Deadly Justice

42

BEN TALKED WITH TRIXIE for almost three solid hours, until he had all the information he thought she could offer. Most of it didn’t pertain directly to the case. He knew from past experience, though, that sometimes the facts that turn out to be the most telling don’t even seem relevant at first. He tried to learn everything he could about Trixie, the Kindergarten Club, and life on The Stroll.

“Trixie, I have to leave for a short while, but I don’t want you to be here by yourself. How long till Buddy comes back?”

Trixie glanced at the clock on the wall. “He’s already late. Probably stopped for coffee or something. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Ben said flatly. “I’m going to call a friend of mine to stay with you until I return.”

A fearful expression returned to her face. “Not a cop. I don’t want any cops.”

“Trixie, it’s for your own protection.”

“That’s what they said before. And the next thing I knew I was getting beat up again. For all I know, this killer is some sex pervert cop.”

“Trixie, I don’t think—”

“If you call a cop, I’m running out of here as fast as I can. And you won’t be able to stop me.”

Ben sighed. “All right. How about a woman, then? Not a cop. Someone I know we can trust.”

Her head tilted a fraction. “That might be all right. Who is it, your girlfriend?”

“Just a friend. But a very good one.”

Christina arrived about half an hour later. Her eyes were cloudy, and her strawberry blond hair was a jumbled mess, but she was there. She was wearing a gray sweatsuit and sneakers.

“Ben, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Of course I do. It’s almost four A.M.”

“It was a rhetorical question, Ben.” She nodded toward the girl eyeing her carefully from the sofa. “Is that—?”

“Yes. The long-sought Trixie.”

“I figured as much. I’m impressed. Regular Dick Tracy you’re turning into.”

Ben introduced them, then let them chat a few minutes until Trixie appeared reasonably at ease with Christina. Christina soon had Trixie thoroughly engaged in an animated discussion of rock groups and music videos. Ben wrote out his name and his home and office phone numbers and addresses.

“I’m going to my apartment,” he explained to Trixie. “I need to call my office and tell them I won’t be in today, and then call…a friend of mine and tell him what I’ve been doing. And I need to feed my cat. As soon as I’ve taken care of all that, I’ll be right back here.”

“Great.” Ben was pleased to see Trixie smile a bit. She was beginning to trust him.

On his way out, Ben motioned for Christina. “She’s scared to death of the police,” Ben whispered. “That’s why I haven’t called Mike yet. But I will as soon as I get to my place. If you see anything suspicious, or anyone other than Buddy tries to come through that door, I want you to call the police immediately, whether Trixie likes it or not.”

“Understood.”

“Don’t take any risks.”

“The biggest risk here, Ben, is that I’ll return to the slumber my body so keenly craves.”

Ben pointed at Trixie. “If Christina’s eyelids begin to droop, poke her with that mixing blade.” Ben grinned at Christina. “Take my word for it. You won’t fall asleep.”

Night still blanketed the streets of Tulsa. As Ben headed home, the lights surrounding the TU campus cast a blue glow across his windshield. What a night it had been! Ben couldn’t believe he’d been up so long. It was worth it, though—the pieces were finally starting to come together. Hamel, the Kindergarten Club, the accident at Camp Sequoyah—it was all beginning to make a twisted sort of sense. He still didn’t know who the killer was, but the choices were definitely narrowing.

He turned onto Lewis. A few minutes later, he pulled up to the curb just outside his boardinghouse. Not a legal parking place, but who could be particular at this hour of the morning? He got out of his car and stretched; he was stiff from stem to stern. Maybe he would indulge in a shower and shave before he called Mike, just to clear the cobwebs out of his brain.

He froze halfway across the front yard. That was odd—the window to his upstairs room was open. He didn’t remember doing that. In fact, he never opened it; among other reasons, he didn’t want Giselle to get out. Would Mrs. Marmelstein have opened the window? As far as he knew, Mrs. Marmelstein never even went in unless he was home.

He approached the house and stood directly under the window. That’s when it became clear: the window wasn’t opened; it was smashed.

Ben raced through the screen door and bolted up the stairs. He hesitated for a moment in the hallway—what if the intruder was still there? Never mind. He would just have to take his chances.

He turned the doorknob and flung the door open. And gasped.

His apartment had not been ransacked. He had seen places that had been ransacked before, and this was not what they looked like.

His apartment had been destroyed.