by Regina Fagan
Christine, fighting to remain calm, studied him. The beard was gone. He was tastefully dressed now in expensive slacks and jacket and tie. The scent of costly cologne came from him. He looked like any upscale man one would see here at Sutter Court, and he certainly would not have attracted any particular attention from anyone, other than Ray had he been around, once he’d entered the building.
The apartment was much too quiet. She thought of something he’d just said. “Tommy,” she blurted out. “What have you done with my cat? Oh please, where is he?”
Luther shrugged. “I don’t know, dear. Hiding somewhere inside, I would think. We’ve mostly avoided each other. Now, now, Christine, don’t worry. I haven’t done anything to him.”
She pushed past him and ran into her bedroom, frantically calling her pet. She heard something respond, something so familiar, and dropped to her knees on the floor beside the bed. There, huddled far against the wall underneath was Tommy, his eyes shining wildly out from the darkness. He meowed softly but made no move to leave his hiding place. He knew things were wrong. “Stay there,” Christine whispered to him, relieved. It was best that he stay where he was. She could not bear the thought of Luther harming him.
Luther had followed her into the room. “Come, dear, let’s get ready to leave. Put on a nice dress. We have an interesting evening ahead of us.” He went into her closet, rummaging around and coming out with a blue knit. “Here, put this one on. Alyson loved blue. And it’s your color, of course. Even your lovely airline uniform is blue. It matches your eyes. Her eyes. Put it on.”
Leave? For where, she wondered. Where was he planning to take her? It was then that she noticed the item in his right hand. He was carrying one of her kitchen knives. He had strangled his other victims. Was he planning something different for her?
“Hurry up, put that dress on.” He was waving the dress in front of her, yet she was unable to move or to make a sound. She imagined him coming in here boldly, and Laura had been here! What if she had caught him? What would have happened to the girl?
She remembered too the evening when she’d found the closet door open, and clothing moved around, and Tommy acting so strangely. He had been hiding in her closet waiting for Laura to leave. Thank God nothing had happened to Laura!
Willing herself to move, Christine dropped her purse on the bed and took the dress from Luther. Perhaps it would be best to do as he said. If she could get outside, she would have a much better chance of getting away, or at the very least, of attracting some attention that might bring help.
“Who is Alyson, Luther?” she asked him, but he seemed to be paying no attention, staring off into space. So she started toward the bathroom with the dress. I’ll be only a few minutes.” He looked back at her and nodded. “Go on,” he said.
The dim room when she returned wearing the blue dress was bathed in a pale pink glow. Luther stared at her a minute before pulling something from his pocket. “Lovely, you look lovely. Now tie this at your neck.” He handed her a long dark blue silk scarf, similar to the one he had sent her, the scarf John had shown such an interest in and taken with him. Suddenly she knew why John could not tell her about the scarf. Most likely, Luther’s victims had been strangled with scarves, a fact the police had never mentioned, and could not mention to the public.
She took the silky fabric and began to try to arrange it, but her fingers were useless. “No, not like that, Alyson. Here, let me do it.” Putting the knife down on the bed he expertly draped and knotted the scarf at her neck. “There, that’s it, that’s perfect. Now hurry up, we have to leave.” He lifted the knife again, waving it slowly in front of her face. “I don’t want to have to use this. Don’t make me cut you, please don’t. It didn’t have to be this way you know, but you made the choice.”
What choice? Rejecting his unwanted advances? Is that why he was going to kill her? And why had he killed those other women? Because they looked like her, or this Alyson he kept mentioning?
“Luther, who is Alyson?” she asked again. Suddenly her body began to shiver so violently that her teeth started to chatter.
He came up behind her, turning her toward the mirror. “Don’t be frightened. Alyson was frightened, and she didn’t have to be. It’s going to be a wonderful night, Christine. Just us. I’m so glad I found you!”
“Who are you talking about?”
She watched his reflection in the mirror before her. He was somewhere else, somewhere in memories. “Alyson was someone I loved, and thought loved me, but she really didn’t. She lied to me.”
He put his arm around her waist, pulling her toward him. “I’m not Alyson. I never led you on or lied to you about anything.” But his eyes were unfocused and he stared dreamily off into space.
“She told me she had met someone else, and she said I needed help, that there was something wrong with me. Do you know how many people in my life have told me that? I couldn’t take that again, especially not from her, of all people. All I’d ever done was love her.”
“But you killed her,” Christine said softly. Moving slightly away from him as he loosened his hold, she stepped into a pair of shoes. Her uniform was hanging on the back of the closet door. When Laura came in to feed Tommy, would she come in here and see it and know something was wrong? Her flight bag sat on the floor as well. What else could she leave here to alert Laura that all was not right?
As if on cue, Luther’s demeanor changed and he looked directly at her again, speaking normally. “Well, yes, I had to kill her. She was a slut, and she was going to leave me. I didn’t want anybody else to have her. Women always do that. You too. I thought you might be different, when I found you. But you have a whole collection of men, don’t you, Christine. And by the way, how is Bill? The guy on the flight from London with you? He recognized me, you know.”
“Recognized you? What do you mean?” she asked. But even before he answered, she knew what he was going to say. Why hadn’t she been able to make the connection before? Bill found inside the locked gate downstairs. Bill in a coma, constantly murmuring something about keys. Luther had been here that night, and Bill had surprised him. It was Luther who had attacked and beaten Bill.
He was smiling now. “He told me he knew who I was, when I confronted him downstairs. Bloody bad coincidence that was, my dear. He spoiled the entire night for us, and what I had planned for you. But then, of course, I certainly spoiled his, didn’t I? Fair turnabout, I’d say.” He reached into a pocket again and this time pulled out a wallet and a smart phone - Bill’s wallet and phone – and tossed them both onto the bed, while Christine stared at him in horror. The mood swings he was displaying terrified her. She could not be sure one moment to the next what he was going to do.
“You nearly killed him, Luther. And those other women. Why did you have to kill them?”
Again, a mood change. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to, really. I thought they were Alyson, you see, or maybe you. I was so confused. But then the voices – you see there are these voices, Christine, these wretched voices! They told me I had to kill them. It was really Alyson all over again. I told them I was sorry. Don’t you understand?” He stopped then, shaking his head. “Now come on, no more questions. Are you ready? Let’s hurry along.”
He walked ahead of her and, momentarily assured that he wasn’t watching her, Christine picked up her purse and quickly pulled out her wallet. Then she opened it and dumped its contents over the bedspread before throwing the purse upside down next to both wallets and Bill’s phone. Then she quickly turned off the light and went into the hall where he was waiting for her. It was a last pathetic gesture, but she knew that Laura would certainly know there had been foul play here and would call for help. Please God it wouldn’t be too late.
Luther was at the door. He pulled a coat from the hall closet and tossed it to her. “Do you have your car keys?”
She ran back into the bedroom and found the keys on the bed, together with her own phone. Of course,
her phone! If she could somehow make a call and leave the line open . . .
Coming back into the hall, he put the coat around her and took the keys. Suddenly the phone she was holding, trying to hide from him, began to ring. Damn! Not now!
“We certainly don’t need that,” he told her, pulling it roughly from her hands and tossing it on the living room floor. He had also wrapped the knife in a sweater and tucked it under his arm. The phone continued to ring.
Luther looked at the phone and then at her. “Who might that be, Christine? Ted? Or maybe John? He’s a new one, isn’t he? Or perhaps someone else I’ve missed? How many are there? You’re a slut just like Alyson, aren’t you?” He laughed, enjoying himself now, his horrid blue eyes glinting insanely at her. “And I expected so much more from you. It’s a pity, Christine.”
He opened the door and pulled her into the hallway, waiting several seconds to make sure nobody was about. Christine took advantage of the delay to pull the apartment door very gently, so that it closed but did not lock fully. One more thing out of the ordinary for Laura to find, and then her cell phone tossed on the floor. Please, she prayed, make her call the police or even Ray!
Luther grabbed her now and pulled her roughly toward the stairs, while Christine prayed that someone would come out of an apartment or be on the staircase so she could scream for help and get away from this madman. The knife was inside the sweater, so he couldn’t easily use it right away. But not a soul was in sight anywhere, as they both made their way undisturbed to the garage.
Inside her apartment, her cell phone continued to ring.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
It was four o’clock and Kinsella realized he had not spoken to Christine all day.
While a crew combed through Luther’s BMW, its front seats stained with blood, Kinsella wondered if Christine had already left for the airport. He had sent an officer out to Sutter Court to check on her a short time ago, but he knew he had to speak with her himself. His interest in her went far beyond this case. He didn’t want her to leave San Francisco tonight thinking that last night had been only a one-time fling for him. He should never have left her so abruptly this morning.
His phone rang as he reached his car. It was one of his task force officers at headquarters. “John, I’ve got a guy on the line who says he’s a close friend of Christine Lindsey. He’s pretty upset about something and will only talk to you. Will you take it?”
Kinsella’s heart lurched. “Yes, go ahead,” he said, trying to calm himself. Now what had happened? “This is John Kinsella.”
“Lieutenant Kinsella, my name is Peter Breen, and I’m Christine’s friend. I’m hoping you do know her, and Bill Arnett perhaps. I also hope this isn’t some figment of the imagination, because Bill has been in a coma after a mugging last week. Do you know who these people are?”
“Yes, I do. Go ahead.”
Peter continued. “Bill woke up this afternoon and has been in a frenzy over somebody named Luther Ross-Wilkerson. He told me that Luther is the one who attacked him, and that Luther also has a key to Christine’s building. Bill begged me to call you. He said you were the only one who could help now.” Peter stopped and took a deep breath before plunging on. “Am I making any sense? I called you because I trust Bill completely. He’s been very sick, but I doubt he’d tell me something like this without very good reason.”
Kinsella felt as if ice was running through his veins. He knew there had been something about that mugging that was wrong, something had been eluding him.
“What you’re telling me makes perfect sense, Peter. Where are you, and where is Christine right now?”
“I’m at the hospital. Christine went home to get ready for work. I had lunch with her today, but she never said a word about being in any trouble, although she seemed terribly nervous, I thought. I just moved to San Francisco last week, so I haven’t seen her or Bill for some time.
“When I came back to the hospital after lunch, Billy woke up and, well, I’ve been trying to reach Christine at home but I’m getting no answer. Everything just keeps going to voicemail. And Billy’s been yelling that her life is in danger. He was so upset they finally had to sedate him again. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on here, yet people are telling me several women have been murdered in the city recently. Anyway, something obviously is very wrong. I’m going to Christine’s apartment now. Will you meet me there, please?”
He’d been phoning and getting no answer. Luther has a key to her apartment. Good God, why hadn’t he put somebody outside the apartment this morning before he’d left her? Why hadn’t he trusted her instincts from the start? “Peter, I’ve already sent a car to Christine’s building, and I’m on my way there now. Wait for me outside, Peter. Do not try to go inside, do you hear me? Wait for me.”
“Yes, of course. Now could you please explain what this is all about?”
“I will when I see you, Peter. I’m on the way.” Kinsella disconnected and jumped into his car, honking sharply as he saw Phil Lawrence coming toward him from Luther’s building.
“There are all sorts of evidence in that car – fibers, hair - aside from the blood stains everywhere. John, what’s going on?”
“We’ve got to get to Christine’s place. I just got word that Ross-Wilkerson has keys to her apartment.”
“What? How?”
“Come on, I’ll tell you while we drive.” Little things came back to him. Bill inside the locked gate. All the mumbling about keys while he tried to break out of the coma. Why didn’t they make the connection? Now he knew where Luther had found the flight schedules. He wasn’t a hacker. Somehow, he’d managed to get into her apartment without her even suspecting it.
John Kinsella didn’t pray much anymore. He hadn’t bothered in a long time. He couldn’t think of a decent prayer he’d ever had answered in his entire life anyway. But now, racing along the empty Sunday streets of the city with Phil, trying to reach the officer he’d sent to Sutter Court, he prayed like he’d never prayed before. Please God they would all look like damn fools when he got there – he, Phil, his officer, and Peter Breen – when Christine, dressed and ready for work, opened her door to the whole lot of them, startled at all the fuss just because she had not had time to answer her phone that afternoon, yet pleased at the prospect of riding safely to the airport with him.
But the report he quickly received from the officer who had just entered Christine’s unlocked apartment told him, as his heart dropped, that that was not going to be the case.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
SUNDAY EVENING
Christine drove north through the city and onto the Golden Gate Bridge, while the late afternoon sun dipped lower over San Francisco’s hills and skyline, but neither she nor Luther paid any attention to the magnificent view before them.
Luther had ordered her to drive to Sausalito. At first, she thought about causing an accident to draw attention, but she threw that idea out instantly. She was in enough danger now without deliberately doing something that might injure her or provoke him to sudden violence. He still held the knife. Instead, she concentrated on keeping the car steady on the road.
Luther had taken her down the stairs and into the garage at Sutter Court, meeting no one along the way. As she pulled away from the building, she never saw the SFPD squad car John Kinsella had sent, just pulling up at the building, and missing her by only minutes.
She wondered about Laura. What time would she come in to feed Tommy? Would she call the police when she discovered the open door and the two wallets, phone, and purse left tossed on the bed? Perhaps John would be looking for her as well. She realized she’d never had a chance to check her voicemail when she arrived home, to see if he had called her during the afternoon.
With a horrible feeling of despair, Christine wondered what good anything would do her now. Nobody knew where she was. Nobody would even know where to look for her, especially not John. If only she had at least one electronic device w
ith her that could be quietly, secretly, turned on. Somebody could track her. Of course, if John discovered her car missing after the apartment scene had been discovered, he would start a search for her. But by that time . . .
She shivered again, and the car swerved. Someone honked at them. She didn’t want to think about what was going to happen to her, but she knew she would fight to the end no matter what Luther tried to do. She would not go down quietly.
His voice pierced her thoughts. “Be careful, for heaven’s sake, Christine. Don’t get reckless. Drive on into Sausalito, into the town. I’ll tell you exactly where once we get there.”
“Where are we going?”
“I said I’ll tell you when we’re there. Now just drive and do what I say,” he snapped back. He shifted the knife from hand to hand, playing with it.
In the gathering darkness, he turned to face her. “Do you remember when we met, Christine?” His voice was soft and gentle now.
“Of course I do,” she said. Keep him calm and talking, although she could not predict when he would have another mood swing.
“It didn’t have to be this way, you know. I only wanted to be with you, to make you happy. I’m a wealthy man. I could give you anything you wanted. But instead you rejected me. Oh, you knew best, didn’t you?” He turned around in his seat and stared at the road ahead.
“Those other women, they were all so much like you. And like Alyson. I went out, looking for you, I guess. Foolishly. I didn’t know I’d meet them.” He turned to look at her. “Tell me, Christine, is Bill your lover?”
Christine swerved slightly once more. That name again, Alyson. She struggled to sound reasonable and calm. “No, he’s not. He’s gay actually, Luther. But he’s my best friend, my closest friend, since our flight training days. You should not have hurt him. But he’s getting better every day. He’ll be all right.”