| Subject: WTTS2 - 71 |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 21:23:31 01/11/02 Fri
In reply to:
KT
's message, "Window to the Soul 2" on 20:43:26 01/11/02 Fri
Window to the Soul 2 - Part 71
By KT
Copyright July 25, 2000
As O'Brien entered the County Lockup, he saw Vlad Chernov exiting the hallway into the reception area. Chernov spotted O'Brien, and quickened his pace, avoiding eye contact as he made a bee-line for the door. O'Brien caught his arm and spun him around to face him.
"What are you doing here?"
O'Brien's question unnerved Chernov. "I don't have to talk to you," he said coldly, pulling his arm out of O'Brien's grasp, his eyes veiled. But O'Brien had felt him tremble when he spoke.
"What is it, Mr. Chernov? Feeling a little uncomfortable, are we?" he taunted, his ingratiating tone changing abruptly to a flint-edged rebuttal. "After that crap you pulled in Karen Kent's apartment, I should have you brought in as an accessory after the fact!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," returned Chernov evenly. "And anyway, she's..." He stopped himself as he realized he was about to say too much.
"She's what?" O'Brien's eyes glittered.
Chernov pursed his lips and his expression hardened.
"Thought you could help your friend out, didn't you? Getting rid of evidence could be construed as obstruction of justice."
O'Brien gave Chernov the full impact of his weighted words. Vlad blinked and swallowed at the same time, and for a split second, his defenses were down. O'Brien smiled inwardly. Chernov was clearly rattled.
After he'd discovered the cleaned out freezer at Karen's apartment, O'Brien had ordered forensics to return to dust the refrigerator for prints other than Karen's or Petrosian's, but the culprit had worn gloves. Chernov's reaction to his accusations was as good as if he'd made a verbal confession, but O'Brien knew that without hard evidence, it was just a theory. Still, there might be a way he could squeeze this guy.
"Just because you slipped through Interpol's net doesn't mean you have free rein here." He was rewarded by the shock on Chernov's face. "Oh yes, Mr. Chernov. We have a complete file on you and Mr. Petrosian. Best watch your step. Good day."
O'Brien turned away, nodding to the duty officer to buzz him through, and instructing him to have Petrosian escorted to an interrogation room. He noted that Chernov had turned and made a hasty exit. A smug smile crossed his face.
As he turned a corner, Ed Durand met him in the hallway, his assistant wheeling a gurnee behind him. O'Brien stopped, looking down at the securely strapped bright yellow body bag. Durand gave him a nod and he unzipped it to find the ashen face of Karen Kent ensconced there. She looked even colder in death than she had in life, if that was possible. He zipped it back up.
Durand looked at O'Brien. "No outward signs of foul play. Definitely not suicide."
O'Brien mused. "I'd like your report asap. Let's do a complete tox screen."
Durand acknowledged. "You're at the top of my list." They walked on.
O'Brien reached the interrogation room at the same time as Petrosian and his guard. O'Brien waved the guard to leave and they sat down facing each other. Petrosian was sullen and spoke with subdued anger.
"Well, Detective, are you going to keep me in the dark, or can I know why I'm being held without bail? And why isn't my lawyer present?"
O'Brien dropped his little bomb. "I've come to notify you as next of kin that your niece, Karen Kent, is deceased."
Petrosian flinched almost imperceptibly, and O'Brien noted that he registered no outward facial signs of shock... or of sadness... or of happiness either, for that matter.
"Thank-you-De-tec-tive." Egran forced the syllables out one by one.
"And also to tell you that you've been officially charged as an accessory to the murder of one Jaime Zalman..."
Petrosian exploded. "See here, Detective! That is absolutely ridiculous! Karen confessed! I was there!" He backed down as he registered O'Brien's pleasure at his overreaction. "You've got nothing on me."
O'Brien pulled his pocket tape recorder out and proceeded to treat Petrosian to Karen's second confession. As Egran listened, the color drained from his face, and his breathing deepened slightly, though his body remained motionless. His eyes met O'Brien's in a steely stare.
"It's her word against mine. And since she's not here to defend her word..." Petrosian drew breath. "You'll never make it stick, Detective. I want to see my lawyer immediately."
"No problem." O'Brien was satisfied that Petrosian was sufficiently shook up. He rose and knocked on the door. The guard entered and Petrosian stood up. He kept his eyes to himself as he followed the guard into the hallway.
O'Brien headed back downtown. He checked his messages, then dialed Price's number.
"Hello Price, O'Brien here. Your presence is required down at the Lockup. But first, I'd like to have a little chat, if you don't mind... Yeah... my office, if you please... At your convenience, of course. See you in a bit."
* * * * * * * *
Michael was sitting at his desk being totally non-productive as he thought about his impending practice session with Nikita. All day he'd been haunted by the memory of her tears as she lay in his arms in the wake of her nightmare. He was always astounded by the way she drew him out of himself with her childlike qualities, strangely mixed with the power of her womanly sexuality.
He was spiritually transfixed by her etherial musical being... the one that led him to play outside the boundaries of his own considerable abilities. Michael's eyes closed, the corners of his mouth turning up as he recalled their session with the Bach. They'd played without discussion... all the nuance and energy had come together through their glances, nods, subtle smiles, their elation shared through their eyes and ears, watching and listening to each other acutely as the notes flowed from their fingers, the music like a magnet pulling them closer together again until...
Michael sighed his deepest sigh as the ghost of Karen Kent rose to trample his joy into a somber vision of the hurt in his beloved's heart, mind, and body. He dared to wish that Karen would never again be allowed to inflict destruction on another human being. A tiny wave of rage rose in his gut as he thought of Nikita's anger over her inability to physically make love. He had hoped that the music session would help dispel her depression, but the effects had been only temporary.
He completed his rehearsal critique and picked up the phone.
"Yes, Michael." Paul Wolfe's clipped tones indicated an impatient mood.
"Just thought we could go over the rehearsal notes from today's sectionals." Michael was put off slightly by Paul's shortness. "But if it's not a convenient time..."
"Actually, I'd like a word with you. In my office, please."
"Of course. I'll just finish up here."
Michael was totally baffled by Paul's rather curt response. He gathered his papers and checked his pack for his music and headed to Wolfe's office. He hoped that the conductor wasn't having second thoughts about Nikita's leave of absence. As he entered Wolfe's doorway, he saw that Madeleine and George were already present. Michael nodded to the others, noting that Adrian was distinctly missing, as Paul motioned him to sit.
Paul paced quietly as they waited. Michael observed that there was something of an air of discomfiture about him, not his usual brash imposing demeanor. Wolfe stopped moving and looked around at the faces assembled before him. He nodded at George, who cleared his throat pointedly.
"Yes, well, we might as well get on with it. We've received word from the police that Karen Kent was found dead in her cell at the County Lockup."
No one spoke, but their faces reflected their shock and surprise. Michael's gut tightened as he found himself thinking "be careful what you wish for". Though he hated what Karen had done, he never thought of himself as sitting in judgment of her life or her actions. Now she was dead.
Madeleine addressed George calmly. "Is there any information on how she died?"
"The police are investigating that now. They did state that foul play is certainly expected, and that they had ruled out suicide in spite of her past history. In any event, I feel that this terminates our involvement with this case." He paused dramatically. "The police have informed me that Ms. Kent has confessed to the murder of Jaime Zalman, and since she can no longer be prosecuted, the matter is closed. Apparently, she has implicated her legal guardian in the crime, and his fate is yet to be determined."
"Are we at liberty to pass along this information?" Michael inquired. He needed to tell Nikita and those close to her. Perhaps the news would lay some of their fears to rest.
"Yes, in regards to Ms. Kent's story, but as to the other, they have asked that we not discuss it." He glanced at his watch. "Now, unless you have any further questions, I think we'd all like to call it a day." George waited a beat, then took his leave.
Paul addressed Madeleine, a mild sadness coloring his voice. "Well, my dear, I believe that you're free of any further responsibility in this matter. Destiny has taken a hand, it appears." He was detached as he turned to Michael. "And how is our Principal pianist doing? Is there any projection on how long she'll be away from her duties?"
Michael shook his head slowly, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "I regret to say that I cannot answer that question with any certainty. She... seems to be doing well... if I could tell you when she'll return, I'd know more that she or her doctors do at the moment."
Madeleine looked at Paul. "I'd like to suggest that we hire a temporary replacement for Ms. Wirth so that the orchestra can function with a full complement."
Paul agreed, turning to Michael. "Ms. Wirth will be returning at her earliest opportunity, yes?"
He answered firmly. "Yes."
"Madeleine, take care of it. Michael, keep me posted. Thank you, both of you."
Michael exited with relief, glad that he did not have to offer Wolfe any in-depth explanations about Nikita's present mental state. He was convinced that the music would work its magic, and was willing to give it time, hoping that he would not need to confide his misgivings to the conductor.
Paul turned to Madeleine, feeling rather expansive. "Have dinner with me?"
"Actually, that sounds rather nice."
* * * * * * * *
Michael raced to the dojo for a workout before his practice session with Nikita. He was missing this very important physical outlet in the wake of recent events, and as he entered, Mr. Nomura greeted him with enthusiasm.
"Welcome back, Michael. Where is your lovely counterpart?"
"She..." Michael suddenly choked up as all the tension and grief over Nikita's situation overcame him. He realized how much he had been holding in his own torment, and turned away from the sensei's gaze.
Mr. Nomura took Michael's arm and gently led him into his private office. He didn't ask any questions, merely responded to Michael's obvious need. His merry eyes held an affection for the young musician, who had never shown emotion like this since he had known him. It must be something very serious, and he allowed Michael to vent his distress.
"Sit here and compose yourself. You may enter the class late if you wish. Please, take all the time you need."
Michael was gradually reconnected with himself as his body settled into the familiar graceful movements. He emptied his mind of everything save his breathing and the routine. By the end of the workout, Michael felt renewed. As he showered and dressed, he found himself looking forward to playing, his doubts and fears about Nikita evaporating. He thanked Mr. Nomura for his kindness, and sped toward Roberta's house full of energy, determined not to let anything get in the way of their practice and Nikita's healing. It was in his hands, and he would not let go.
He moved quickly up the stairs and almost burst into the house, but stopped at the front door to calm himself. As Michael stood on the porch, he heard the sound of Nikita's piano from within, recognizing the notes of the first movement of the de Falla. She was reading it very slowly, and even so, its haunting beauty touched him.
His heart felt lighter. She was practicing it! That meant that she believed she would play it. His eyes closed as he breathed thanks.
Michael knocked lightly on the door, then let himself in. He set about his preparations as Nikita continued her reading without interruption. Sabine came from the kitchen to see who had arrived, but turned back when she saw Michael. He glanced her way, and heard her speaking to Gwen, who was apparently cooking.
"One more for supper, Gwen."
A moment later, Nikita stopped her reading and turned her eyes toward Michael. He looked different. She could see the flush of renewal on his face, and feel the buzz of his energy in the room, like an aura around him. He was smiling faintly, his eyes focused on hers, as he sat down to tune.
"Hello, Nikita."
Her heart knocked a bit at his easy greeting, and she smiled quietly. "Michael."
He set off to the kitchen and returned with Sabine and Gwen. He turned to Nikita.
"Come."
They filed into Roberta's room, interrupting her daily reading regimen. Michael spoke, his voice solemn, in spite of his high spirits.
"I thought you would like to know. Karen Kent is... deceased. She has perished in her cell at the jail, and they as yet don't know the cause of her death. But I wanted to tell you myself." He gazed at them with remorse. "Since I was the one who brought her into your lives."
Sabine started to speak, but Michael shook his head. "I owe you all an apology, for whatever it's worth. I'm sorry."
Gwen said nothing, but looked at Michael with kind eyes. Roberta held up her hand and Sabine remained silent.
"Thank you, Michael. I thought we had resolved this at the hospital, but, thank you." Roberta had given up the idea that Michael was at fault, and would not hold him responsible. His eyes connected with hers as he accepted her gracious gesture.
Sabine and Gwen returned to the kitchen and Nikita wheeled back to the piano. Michael followed after a moment, then sat down and picked up his cello.
"Are you ready?"
Nikita nodded, closing the score to the "Nights..."
"Let's start with number six this time, OK?"
* * * * * * * *
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