K Is for Killer

Clump, clump, clump of footsteps like a series of gunshots. The phone was picked up, and Lorna raised her voice in greeting. After that, much of her end of the call was a series of short responses... uhn-hun, sure, right, okay, that's great. There was a fragmentary mention of the Palace that made me think she might be talking to Danielle. Hard to tell with the competing strains of country music overlaid. There was a second conversation between J.D. and Lorna, which was much as Leda indicated. J.D. complained, and Lorna chewed him out because he never helped at home.
    Leila pressed the stop button impatiently. "It goes on like that. Pissed me off they were always talking about me behind my back. Lot of the rest is just mumbling, and most you can't even hear."
    "Too bad," I said.
    "Yeah, well, the equipment was kind of dinky. I didn't want to get into anything elaborate because it was too much trouble. The amplification was minimal. You get a lot of distortion that way."
    "When was this done? Any way to pin down the date?"
    "Not really. Lorna sat with Jack a couple different times, but I never wrote it down. It wasn't any special occasion. Just us popping out for a bite to eat. With a toddler at home, an hour by yourself feels like heaven."
    "What about the month? It must have been early in the pregnancy because he mentions you're not showing yet. And wasn't there mention of a receipt? In that first conversation, it sounds like he's stopped by to pick up the rent."
    "Oh. Maybe so. You could be right about that. I mean, Jeremy was born in September, so that must have been... I don't know... April sometime? She paid the first of the month."
    "When did you start the taping?"
    "Around then, I guess. Like I said, the first tape was all static. This is the second one I did. I think he actually had the exterminator out for all the spiders and bugs. He probably has a record of it if you want me to look it up."
    "What else is on here?"
    "Mostly junk, like I said. The batteries went dead about halfway through, and after that all you hear is the stuff still on there from the first time I taped." She pulled the tape out and tucked it back in the empty cassette box. She got up from the table as if to leave the room.
    I caught her casually by the arm. "Mind if I take that?"
    She hesitated. "What for?"
    "So I can hear it again."
    She made a face. "Nnn, I don't know. I don't think that's a good idea. This's the only one I got."
    "I'll bring it back as soon as possible."
    She shook her head. "I'd rather not."
    "Come on, Leda. What are you so worried about?"
    "How do I know you won't turn it over to the cops?"
    "Oh, right. So they can listen to people clump around making small talk? This is not incriminating stuff. They're talking about the fuckin' bugs," I said. "Besides, you can always claim you had permission. Who's going to contradict you?"
    She gave that consideration. "What's your interest?"
    "I was hired to do this. This is my job," I said. "Look. From what you've said, this tape was made within a month of Lorna's death. How can you be sure it's not significant?"
    "You'll bring it right back?"
    "I promise."
    Reluctantly she put the cassette on the table and pushed it over to me. "But I want to know where to call in case I need it back," she said.
    "You're a doll," I said. I took out a business card and made a note of my home phone and my home address. "I gave you this before, but here it is again. Oh, and one more thing."
    Sounding crabby, she said, "What?"
    Every time I manipulate people, it seems to make them so cross. "Has J.D. come into any money in the last few months?"
    "J.D. doesn't have money. If he does, he never told me. You want me to ask when he gets in?"
    "It's not important," I said. "Anyway, if you mention it, you might have to tell him what we were talking about, and I don't think you want to do that."
    From the expression on her face, I thought maybe I could trust her discretion.
    I stopped at a minimart on the way back to my place. Somewhere I had a tape recorder, but the batteries were probably dead. While I was at it, I bought myself a king-size cup of coffee and a nasty-looking meat sandwich wrapped in cellophane. From the pink stuff peeking out the side, it was hard to imagine what cow part this was thin slivers of. I ate driving home, feeling too starved to wait. It was not quite eight o'clock, but this was probably lunch.
    Home again, I spent some time getting organized. The tape recorder was right where