, this woman drinking 2010 Syrah from real crystal, watching this man with multiple scars fix her dinner? I thought again of Lex, of the carefully engineered persona that was his entirety. And I thought again of the GQ magazine in Trey’s desk. And I thought of the red silk bra underneath my tee-shirt. And I thought of Rico, who was keeping a secret. And I thought of knives.
And then I poured more wine and decided not to think for the rest of the evening.
***
Three-fourths into the bottle, I fell asleep on the sofa. Trey left me there and went to bed. I eventually woke up and stumbled in with him, tripping over my tote bag in the process. And maybe it was that tumble, combined with the lingering buzz, that jarred the memory loose.
What were CDs doing in the hallway Friday night?
Adam had been complaining that there weren’t any at the merch table. But when I’d been running to the bathroom in all the smoke and water, I’d tripped over a box of the things, a box that hadn’t been there when I’d made my first trip to the bathroom.
Somebody not on my bubble map had come in the back that night. Somebody who came, dropped CDs, and left. Without being seen, without being reported, without being interviewed by the cops at all.
I curled up next to Trey, my brain buzzing. Come morning, he had a trip to the gym scheduled. I had a different plan, one that included a visit to the man most likely to know who might have been coming and going so secretly. And luckily for me, he’d invited me over himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Apparently, Padre roamed like a wildebeest on Sunday mornings. One neighbor said he’d gone to get a haircut, the other said he’d gone to get milk. I spent forty-five minutes walking Euclid Avenue, smelling the mingled Cuban food and motorcycle exhaust until I finally spotted him walking my way.