by Linda Howard
“So what do we have?” Mac asked.
Bonness looked at Ivan Schaffer. “Nothing,” Ivan said flatly. “Not a damn thing. No fingerprints; he wears gloves. No semen, though vaginal bruising in both women indicates that they were raped. He either wears a condom or uses a foreign object. I haven’t found any stray hairs, either. No footprints, no fibers from his clothing, no witnesses. We have nothing.”
“Let me understand this,” Chief Champlin said. His eyes flashed at the group. “I’m supposed to tell the mayor that there’s a serial killer working in the city, and we don’t have a shred of evidence on him? That even if, by some miracle, we managed to get our hands on him, we couldn’t tie him to the crimes?”
“That’s about it,” Ivan said.
“How can you be so sure it’s the same guy? There have only been two murders, and stabbing deaths aren’t that unusual—”
“Two stabbing deaths with absolutely no evidence left behind?” Dane interrupted. “Both of them occurred on a Friday night, at roughly the same hour. Both of the murders were done with a knife from the victim’s kitchen, and both times the weapon was left behind. It’s the same guy.” He didn’t mention Marlie, and he was betting that Bonness wouldn’t, either. She would have to be brought into it sooner or later, but he wanted it to be later, when it was the right time and everything was under his control.
“Any connection between the two victims?” Mac asked.
Dane looked at Freddie and Worley, who had handled the paperwork on Jackie Sheets. Freddie shook her head. “There are still several people we need to talk to, but so far we haven’t found any connection at all. They didn’t look alike, they didn’t live in the same neighborhood. Mrs. Vinick was a housewife, Ms. Sheets was a legal secretary. They didn’t frequent the same places. As far as we’ve been able to find out, they never met.”
“We can get a list from the telephone company of the calls made from both residences, and compare them. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they have some numbers in common,” Trammell said. “And there’s the always interesting contents of the trash.”
“And we need to get copies of their canceled checks from the banks.” Dane wrote a note to himself. “Also copies of their charges on any credit cards. There’s a link. There’s always a link.”
“I want to hold off on telling the mayor for a day or so,” the chief said, glaring at all of them. “Until you can come up with a little concrete evidence so I won’t feel as big of a fool as I do right now.”
“The total lack of forensic evidence is a characteristic in itself,” Dane pointed out. “I think we should take it to the FBI for analysis.”
As he had expected, the chief’s face took on a sour expression. “Goddamn Feds,” he snapped. “Are you saying you aren’t good enough to handle it yourself, Hollister?”
Dane shrugged. All cops were jealous of their jurisdiction, and nobody, especially the old-timers, liked bringing the Bureau in on anything. Inevitably the federal boys got all the credit. “The Investigative Support Unit specializes in this, and I’d say we need all the help we can get. I don’t have to prove that my dick’s bigger than theirs.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Freddie remarked dryly. “But what about me?”
“What about the rest of us?” Worley countered in a plaintive tone.
The room erupted into laughter and a few coarse remarks. Bonness flushed at the lack of decorum, but couldn’t keep himself from grinning. Dane winked at Freddie, and she winked back.
“If all of you are through comparing inches—or lack of them,” the chief said, raising his voice, “maybe we can get back to the business at hand. Okay, maybe we take it to the FBI. But not until I say so, and not until I’ve talked to the mayor. Is that understood? Exhaust all the other avenues first.”
“We can’t afford to wait too long. Another Friday is only five days away.”
“I know what day of the week it is,” the chief snapped. “I’ll talk to him Tuesday afternoon, and that’s the absolute soonest I’ll do it. That means, people, that you have two days to come up with something, so I suggest you all get to work.”
15
THERE WASN’T A HELLUVA LOT THAT COULD BE DONE ON A Sunday. A call to the Hairport, where Jackie Sheets had regularly gotten her hair cut, didn’t even get an answering machine but instead rang endlessly. No banks were open. The telephone company, however, was on duty and protecting the public’s right to reach out and touch whomever they wanted twentyfour hours a day, seven days a week. Someone was always there, so Dane started the process of getting a listing of all the calls made from the Sheets residence.
Bonness organized a task force, choosing Dane, Trammell, Freddie, and Worley, since the four of them were already working on the two known cases. All of their other ongoing cases were parceled out to the other detectives, who were warned to tie up as many loose ends as they could, as fast as they could, because they would all probably be brought in on the task force soon.
What with one thing and another, it was after four when Dane and Trammell were finally able to leave the building. Dane squinted up at the bright sky before slipping on his sunglasses. After the morning rain, the day had turned into a scorcher, with the rainfall only adding to the humidity as the heat turned the moisture to steam.
“How’s Grace?” he asked.
Trammell was annoyed. “You sound as if you expect us to elope at any moment, and, old buddy, it ain’t going to happen.” He paused. “Grace is fine.”
“Still at your place?”
Trammell checked his watch. “No.”
Dane chuckled. “Not quite yet, huh? Maybe en route? You made a call right before we left; now, who could it have been to?”
“Fuck you,” Trammell said mildly. “Where are you going?”
“Home. To my place.”
Black eyebrows lifted inquiringly.
“To pick up more clothes,” he enlarged, with some satisfaction.
“Why don’t you just pack a suitcase and move in?”
“I would, but I still have to go by the house every day to get my mail, so that wouldn’t be saving me any trouble. Most of my clothes will end up at her house eventually.”
“All of your other girlfriends have moved in with you,” Trammell pointed out.
“Marlie’s different. She feels safe in her house; she won’t willingly leave it.” Besides, he didn’t like the idea of Marlie moving into his own house. As Trammell had pointed out, several women over the years had taken up temporary residence there. He had liked and enjoyed them at the time, but in the end they hadn’t been very important to him, certainly not as important or interesting as his job. arlie was different; she didn’t belong in that company of ultimately forgettable women.
Thinking of his house made him restless. It had always suited him before, but then, he had never been picky. Suddenly he wanted to change things around. “My place needs some work done on it,” he decided abruptly. “This would be a good time to have it done.”
“What kind of work?”
“Maintenance stuff. New paint, the floors refinished. The bathroom needs complete renovation.”
“I see.” Trammell’s dark eyes began to gleam. This was something he’d been itching to do for years. “How about new furniture while you’re at it? That stuff you’re using is about twenty years old.”
“The place belonged to my grandparents. When they left it to me, the furniture came with it.”
“It shows. How about it? New furniture, too?”
Dane considered it. Unlike most cops, and not counting Trammell, his bank account was healthy. He was single and had cheap tastes in food, clothes, and cars. He had inherited the house from his grandparents, so he didn’t have a mortgage payment every month. He actually lived on half of his income, so the other half had been accumulating in the bank for years. Several times he’d thought about buying a boat, but when would he have time to use it? No other money-using schemes had come to mind. The house did need
redecorating. He would like to take Marlie there occasionally, though he really couldn’t imagine her living there with him, and he wanted the place to look nice for her. Unfortunately, now it looked exactly like what it was: a bachelor’s home. And a bachelor who didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, at that. He wasn’t the kind of slob who left food and empty beer cans everywhere, but he wasn’t great on dusting or replacing things, either.
“Okay,” he said. “New furniture, too.”
Trammell rubbed his hands together. “I’ll get started tomorrow.”
Warily Dane eyed his friend. “Whaddaya mean, you’ll get started? You’re going to be busy. I’ll arrange for the painters and floor refinishers, and pick out some new furniture next weekend.”
“That’s not quite how it’s going to be, old buddy. We’ve already agreed that your taste in everything except women is atrocious. You have great taste in women. Just leave the rest to me.”
“Hell, no! I know you. You’ll put one of those little rugs that costs a fortune on the living room floor, and I’ll be afraid to even walk on it. My bank account isn’t yours, old buddy.”
“I’ll take that into consideration. And no dhurrie rugs. Unlike you, I have excellent taste. It’ll be a place you can be comfortable in, but it’ll look a hell of a lot better. Marlie will like it,” he added shyly.
Dane scowled at him, and Trammell clapped him on the shoulder. “Just relax and enjoy it.”
“That sounds like I’m going to get fucked.”
“I can do it for about ten thousand. How does that sound?”
“Like a damn expensive fuck. How about five?”
Trammell snorted. “Only if you want to sleep on a futon and sit on a bean bag.”
Ten thousand. It was a lot of money. But Trammell was right, the self-satisfied bastard: He did have good taste. The house needed renovating, and he wanted it fresh and clean for Marlie, even if she never actually lived there. None of those other women had left much of an imprint, but he wanted even the hint of them gone. “How are you going to find time to do it?” he asked grudgingly.
“Ever hear of the telephone? It’s no problem. I’ll have stuff delivered, drop by to take a look at it, and if I don’t like it, the store will pick it up again.”
“You’ve been rich for too long. You need to come out of the stratosphere and live like regular folks for a change.”
“Conspicuous consumers like me create jobs and keep the economy growing. It’s time you did your part.”
“I agreed, damn it.”
“Then stop complaining about it.” Trammell checked his watch again. “Gotta go. If you have an extra house key, bring it to me in the morning.”
“Sure,” Dane said, wondering if his house would be recognizable as the same residence when Trammell got through with it. Still, it accomplished two things at once: The place did need some work, and it gave him a perfect excuse to completely move in with Marlie during the renovation. He was whistling as he got in his car.
An hour and a half later, Marlie went still with shock as she stood in the doorway and watched him unload suitcases and boxes from his car.
“What’s all that?” she asked faintly. Silly question; she could see very clearly what it was. The question she really wanted to ask was “Why?” but she figured she knew the answer to that, too. Dane might enjoy very much the physical side of their relationship, but she couldn’t let herself forget that, no matter what, he was always a cop. What better way to keep an eye on her than to move right in? That way he would know immediately if she had another vision.
“My stuff. My house is being renovated, and I have to clear out for a couple of weeks.” He stopped on the porch, watching her intently. “I apologize for not asking, but it was a sudden decision to have the work done.”
“I see.” She managed an ironic smile. “Moving in is a good way to stay on top of the situation, I guess. Figuratively as well as literally.”
Very carefully he set the box down on the porch. His expression was both cool and blank. “What does that mean, exactly?”
She shrugged. “Can you honestly say that moving in with me has nothing to do with the murders, with this entire situation?”
“No,” he said bluntly. It was the truth. He couldn’t. Marlie was his best chance of catching the bastard, but it wasn’t just that. He had seen how the visions affected her, the physical and mental price she paid. For both of those reasons, in addition to the fact that he was violently attracted to her, he wanted to stay close to her.
She stood silently for a moment, considering the situation. They had become lovers, but her instinct was to take things slowly. Circumstances had decreed otherwise, throwing them together in a pressure cooker. Even though she would like to put the brakes on now, feel her way through this strange new relationship, those same circumstances were still aligned against her. He was, first and foremost, a cop, and she was his direct link to a killer. Until the murderer was caught, she couldn’t expect Dane to stray far from her side. She would simply have to remember that the main reason he was there was his job; it was a sure bet that he didn’t practically force his way in to live with every woman with whom he had gone to bed.
She stepped aside. “Just so we understand each other. Come on in.”
Trammell gave a long, low whistle when Dane walked in the next morning, and everyone in the squad room turned to look. Never mind that there was a serial killer on the loose; cops were never too busy to harass one of their own. Freddie clutched her heart and pretended to swoon. Bonness, who had been standing beside Keegan’s desk, was totally deadpan as he asked, “May we help you, sir?”
“You sure can,” Dane replied good-naturedly as he dropped into his chair. “All you smart-asses can apologize for the crap you’ve given me for years about how I dressed.”
“He said it in the past tense,” Trammell noted, turning his eyes upward. “Please, God, let it stay that way.”
Dane smiled at him. “Want to go for a couple of beers after work?” he asked silkily. Trammell picked up the hint and subsided, but still with an unholy gleam of amusement in his dark eyes.
“Take me, take me!” Freddie cried, waving her hand exuberantly.
“Yeah, sure, and get my legs broken?”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“Gee, thanks. I’m overwhelmed by your concern.”
Bonness left Keegan’s desk to perch on Dane’s. “What caused the transformation?” he asked. “Were you mugged by a fashion designer on the way to work?”
Dane grinned, knowing that his answer would make Bonness choke. It wasn’t something he could keep to himself, so he decided to have a little fun. “Marlie doesn’t like wrinkles,” he explained calmly.
Bonness looked blank. “Marlie?” Obviously he could think of only one Marlie and just as obviously he couldn’t get the connection.
“Marlie Keen. You know, the psychic.”
“I know who she is,” Bonness said, still confused. “What does she have to do with it?”
“She doesn’t like wrinkles,” Dane explained again, as deadpan as Bonness had been. He could hear Trammell snickering, but didn’t dare glance that way.
Poor Bonness was slow that day. “So she goes around the city zapping them out?” he demanded with heavy sarcasm.
“No.” Dane smiled, a slow, very satisfied smile. “She ironed them out. At least, she ironed the shirt. She made me iron the slacks myself, because she said I had to learn.”
Bonness gaped at him. Trammell was making choking sounds as he tried to keep from laughing aloud. “You—you mean … Marlie … that is, you and Marlie—”
“Marlie and I are what?”
“Um … dating?”
“Dating?” Dane pretended to think. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then what would you say?”
He gave a negligent shrug. “It’s simple. When I got dressed this morning, she said that no way was I leaving the house looking like that,
so she hauled out her iron and ironing board and made me take off my clothes. When I put them back on, they looked like this.” He wondered why a crisply ironed shirt, neatly knotted tie, and slacks with a razor-edge crease were such a big deal, not just to Marlie but to everyone else. Not that he minded; he just hadn’t cared before. He didn’t care about his clothes now, but Marlie did, so therefore he would make more of an effort. Simple.
Bonness was literally sputtering, his eyes bugging out. “But you only met a week ago. You ridiculed her, accused her of being an accomplice to murder. She hated your guts on sight.”
“We changed our minds,” Dane said. “If you need me, you can reach me at her house.”
“Shit. You’re kidding me. I thought she had better taste than that.”
Dane smiled peacefully. “She does. She’s already improving me.” And he would let her do it. If she wanted him to wear Italian loafers like Trammell’s, he’d do it. If she wanted him to shave twice a day, he’d do that too. If she wanted him to stand on his head for an hour every morning, he would happily put his butt in the air. When he had returned the afternoon before, with his clothing, it had been plain that the thought of living with him made her uneasy. He knew he should have lied to her about his motives, but damn it, his interest in her was two-pronged. He couldn’t just forget about the murders and assure her that her involvement never entered his mind. Hell, her involvement never left his mind.
After this was over, he would devote all of his attention to her, but right now he couldn’t, and she knew it. Right away he had sensed a slight distance that hadn’t been there when he’d left. She kept rebuilding that damn wall of reserve, as if she couldn’t quite trust herself to let go, or trust him to catch her if she did. He would let her reform him from the ground up if it would make her feel more secure with him.