Cold Judgment (16 page)

CHAPTER 22

By the time they got back to the house, it was past midnight, but Debra and Mac were too keyed up to sleep. It seemed as if Nora's escape had provided them with the energy they had been missing for the past few days. Debbie put her favorite collection of Christmas music on the stereo and turned on the Christmas tree lights.

“Let's have hot chocolate with brandy,” she suggested. “I'll make it if you'll start a fire in the fireplace.”

Mac grinned. He didn't see how Debbie could possibly swallow another thing after dinner at the Camelot. She had ordered prime rib with all the trimmings, Yorkshire pudding, creamed spinach, a baked potato with sour cream, chives, and butter. And amaretto mousse pie for dessert. Debbie looked small and fragile, but she ate like a truck driver. Mac had no idea where she could put all that food. She had even finished the last of his porterhouse and he was absolutely stuffed.

A moment later Debbie was rattling things in the kitchen. Mac carried a couple of logs over to the fireplace and put them on top of the kindling he had arranged on the grate. He crinkled up sheets of last Sunday's newspaper and tucked them in strategic places under the logs. Then he struck a match and hoped that he'd remembered to open the flue.

The paper caught fire immediately. It blazed and spread to the kindling. Flames licked up around the logs and they started to scorch. The smoke went straight up the chimney and Mac grinned. The flue was open.

As the fire began to crackle cheerfully, Mac found himself singing along with the Christmas music on the stereo. He grinned self-consciously. If anything could drive Debbie away, it was his singing. Mac had never been able to carry a tune. His grade-school music teacher, Mrs. Porter, had practically begged him not to sing at school Christmas programs. He had no musical talent at all, but Mac loved music as a nonperformer. He did his singing in the shower every morning. The sound of the water drowned out his voice and he pretended that he was Pavarotti, belting out Italian operas behind the pebble-textured sliding glass doors.

“That sounds nice, Mac.” Debbie carried in cups of steaming hot cocoa and set them down on the table by the couch. “I like to hear you sing.”

Mac shook his head. She must love him a lot. Or maybe she was tone deaf, too. Theirs was a match made in heaven. They could even sing duets in the shower.

“Let's build a snowman outside that window.” Debbie perched on the arm of a chair and sipped her hot chocolate. “It's not really Christmas without Frosty the Snowman.”

“Now?” Mac glanced at his watch. “It's almost one in the morning.”

“That's a good time to build a snowman.” Debbie grinned at him. “You don't have anything better to do, do you?”

Mac could think of quite a few activities that appealed to him more, like nuzzling her left earlobe or kissing her neck. He almost told her it was a crazy idea, but she looked so eager, he hated to disappoint her. They'd be safe enough in the yard as long as they stayed together. They had a choice, the way Mac saw it. They could live in terror, huddled behind locked doors like animals in a trap. Or they could take reasonable precautions and keep on living as normally as possible. Building a snowman at one in the morning wasn't exactly normal, but it might be fun. It was certainly a switch from what he'd had in mind.

“You missed your calling, Debbie. You should have been a cruise director.” Mac drained his cup and got up from his comfortable seat on the couch.

“We don't have lumps of coal for his eyes so we'll have to use onions.” Debbie jumped up and headed for the kitchen. “I've got one carrot left for his nose. Find an old stocking cap or something for his head. And a broom for him to carry.”

The wind had died down and the night was crystal clear. The light shining through the picture window reflected on the freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful outside, now that the snow had stopped falling. The cold, crisp air stung the inside of Mac's nose and his breath puffed out in frozen clouds as he made a snowball and rolled it in the unbroken snow by the fence.

Debbie started in the opposite corner of the yard. They met in the middle, pushing their growing balls of snow.

“That's enough, Debbie. Mine has to be bigger for the base.”

Mac kept his voice down until he remembered that there was no one home at the Drevlows' next door. They had gone to visit their daughter in Florida. And Mrs. Urbanski was as deaf as a post when she took off her hearing aid at night. They could make as much noise as they liked and no one would complain.

Mac tried to lift his snowball, but it was too big. He ended up pushing it over to the spot in front of the window. Debbie's was smaller and he managed to lift it and place it on top.

“Now all we need is a small one for the head. Get the rest of that stuff together and hand it to me when I'm ready.”

Mac made a snowball and rolled it around the base of the snowman. The snow was exactly the right consistency. It stuck to the ball and left empty paths where he rolled it. Blades of frozen grass stuck up in the bare spots. When the snowball was big enough, Mac lifted it into place.

“The eyes, please?”

Debbie handed him the onions, one at a time, and Mac dug little sockets for them. They looked ridiculous until he shoved in the carrot.

“Put on his cap and scarf. I'll get some twigs for his arms.”

Mac snapped two long twigs off the lilac bush. He shoved them into the middle snowball and nodded. Frosty looked pretty good to him.

“What do you think?” He turned to see Debbie packing another snowball. “Hey, Debbie. We're finished. What's that for?”

Debbie grinned and drew back her arm. “For you!”

Mac ducked and the snowball sailed harmlessly past his head. Debbie had been busy while he'd been getting the twigs. She had a stockpile of snowballs, all ready to throw.

She looked very fierce as she threw another one. Mac laughed. Debbie had bitten off more than she could chew. He'd been the undisputed snowball king of Whitney Elementary School.

“You can't win!” Mac shouted in warning. “Give up, Debbie. I'm an expert. You're insane if you take me on!”

A snowball flew past Mac's ear and Debbie laughed. “We dislike the use of that word. ‘All people who behave strangely are not insane.'”

“Fritz Feld to Katherine Hepburn in
Bringing Up Baby
. Nineteen thirty-eight. All right, Debbie, but don't say I didn't warn you!”

She was getting closer. Debbie was throwing snowballs, one right after the other, the old shotgun approach. Mac ducked and packed his own pile of snowballs. If he had time, he'd build a fort, but Debbie's aim was definitely improving. He whizzed a couple over her head to keep her busy and laughed out loud as she scrambled for cover behind the blue spruce in the corner of the yard.

Mac ran a few feet and stopped to peg one right at the bottom of the tree. That would keep her in position. He zigzagged around the lilac bush and splattered another in the same spot. She was forced to lie low now, cut off from her ammunition. He could imagine her frantically packing more snowballs as she crouched behind the tree.

Only a few feet to go. Mac sprinted across the open space and came up behind her, a sneak attack from the rear. Debbie squealed and came up fighting, snowballs in both hands. “No fair!”

She tried to throw them, but he had her now. Mac pushed her back into the snowbank and fell full-length on top of her.

“Give up?”

“Never!”

The more Debbie struggled, the deeper they sank into the fluffy snowbank. The weight of his body pressed her down until they were both below the crust of the snow. Mac laughed as he pinned both of her hands with one arm and trickled snow down her collar with the other.

“Ready to quit now?”

He could tell she was considering it. Snow down the collar was a great persuader.

Debbie moved suddenly and he almost lost his balance. She was trying for an upset.

“Oh, no, you don't!”

Mac laughed as she twisted to the side and attempted to flip him over. Their legs were tangled together and he got his on top to pin her. She was amazingly strong for such a little girl. Then he found the zipper of her jacket and pulled it down.

Debbie gasped in shock as he pulled up her sweater. Mac knew he wasn't playing fair, but snowball fights called for ungentlemanly tactics.

“No! Mac . . . stop!”

Her body looked like it was carved of white marble in the cold, pale moonlight. Mac reached out to pick up a fistful of snow and grinned at her fiendishly.

“Oh, no! Mac! Don't you dare!”

“Say uncle?”

“I'll die first!”

The snow was starting to melt in his glove and it dripped down on Debbie's smooth warm skin. She sputtered and wiggled, trying to slide out from under him. Mac had never seen anything more beautiful than her breasts in the moonlight.

“Give up, Debbie?”

He heard his voice shake and he swallowed hard as he stared down at her.

Her eyes were enormous in the dim moonlight.

“No!” She gave a little smile and tossed her head. Her voice teased him a bit, she was so sure of herself. “You won't do it, Mac. I know you won't. You'll be a nice guy and let me go.”

Mac grinned as he opened his glove and let the snow trickle down. There was an astonished expression on her face that was almost comical as he reached out for another handful and rubbed it deliberately all over her body.

“You . . . you rat!” Her squeal of betrayal was loud in his ears.

Mac laughed. “If you mean
dirty
rat, it's one of Cagney's lines.” Mac pulled off his glove and covered her breast with his warm fingers. “Of course movie historians claim he never actually said it. There's some controversy about the whole thing. Evidently Cagney can't recall if he did or he didn't.”

Debbie made a small sound as Mac's lips took the place of his fingers. The tension in her body changed as he kissed and nuzzled, warming her cold body with his mouth. Then she was straining toward him, crying out at the heat of his lips and tongue.

She threw her arms around his neck as he picked her up and carried her toward the house. She wouldn't let go, even when he undressed her by the fire and laid her down on the soft rug in front of the hearth. The flickering heat of the fire matched the warmth in her eyes as he joined her, their skin still chilled from the cold night air.

They didn't speak. There was no need. Their bodies grew warm and then hot from the passion that blazed inside. She gave a glad cry as he entered her and then, when they were glowing and exhausted with love, she whispered softly in his ear.

“I give up, Mac. You won.”

Mac grinned down at her and brushed his fingers across her toasty skin.

“No, honey. Let's call it a tie.”

CHAPTER 23

Debbie snapped off the radio by the bed and yawned. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window and it looked deceptively warm outside. Not even the prospect of another winter storm could dampen her spirits today. She snuggled back down under the covers and hugged Mac tightly. She felt wonderful!

“Blizzard tonight?” Mac's voice sounded sleepy as he hugged her back. “We'd better stock up on some staples today.”

“We don't have to get up this early, do we? It's only seven in the morning.”

Their bodies fit together perfectly. Debbie snuggled so close that the hair on Mac's chest tickled her nose.

“I have to call the station for an update.” Mac kissed the inside of her arm. “But that can wait until later.”

“Would you believe I forgot all about it?” Debbie sighed happily. “I don't think anything can get me down today. Not even the mystery killer.”

“Maybe we ought to help him out a little.” Mac grinned and pulled her over on top of him. “We could save him the trouble and screw ourselves to death.”

 

 

“Mom?” Trish ran into the kitchen. “You know the play we saw last night? The actress that got replaced is dead! I just heard it on the news.”

Kay dropped the egg she was holding back into the carton and raced to the den behind Trish. Charles's breakfast could wait. Nora couldn't be dead!

A commercial was blaring from the television. Kay stood in front of the set and stared at the Pillsbury Doughboy doing his antics. “Nothing says lovin' like bakin' from the oven, and Pillsbury says it best.” Her mind whirled. Trish must have heard the name wrong. Kay didn't want to consider what it would mean if Nora were dead.

Bill Moore's face filled the screen. His expression was somber.

Kay snapped off the television. She couldn't bear to hear any more. Nora was dead. And it wasn't a heart failure, like Bill Moore said. Kay knew the truth. Nora had been murdered.

“Mom?” Trish took her arm. “Are you all right?”

“Oh . . . yes, dear.” Kay swallowed hard. “Nora . . . Miss Stanford . . . was a good friend of mine. It's a shock, that's all. A terrible shock.”

“Maybe you should sit down or something.” Trish looked worried. “You're shaking.”

“No, I . . . I have to call some people I know, honey.” Kay took a deep breath. “Can you finish making Daddy's breakfast?”

“Sure, Mom.” Trish started for the kitchen. When she reached the door she turned back and frowned. “Will we still go to Grandma's today? You don't have to stay for the funeral or anything, do you, Mom?”

“No. I can't stay!” Her voice was full of panic and Kay fought for control. She didn't want to scare Trish.

“We'll leave right after the fashion show, honey. No change of plans. Now hurry and make Daddy's breakfast. And, honey? Don't mention this to Daddy. I'll tell him later, when we're on the road.”

Kay sat by the phone and fought down her panic. They should have gone to the police after all. Nora, Debra, and Mac had all tried to protect her. Their first concern was for her and for Charles's career, and now Nora was dead. Like Jerry. And Greg. And Father Marx.

It was her fault! Kay lowered her head and sobbed. Charles's political career seemed insignificant when it was weighed against Nora's life. She had been selfish and now Nora was dead. There was no way she'd ever forgive herself.

Kay's hands trembled as she dialed the phone. Nora had tried to run away, but somehow the killer had found out. Did he know about the plans she'd made with Charles? Would he try to murder her when they drove out of town?

She couldn't go. She was putting Charles and the kids in danger. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest, she thought she'd surely faint from the fear. She had to get control of herself or she wouldn't be able to talk to Mac.

The line was busy. Kay listened to the rhythmic beeping for a moment and then she dialed again. She had to catch Mac before he left the house. He would know what to do.

Kay tried to remember everything Mac had told her. The killer had a pattern. He only struck when the victim was alone. Nora had been alone on the train. If Elena had been with her, she might still be alive.

The panic lessened as Kay began to think clearly again. She was leaving with Charles and the kids. That would protect her. She'd make sure someone was with her every second until they left. Less than six hours from now, she'd be gone. Then she'd be safe at last!

“Debbie?” Mac turned from the phone and motioned to her. “Hurry and get ready. We'll leave for Kay's house in ten minutes.”

Nora was dead! Debra's legs carried her toward the bedroom. She knew she should hurry because Kay needed them, but she couldn't seem to move any faster. She supposed she was in shock.

She stopped at the bedroom doorway. The room was washed with sunlight, but suddenly she was terrified to step over the threshold. She remembered feeling this way as a child, trembling as she went up the stairs to bed, dreading that moment of paralyzing fear before she snapped on the light in her dark bedroom.

This was ridiculous. It was broad daylight. She knew she didn't have time to panic now. She had to hurry and get ready.

Debra forced her trembling legs forward, away from Mac and safety. She could still hear his voice, comforting Kay on the phone. That helped a little. She glanced toward the shower and shuddered. The scene from
Psycho
flashed through her mind. Norman Bates with the knife, stabbing through the shower curtain. Blood mingling with the water that swirled down the drain.

She turned on the water and took a deep breath. At least Mac's shower had glass doors. The image from
Psycho
was not quite as vivid without the slashed shower curtain.

Debra shivered as she slipped off her robe. She closed the bathroom door and locked it. She wasn't sure if the locked door made her feel better or worse. She was either safe or trapped, depending on circumstances. She didn't have the time to think it out right now.

The water was hot, but nothing could warm her chilled body. Debra shivered under the steaming spray. She was numb with fear. The soap slipped out of her trembling fingers and she finally left it on the rack in the shower caddy. She'd rub the washcloth over the top of the bar. It would work almost as well.

She hurried through her shower as fast as she could and stepped out on the bath mat. Her face was very white in the steamy mirror as she dried off and wrapped herself in a towel. She had her hand on the doorknob when she realized she was afraid to leave the bathroom.

“Mac?”

Her voice was filled with terror as she called to him loudly. Someone was moving around in the bedroom. What would she do if it wasn't Mac?

“Hurry up, Debbie. We'll get coffee at Kay's.”

It was Mac. Debra unlocked the bathroom door and rushed out. She threw herself into his arms.

“Psycho.”
Mac nodded. “I thought about it, too. Get dressed, honey. I've got another call to make before we can leave.”

How could he be so calm? Debra's hands were still shaking as she dressed. She left her wet towel on the bedroom floor where it fell. She'd pick it up later. Right now all she wanted was to be close to Mac.

Mac was just hanging up the phone as she came into the kitchen. He slipped his arm around her and hugged her hard.

“There's a flight leaving for San Diego at noon. Call the paper, then call your cousin, honey. Tell her to meet you at the airport.”

He wanted her to leave! Debra started to tremble again as the panic set in. He really wanted her to leave!

“I'm staying with you.”

Her voice was shaking, but her mind was made up. There was no way she'd leave without him.

“Debbie . . . honey!” His arms folded around her. “Can't you see it's the best thing to do? You'll be safe in San Diego.”

“As safe as Nora was in Chicago?”

Mac winced. Debbie had a point. He had done everything in his power to protect Nora, but it hadn't helped. He was positive that no one had followed them to the train station. And he'd checked every person boarding the train. Yet the killer had struck again and he didn't know how.

“Oh, God! I'm sorry, Mac.” Debra put her arms around him. “I know you did your best, but the killer got Nora anyway. I . . . I don't want to go. The only place I feel safe is with you!”

“Debbie . . . don't cry.” Mac pulled her even closer. Her whole body was trembling. Debbie was terrified. He had to protect her somehow.

Mac thought about it as he held her tightly. The tunnel at the station had been deserted when he'd taken Nora to the train. The killer had had the perfect chance to murder them both, but nothing had happened. It confirmed his theory that the killer struck only one victim at a time. That meant Debbie was relatively safe as long as they stuck together.

There must be a reason the killer had passed him by last night. There had been plenty of opportunities to hit him. Mac had stood alone on the platform as the train pulled out. And he had walked alone through the dark post office parking lot to his car. There had to be a reason why the killer hadn't taken advantage of the situation.

The killer might have known that he was a cop and assumed he was armed. Perhaps he was afraid of Mac's trained reactions to danger. It was a damn good thing no one knew about his problem with guns!

Whatever the reason, Debbie might be right in refusing to run. It was possible that she'd be safer sticking close to him.

Mac looked down at Debbie's face. God knows he didn't want her to go. There were so many selfish reasons to keep her here. His own personal safety could be threatened if she left. Then he'd be alone and the killer could decide to take a chance. If he got killed, the police might never solve the case. Mac knew he was the only one who had all the inside information. It would take poor Curt Holt months to put it all together, and by then it would be too late.

“Mac?” Debbie stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “You don't really want me to go, do you?”

“No. I want you next to me every minute.”

He bent his head to kiss the tip of her nose. It felt good holding Debbie in his arms. He wanted them to stay this way for the rest of their lives. Mac just hoped that would be longer than the killer intended.

 

 

Curtis Holt sat at his desk. There was a box of Kleenex man-size tissues next to his elbow and a thermos of hot lemonade in the bottom desk drawer. His winter cold was even worse today. Marge's vitamin C therapy hadn't worked worth a damn.

He still hadn't made any sense out of Mac's call this morning. It had been a simple matter to get the report on Nora Stanford's death from the teletype and read it to Mac. But then Mac had dropped the bombshell. He'd asked Curt to call the Chicago police and tell them he'd received an anonymous tip that Miss Stanford's death was a homicide. And Mac hadn't been willing to tell him any more than that—just start the investigation rolling with the Chicago PD and keep his name out of it.

Of course he'd made the call. Even if it was a bad tip, Chicago had to be notified. Then he read over the dispatch again. Death from natural causes with no sign of foul play. The Chicago police listed Stanford DOA at Union Station with her compartment locked from the inside. Who had tipped Mac off and why?

Something told Curt there was a connection between Nora Stanford's death and the other murders. Assuming that Mac's tip was right, what tied Miss Stanford to the priest and the dentist?

Curt reached for a Kleenex and sneezed. He had read over all the paperwork again and the only known connection was Mac. Mac had known Feldman and he had discovered Marx's body at the church. And now he was interested in Nora Stanford.