Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

“So you took it out on Claire? A woman who never did anything to you?”

“She had it coming.”

Anger shot through the alcohol fog inside his brain, and Dave clenched his fists. “How do you figure that?”

“She had you. That was enough to make me hate her.” Angelette laughed, but the sound was bitter and hollow as she fished in her purse for a cigarette. “What can I say? I was young and foolish and I thought I was in love.”

“That’s no excuse. You went out of your way to hurt a woman who was already grieving for her missing child. I knew you had a cold heart,” Dave said. “I never thought you were vicious.”

“Turns out there’s a lot about me you don’t know.” She lit her cigarette and shook out the match.

“Yeah, I guess I’m starting to find that out.”

She sat smoking quietly, one arm folded over her middle as she stared at him across the table.

“You knew when you approached me about the Losier case that NOPD had a viable suspect and was close to making an arrest, didn’t you? It was all a setup.”

She flicked ashes into the dark.

“You never even talked to Gordon Losier about me, did you? Why say that you did?”

“Because I wanted to make sure I could get you interested in the Savaria case again. I figured the best way to do that was to convince you there was a connection between those two dead girls. I don’t get it, though. What has you so upset, Dave? Are you mad that I played you? So what if I did? I’m not the first and I probably won’t be the last, but in the end, you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve tortured yourself all these years about who made those phone calls to you after Ruby disappeared. Now you know it was a cop.”

He stared at her for a moment. “How did you know about that?”

She shrugged and kept silent.

“Were you there the night Renee Savaria was murdered? Were you in on the cover-up?”

She laughed as she tossed her cigarette into the darkness. “Come on, Dave. Those parties were for the good ol’boys. You think they’d invite a female cop into their inner sanctum?”

“Then how did you know about Renee Savaria, much less about those phone calls?”

She leaned forward, smiling. “Use your imagination. What do you think I was doing all those nights when you were crying in your beer over Claire? You think you were the only cop who had the hots for me back then? I had plenty of guys after me, and they weren’t like you, Dave. They didn’t get all quiet and moody and remorseful after we did it. Some of them got pretty talkative afterward, especially after a few drinks.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything? You knew what Nettle did to that poor girl. You knew about the cover-up and you didn’t say a word.”

“What was I supposed to do? I spill the juice on a bunch of my brothers, you know as well as I do what would happen. Career over, that’s what. I’d be lucky if I didn’t get a bullet in the face.”

“So why are you forcing the issue now?”

She ran a finger around the rim of her beer mug. “Because things are different. A lot’s changed since you left the department. That glass ceiling isn’t quite as bulletproof as it used to be, and I’d like to take advantage of some new opportunities. But as it turns out, the guys who covered up what Nettle did seven years ago are the same assholes standing in my way now. That’s where you come in.”

“I do the dirty work, is that it? I get rid of Nettle and the others and you don’t get popped for snitching on a fellow cop. This isn’t about justice, is it, Angie? It’s about your ambition.”

Angelette smiled and lifted her drink. “What can I say? We can’t all be martyrs like you, Dave.”

Dave woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and frying bacon. His body recoiled from the scent and he stumbled into the bathroom to throw up.

After he’d emptied his stomach, he sat with his head against the porcelain for at least ten minutes before he felt strong enough to get up. He didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror so he kept his eyes averted as he tried to brush his teeth, but he couldn’t even manage that. He sank to his knees and hung his head over the toilet once again.

When he rose this time, weak and shaking, he stripped off his underwear and climbed into the shower. He stood under the spray for a long time, hoping the water would help beat back the demons.

When he finally got out, he brushed his teeth again and then took a quick look at his reflection. His face was still bruised and battered from where he’d been worked over the other night, and now he also had bags under his eyes and a sickly yellow tinge to his skin.

He glanced away quickly, not liking what he saw—and hating what he’d done. Eight months of sobriety down the toilet along with last night’s dinner. At that moment, Dave didn’t even want to contemplate what lay ahead of him. As soon as he could, he had to get himself back to an AA meeting.

He went into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans, then walked downstairs buttoning his shirt. He figured Marsilius had come over this morning and let himself in, but instead it was Angelette he found at the stove. She had on the same red dress she’d worn the night before, but now she was barefoot, her dark hair tangled from sleep.

She looked up with a grin as she turned the bacon.

“Morning, sunshine.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame and folded his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile faded. “Are you telling me you don’t remember last night? I’m hurt, Dave.”

“Angie—”

She laughed at his scowl. “Relax, hotshot, nothing happened. I drove you home, helped you to bed and then spent the night on the couch. See?” She pointed with the spatula, and he glanced over his shoulder, saw a blanket folded at the end of the couch, and let out a slow breath.

“Sit down,” she said. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“I don’t think I can eat.”

“Yeah, you don’t look so good. But you’ll feel better when you get something in your stomach.”

Somehow Dave doubted that, but he sat down and watched as she dished up a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and carried it over to the table.

He forced himself to pick up the fork and take a few bites. “It’s good. Thanks.”

She sat down at the table with him, but she only had coffee.

“You’re not hungry?”

“I’ll have something later. Right now, I’m more concerned with what you plan to do about Nettle.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“It’s not going to be easy taking him down, Dave. If he feels cornered, he’ll come out fighting.”

He gave a brittle laugh. “No shit.”

“He did that to you? I wondered.”

But didn’t care enough to ask, Dave thought. “He already thinks I’m working with someone. If you want to keep your name out of this, you better keep your distance from now on.”

She studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure something out. When she spoke, her voice was cool and detached, and she rose from the table without looking at him. “That’s good advice, Dave.”

Walking over to the couch, she picked up her purse and hooked the strap over her shoulder. “You take care of yourself, hear? I have a feeling that from here on out, me and you won’t be seeing much of one another.”

Dave waited until he heard Angelette’s car pull out of the drive, then got up and carried his dishes into the kitchen. Dumping the rest of the food into the garbage, he stacked his plate and cup in the sink, then went outside to the porch.

The day was already hot and humid, and he could feel sweat collect at the back of his neck and run down his spine. His hands and legs were shaking. It was all he could do not to walk over to Marsilius’s place, take a longneck from the cooler and pop it open.