Robert Ellis - The Dead Room

“But that was never my story,” he said. “When I saw her, I didn’t know who she was. Andrews assumed that Holmes told me where to find her. I’m glad you agree that it couldn’t be true.”

That hidden smile of hers burgeoned and she leaned closer. “Come on, Teddy. I need to know why you were there for my own peace of mind. In a way it’s embarrassing that you found the body. Like maybe everyone at my end dropped the ball.”

“Everything I told you yesterday happens to be true. I went to the boathouse because I had a meeting.”

“A date with Dawn Bingle.”

He caught the sarcasm in her voice, the glint in her eyes. She seemed to think the name was funny and that he’d made it up on the fly. She was leading him along, rooting the story out, having fun while she needled him. It was more like a tease, and the playfulness was as much a relief as the gin.

The waitress appeared, interrupting the moment and standing ten feet back as she checked on them. They turned to the window and weighed the progress of the snow. It was picking up, but the streets remained clear. They decided to order another round, and the waitress hurried off somewhat concerned.

“I saw your face tonight,” Powell said. “You knew about the ten others.”

“Not until this morning.”

“You’re investigating the case. You went to the boathouse looking for Valerie Kram. You went because somehow you knew she’d be there.”

“I had a date with Dawn, remember?”

She sipped her drink. “So now it’s Dawn. I thought you said you never met. What’s she look like?”

“Slim and pale,” he said. “Almost transparent, like she’s not really there.”

Powell laughed. But for his own peace of mind, he wished he had the answers and could tell her what she wanted to know. He remembered the letter in his briefcase. The death threat. He looked at Powell’s smile in the dim light and didn’t want it to go away. This wasn’t the time or place to show her what he’d received in the mail. When the waitress arrived with their second round, he watched Powell down what was left in her glass and pour the olives into her new one. Teddy did the same, and the waitress left.

“It doesn’t make much difference now,” he said. “It’s a matter of public record. Your boss found the body. The city’s being terrorized, but everything’s okay because Alan Andrews is on the job.”

She popped an olive into her mouth. “You committed a burglary, you know.”

Teddy shrugged. “At the boathouse?”

“I could probably get the charges reduced to trespassing, but you’d have to plead guilty.”

“You think the judge will go easy on me?”

She thought it over and shook her head and they laughed. By the time they’d finished their second martini, the question seemed forgotten and he found her appraising him again. He turned away and looked at the people sitting at tables ordering dinner. Somehow the restaurant had become full without them noticing. Two groups seated close by with menus in their hands were eyeing them carefully. Teddy understood why when he checked his shirt again. He’d almost forgotten about how he and Powell had spent their afternoon. Almost been able to let it go.

“I know a place that won’t be so crowded,” Powell said. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll have one more before the storm hits and call it a night.”

Teddy agreed, and to the delight of the waitress, they paid their bill and left. As they walked to their cars laughing about it the way you would after two drinks, Powell got into a late-model BMW and told him to follow her. They drove east toward the Delaware River, the roads wet but clear of snow. When they reached the waterfront district, Powell made a left, heading north. Teddy was surprised, thinking she was leading him to a place on South Street. A few blocks later, she pulled to a stop beside a parking space on the street and tapped her horn. Then she idled ahead, letting Teddy have the space and turning into a private garage.

Teddy’s curiosity was up. As Powell stepped out of the garage and met him on the sidewalk, she pointed at the building. The place wouldn’t be crowded because it wouldn’t be public. Powell had brought him to her home.

It was a large condo on the fifth floor, its open design taking advantage of the Delaware River from every window. The construction had been high end, and Teddy noted the quality of craftsmanship at a glance. Powell’s furniture was more casual, the feeling of warmth hitting him as she switched on a series of low-wattage lamps and made her apologies for not cleaning up.

Teddy noticed the wide staircase leading upstairs. He hadn’t expected a second floor and turned to the fireplace as Powell stepped into the kitchen. Over the mantel he saw a painting by a local artist he recognized and knew had hit the big time. It was a simple landscape depicting the fields and forests meeting the Schuylkill River-a long way upstream from the city-with two figures standing in the foreground. But there was a dream-like quality to the work, almost surreal in its use of color. Teddy thought of Diana Ong’s painting, Land of the Midnight Sun . It was almost as if the artist wanted the viewer to take one last look at the valley before the sprawl took over and the image vanished for good. Even more intriguing, it felt as if the people were in motion, like maybe they were disappearing, too.

“You like the painting?” Powell asked.

Teddy nodded, turning to watch her mix the martinis on the other side of the counter. That smile was back, and he noticed she’d slipped out of her shoes.

“I like the whole place,” he said.

He was trying not to look at her long legs. Her tangled hair. The way her lips were parted. He was trying to remind himself that their relationship was nothing more than professional.

She passed a martini over the counter and lifted her own. They took quick sips so none of the gin would spill. The drink tasted stronger than the two he’d ordered at the restaurant and he noticed the glass was bigger. He’d have to be careful, have to keep cool.

“Follow me,” she said, easing her way out of the kitchen.

They crossed the living room to a doorway. Powell entered first and sat down on the couch against the wall without turning on the lights. Teddy noticed the chair pressing against the couch and rested his drink on the coffee table as he sat down in the darkness. It was a small, narrow room. The wall facing the river rose three feet from the floor giving way to a single sheet of plate glass. He looked outside and saw two tug boats dragging a container ship up the river as the snow fell from the sky. The view was incredible and spanned from the Benjamin Franklin Bridge all the way down to the Walt Whitman.

“I bought the place because of this room,” she said in a quiet voice. “It’s peaceful. I like to sit here for a little while before I go to sleep.”

“Who wouldn’t,” Teddy said.

They sipped their drinks and settled back in their seats.

“When did you start at Barnett and Stokes?” she asked after a while.

“Three months ago.”

“So this is all new.”

He nodded. “I joined the firm because of their real estate department. Then this happened. Who knew?”

She smiled. “How big’s your debt from school?”

“Huge and scary. What about yours?”

“I finally got it paid off two years ago.”

There was an antique cabinet between the couch and chair. Powell opened the door and switched on a receiver, scanning the dial until she found some soft jazz. When she turned back, she sipped her drink and rested her legs on the coffee table.

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.

It was the sort of question that seemed innocent enough. Still, the sexual tension in the room felt as if it had just gone nuclear. Teddy felt the rush, the burn, his eyes moving up her legs and across her body until they reached her face. She’d been watching him. Even in the darkness, her eyes had a certain reach.