The Christine Murders

by Regina Fagan

  “A key?” Christine asked. What key? She was trying to absorb the doctor’s statement that Bill might have suffered a brain injury. The enormity of that was more than she could accept. Such a thing couldn’t happen to Bill.

  “Yes,” the doctor continued. “Somebody had a key or keys, he was saying. And he was very agitated. But that was all we could get that made sense. Are you with the airline, too? He was in uniform when they brought him in.”

  “Yes, I am, I’m a flight attendant, too. I’m Christine Lindsey,” she said. “Bill and I went through training together. We’ve been such close friends for years.” She managed a weak smile.

  The doctor nodded. “Does he have any family?”

  “Only one brother, in Massachusetts, and some cousins, but they’re not close. He’s pretty much alone except for me and his airline friends here in San Francisco. He does have lots of friends right here.”

  “All right then. We’ll have to wait and see how he is by mid-morning after the scan. You see, we never know how these things are going to turn out.” He shook his head. “It’s terrible, these muggings and attacks. They’re not satisfied just taking your money. They’ve got to rough you up too. And Bill, I’d say, put up a fight.”

  Christine nodded. “Oh yes, Bill would put up a fight. Always. But last night he was so tired, he’d just come off a long flight that had an extra long delay.”

  “You can stay with him until we take him for the scan, Miss Lindsey. Keep talking to him. I don’t know if he’ll know you’re here or not.” He stopped, peering closely at her. “I must tell you, though, from a professional standpoint, that you look pretty beat to me. When did you last get any sleep? Why don’t you go home and rest and come back later in the morning?”

  Christine turned and smiled at him. He was quite young. And he looked none too well-rested himself.

  “It is morning, Doctor, or very nearly. And as far as sleep, I really don’t remember. Last evening, I flew home on a long flight also, from Tokyo. But I’ll stay here a while longer, if you don’t mind. You’ll be taking him for the scan soon, won’t you?”

  He looked at his watch. “Momentarily. I’ve been waiting for them to come. Tokyo? What’s that, about a fourteen-hour flight? And on your feet I’d bet for most of that time. Really, Miss Lindsey, you won’t do anybody any good if you collapse. I don’t want to have to put you in here, too.”

  Christine frowned. “Actually, I might be safer here.” Then, seeing the puzzled look on his face, she went on. “I’ll be all right. I promise I won’t collapse or cause any trouble. I feel better being here with Bill.” And yes, safer she thought, so much safer. Luther can’t find me here.

  “Okay, I’ll let you know when we are ready to go.” One of the nurses brought her a cup of steaming coffee, which she accepted gratefully and drank while she tried to make some sense out of what had happened. Bill remained still, lost somewhere in a deep sleep, unaware of her vigil beside him.

  For the time being, in the busy yet professional setting of the ER, all thoughts of Luther were pushed from her mind. Only one thing mattered now. Bill had to get well.

  She would stay here with him and talk to him and pray silently for both of them.

  Suddenly, quietly, the young doctor appeared at her side, followed by two orderlies. “We’re ready to take Bill now, Miss Lindsey.” Then he handed her an envelope. “We can hold his uniform and any other personal effects he was carrying, if you wish. But meanwhile, I thought you might want to take this, for safekeeping.”

  Christine opened the envelope, as the orderlies prepared Bill. Inside it were Bill’s flight steward wings. She held the gold pin in her hand, feeling the tears well up again. “Thank you, I certainly will,” she told the doctor, who patted her gently on the shoulder as she kissed Bill before he was wheeled quietly from the ER.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Soon after dawn, the hospital came to life, as new shifts of nurses, technicians, and workers began their daily routines. Christine had gone to the ICU lounge to wait for Bill to be brought back after his scan. She was weak and dizzy from fatigue and knew she couldn’t stay on much longer. But still she feared going home alone. Here in the hospital she felt safe and protected from Luther.

  During the wait, she phoned Flight Services to let the airline know about Bill’s attack and hospitalization. Soon her young doctor friend returned with good news.

  “The CAT scan showed a subdural hematoma, Miss Lindsey, which had created pressure on Bill’s brain,” he explained. “It’s being evacuated now, as we speak. Once that pressure is relieved surgically, the brain swelling will resolve itself, in about three days. Barring any other complications, Bill will recover, with no brain damage. And all his other injuries will heal. So, good news here.” He smiled at her. “Now I really do think it’s time for you to go home and get some rest. Bill won’t be back for a few hours, and later today you can stay with him, okay?”

  Buoyed up with relief and more thankful than she had ever been, Christine agreed to phone Ray to come and take her home.

  ***

  Somewhere deep in a thick hazy mist, Bill floated comfortably, feeling nothing, unable and unwilling to move, but listening to the assorted voices and sounds near him. Never had he felt so tired, so listless. He had been exhausted after the horrendous delay of Flight 812, but this was ridiculous. He felt as if he’d been heavily drugged or intoxicated. Maybe he had joined his passengers in a few of those free drinks during the Honolulu delay, was that it? Was he coming off the mother of all hangovers? If so, this one was a real beaut.

  But where the hell was he? Who were all these people he was aware of, and what was that machine they’d brought him to? Why did he feel like he was rolling along a long hallway somewhere? From the mists earlier a familiar voice had floated to him. Christine, it was Christine, of course! She was holding his hand. She sounded like she was crying. Why? What was wrong? Why was he here in this strange place, floating and feeling very hung-over and hearing Christine crying?

  Struggling through the heavy mists, Bill tried to remember what could have happened to make Christine cry. He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t. He struggled with his lazy brain. Something had happened, but what? Had his plane crashed yesterday? Was that it?

  Gradually, bits and pieces of life floated back to him.

  He had reached San Francisco safely, hours late. Yes – of course he did. But he had been troubled about something, very troubled. What was it? He had driven from the airport in a light refreshing rain, he remembered that. But he hadn’t been going home. He had been going to see Christine. Yes, that was it! Christine was in trouble!

  He had reached her apartment complex, and there had been someone there already, someone he knew. Who was he? Why couldn’t he remember?

  He drifted off again into a deep sleep, dreaming of airports and passengers and delays – all in a day’s work for a flight attendant. Papeete; he had been in Tahiti. He so loved Tahiti, but something had happened to him there. It was not a good layover. He recalled watching Moorea dip behind puffy white clouds from his hotel room. But why?

  Something terrible had happened while he was on layover in Papeete.

  He felt himself floating closer to the surface of the mists now. He thought he saw Peter Breen then, and he wanted to tell him about something important, something to do with Christine. Peter should be here; he would help figure out what was going on. He loved Peter, yes. He had to admit that to himself.

  Why had Christine been crying?

  Suddenly, vividly, Bill saw another face in the mist. A man in a dark knit cap, and he remembered who the face belonged to. Vivid blue eyes were staring angrily at him. Luther Ross-Wilkerson. Yes, that was it! Luther Ross-Wilkerson was the serial killer, and he had been at the gate of Christine’s apartment, letting himself in with a key! He was going after Christine!

  Now Bill remembered the struggle, and wrenching violent pain. If only he hadn’t been s
o damn tired, he could have taken Wilkerson down. Wilkerson had ripped his wallet and phone from his pocket to make the attack look like a mugging. But the last thing Bill remembered before drifting away into the pain and mist was Wilkerson pulling a key from the gate and running off into the night. He had a key to Christine’s building. He had been thwarted in his attempt to get to her that night, but most certainly he would be back. And only Bill knew this. How was he going to warn Christine?

  He remembered Christine with him here again. He could feel her soft hand stroking his brow. Why couldn’t he wake himself up, pull out of this haze and warn her about the key?

  She had spoken to him. Somebody was wheeling him away. Christine had his steward’s wings – some other man had given them to her - she had them for safekeeping. She kissed him, and now she was going.

  No! He tried to speak, to move, but his body would not respond. She couldn’t go back home alone!

  He struggled unsuccessfully with the mists, trying to find his voice, terrified at the thought of Christine home alone, unaware of the danger she was in. But he could not move, nor could he make a sound.

  When he’d last spoken to her, she had known about Luther. She had seen the picture and made the connection. She had agreed to go to the police. But would she follow through now? Would she go without him? She knew the danger she was in, yet she had no idea just how severe that danger had become.

  Silently, Bill prayed and willed Christine to go to the police. That was the only hope she had now before Luther Ross-Wilkerson returned to strike again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  FRIDAY – OCTOBER 21st

  Not a speck of morning sunlight found its way through the heavy drapes inside Luther’s penthouse apartment high above San Francisco Bay.

  As the brilliant sun grew stronger, Luther made no move to open the penthouse to the dazzling day and the sunlight glittering like diamonds across the water.

  He had come back home after his attack on Bill, unnerved and furious at what had happened.

  Luther had been so sure he had chosen the ideal time to get to Christine. His excitement, all along the long slow drive to the city in the sheeting rain, had been unbearable. When he had pulled up in front of her building in the quiet morning hours, all he could think of was the look on her face when she would find him standing over her. Surprise!

  Then, suddenly and so unexpectedly, that flight attendant had been there. Luther had been dumbstruck when he recognized Bill, coming angrily upon him at the front gate.

  He had reacted violently. He didn’t know, or care, whether he had killed Bill. It had never entered his mind since to check to find out if the man was dead or alive. He was only satisfied that he had remembered to grab his wallet and phone. That had helped make the attack look like a mugging, nothing more.

  All Luther cared about now was that his careful plans had been thwarted so badly. Christine had been alone and helpless. Now he would have to start all over, wait another time and be sure she was truly alone before he went in. Everything had been spoiled.

  He wondered why Bill had been there at all. Did he live with her? He remembered the photos he’d seen in the den. Well, Bill was out of commission now but then what about Ted MacIntyre? Perhaps he had not thought all this out as carefully as he’d liked to think he had. Was he going to be constantly thwarted by Christine’s boyfriends? She was no better than Alyson.

  He stared at the keys lying on the coffee table where he had tossed them. Thank heavens he had remembered to pull the key from the gate before he fled.

  Luther considered the scene outside Sutter Court once more. Bill had known who he was. His voice had been angry, challenging. He had even attacked him first. Could he have recognized the composite? Why else would he have reacted that way to someone he only had met once before on board a flight? But if Bill did know about him, there was a good chance Christine knew also. And what about Ted MacIntyre?

  Christine could prove a real danger to him now, if she knew or even suspected. She might go to the police. And then there was still Bill to consider. If he was alive, he could identify him. He was in a lot of trouble all of a sudden, trouble he had never imagined falling into. Things were spinning terribly out of control.

  Briefly, he considered trying to find out more about Bill’s fate, then decided it would be useless to do anything about him right now, if he were still alive. For one thing, it would be far too risky. For another, time was too precious.

  He reached down and picked up Bill’s wallet and phone from where he had dropped them on the carpet next to the coffee table. He knew what he would do with them. Then, once he had finally gotten to Christine and ended that situation, he would find out what had happened to Bill.

  He knew only that he had to make his final move very soon. He was convinced both Bill and Christine knew too much now. Before both of them turned the tables on him, he would have to get to her. He desperately wanted her, in spite of everything, and there was still a chance he could have her even for a little while, but unfortunately that chance was looking slimmer all the time. No matter what happened, he knew that Christine would have to die.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Christine’s deep sleep had led her into a series of nightmares. She was trying to help Bill, who lay on the ground bleeding and unconscious, when Luther suddenly appeared, gliding toward them from the fog and calling her name. Unable to move, she stood still while he came closer.

  She tried to scream, but no sound would come. Then something soft was tapping at her face. Christine woke, her eyes focusing on the familiar room. On the pillow next to her sat Tommy. The cat extended his paw once more and tapped tentatively at her cheek.

  Still shaking from the vivid dream, she pushed herself up on an elbow and looked at the clock. It was nearly two p.m. She barely remembered falling into bed this morning; she felt far from rested even now. The sleep she had gained barely touched the surface of her exhaustion, but she knew she could sleep no more today. There was too much to do. She reached for the phone and dialed the ICU to check on Bill’s progress.

  Bill was little changed since the morning except for some attempts to speak. He had been moving and mumbling incoherently, although only briefly. This was considered a good sign. He was sleeping again now, and his vital signs remained strong.

  She soaked herself under a hot shower, the water a balm for her weary body. The long flight home from Tokyo, followed by the past night of stress and fear had extracted a heavy toll from her.

  She wasted little time, dressing and preparing herself hurriedly. Then she spooned some cat food into a bowl for Tommy, gathered up her coat and bag, and left the apartment.

  ***

  “I want to see Lieutenant Kinsella,” Christine told the receptionist in the busy lobby of the Metropolitan Police Department. “It’s urgent that I see him, or someone who works with him. I have information about the serial killer.”

  The woman just looked at her. “May I have your name?” she asked, her face blank. She looked like a robot, mechanically directing foot traffic in the lobby and answering phone calls. She picked up the phone and spoke briefly and quietly. Then she turned back to Christine, pushing a roster in front of her. “I need some I.D. from you. Then sign this, fill it all out, and put this on.” The woman handed her a plastic visitor’s badge on a clip as Christine turned over her driver’s license. “Just wait here, and someone will be right down to take you to Lieutenant Kinsella’s office. You’re lucky to find him in today.”

  Christine followed orders and clipped the badge to her sweater. Then she sat down. She was nervous, and barely aware of anything happening around her. Again she asked herself if she was being ridiculous coming here. Luther was a nuisance, but was he a killer? Had she read too much into his calls and gifts? No doubt there were hundreds of men in San Francisco who fit the description of the serial suspect. Was it strictly coincidence that Luther did also? And might it also be purely coincidental tha
t she looked so much like the women who had been murdered? She started to lose her resolve. Maybe it would be wiser to slip quietly out of here, before she made a fool of herself and wasted everyone’s time.

  But what about Bill? Bill believed Luther was the killer. She remembered how much he had disliked Luther from the start, how he had gone on about Luther being weird and dangerous. Were they both wrong, accusing an innocent man they both disliked of unspeakable crimes?

  “Miss Lindsey?” Christine pulled herself out of her troubled thoughts and looked up at a tall black officer standing before her. Unlike the woman at the reception desk, this man was smiling pleasantly at her.

  “I’m Officer Clavens, Miss Lindsey,” he said, extending a firm hand. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to Lieutenant Kinsella’s office.”

  Christine followed him through a security check station and metal detector and on to a bank of elevators. “Do you always provide an escort here?” she asked.

  “Yes, we certainly do, especially these days,” Officer Clavens answered. “Security in our crazy world is the main purpose, of course, but otherwise people would be lost all over this huge place, if we didn’t escort them in.”

  They took an elevator to the fourth floor where Christine went through yet another search, and then walked together down a wide corridor. Halfway along, the corridor branched off in three directions. Offices with opened doors lined the way. Officer Clavens turned left and led Christine down another short hallway to a closed door where, not bothering to knock, he opened the door and ushered Christine into a large room. “Here’s Miss Lindsey, John,” he called to the man seated behind a desk, before nodding a pleasant goodbye to Christine and closing the door behind him.

  John Kinsella stood and walked around the desk to Christine, offering her his hand as he spoke.

  “Please come in and have a seat, Miss Lindsey. I understand you have something for me about the serial killer?” It was a question, spoken politely, yet as if he had already repeated the same question many times already and was not particularly positive about the outcome. Christine felt her stomach muscles tightening, and all the misgivings about coming here returning.