Haunting Refrain (9 page)

“Only if she wanted to kill herself.
She had concrete blocks tied to her feet.”

“Jesus! She
was
murdered.” He suddenly remembered Kate's vision. “Was there any visible damage?”

“Are you kidding? She's been down there at least a week. They're bringing her up now, but I bet it will take an autopsy to tell what happened. She was just standing on those blocks in the trees.”

“Trees?
What trees?”

“That's how they found her. The rope on one of the blocks caught in the tops of some trees about fifteen feet down. Fisherman snagged her hair. If she had gone to the bottom, it would have been maybe seventy or eighty feet.
Probably never been found.”

“Can you show me what position she was in? Could you tell what she was wearing?”

Standing, the diver said, “Kind of like this, with her arms stretched out, kind of floating, and her eyes were open.” He raised his arms, palms down, exactly as Kate had done. “Dark clothes, so she was harder to see.”

John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“Anything else?”

“Shit, man, you should have seen those eyes. Funny they were still there.” He turned green and sank to his knees.

John jumped back a step, only to bump into Detective Waite. She glared at him, making a slicing motion across her throat, and dropped to one knee beside the shivering diver.

Knowing he had pushed Waite far enough for now, John left. He still had one source—if you could call Kate a source—that no one else did. Did he believe her story?
 
He wasn't sure. But she had been certain last night that Kelly was in a lake. And her description of the scene matched the diver’s account too accurately to be dismissed.
Even the part about the trees.

When he reached the outskirts of
Greenville
, he stopped at a pay phone, found Kate's studio number in his notebook, and punched it in. After several rings, an answering machine picked up. He didn’t bother to leave a message—he didn’t think he would merit a call back in her books. Consulting the notebook again, he entered a second number.
Venice
answered on the second ring.

“Yes, this is Madame Venice. How may I help you?”
 
Her voice dripped with mystery.

“This is John Gerrard. I need to see Kate right away. Do you know where I can find her?”

“John, how wonderful to hear from you again.
She's usually in the studio by now. I can give you the number, but perhaps you would rather see her in person.”
 
Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Is it something about our case?”

“This is not
our
case. It's just that the police found something, and I'd like to ask Kate a few more questions for my story. But I already called her studio.”

“If she's busy, she doesn't answer. We can just go on over.”

“I'm in kind of a hurry. I had better go straight there.”

“That's fine. Her studio is at the Principal Players Theater. I'll meet you at the back entrance in a little while.”

There was a click and he heard the dial tone. He sighed and hung up.
“Great—both of them.”

Ten minutes later John parked his ancient green Mustang behind the theater next to a shiny black RX-7 convertible. He wondered if it could be Kate's. It looked like something she’d drive. The old station wagon probably belonged to the janitor—he couldn’t picture Kate or
Venice
in it. He should check Kate out more thoroughly, considering the accuracy of what she had said. Somehow, she knew something.

He saw no sign of another car, but as he stepped from the Mustang,
Venice
swept out of the theater door to meet him.

“She has a client, but we can wait in her sitting area until she finishes.”
 
Venice
led him through the door to the rickety elevator in the back of the building.

John looked skeptically up the shaft. “We have to ride on this?
 
Maybe I'll just take the stairs.”

“If you prefer.
Kate's studio is on the fourth floor.”
Venice
pushed a button and the wooden gate opened.

“The fourth floor?”
He shrugged and followed
Venice
inside, stepping onto the dusty plank floor. “This thing looks like an accident hoping for an opportunity.”

After a noisy, creaking ascent, they reached the fourth floor and crossed the hall to the studio. As they entered, John glimpsed Kate moving around behind a screen, adjusting the lights on a matronly woman in a pink dress. He walked quietly around the room, studying the photographs on the wall.

Venice
, shadowed and mysterious, gazed directly into the lens of the camera over a candle flame.
Next to her hung a cool blonde straight out of the twenties.
Speakeasies and the word “
gams
” came to mind at her pose—one knee up and one long leg stretched out to show the edge of a black garter beneath a short, fringed skirt. A curl of smoke wafted across the dark background, adding to the illusion.

He couldn’t figure out how Kate had known about the body in the lake, but she obviously had a lot of imagination. It had to be more than a lucky guess, but he couldn’t picture her being involved in a murder.

Next to the blonde, a slim, brooding man in Edwardian evening clothes stared at a painting of an early
Manhattan
skyline.
Interesting effects.
John wondered how Kate would photograph him. Somehow, a computer terminal and tape recorder didn't have the same appeal as an old Underwood and a battered notepad. He turned back to Kate and her client.

From his vantage point in the shadows, John was able to study her. Today she wore a dark blue dress with her hair slicked into a tight knot above her colorless face.
 
She was nothing like the competent woman in the gray suit he had seen at last night’s meeting. Nor was she anything like the angry, tousled woman he had met at the
Black Forest
. She looked downright mousy. What a fraud! She ought to be wearing tiger stripes.

Kate moved around her client, tugging the pink skirt into graceful folds, tilting the woman's face to hide a slight double chin.

She stepped back to the camera and looked down into the lens. She made a slight adjustment to the tripod. “Just lift your chin a little more. That's good. Close your eyes and rest them. Keep them closed until I tell you. Now, think about your new granddaughter. Open your eyes.”
 
The woman immediately smiled, and Kate snapped a shot. She moved a light and adjusted the camera as they chatted. “Okay. Just a couple more and we're finished.” She took her final shots and turned off the spotlights. “Okay, that’s it.”

The woman rose and walked to the desk with Kate. “Can you have the proofs ready by next Tuesday? Is that too soon?”

“No. They should be back by then.” Kate filled out a receipt and handed it to her.

“Thanks for squeezing me into your schedule. It's kind of a last-minute anniversary present. My husband's been wanting me to do this for years, and when he told me you were doing the portraits at the bank, I decided to call you.”
 
She placed the paper in her purse and, with a nod to
Venice
and John, stepped through the door.

Kate turned to
Venice
and John. “Well, you two look as though you've been up to no good. What's new?”

“There's a new development on our case. I thought it best that John tell both of us face to face,”
Venice
said.

He shook his head at
Venice
's words and dropped into a chair. “The police found Kelly Landrum's body this morning. She was in
Lake
Jocassee
, standing just the way you said.”

“My God.”
Kate paled and sat quickly on the edge of the desk. “I kept hoping it wasn't true.”

“The poor child.
After we saw her in the water, I knew it was only a matter of time till she was found.”
 
Venice
patted the younger woman on the shoulder. “You must learn to accept your visions, Kate. While we are truly gifted, the price we pay can be terrible, especially if you fight it.”

John shifted uncomfortably. “I know you didn't want to be involved in this, but the police know
it's
murder now. She was weighted with concrete blocks and thrown into that lake.”

Kate sucked in her breath.

“Is there anything else—anything at all you remember that could tie in to the killer?” He leaned forward and looked at Kate.

Venice
shook her head. “Our visions cannot be willed or controlled. They are a gift and, sometimes, a curse. We saw only that poor child's body and the water.” Stopping to unhook the catch on her bracelet from the weave of her long scarf, she continued. “Did you say
Jocassee
? That's a long way from here.”

“Yes, it complicates the police investigation. Whose jurisdiction,” he said. “Kate, are you sure there wasn't anything else?”

“No . . . no.
Just the dark water and her—Kelly—standing there.
It was cold in the water.”
 
She stood and crossed to the window, closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. “Whoever killed her is still out there.”

“You poor dear.”
 
A hennaed curl drooped over
Venice
’s left eye. She tucked it back into place and studied Kate critically. “Your aura has turned dark red. It's the stress from all this. You aren't used to it. I am going home to meditate, and I suggest you do the same.”

“In a little while,
Venice
.
I need to finish up some work here.”
 
Kate looked over her shoulder and smiled, then crossed the room to press a quick kiss to
Venice
's cheek.

“Very well.
See that she goes home soon, John.”

John sat on the desk and turned to Kate as
Venice
left. “Do you really have to finish now?
 
I’d like to talk about this some more.”

“Yes, I really have to finish. This is what I do for a living, remember?
 
And I don't want to talk about visions or Kelly Landrum any more today.”

“How about tonight, then?
 
I could take you to dinner.”

“No, I have several appointments this afternoon, and I've got a lot of work to catch up on. Look, if you really want to talk, I guess I could meet you at the
Black Forest
after dinner, long enough for coffee.”

“Right, a meeting.”
 
He wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. “This time, though, don't bring
Venice
. Is seven too early?”

“That's fine. I'll see you there.”
 
She leaned over to write the time on her desk calendar. “But first we have to set some ground rules for what does and doesn't go into the newspaper. You'll have to tell me when you're being a reporter. I don't want to worry that every word I say will be plastered all over tomorrow's front page.”