Jeff Abbott - A Kiss Gone Bad

Heather brushed fingers through her hair. ‘The light’s good at Little Mischief. I like to sketch the birds, the waves, the old folks walking on the shore.’

‘Dopers love Little Mischief,’ Delford interjected. ‘Am I gonna find some weed in your knapsack, young lady?’

‘No,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘I don’t do drugs.’

Claudia steered them back on track. ‘What was Pete doing down at Little Mischief?’

‘He’d come down there with a notebook computer, to write or just chill out and throw pebbles in the surf.’ She wiped a hand across her lips. ‘Quiet but nice. He gave me money for food.’

Claudia made a note. ‘This money he gave you. Any strings attached?’

A flash of resentment crossed Heather’s face. ‘Of course not. What do you take me for?’

More to the point was what Pete Hubble had taken Heather for. Claudia remained silent for a full thirty seconds, and Heather began to fidget. ‘I’m not a whore, okay? He was just being nice.’ She paused. ‘Maybe he didn’t need the money, since he was gonna kill himself.’

‘So he gave you a loan. What happened next between you?’ Claudia asked.

Heather Farrell finished her cocoa and began to tear the rim of the foam cup into strips. Specks of wet, powdery chocolate smeared onto her fingertips, but she didn’t notice. ‘Nothing happened. He seemed real sad. Lonely. Like he’d gotten bad news.’

‘When did he invite you to his boat?’ Claudia asked.

‘He said he wanted to talk,’ Heather said. ‘He wasn’t sure why he would go on living.’

‘He barely knew you and yet he suggested to you he was suicidal?’ Claudia said.

‘Sometimes it’s easier to talk with a stranger than a friend.’

‘I suppose. What was this crushing sadness?’

‘Pete said his brother… was the source of all the sadness in his life. I gathered his brother died young. And he made mention of some preacher that had screwed his brother over. Somebody Jones.’ She glanced at Delford. ‘He made it sound like maybe this preacher was responsible for his brother’s death.’

Delford cut in. ‘Pete tell you what proof he had?’

‘No. But Pete bitched that he couldn’t make a case stick.’ She looked up from her lap, her eyes wide, like a child watching a parent for approval.

‘You’ve got to be more specific,’ Claudia said. ‘What exactly did he say about this preacher and his brother?’

Heather scrunched her face. ‘Christ, I didn’t take a goddamned transcript, and he didn’t make a ton of sense. I’ve told you what I know.’

Claudia let silence fill the room and began to tap her pen against the notepad. ‘He ever suggest you come to his boat and take off your clothes for a movie?’

Heather gave a sharp bark of laughter. ‘No! I’m not some street whore. I haven’t had any problems with the police since I got here a month ago.’

‘How’d you get over to the marina?’

‘I hitched a ride into town from Little Mischief. I got to the marina a little after ten.’ She tore a long strip of Styrofoam away from her cup and shredded it into confetti. ‘So I go to his boat – he’d told me it’s the big one at the very end of the dock – and I went aboard. I called for him, but there was no answer. The door was open. I went downstairs.’ Her throat worked. ‘And there was no one in the kitchen and the living room, so I knocked on the bedroom door.’

‘It was closed?’ Claudia asked.

‘Yeah.’ Heather dabbed at her lips with her tongue. ‘I yelled out for Pete and pushed hard on the door. I saw him on the bed, right away, and the blood spotting his face.’ She was quiet for a moment, a youngster staring at implacable death and realizing she would someday feel its grasp.

‘I think I screamed. I think I would. I got off that boat like it was on fire. I screamed running down the docks, and people came.’

‘See anyone suspicious around the boat? Or around the marina?’ This from Delford.

‘No.’ Heather tented her cocoa-daubed hands. Claudia yanked a tissue from a box and offered it to Heather. The girl wiped her hands carefully and repeatedly. ‘I was so worried about Pete, how depressed he was, I wouldn’t have noticed anyone.’

Delford nodded solemnly.

Claudia thought: You just don’t strike me as the Girl Scout type, sweetie.

‘Do you have your panties on?’ she asked Heather.

Heather’s mouth twitched. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’d like to know if you have on a pair of panties.’

‘Why?’

‘Just answer me, please.’

‘Yeah, I got on panties. You think I’m running around without underwear on?’

‘Show me, please. I need you to lower your pants enough where I can see you’ve got a pair on. Chief, would you step outside for a moment?’ Delford blinked at this turn of questioning.

‘He can stay. I don’t care.’ Heather stood and yanked down on her beltless jeans with a gentle tug. Claudia could see a slice of panties below the girl’s waist, plain white, grimy.

‘Thank you,’ Claudia said.

Heather rearranged her jeans and sat. ‘Let me guess. You found panties on the boat and wanted to be sure they weren’t mine?’ She was smarter than she acted. ‘Those panties probably belonged to his lady friend.’

‘You knew he had a girlfriend?’ Delford asked.

‘He mentioned a lady that lived with him on the boat once. But I got the impression he’d had his fill of her. He said she’d made a lot of money off of him, and he was tired of her.’

‘We’ll need you to stay in town, Heather, until our investigation is done.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What, under house arrest?’

‘No, but don’t leave town.’

Heather leaned back in her chair. ‘I think my statement is done, and I want one of them pro bono lawyers like on TV if you’re going to ask me any more questions.’

‘Two more simple questions,’ Claudia said. ‘Woman camping a lot, you carry a gun?’

Heather picked at the table with a dirty fingernail. ‘No. I have some pepper spray, and I know how to kick a guy’s balls all the way up to his throat.’

‘You ever see this young woman around, maybe down at Little Mischief?’ Claudia pulled a flyer from her notebook and pushed it toward Heather. Delford watched without expression.

‘Marcy Ann Ballew,’ Heather read. She scrutinized the photo, as if looking for some vestige of herself in the printed face. ‘Sorry. Don’t know her.’

‘Where you staying tonight?’ Delford asked.

Heather looked discomfited. ‘Back at the park, I guess.’

‘If you’re still shook up, spending the night alone out in the dark’s no fun.’ Claudia softened her tone. ‘You can crash here.’

‘Oh, great, a jail cell,’ Heather said. ‘Thanks but no.’

‘We’d leave the door open. You’re not locked up. It’s clean and warm.’ Claudia ventured a grin. ‘Real cute guy working the night shift.’

The face of Marcy Ann Ballew smiled up at both of them.

Heather shook her head. ‘I am not staying in any jail cell.’

‘Then let me call Social Services. They’ll find a place for you.’

‘You just want to keep a tab on me.’

‘A tab to be sure you’re okay,’ Claudia said.

‘I don’t need a tab.’ Heather stood. ‘We done? I got to go.’ As if she had errands to run, close to midnight.

Claudia clicked off the tape. ‘I’ll get this typed up and you can sign it.’

‘Can I come back tomorrow and sign? I’m beat.’

‘Sure,’ Claudia said.

‘Thanks for answering our questions.’ Delford stood. ‘And like Detective Salazar said, don’t leave town, miss. There may be a death inquest and you may have to give testimony.’