by Phoebe Conn
She understood why he might need his own personal stash of bandages, but it still made her laugh. There were three more drawers on the right, but the first two held only additional office supplies. About to give up, she yanked out the deep lower drawer.
At first she was merely startled to find a tangle of red satin, but a quick inspection proved it to be a cocktail dress. A long blond wig had been hidden beneath it, and a pair of dark panty hose, and red heels lay at the bottom of the drawer.
Horrified, Catherine shoved everything back into place and slammed the drawer shut with a force that shook the whole desk. The Lady in Red’s disguise had been described to her often enough for her to recognize it at a glance, but that there could be only one explanation for Luke to have it made her ill.
She stood and would have run from the office, but Dave was blocking the door.
“I think you better sit down again,” he urged softly. “We need to talk.”
Unwilling to return to Luke’s place, Catherine collapsed into her usual chair, but she couldn’t stop shaking. Luke had always been so convincing, but dear God, was he truly a murderer?
She looked up at Dave, but his expression was far too serious to offer even a glimmer of hope.
Chapter Nineteen
Dave leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across his black Doors T-shirt. “I was running the vacuum cleaner in here last night and the cord caught on the corner of Luke’s desk. I opened the bottom drawer to free it and discovered what I think you just did. Scary as hell, isn’t it?”
Catherine shuddered. “I just want to get out of here.”
“I don’t blame you, but I don’t know what to do, and I need your help. I’m furious with Luke for the way he treated you, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him tried for murder.”
“I can’t believe Luke murdered anyone.” Yet even as she spoke the words, she recalled his steely strength and the fire of his temper. But she refused to brand him a serial killer.
“I don’t want to believe it, either, but those sure aren’t Luke’s running shoes in that drawer.”
Catherine could think of no plausible explanation for Luke to have a copy of the Lady in Red’s costume, so it seemed likely those were the murderer’s actual clothes. That they were stashed in Luke’s desk was damning evidence against him.
Dave shifted his position slightly. “Luke was lucky the detectives didn’t arrive with a search warrant this afternoon. When he gets back, we’ve got to convince him to get rid of his disguise.”
“How can you focus on the clothing?” Catherine cried.
“It’s incriminating evidence. You want Luke to get caught?”
“No, of course not. I want him to get help.”
“What kind of psychiatric help do you imagine he’d receive in prison?”
“Stop it!” Catherine begged.
Dave softened his tone. “It’s Luke we need to stop. Stay here with me, and as soon as he gets back, let’s confront him.”
“Confront him with this horror? How?” Catherine wanted to scream and then run, but she was shaking so badly, her legs would never hold her.
“He’s bound to have something to say about the detectives’ interrogation. Let’s let him talk first, and then tell him what we’ve found. Or, we have another choice. We could call the detectives right now and let them know they’ve got their man.”
“No, I want to hear Luke’s side of this.”
“I think you heard it this morning when he dismissed Felix and Bobby Clyde as men who pimped underage girls and Ford as abusive. If he didn’t actually cheer for the Lady in Red then, he came awfully close.”
With a sudden eerie chill, Catherine recalled the day Ford had accosted her in the parking lot. Luke had sworn he could kill him that day. Could he have carried out his threat?
Felix had been killed around the time she’d met Luke. Dear God, had she fallen in love with a murderer? Luke definitely had a dark side; indeed, it was that stormy part of his nature that had overwhelmed him when Nick had died. But was he a cold-blooded killer who stalked his victims and then sauntered away eating their fried chicken?
She looked up at Dave. “The chicken bothers me.”
Dave frowned in dismay. “What chicken?”
“The part of Ford’s dinner that the Lady in Red supposedly helped herself to, or I guess, himself.”
“I thought it rather bizarre myself. You’d think he’d just want to get the hell out of there, but if he was out stabbing people, his thinking couldn’t have been all that rational. Obviously, an insanity defense makes perfect sense. Then again, Luke has already made plans to move back east, so maybe he fears the detectives are getting too close.”
“Do you think he can just get out of town and leave behind a string of unsolved murders?”
“With the fine record the LAPD has going, he’s got a fifty-fifty chance.”
Those seemed like excellent odds to Catherine, but she hated to think of Luke as a murderer no matter how despicable his victims might have been. It was a horrible legacy to give a child, and that frightened her all the more.
It was after eight o’clock when Luke got a ride back to Lost Angel. He was surprised to find Catherine’s Volvo still in the lot and hastily read the note left on his windshield. With the afternoon he’d had, he was in no mood to talk with her, but it appeared unavoidable.
He hadn’t expected to find Dave sitting on his desk, however, and that changed everything. “I got your note,” he told Catherine. “We’ll have to talk another time. Go on home.”
Catherine didn’t budge. “First tell us how things went with Garcia and Salzman.”
“Tomorrow will be soon enough. Go home.”
His tone had become more emphatic, but Catherine still refused to leave. “Just tell us how much the police know,” she asked.
“We’re dying to hear,” Dave added.
Clearly displeased, Luke drew in a deep breath. “All right, since you insist. The police didn’t check out Ford’s truck before it reached the impound lot. He was the victim, remember, and not suspected of any crime, but when they opened his toolbox to take an inventory, they found a gun.
“Ballistics tests prove it was the one used to kill Nick.”
When Catherine found her voice, it was strained and hoarse. “You thought Ford would come after you, but instead he shot up the mural? Violet begged me not to let Rafael paint her. If I’d just convinced him not to, then none of this would have happened, and Nick would still be alive.”
Luke took a step toward her. “It’s not your fault. Once Violet entered a shelter, where she should have gone months ago, Ford turned his virulent hatred on us. He might have walked in and shot everyone in sight. It’s a miracle only Nick died.”
Seeing she was unconvinced, Luke addressed his next comment to Dave. “Garcia believes Ford’s murder is directly linked to the mural shooting. While no one admitted seeing the shooter, he’s certain someone must have and tipped off the Lady in Red.”
“Give it up, Luke,” Dave chided. “Catherine and I found your disguise.”
Puzzled, Luke glanced toward Catherine, who was staring at him through tear-filled eyes. “What are you talking about? I don’t own a disguise.”
“I was looking through your desk for the shelter’s number to call Violet,” Catherine admitted hesitantly. “Your Lady in Red outfit is in the bottom drawer.”
“Now I know it’s time for you to go home,” Luke replied. “Please leave.”
Catherine shook her head. “I just want to know why.”
“Why is some goofy disguise in my desk drawer? Someone must have planted it there. I’ve already given you my opinion of vigilantes. Even if I agreed with those who move outside the law, there are too damn many evil men who prey on kids for me to kill them all. So what would be the point?”
As usual, he sounded convincing, but Catherine was too frightened to judge clearly. “I’ll never say a word to the police, but you’ve got to
get rid of your disguise and promise you’ll not kill anyone else.”
“For the last time, I don’t own a disguise, and I haven’t killed anyone,” Luke argued. “What’s been going on here, Dave?”
Dave shrugged. “There’s no need to play dumb with us. We’re not afraid of being named accessories to your crimes. We just want the Lady in Red to disappear tonight.”
Luke shot Catherine a dark look. “For the last time, get out of here.”
He was truly angry now, and Catherine wondered if it was because he was innocent, or God forbid, guilty and infuriated at being caught. She and Dave had backed him into a corner, and she couldn’t bear to listen to anymore lies. She rose, but rather than stand to move out of her way, Dave came off the desk to block her path.
“Catherine stays,” he said.
Luke backed out into the outer office. “Come on out here where there’s more room to talk.”
“Not if you’re just going to lie,” Dave countered.
“I’m not the one lying here. Garcia is close, but he’s too committed to the idea one of the Lost Angel kids is the killer to consider any alternatives. In his mind, Ford’s murder merely proves his theory. I have another one.”
Standing behind Dave, Catherine saw the clear outline of a knife tucked in his hip pocket. She didn’t recall ever seeing him carry a pocketknife. While she might have missed it, that night it struck her as an ominous sign. He had easy access to Luke’s office and could have planted the disguise in Luke’s desk any time, even that afternoon while Pam had been away to summon her.
She’d thought the death of Luke’s daughter might have compelled him to murder, but Dave had suffered tremendous losses of his own. He was always eager to be helpful, but had he struck out on his own to fight the dangers threatening Lost Angel’s teenagers?
She backed away from him, but with him blocking the aisle, she was trapped between the chairs and file cabinets. “I’d like to hear your theory, Luke. Please tell us.”
Luke came back to the doorway. “In some respects, I’ve been as shortsighted as Garcia. I was certain none of the Lost Angel kids was the Lady in Red, but I hadn’t given any thought as to who it might be. Then Ford was killed, and it seemed much more likely the murderer was somehow linked to the center.
“This afternoon I asked Garcia why they’d pinned Ford’s murder on the Lady in Red if no one had seen her, and he told me no one else slices up her victims in the same way. The coroner recognized the knife wound in Ford’s belly instantly.
“Catherine, you asked Garcia once if it didn’t take tremendous strength to stab someone the way the Lady in Red has, and he just shrugged it off. I asked myself who might have the necessary strength, and who might have recognized Ford Dolan’s truck when he fired on the mural. Only one name came to mind.”
“That’s funny,” Dave interjected. “We came up with yours.”
“Leave Catherine out of this,” Luke demanded angrily. “We’ve got all night. You and I can work something out on our own. Let’s send her home.”
There was an alarming edge to Luke’s voice, and easily following his line of reasoning, Catherine knew she would be wise to get away now and call the police. “I think I will go. Excuse me, Dave, I need to get by.”
“Sit,” Dave ordered. “No one is going anywhere.”
Catherine tried to ease by him. “You’re scaring me, Dave. I want to go home.”
With a sudden quick turn, Dave shoved her back into her chair with his left hand, and drew his knife with his right. With the tap of a button, he flicked open a razor-sharp blade.
“Catherine and I are leaving together,” he told Luke. “You’re going to pretend you didn’t see us tonight. You call the police, and she’ll be the one to suffer.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Luke came out of the doorway and with an explosive force, punched Dave in the face. He slammed him back into the desk, but Dave struck out with his knife and tore at Luke’s left biceps.
Blood sprayed across Catherine’s face, and she screamed as she scrambled out of her chair. The men were fighting for control of the knife, shouldering each other with brutal strength, and she was forced back against the window to avoid being hit as well.
Luke had hold of Dave’s wrist, but Dave shoved him off-balance, broke free of his grip, and slammed the knife into his shoulder. Desperate to help Luke, Catherine kicked Dave in the knee, causing him an instant of inattention that allowed Luke to recover. Then Dave turned and slugged her.
Catherine careened into the file cabinet, and the philodendron bounced precariously toward the edge. It tottered in a blurry dance before her vision cleared. The flowerpot was the only weapon at hand, but as she reached up to grab it, the jostling men had turned so that Luke was now closest to her. She dared not risk hitting him and so hugged the plant close to her chest.
Luke’s shirt was stained with blood, but he was still slamming his right fist into Dave as they wrestled for the knife. They fought with the fury of bare-knuckled champs. Blood streamed from Dave’s nose, but he seemed as unaware of the injury as Luke was of his.
It made Catherine sick to watch them, but she couldn’t turn away. When Dave caught Luke in the chest with the tip of his blade, the pair swung around again, putting Dave within striking distance. Awaiting a clear shot, Catherine swung the potted plant up against Dave’s head.
The pot shattered, showering her with dirt, and for the briefest of instants, Dave froze, apparently uninjured. Then he swayed, and when Luke caught him on the chin with a fierce right, he went down.
Luke wrenched the bloody knife from Dave’s hand and then collapsed beside him. “Call 911. Tell them we need an ambulance, and police, quick.”
Catherine shook off the dirt covering her clothes and then had to step over both men to reach the telephone lying on the floor behind the desk. She immediately called for help, then bent to check Dave for a pulse.
“Have I killed him?” she asked fearfully.
“No, you just stunned him, but he damn near killed me, and I appreciate your help.”
Still shaking, Catherine went into the outer office for the twine stored in the supply closet. She grabbed the scissors from the desk she often used, and swiftly tied Dave’s hands behind his back before he had a chance to awaken and attack them again. Then she lashed his ankles together.
“I don’t want you sitting next to him. Can you move into the outer office?” she asked.
“I could crawl, but that wouldn’t be very manly.”
“How can you joke at a time like this?” She knelt beside him and began to unbutton his bloody shirt. “I’m going to rip this up to cover the cuts. I’m afraid you’ll bleed to death before the paramedics arrive.”
Luke rested his head against his desk. “Sorry, but it wasn’t a fair fight.”
When he closed his eyes, Catherine shook him. “Don’t you dare die on me! Stay with me, Luke.”
He glanced toward her, but his eyes were dulled by pain. “I’m a long way from dead, but did you really think I was the Lady in Red?”
She was too ashamed to admit the idea had even crossed her mind. “I was so frightened, I didn’t know what to think, but I definitely wanted to hear your side. It’s a good thing I didn’t leave the first time you asked me, or you’d have been on your own.”
“I doubt Dave would have let you go even then.” He watched her quickly bind the cut in his arm, but all she could do was apply pressure to the deeper cuts in his left shoulder and chest.
“I’ve been a complete idiot,” he murmured.
“There was no way you could have known Dave was the killer.” She pressed down hard, but blood was still oozing from his chest, and she feared the wound was even deeper than it appeared. She tried to smile as though she had everything under control, but her lips trembled and gave her away.
“No, I meant about you.”
“Don’t talk,” she urged. She turned to make certain Dave was still out cold, and he hadn’t moved.
Luke felt dizzy, and the sight of his own blood splattered across her cheek and shirt made him sick. “Fool that I am, I actually believed it would be better if we went our separate ways. Then I found you here with Dave, and all that mattered was protecting you. I would never have let him take you. You know that, don’t you?”
The ambulance and squad car pulled into the parking lot before Catherine could respond. She shoved herself to her feet and ran to the door to meet the paramedics, a man and a woman, and two powerfully built male police officers. While the paramedics tended to Luke and Dave, she attempted to string together what had happened for the officers.
When Toby came running through the door, she was overjoyed to see him. “Dave tried to kill Luke,” she rushed to explain.
“I heard the ambulance and was afraid someone else had been shot. My God, is that your blood all over you?”
Catherine glanced down at her once pale green T-shirt and jeans. “No, but it’s a good thing I was dressed to paint, isn’t it?”
The paramedics were able to rouse Dave, but as the police officers began to escort him out to their squad car, Catherine called out to them. “There are some clothes in the bottom drawer of the desk that you ought to take with you. They belong to the Lady in Red. DNA testing should prove Dave wore them.”
Once the officers had Dave confined to the back seat of their patrol car, the younger of the two returned to retrieve the suspicious garments. He bagged them, then shook his head. “You telling me that guy out there is the Lady in Red?” he asked.
“Apparently so,” Catherine replied.
Toby appeared to be equally astonished. “I’ve been hanging with the Lady in Red? You got to be kidding.”
“Does Luke look as though this were a joke?” Catherine countered. “Now I doubt they’ll let me ride in the ambulance, and I’m too upset to drive my own car. Will you give me a ride to the hospital?”
“Of course. I didn’t mean I doubted you. It’s just that, well, nobody expected the Lady to be a man in drag.”