Solange got a list of all your students and their contact info-you really ought to practice better computer security- and we’ve already talked to some of them.”
“That’s what you were doing in my office?” I asked Solange. “Stealing our client list?”
She looked furious with Mark for mentioning it, but nodded curtly.
Another thought came to me. “You went to Rafe’s, too, didn’t you, to search his laptop? The day after he died?” I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d given her a key.
Her eyes narrowed. “That was you that came in? Shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Mark tossed a lock of limp hair out of his eyes, reclaiming my attention. I couldn’t believe I’d danced with him, taught him for three years, and I hadn’t seen what he was really like. This was turning into a nightmare. “You’ll be sorry you passed up the chance to partner with me,” he said in a low voice.
Something in his eyes made me back up a step and a horrifying thought came to me. “I’m only sorry I ever accepted you as a student. You can do better, Solange,” I said.
“I’ve been out of action too long with my damned ankle,” she said, rotating it. “The established male pros are already committed to other partners. I think Mark is worth taking a chance on.” She sent him a smile.
“You’ll be taking a chance, all right,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “He shot Rafe and poisoned Vitaly in order to become my partner. Now he’s using you to-”
“You’re insane,” Mark said. “Don’t listen to her, Solange. She’s losing it.”
He sounded confident, but a furtive look in his eyes convinced me I was on the right track. “Did the police check your alibi for the night Rafe was shot? Probably not, because they were convinced I did it. And I’ll bet they find your fingerprints on the grapefruit juice bottles-”
“I got rid-” Mark stopped himself, but it was too late.
I think my mind had made the connection between Vitaly’s sudden illness and the missing grapefruit bottles subconsciously. Someone-Mark-had deliberately removed them after Vitaly fell ill. “You did… you killed Rafe.”
“I was thrilled when someone bumped him off, but it wasn’t me,” he said. “You should have turned to me then, let me help you through the rough time, taken me on as your partner. I wanted to be there for you. But, no. You paired up with Voloshin. So I put a little laxative in his juice. Big deal! I thought with him out of action, you’d surely ask me to fill in. But he didn’t stay down long enough. And then, with the fire, I thought you’d be forced to turn to me for help to keep the studio afloat. I was going to come to you in a couple of days and offer to pay for the repairs. I knew how happy you’d be. Stacy, I love you-just give me a chance.” He lunged forward and grasped my hands, a pleading look on his face. “We’ve had a good thing going for three years. Don’t throw it away because I made a little mistake.”
“We haven’t had anything going, Mark!” I exclaimed, trying to free my hands. “You were my student. That’s all.”
“I could feel more than that when we danced,” he insisted, drawing me closer. His warm breath fanned my cheek. “You deny it, but you felt something for me. The way you pressed against me, the way your hand clasped mine. If it hadn’t been for Acosta-”
“You’re totally delusional,” I said. “Let me go!” I struggled against him, but he was far stronger than I was and caught me in a bear hug with my hands trapped to my sides. I whipped my knee up, aiming for his groin, but only smacked his thigh because he held me too close. He let out a soft
“Don’t make fun of me,” he growled. His lips made a slimy trail up my neck. “You can love me back if you just try. I-” His grip suddenly loosened and he staggered back from me, then dropped to his knees. Blood dripped from the back of his head and he groggily reached a hand to his skull.
Solange stood behind him, dance pump gripped tightly in her hand, the heel bloodied from where she’d whacked it against Mark’s head.
“Thanks,” I said, gasping.
“The ick factor was just getting too high,” she said with a grimace. “Who knew he was a psychotic stalker? I guess now I’ll have to hold auditions for another partner.”
“Don’t think saving me means you get to keep dancing here,” I said, dialing 911, “because I have a hard-and- fast policy against client-stealing, fiance-poaching sneaks, even when they save me from certifiable whackjobs.”
Uniformed police showed up quickly and seemed inclined to arrest Solange for assaulting Mark Downey. I told them she had hit him to save me and suggested that Mark had killed Rafe. That got them on the radio to summon Detective Lissy, who arrived as the EMTs were carting Mark off to the hospital for some stitches and observation. He looked even more annoyed than usual, and kept a hand pressed to his side as if he had a stitch. He talked to Solange first and finally let her go.
“If I’d known it was going to be this much hassle, I’d just have let the nutcase have her,” I heard her grumble as she descended the stairs barefoot, the police having confiscated her one shoe as evidence.
Detective Lissy approached me where I sat slumped against the hall wall, guarded by a policewoman assigned to make sure Solange and I didn’t confer about our stories. “Miss Graysin,” he said, looking down at me.
If he thought I was going to leap to my feet at his appearance, he had another think coming. I was too darned tired. I waited for him to continue.
“When I got to work today, I had one viable suspect for Rafe Acosta’s murder. You. Now I have three. How do you explain that?”
“Just lucky?”
He burped and rubbed at his side. “That’s not how I would characterize it. I’m not happy with this case. No, not happy at all. Fingerprint evidence appeared this morning, suggesting a certain Victoria Bazan was involved. Ms. Bazan, I’m subsequently informed, is uncontactable and untouchable for a variety of reasons I won’t bother you with. Despite not being happy with how this evidence turned up, I’m on the verge of closing the case when you call to say you’ve been attacked by Acosta’s real murderer. Miss Dubonnet supports your contention that Mark Downey attacked you and seemed to have a ‘bizarre fixation’ on you-one she was at a loss to explain since you’re, and I quote, ‘a passably pretty, thirdrate dancer’-that might have included trying to get rid of your dance partners.” He shook his head, bemused.
“He admitted he tried to poison Vitaly.” At his puzzled look, I clarified. “Voloshin. My new dance partner. Mark spiked his juice with something. And he set the fire. He said it was so I’d realize how much I needed him, but I think that was about revenge because I told him we weren’t going to be dance partners.”
Rubbing a hand down his face, Lissy said, “Did he cop to Acosta’s killing, too, while he was in confession mode? Or the gang killing near the airport two nights ago? Maybe the convenience store robbery on Prince? We’ve got plenty of open cases-he can have his pick.”
The sarcasm in Lissy’s voice didn’t faze me. “No, just Vitaly and the fire. You’ll have to solve the rest of those cases on your own. But he must have killed Rafe, don’t you think?”
“Why not admit it, then, since he seemed to want you to know how far he’d go to win your affections?”
I gave him an incredulous look. “He’s loony, not stupid. I’m betting murder carries a lot longer prison term than arson does.”
Lissy sighed. “Okay, Miss Graysin. Come see us in the morning to sign your statement. Do me a favor and leave that Drake character at home. You’re no longer a suspect. I think we’ll hang this one on the Bazan woman, but I’ll look into Downey’s alibi for the night of Acosta’s murder and follow up a little more before we close this.”
He held down a hand and, after a surprised moment, I took it, letting him haul me to my feet. “Thanks.”
He burped, nodded, and strode away, leaving me to stagger to the interior door, lock it carefully behind me, and stumble down the stairs. I was beyond exhausted, but I felt compelled to shower before falling into bed, needing to get the scent and feel of Mark Downey off of me. I began to shake under the stream from the shower head as I considered what might have happened if Solange hadn’t been there. Tears joined the droplets of water streaming down my face as I tried to come to terms with the fact that I’d liked Mark Downey, that I’d spent a couple of hours a week with him for three years and never realized he had a screw loose. Maybe several screws. What did that say about my judgment?
Hair still damp, I tumbled into bed and fell asleep almost instantly, only to dream of Rafe facing a firing squad made up of the Bazans, Solange, Mark, Sherry Indrebo and various other students, Maurice, and, most disturbingly, me.
