Becky's apartment door wobbled open when she gave it a push. A quick look at the hinges revealed the screws had started to come loose again, something it felt like they did every other month. Becky logged it as one more thing to report to the landlord that he wouldn't fix and one more complaint to fill out that wouldn't be read. Peeling one of her arms out of her coat, Becky dropped her keys in the yellow ceramic bowl on the end table next to the door where they jangled against some loose change. She tossed her coat over one of her dining chairs. It landed in a messy heap.
Van Dorn didn't follow her inside right away. She lingered in the hallway, hesitant, like a vampire waiting for a proper invitation to come inside. That made an amusing mental image: a creature of the night with a law degree who required an ironclad, legally binding contract to enter a home.
"Well," Becky pulled her camera over her head and put it on the tiny kitchen table, then tugged off her scarf and fluffed her hair where it had been wrapped up by the wool, "come in if you're coming. I'm not paying to heat the hallway."
A crooked smile spread across Van Dorn's dour face, softening her sharp features to a small degree. Becky found it a striking contrast: she was attractive when she smiled. Oh, not magazine cover beautiful or anything like that, but her smile was luminous enough to make her pretty while everything around it kept her face interesting. Not that anyone would have known if they hadn't seen it firsthand; no indication of beauty could be found in the perpetual scowl she wore, only severity. She would make a good subject, if she ever let anyone capture that on film. As the other woman crossed the threshold into the kitchenette and closed the door behind her, Becky caught herself wondering if she kept her jaw set and her eyes intense to look tough. If so, she did a good job of it. Van Dorn didn't look like the sort of woman one wanted to cross in a courtroom or out of one.
"I'd offer you something to drink like a good host," Becky said, turning her back to Van Dorn, "but I don't think I've got anything in the fridge that isn't curdled."
"Tap water's fine." Becky moved toward the sink, but Van Dorn's hand caught her arm. "Don't trouble yourself, I can get it."
Becky took a deep, steadying breath and faced her with steely eyes that, after meeting Van Dorn's own, gave a pointed glance at the uninvited hand on her arm. "I can do it, Miss Van Dorn. I'm not incompetent."
"I'm sorry," Van Dorn let her go and took half a step back, "I didn't mean to imply—" "No one ever does." While Becky's temper remained bridled, her voice came out frosty. Her patience and politeness may have been wearing thin, but she didn't need to show it. She went to the cupboard.
From the periphery of her vision, she saw Van Dorn looking around the dismal apartment with what may have been feigned interest. She drifted toward the wall beside the bathroom door where several of Becky's own photos were pinned with brass thumb tacks. Becky knew it was stupid for her heartbeat to speed up as she scrutinized the pictures, but she couldn't help it. So few people ever saw her work, and fewer still cared enough to let their gazes linger, even among the people who supported her pursuit of photography. Most just wanted to congratulate her for doing something with her life other than…well, whatever they thought she would have been doing otherwise. "Amateur photographer? I had no idea."
"It's my major," Becky said, filling a glass with water and turning off the faucet. She walked over to Van Dorn and handed her the glass. She accepted it with a distracted, "Thank you."
"These are quite good," Van Dorn said, taking a sip of her water. "Of course, I'm hardly a patron of the arts, so you're welcome to take that compliment with a grain of salt."
"Look, I appreciate that you're trying to be…" Becky made a vague gesture with her hands as she tried to find the right words. "…likable or engaging or whatever, but I'd like to know what you just happened to be doing on my doorstep at the exact time I got home. You're having me followed, right?"
"I wouldn't say that." Van Dorn took a seat in Becky's armchair and settled back, letting her long legs stretch out and crossed them at the ankle. Her hands clasped in her lap, her fingers loose and relaxed. The effect was easygoing, but elegant. "I've had a few people keeping an eye on your apartment building at certain times of the day to make sure you get where you're going and get home safe…but that's all. I'm not in the business of invading people's privacy if I can help it."
That bordered on being touching; did every DA care that much about potential witnesses who ditched them? "Why are you here?"
"Well," Van Dorn leaned forward, her elbows braced against her thighs, and threaded her fingers together under her nose. Bright eyes fixed on Becky's face. "A little birdie told me you lived a block from Perrini's cafe. I happen to be fond of their fresh mozzarella and sun dried tomato paninis, so I thought I'd pop in and see if I'd get lucky enough to catch you at home."
Yeah, right. "What do you want, Miss Van Dorn?"
"To talk."
"I'm sorry, I don't have time." The lie came out with all the ease the truth would have. "I have a mountain of homework."
"Look, Becky," Van Dorn's eyes locked with hers as she put her water glass on the small table beside the chair, "I'm not here to force you to talk to me. I'm going to go to the cafe, and I'm going to get myself a sandwich. I'll get a table. If you feel like listening to what I have to say, you can come find me. I hope you will, but I'll understand if you don't."
Nothing else was said. She got up, gave Becky a nod as a goodbye and walked right out of the apartment. The door shut behind her, but Becky could still hear the heels of her shoes clicking on the floor in the hallway. She listened hard for the sound of the elevator doors. A ding. A rattle. There. She was on her way down to the lobby.
If only she had been pushier. It would have been easier for Becky to say no if she had been pushier, her conscience wouldn't have been bothered then…but she had to be kind and understanding about it and give her a choice in the matter. After a weary sigh and some pointless deliberation wherein she tried to convince herself not to do what she knew she would, Becky pulled on her coat.
Perrini's sat on the corner less than a block from Becky's apartment. It wasn't fashionable, or even well known, but the food was good enough to sometimes tempt people to this lousy part of town for a taste of it. The cafe was close to empty when Becky entered. Van Dorn, true to her word, did have a sandwich, centered on one of the red plastic serving trays the cafe provided, as well as a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee. She had another, identical tray of food across from her. It looked…delicious. A growl rumbled Becky's stomach, quiet enough that Van Dorn couldn't have heard it when she slid into the chair opposite.
"Doesn't this count as bribery?"
"Not if you take me up on my offer. In fact, not even if you don't." Van Dorn pulled the foil off a single serving of creamer and poured it in her coffee. A spoon clinked against the ceramic mug, stirring until the liquid went from deep brown to beige. "Eat up."
The sandwich looked good, the soup looked amazing—cheddar and broccoli—but Becky went for the coffee instead. It would be easier to walk away from if she deemed it necessary. Strong and bitter, it slid down her throat and warmed her insides. "You said you wanted to talk…"
"Never ruin a good meal with business," Van Dorn said, taking a bite. "Why don't you tell me about your photography?"
"Because I don't think you actually care?" Becky's coffee cup clattered on the saucer. "Please just tell me what you want."
Van Dorn's lips pressed together and she put the sandwich back on her plate. "Jonathan Crane off the streets, for a very, very long time. Something I'm having a hard time securing."
She didn't like the direction this conversation was headed. "You don't need me. You have a dozen other people—"
"Had. Between some 'mysterious' disappearances and a few dead bodies, my witness list has dwindled to nothing." Becky opened her mouth to say something, but Van Dorn held up her hand. "But that isn't the issue. I'm not here to ask you to get involved. I've got my indictment, and while the evidence is…not as strong as I'd like it to be without witness testimony, I can probably swing a conviction anyway so long as the judge isn't dirty and doesn't throw out what I've got. I'm here to ask you to let me put you someplace where you'll be protected, or at least give you some security until I'm sure you're not next on his list."
Becky's senses reeled and her head felt light, like it might float away. "Am I in danger?" The question was redundant, but she couldn't keep from asking it.
"Yes." There was no hedging, no dancing around the issue; it shocked her how blunt Van Dorn was. "You're not the only witness who decided, 'randomly', not to make a statement about Crane's crimes. Unless each and every one of them decided to go out of town at the same time, it seems he wasn't satisfied with just their word. If I can prove he's responsible, I won't need witnesses to put him in prison until he rots. I can't do that yet, but I want to at least keep you safe until I can. I hope you'll let me."