Ed Gorman - Cold Blue Midnight

What if he wasn't a TV tabloid reporter?

What if he were something far more ominous?

She let the drape fall and walked back to the fireplace mantel. Now that he knew she was aware of him, maybe he'd leave. Maybe he'd get scared that she'd call the police.

She sipped her Chablis. Her heart was pounding and she resented being upset again. Eric was enough for one day. She didn't need this, too.

She charged across the room to the window, swept back the drape and glared out into the night.

Gone.

He was gone.

She let the drape fall again and walked across to the hutch where the phone rested.

She consulted the number she'd written on her phone pad this afternoon.

'Marcy?'

'Uh-huh?'

'This is Jill Coffey.'

'Oh, hi. Excuse all the pig noises. I just ran over to McDonald's and bought myself a little dinner.'

'That's finego right on eating. I just wondered if you'd gotten any information yet on the Volvo.'

'Not so far. I'm waiting for Nate to call me back.'

'Nate?'

'Yeah. Cop friend I have. He's going to run the number for me.'

'Oh.'

'But he got stuck doing something else for his boss first. He says he'll run it soon as he can. You sound kind of nervous.'

'I am. He was across the street just a few minutes ago.'

'Guy in the Volvo?'

'Uh-huh. Except this time I didn't see the Volvo. This time he seemed to be on foot.'

'Maybe you should call the cops.'

'Not yet. I'm going to give it a little more time.'

'I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Damn.'

'What's wrong?'

'I just knocked over my malt. Spilled it all over the desk.'

'I'm sorry.'

That was when the bell at the bottom of the stairs rang, the stairs that led to her apartment.

'You hear that?'

'Your doorbell?' Marcy Browne said.

'Yes.'

'You have any way of knowing who it is?'

'Not till I get down to the door and look through the eyehole.'

'Maybe you better call the police.'

'I can do better than that.'

'How?'

'I've got a. 38. I'm going to get it and go downstairs.'

'You want to leave the phone off the hook so I can hear what happens?'

'That's a good idea. I'll be back soon.'

She rushed into the bedroom, searched in the second drawer of her night-stand, and found the. 38.

She went to the front door, opened it and went down the stairs. In the dark.

Now her heart was really hammering.

She kept flashing on the man in the Volvo.

Maybe he had a gun, too. Maybe he'd shoot her right through the door.

The hall was narrow and dusty. She sneezed. Great. Fine time to sneeze. You're supposed to feel independent and strong with the cold gray metal of a gun in your hand and then you go screw it up by sneezing.

She reached the small vestibule.

Walked to the door.

Peered out the safety eye.

It took a moment for her eye to adjust in the darkness, then she made a small gasping sound.

It was a man she'd seen across the street just a few minutes ago, but it wasn't the man in the Volvo.

It was Mitch Ayers.

Cini hid on the sixth floor.

She snuck in from the back stairs and found a darkened corner at the far end of the sixth-floor hall where she could huddle in the shadows and hope that the cleaning crew didn't spot her.

Had to think things through.

Carefully. Sanely. So much at stake now.

Even in panic, she realized that she couldn't just leave her purse up in Eric's office. Eventually, the police would get there and find it. And then she would be dragged into the case.

God, she could just imagine the interrogation…

And after the bar, you went back with Eric to his office?

Yes, sir.

Why?

(Obviously lying) He, he wanted to show me some commercials he'd done.

I see. He couldn't have shown you the commercials during regular business hours?

I guess I never thought of that.

Were you aware of Eric Brooks' reputation?

Reputation?

He was quite the ladies' man.

I see.

In fact, he was notorious for making love to women right in his office.

Oh.

Did you make love to him in his office, Ms Powell?

(Pause) No.

You hesitated.

I wouldn't call it making love.

What would you call it, then?

Please, do I have to tell you what happened?

This is a murder investigation. Of course you have to tell us what happened.

Well, he, I I mean

Ms Powell?

(Silence)

Cini?

(Silence)

You have to tell us the truth. Maybe not right now, Cini. But eventually.

And she would have to tell the truth. About what she'd done, there in his office. Just so she could get a part in a commercial. Just so she could make Michael jealous. It would be in all the newspapers, and on all the TV stationsand all the radio stations. She could hear the disc jockeys laughing about it now. This was the sort of thing they loved. She would be a laughing stock to all of Chicago. Or maybe even worse… Maybe David Letterman or Jay Leno would start making jokes about her

She had to go up and get her purse.

Nobody must ever know what she'd done in Eric's office tonight. Nobody. Ever.

She'd take the stairs again. Walk very quietly. And when she got to the top, she'd listen very hard. The killer was probably gone by now. They didn't usually hang around. Not on television, anyway.

She moved away from the shadows of the corner.

Walked toward the FIRE sign at the far end of the hall. She'd have to go back up there and get her purse. Go back up there and try very hard not to look at Eric. He had been so bloody the last time she'd seen him.

She reached the door. Eased it open. Started climbing.

She just hoped that the killer watched enough TV to know he shouldn't be hanging around up there.

'I don't suppose it matters that I'm sorry.'

'Not anymore it doesn't, Mitch.'

'You wouldn't take any of my calls.'

'There wasn't anything to say. You were a married man, and I don't go out with married men.'

'I made a mistake.'

'Yes, I think you did.'

'And it's too late to do anything about it?'

'God, Mitch, what did you expect I'd do when you came over here tonight? Welcome you with open arms? Ask you to move in? Call up all my friends and tell them I'm having a party for the man I love?'

'I really do love you, Jill.'

'I thought that before. And then you went right back to your wife.'

'It didn't work out.'

'She found somebody else again, didn't she?'

'Well…'

'Oh great, Mitch. You're on the rebound a second time?'

'Not on the rebound. It's done, it really is. I don't love her: I love you.'

'I need some more wine.'

'So do I.'

'This really makes me mad, Mitch, you coming up here this way. ''Good old Jill. She'll be there."'

'It isn't like that at all.'

'Oh no? Then why didn't you call before you came? I'll tell you why. Because I wouldn't have let you in, that's why. Right?'

'Well…'

'Right?'

'I suppose.'

'It just really makes me mad.'

'You said that.'

'Yeah, well, I'll probably say it a few more times before I kick you out.'

'I wish you'd calm down.'

'You do, huh?'

'Yeah, I do.'

'Well, I'm not going to calm down.'

'Oh, no?'

And that was when he took her in his arms.

And that was when he kissed her.

And that was when she felt all sorts of things she'd hoped she'd never feel again. At least, not with Mitch Ayers.

'You did a nice job.'

'Thanks.'

'It's really attractive up here. Looks like you've changed everything.'