But Ashley just leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes and Claire decided not to push it; if there was anything to Chain being a suspect, she'd know soon enough.
* * *
At six, Claire dropped her pen on her desk and ran her fingers through her hair. Quitting time. She still had a ton of work to do, but she wasn't entirely sure she could stay awake much longer, much less remain coherent. And then there was the little issue with Ashley.
Claire pushed away from her desk, rising from her chair. A knock sounded at the door.
With a groan, she dropped into her seat. "Yes?"
The door opened and Graham stuck his head in the office.
She smiled, relieved it was him and not someone else out for blood. The pun was bad, but she didn't laugh. "Hey," she said.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him.
"How'd you get in?"
"Bribed Jewel. She likes jelly doughnuts, you know."
Claire grinned, getting out of her chair again. "I know. Um, I was just headed out." She hooked her thumb. "Ashley's waiting for me in the break room."
"That was why I stopped by." He was wearing his suit jacket but had loosened his tie. He was obviously done with work for the day. "When you didn't come back into the diner—"
"Oh, the bill." She grabbed her head with one hand. "I'm sorry, Graham."
"No." He waved her away. "It was a salad, Claire. Don't be silly. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That Ashley was okay."
"If you mean did I throttle her yet—" Claire came around her desk and backed up to perch on the edge of it, a little afraid to get too close to him. Afraid that in a fit of passion, she might rip off her clothes and jump on his bones right here in her office. "The answer is no. I still intend to, I just haven't decided how to dispose of the body, yet."
He moved closer, but took his time, as if she were a wild colt or something. Like he didn't want to startle her.
"That's good that you've still got your sense of humor. I'm not sure I would."
She shrugged. "Not a lot of choices in situations like this."
He nodded. "But you're okay?"
She closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm okay."
Claire felt his fingertips brush hers. With her eyes still closed, she opened her hand. He clasped it and pulled her to her feet, wrapping one arm around her.
"Graham, I can't," she whispered, afraid to open her eyes. "Not here. Not now."
"I know." He pulled her against him, brushing his lips against her cheek. "Just came to bring you your daily hug."
She laughed. She knew this was totally inappropriate, a public display of affection with her boyfriend, at work, while she was in uniform. Hell, he wasn't even her boyfriend. They'd yet to go on a date. But his arms felt so good around her.
"I have to go," she murmured.
"So go." He kissed her cheek. Her mouth.
"No, really," she breathed.
He nibbled on her lower lip. "Who's stopping you?"
She laughed, opening her eyes as she pressed her hand to Graham's chest. "I really do have to go."
"Come to my place, tonight."
"I can't. Ashley's going to be home under house arrest." She rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I have to walk up and down the hall all night, my Beretta loaded and ready to fire."
"I love a woman with a Beretta." He kissed her again on the mouth, lingering a little longer this time, his tongue darting out to tease her lower lip. Then he let her go.
Claire's eyes flew open as she took a step back. She was actually dizzy. One kiss and she was dizzy. Did she ever need to get laid...
"The invitation's open."
"I can't have you at my house. Not with Ashley. Not at her age."
"I understand that. So come to my place." He laid his hand on the doorknob.
"Graham," she groaned. "I don't have time for a relationship right now."
"I understand that. But eventually you're going to catch this guy and then you are going to have time for a relationship. You're going to have time for me. In the meantime, that doesn't mean you can't slip over."
She laughed with embarrassment. "And what? Have sex with you?" She pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I can't do that."
"Okay." He started to open the door.
She followed him. "Graham, I can't."
"That's fine." He stepped out into the hall.
With a groan she opened the door all the way and stuck her head out the door. "Okay, so maybe I can stop by sometime," she called after him. "But, I'm not making any promises."
Not turning back, he gave a wave.
Claire stepped back into her office, closed the door, and leaned against it. It took her a full five minutes to gain her composure before she was able to go down the hall for Ashley.
Chapter 8
The Bloodsucker cut the headlights as he pulled his car onto a dirt road that had once been used for logging. He'd found it the other day when he'd gone for a drive to scout out the house.
Sliding out of the car, he grabbed his flashlight, hit the lock button and closed the door quietly. He'd pulled in far enough so that, in the dark, his car couldn't be seen from the paved road. Glancing over his shoulder to be certain he saw no headlights passing, he flipped on his flashlight and was rewarded with a strong, steady beam. He'd replaced the batteries before he left his house. After all, it would be dangerous to be caught in the dark without a flashlight; who knew what kind of person could be lurking out here at night?
Using the flashlight to guide him, the Bloodsucker followed the logging road deeper into the dark woods filled with insect song and the croak of frogs. Though by the size of the trees he could tell it was an old forest, it was typical for southern Delaware. There were mostly pine trees, but a few hardwoods. On both sides of the logging road—that was more like a path with two ruts—was a wall of green briars.
The green briars were what made it difficult to get through the woods this time of year. It was what had prevented the English from being able to foxhunt in the middle colonies, he had once learned on a History Channel special. They shipped the red fox, not native to North America, from Great Britain, set them free to hunt them, and then had given up the sport eventually, leaving the red foxes to multiply.
He liked red foxes and hated to see them dead on the road so he had enjoyed the show. He didn't like to watch those kinds of nature programs often, but sometimes it was all he could find. One hundred thirty-seven channels, and nothing on, that's what a coworker had commented the other day.
That History Channel special was the best thing he'd seen since he'd caught that show with the pretty blond investigative reporter who did the interviews with America's worst serial killers. Sad, confused people, all of them, clearly the result of inbreeding or chromosome mix-up or something. Either that, or they were very bright, smart enough to present themselves as victims of society. No, he doubted that they could create such personas and carry them off. They were just delusional butchers, without the creativity to seek out their needs without getting caught. The blond reporter wasn't much better. She pretended to understand, but he knew that she'd memorized questions that smarter people had written for her. And she pandered to the murderers, whored herself, really. Anything for the ratings. She had no true understanding of the needs some people such as himself had, needs they were forced to fulfill. Still, if she'd been a few years younger, he might have liked to have brought her to the barn. He imagined the conversation they would share would be quite interesting.
The Bloodsucker walked a little faster. It was hot and close in the woods and the mosquitoes were buzzing around his ears. The buzzing reminded him of Granny and he swatted viciously in the air, disturbing a bird in a tree above him. The bird's wings made a flapping sound in the dark, startling him, but only for a moment. He had forgotten bug spray; he'd have to remember it next time he came this way.
Using the flashlight to guide him, he followed the path to the split and took the le
ft fork. He didn't know where the right would lead him; didn't care. This was the way he needed to go.
His destination was less than a ten minute walk. He saw the lights from the house, even before he reached the edge of the woods. As soon as he spotted the lights through the trees, he switched off his flashlight and then crept closer. As he moved slowly through the woods, he felt a sense of excitement build inside him.
Most people didn't like the dark, but not the Bloodsucker. It didn't scare him. In fact, he liked the way the darkness enveloped, making him feel safe, cared for... almost like a mother's womb.
He knew the path led right into the backyard behind the shed where the lawn mower and assorted rakes and shovels were kept. He also knew he needed to be careful there, because where the path ended, there were piles of rotting leaves that must have been dumped in the spring. Piles of grass clippings, too. Only no grass had been added to the pile recently. Apparently the chief of police had been too busy to cut her lawn.
The Bloodsucker smiled in the darkness.
He crept around the shed, drawn to the light glowing in the windows. The curtains were drawn, of course. In front of the shed, he stopped to have a better look, to get the lay of the land. There was a screened-in porch and a nice deck where a barbecue and picnic table and some chairs sat. There were glass French doors that led from the back porch into the house. Of course, it was always locked. Always. He had checked.
The Bloodsucker guessed that the window to the left was the kitchen. People tended to put kitchens in the back of the house. The window was probably over the sink. The small window to the right of the porch was probably the bathroom. Locked, too.
And from what he had read on the stickers on the windows and the doors, there was an alarm system. Poor Claire Bear was not a trusting person. Which was smart because she was so beautiful. She was tall and willowy like a runway model, but with those all-American features that made you think she was from the midwest.
He walked out in front of the shed, taking care to stay in the shadows as he studied the house curiously... just in case. After all, the chief of police did carry a gun.
It was the two windows to the right of the bathroom window that intrigued him. What were they?
Bedroom windows? Probably. The important question was, whose?
A shadow passed in front of what he suspected was the kitchen window and the Bloodsucker froze. They were home, his Claire Bear and Ashley. It was hard to tell, sometimes, because they apparently left different lights on when away.
His guess was that they were home fighting... considering what he had heard today.
He watched with fascination as the shadow moved in front of the window again. Yes, it was definitely a female. He could make out the shoulders, the head. Someone doing dishes? It had to be Claire. What fifteen-year-old did dishes?
Making no quick motions, the Bloodsucker eased down into the soft, fragrant grass. He would only stay a minute or two, he promised himself, his pulse quickening at the thought of the two women inside alone, far from town, no neighbors nearby. If a person were smart, if he were careful and clever, he could get inside that house.
And then they wouldn't be alone anymore.
* * *
"I don't understand," Ashley groaned, bare feet planted on the kitchen floor. "How can you even suggest a thing? You don't even know him."
"And neither do you." At the kitchen sink, Claire rinsed off the plate in her hand and slipped it into the dishwasher. "Not really."
"I do know him and he would never harm anyone. He certainly wouldn't kill anyone."
"He's not the only one we're investigating." Claire placed the other plate in the dishwasher. She'd made a nice dinner for her and Ashley, pasta primavera, no meat. Ashley had eaten almost nothing. She was very upset, even more upset than she had been earlier in the day.
"We're questioning quite a few people, but if you know anything—" Claire turned to look over her shoulder.
"Haven't you been listening to me? I don't know anything," Ashley pleaded with her hands.
Her eyes were red from crying again, her face smudged with black eyeliner. After dinner, when Ashley had retreated to her bedroom, Claire had removed her phone to prevent her from secretly calling Chain and warning him of the police investigation. She swore that hadn't been why she wanted to call him, but Claire was not going to allow her daughter to impede Detective Robinson's inquiry in any way.
"This isn't right, judging someone by what they look like," the teen continued. "Isn't that what you've always said? It's what's inside that counts?"
"You're naïve to think we always know what's really inside people." Claire wearily reached for the dish towel to dry her hands. All the fight was drained out of her; she was tired to the bone and just wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. No, what she really wanted to do was crawl into Graham's bed. "We might think we know someone, but sometimes we're wrong."
Ashley glared at her mother. "You got that right."
Her insinuation that Claire was not who she appeared to be was obvious. Claire let it go. She was just too wrung out tonight to go another round. "Go to bed," she said. "Stay in your room."
Ashley spun around and stalked off. "So now I can't even go to the bathroom?"
"You know what I mean." Claire watched the teen stomp down the hall toward her room. "And don't you dare open one of those windows to smoke," she called after her.
The bedroom door slammed shut and Claire dropped into the nearest chair in the dark living room. She felt like having a good cry. She was just afraid if she started now, she wouldn't be able to stop.
* * *
"I don't understand why you're asking me these things again," Billy said. He was seated in front of Claire's desk, spinning a pencil he'd taken from a cup Ashley had made for her mother in art class years ago. The pencil spun evenly and then began to wobble as its speed slowed.
Claire didn't usually talk to suspects in her office, but the station really had only one room suitable for interviews and Robinson had Chain in there this morning. Besides, she thought that talking with the men on her list like Billy in her office might put them a little more at ease.
"I told you, Billy, we're starting all the way back in June with our investigation, re-interviewing witnesses, going over our notes, detail by detail. Patti was the first to be murdered."
Claire sat back in her chair, her yellow legal pad in front of her. She was anxious to get through these interviews. She'd intended to start the day before, but they'd been unable to locate Billy and because she wanted to start with him and follow the murders in sequence, she postponed until today. "Patti's the most logical place to start," she explained, studying him across her desk.
The dead girl's ex-boyfriend and sometimes roomie was six feet tall, thin with brown shoulder-length hair he always wore pulled back in a pony-tail. He looked older than his twenty-four years, which seemed kind of a shame. A tuft of brown whiskers jutted fro m his chin. He was wearing a lime green Calloway's T-shirt sporting a flying marlin. He served as a bar back and occasional bartender at the local bar and restaurant on the bay that catered mostly to locals.
He dropped the pencil back into the container, sat back in the chair, and tucked his hands behind his head. "I told you from day one, I didn't kill her."
"Do you know who did?"
He made a face. "If I did, don't you think I would have told somebody? I mean, she and I, were, you know, done, but that doesn't mean I wanted her dead. Not like that. No one deserves to be slowly bled to death." He stared at her. "What makes you think I'm that kind of person?"
She hated to admit it, but Billy was right. She had no reason to think he was that kind of person. A bust on a minor marijuana charge a few years back, a couple of speeding tickets, and the fact that he had slept with the deceased didn't make him a killer. She was grasping at straws here. "Okay, Billy. You can go. Thanks for coming in. We appreciate how cooperative you've been."
He go
t up, scratching his shaggy head of hair. "Yeah, right."
"Hey, Billy."
"Yeah?" He turned back.
"You weren't at work last night and no one there knew where you were. You mind telling me?"
He shrugged. "I might have a new job, but I was keeping it under wraps. Something, you know, better. Better money and benefits."
She nodded. "Great. Where?"
"The hospital. A janitor to start with, but I'm thinking, maybe, some kind of technician or something. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a doctor."
"I didn't even know they were hiring at the hospital."
"Well, they're not really, but I've got a good friend there. He put a word in for me. It's who you know."
Claire gave a wave and Billy walked out. Robinson walked in and closed the door. "Your daughter around?" he asked.
Claire didn't like the look on his face. "In the break room." She rose out of her chair. "Why?"
He patted his perspiring forehead with a folded white handkerchief. "I need to talk with her."
She started around her desk. "You want me to—"
"Chief. I think it's better if I handle this." He met her gaze, his face unsmiling as he tucked the handkerchief into the back pocket of his stretch-fit polyester pants.
Claire's heart gave a little trip. She eased back into her chair. "She's in the break room. Walt, if she needs a lawyer—"
"Don't let your cart get ahead of your horse." He held up a meaty hand. "I just need to ask her a couple of questions. That's all."
"So Chain had something to say?"
"We talked."
Her heart was hammering in her chest. "You like him for this?"
He made a noncommittal shrug. "Too soon to tell. You said you wanted me to be thorough." He paused. "Did you know he's been living alone for some time? He's eighteen now, just going to be a senior in high school next month, but he's on his own. I guess nobody at the school picked up on it. I know we didn't down at the Boys' and Girls' Club."
She'll Never Live Page 10