The Beginning

by Catherine Coulter

  He shrugged, then winced, lightly touching his fingertips to his stomach. “About a half dozen, I guess. Lots more in San Francisco. You should have been sliced up too, Marty. But you don’t cuss, do you? Not really. I’ll bet you’re not married either. You’re just a cop. You said all those bad words to trap me.”

  “I didn’t trap you, Marlin. All I did was give you a woman you could relate to. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “I never should have believed you. You just fell into my lap. You’re still wearing the sling. I like that.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not lying flat on my back with my gut burning through my back.”

  He tried to lurch up. The cop beside the bed was up in an instant, his hand on his gun. Sherlock smiled at him and shook her head. “Marlin doesn’t have a knife now, Officer Rambling. He’s like an old man without his teeth.”

  “I sure would like to kill you,” Marlin said and fell back against the pillow, breathing hard.

  “Not in this lifetime, Marlin. Now, you’re so good at talking, you like to do it so much, why don’t you tell me about the women you killed in San Francisco? I know each of them was married. Did you hear them all bad-mouthing their husbands?”

  “Why should I tell you anything? You don’t like me. You shot me in the belly. It still hurts real bad. I might want a lawyer now.”

  “Fine. Do you have any money or shall I call the public defender?”

  “I can get the best and you know it. Those guys don’t care if I have a dime or not, they just want their faces in the news. Yeah, get me a phone book and let me pick out the highest-priced one of the lot.”

  “I could connect you to the ocean bottom, if you like.”

  “That was funny, Marty. Lawyers and bottom feeders, yeah, that was pretty funny.”

  “Thanks. It’s Agent Sherlock. I’m with the FBI. You want to call a lawyer now, Marlin? Or would you like to answer a few more of my questions?”

  “I’ll call a lawyer later. Sure, I can answer anything you ask. I can always take it back. I read all about the Toaster. He’ll get off because he’s crazy, and it won’t cost him a dime. I’ll get off too, you’ll see, and then I’ll come after you, Marty.”

  She felt a shock of rage, but no fear. She should have killed him right there in the warehouse to ensure there’d be justice. She was a fool to want all her questions answered. Besides, he could lie to her as easily as he could tell her the truth. Her face was flushed red with her fury. She’d been a fool. At that moment, she heard Dillon singing quietly from beside the door, “I always played it cool when I was young, always swam when I wanted to sink, always laughed when I wanted to cry, always held my cards tight when I wanted to fold…”

  He hadn’t said a single word until now. She jerked, then turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable. He was just singing those words. They weren’t great lyrics, but it worked. She grinned; she couldn’t help herself. Talk about finding words to fit the situation. She thought briefly of her classical music training. Mozart would have cast her out of the classical club if he knew she was smiling over some god-awful country-and-western music. Her rage fell away.

  “We’ll see about that,” she said, turning back to Marlin, calm as anything now. “Hey, you look as if you’re getting tired, Marlin. You’ll want to take a nap really soon now. Why don’t you just tell me why you killed seven women in San Francisco—not more, not less? Exactly seven, and then you stopped.”

  “Seven?” He fell silent. She watched him tick off his fingers. The psycho was counting on his fingers the number of women he’d butchered. She’d bet anything he remembered every name, every face. She wanted to kill him right that instant.

  “No,” Marlin said. “I didn’t kill no seven women in San Francisco.”

  So the number seven had no relevance whatsoever. Thank God for Savich’s brain. Dear God, how many more women had he butchered?

  “How many then?”

  “Six. I killed just six ladies. They all deserved it big-time. Then I was tired. I remember I slept for three days and then I was told to go to Las Vegas.”

  “Told? Who told you to go to Las Vegas?”

  “Why the voices, of course. The Devil, sometimes his buddies. Sometimes a black cat if I see one.”

  “You’re making that up. You’re practicing on me so the judge will find you nuts and you won’t have to stand trial.”

  “Yeah. I’m good, don’t you think? But I am crazy, Marty, real crazy.”

  “Six women? You’re certain? Not seven?”

  “You think I’m stupid as well as crazy?” Then he proceeded to count them off again on his fingers, this time with their names. Lauren O’Shay, Patricia Mullens, Danielle Potts, Ann Patrini, Donna Gabrielle, and Constance Black.

  When he finished, he looked over at her and smiled.

  She felt like Lot’s wife: nothing more than a pillar of salt, unmoving.

  He hadn’t said Belinda’s name.

  Why? Just a simple omission. He’d killed seven women. He was lying. The little bastard was lying.

  She stood up, wanting to strangle him. He flinched, seeing the rage in her eyes. “You’re stupid, Marlin. You can’t even count right. Either that or you’re a liar. That’s what you are, a liar. I’ll bet my next paycheck on that.”

  He was whimpering, holding himself so stiff against the backboard of the hospital bed, he looked frozen. “You want to kill me, don’t you, Marty?”

  “Oh yes, Marlin. When the time comes, I’d like to throw the switch on you and watch you fry.”

  She heard his voice from behind her, felt his hand on her good arm, his blunt fingers lightly stroking her skin. “Let’s go, Sherlock. I’ll make you a deal: you can talk to him one last time. Tomorrow, all right?”

  “Yes, all right. Thank you. See you mañana, Marlin. Don’t choke on your soup, will you?”

  “I’ll have my big-time lawyer here tomorrow, Marty. We’ll see what he has to say to a dumb cop like you. Hey, I like that guy with you. He’s got a real good voice. Do you happen to know that song, “Sing Me Home Again Before I Die”?

  SEVENTEEN

  “Yes, I’ll be home for a few days, Father, when I can get away. I want to see both you and Mother.”

  “You’re satisfied now, Lacey?” The sarcasm was deep and rich in his voice. She felt the familiar churning in her stomach. She had caught the man who’d killed Belinda. Why wasn’t he pleased?

  Be calm, be calm. The training academy taught you that. “Yes. I truly never dreamed that I would ever catch him. I’ve even interviewed him twice now. But there is one thing that bothers me.”

  “What is that?”

  “He claims he killed only six women here in San Francisco.”

  “He’s a crazy little psychopath. They’re liars all the way to their genes. I know, I’ve sentenced enough of them.”

  “Yes, I agree. I don’t know why I mentioned it, really. But it’s curious—he listed the names of the women he killed. He left out Belinda.”

  “So he forgot her name.”

  “Possibly. But why didn’t he forget one of the others? You know I’ll be doing all sorts of checking now to make certain he did kill Belinda.” She realized what she’d just said but had no time to apologize. Her father said in his low, controlled voice, “What are you saying, young lady? You think it’s possible some other man killed Belinda? Someone who copycatted this Jones guy? Who, for God’s sake?”

  “I didn’t mean that, Dad. I know Marlin Jones killed her, that he’s just playing some sort of twisted game with me. But what game? Why leave out her name specifically? Why not one of the others? It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “Enough of this bullshit, Lacey. And that’s all it is. He could have left out any name. Who cares? Will you come home this weekend?”

  “I’ll try, but I want to speak to Marlin Jones at least one more time. But, Dad, when I come home, it will just be for a few days.” She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, exhal
ing slowly. “I’m going to stay in the FBI. I want to keep doing what I’m doing. I can make a real difference.”

  There was silence. Sherlock didn’t like herself for it, but she couldn’t help it. She started fidgeting. Finally, her father said, “Douglas has made a stupid error.”

  He was letting it go, at least for now. “Well, he’s married, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. The woman went after him, then lied about being pregnant. Douglas has always been very careful about taking precautions. I tried to tell him to have blood tests, get positive proof that the child was his, but he said there was no reason for her to lie. He was wrong, of course. The bitch got him. He told me he wanted a kid, that it was time. She wasn’t even pregnant. Douglas was a fool.”

  “Didn’t Douglas want kids with Belinda?”

  Her father gave a hoarse laugh. He didn’t laugh often. It sounded strange and rusty, and a bit frightening. Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Remember who her mother is, Lacey. Naturally he wouldn’t want to take the risk of any child being as crazy as Belinda’s mother.”

  “I can’t believe he told you that.”

  “He didn’t, but I’m not stupid.”

  She hated this. Usually he was sly in his insults to his wife, but not now. “She’s my mother as well.”

  “Yes, well, that’s different. I am your father. There’s nothing crazy in you.”

  Hadn’t he told her not two weeks before that her obsession reminded him of her mother’s early illness? She shook her head, wanting to hang up, and knowing she wouldn’t. “I never met Belinda’s father.”

  Her father said coolly, “That’s because we’ve never mentioned him to you; there was no need. Indeed, Belinda didn’t even know what happened to him. Again, there was no reason to be cruel about it.”

  “Is he still alive? Who is he?”

  “His name’s Conal Francis. I can’t see that it matters now if you know the truth. He’s in San Quentin; at least he was the last time I heard.”

  “He’s in prison?” Sherlock couldn’t believe it. Neither he nor her mother had ever said a thing about Belinda’s father being in jail.

  “What did he do?”

  “He tried to murder me. Instead he killed a friend of mine, Lucas Bennett. It was a long time ago, Lacey, before you were born, before your mother and I married. He was a big Irish bully, a gambler, worked for the mob. He must be at least sixty by now. He’s four years older than I. Which is why Belinda was cursed. Her genes ruined her. Despite the fact that I raised her, she still would have turned bad. It was already beginning even before she died. A pity, but there it is.”

  “But Belinda knew about him, didn’t she?”

  “She only knew that he’d left her and her mother when she was eight or nine years old. We never told her anything different. There was no point. Look, Lacey, that was a long time ago. You’ve caught the man who killed her. Belinda’s madness died with her. Now the man who killed her will die as well. Forget it. Forget all of it.”

  She hoped he would prove to be right about that. No, she didn’t want to forget Belinda. But at least now that Marlin Jones was in custody, that helpless feeling was gone.

  Except for the fact he’d claimed he hadn’t killed Belinda.

  “Come home soon, Lacey.” There was a pause, then, “Do you want to speak to your mother?”

  “Oh yes, please, Dad. How is she today?”

  “Much the same as always. She’s downstairs with me in the library. Here she is.”

  Her fingers tightened on the receiver. Her father had spoken about her first husband and Belinda like that in front of her? Savich had come into the room, but it was too late for her to hang up. “Mom? How are you?”

  “I miss you, dearest. I’m glad you caught that bad man. Now you can come home and stay. You always were so pretty, dear, so sweet and pretty. And how well you played the piano. Everyone told me how talented you were. Why, you could teach little children in a kindergarten, couldn’t you? You’re so suited to something like that. Your grandmother was a pianist, you remember?”

  “Yes, Mom, I remember. I’ll be home to visit you soon. Not long now and we’ll be together for a couple of days.”

  “No, Lacey, I want you to stay here, with me and your father. I have your piano tuned by Joshua Mueller every six months. Remember how much you admired him?”

  “Look, Mom, I’ve got to get back to work now. I love you. Please take care.”

  “I always do, Lacey, since your father tried to run me down with that black BMW of his.”

  “What? Dad tried to run you down with his BMW?”

  “Lacey? It’s your father. Your mother is having one of her spells.”

  “What did she mean that you tried to run her down?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea.” He sighed deeply. “Your mother does have good days. This is not one of them. I have never harmed your mother or tried to harm her. Forget what she said, Lacey.”

  But how could she? She stared at the phone as if it were a snake about to bite her. She could swear she heard her mother crying in the background.

  Savich was looking at her. Her face was white. She looked to be in shock—yes, that was it.

  When Savich took the phone from her, she didn’t resist. She heard him say in his calm deep voice, “Judge Sherlock? My name is Dillon Savich. I’m also with the FBI. I’m the head of the Criminal Apprehension Unit. Your daughter works for me. I hope you don’t mind, but Lacey is a bit overwhelmed by all that’s happened.” He paused, listening to her father. “Yes, I understand that her mother isn’t well. But you must realize her mother’s words shocked her deeply.”

  She walked across the room, rubbing her arms with her hands. She heard him say in that firm, calm voice, “Yes, I will see that she takes care of herself, sir. No, she’ll be just fine. Good-bye.”

  Savich turned to look at her—nothing more, just to look. Then he said very slowly, “What in the name of heaven is going on with your family?”

  Her laugh was on the shaky side, but it was a laugh. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I’ve just fallen down the rabbit hole. No, it’s always like that, but this is the first time the hole is deeper than I am tall.”

  He smiled. “That’s good, Sherlock. You’ve got some color back. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t scare me again like that.”

  “You shouldn’t have stayed in the room.”

  “Actually, I brought you a message from Marlin Jones. He wants to talk to you again, with his lawyer present. He got Big John Bullock, a hotshot shark from New York who does really well with insanity pleas. I recommend that you don’t go. He’s doubtless set this up so his lawyer can humiliate you. He won’t let you get to first base with Jones anymore.”

  He would have wagered his next paycheck that she’d still insist on seeing Marlin Jones. To his surprise, she said, “You’re right. The police and the D.A. can get the rest of the pertinent information from him. There’s nothing more for me to say to him. Can we go home now?”

  He nodded slowly. He wondered what she was thinking.

  THE taxi stopped in front of her town house at ten o’clock that night. She felt more tired than she could ever remember in her life. But it wasn’t the peaceful, good sort of tired she would have expected, now that Belinda’s killer had been caught.

  She hadn’t said much to Savich on the flight from Boston or on the ride in the taxi from Dulles to Georgetown. He walked her to the door, saying, “Sleep late, Sherlock. I don’t want to see you before noon tomorrow, you got that? You’ve had more happen to you in the past three days than in the past five years. Sleep, it’s the best thing for you, all right?”

  She didn’t have any words. How could he know that her brain was on meltdown? “Would you sing me just one more outrageous country-and-western line before you leave?”

  He grinned down at her, set her suitcase down on the front step of her town house, and sang in a soft tenor whine,
“I told her I had oceanfront property in Arizona. She nodded sweetly and I told her to buy it, that I’d throw in the Golden Gate for free. She thanked me oh so sweetly so I told her that I loved her and that I’d be true for all time. Sweetly, sweetly, she kissed me so sweetly and bought every word I said.”

  “Thank you, Dillon. That was amazing. That was also very coldhearted and cynical.”

  “Anytime, Sherlock. Not until noon now. Hey, that’s just a silly song, sung by a lonely man who’s not going anywhere. All he can do is dream that he’s a winner, which he’s not, and he knows it deep down. See ya tomorrow, Sherlock.”

  She watched him until he turned the far corner. It was as it had been before, Douglas’s voice coming out from behind her, low, angry. Even as he spoke, she was leaning down to pull her Lady Colt from her ankle holster. She straightened back up slowly. She was so tired of angry voices. “I wish you wouldn’t keep seeing that guy, Lacey. He’s such a loser. What was that nonsense he was singing to you?”

  “You startled me, Douglas. Please don’t wait for me like this again. I could have shot you.”

  “You’re a musician. You play the piano brilliantly. At least you used to. You wouldn’t shoot anybody. What were you doing with him?”

  She almost shouted at him that she wasn’t that soft, pathetic girl anymore, hadn’t been for seven long years, that two days ago she’d belly-shot the psychopath who’d killed her sister. She managed to hold it back. “We just got back from Boston. He brought me home, that’s all. I’d hardly call him a loser, Douglas. Because of him, we got the guy who killed your wife. It would seem to me that you’d want to give him a medal. Now, what are you doing here?”

  “I had to see you. I had to know what you thought about my marrying Candice. She lied to me, Lacey. What am I going to do?” It was then he noticed the sling on her arm. “What happened to you? You didn’t tell your father you’d gotten hurt. Who did this? That man you were with?”

  “Come into the house and we’ll talk.”

  Five minutes later she placed a snifter of brandy into his hand. “There, that will make you feel better.”