Dream Man (22 page)

Dane reacted instantly, withdrawing from her and sitting up in the same fluid motion. He turned on the lamp and silenced his beeper, briefly glancing at the digital readout. Marlie lay frozen. Without a word he picked up the phone and punched in a number, holding the receiver cradled between his head and shoulder while he began putting on his rumpled clothes. “This is Hollister,” he said tersely. He listened for a moment, then said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Have you called Trammell? Never mind, I’ll do it. Radio back to the patrol officer and tell him to make damn certain the scene is secured.”

He depressed the button and got another dial tone. While he called the second number, Marlie got out of bed and fumbled for her robe. It was twisted, one of the arms turned inside out. Her hands were shaking. but she managed to straighten the garment and wrap herself in it, pulling the belt tight. Dane sat down on the side of the bed and began putting on his shoes.

“We have a victim,” he said quietly into the phone. “I’ll meet you there.” He didn’t glance at Marlie. “It’s 3311 Cypress Terrace.”

Cypress. Her stomach knotted into a cold lump. She had known, but this dispelled the last faint doubt. He hung up the phone and went into the living room, shrugging into his shirt as he walked. Marlie followed him, as silent as a ghost, and stood in the doorway watching as he slipped into his shoulder holster. He tucked the big pistol into place under his left arm.

She didn’t approach him, and he didn’t come to her. He paused by the front door and looked back at her. “Are you all right?” he asked, but there was remoteness in his eyes and his voice, his mind already on the job awaiting him.

“Sure,” she said, burying the terror and pain and loneli-ness deep inside her. She couldn’t allow her weakness to delay him,

“I’ll be back when I can,” he said, and left.

She stood until the sound of his car had died away, then steadily went to the front door and locked it. Next she cleaned up the remains of their pizza, and washed the few dishes that were dirty. When she went back into the living room, she saw her panties in the corner of the couch and picked them up, wadding them in her hand.

She was very tired, but sleep seemed impossible. The delight of the night had been destroyed by a return of horror. She couldn’t allow herself to think of either right now. She sat down on the couch and quietly watched the minutes of the night tick away, as she held her own vigil.

Lightning flashed in the distance, revealing the underbelly of low, purplish black clouds. It would rain again before morning. Dane drove automatically, clearing his mind of everything. He couldn’t let himself think about Nadine Vinick, or the expectation might lead him to see similarities that weren’t there. He couldn’t think about Marlie, or his concentration would be completely shot. He tried not to anticipate anything about the scene he was about to see, tried not to remember how Marlie had described it. Again, he didn’t want to prejudice himself. He had to see everything clearly. It was still early enough that traffic was fairly heavy. Anxious to reach the exit, he tucked up too close behind a semitrailer. One of the retreads on the rig chose that moment to come apart, throwing up a big road gator that slapped into the front of his car. Cursing, he backed off to a safer distance, but the distraction helped, pulled his mind away from everything he was trying not to think about. It took a little longer than ten minutes to reach 3311 Cypress Terrace. The street was cluttered with the usual assortment of official vehicles and sightseers. Dane got out of the car, studying the bystanders with acute interest, looking for one who seemed familiar. If the same guy had done both women, he might have been at the Vinick scene, too. Nothing; not one of the gawkers triggered a memory. Cypress Terrace was in a slightly more upscale neighbor-hood than the Vinicks had lived in. The houses weren’t bigger, but they were about ten years newer. There was a small, attached carport, and that was where the knot of uniforms had gathered, though one patrolman was guarding the front door, and he hoped another one was at the back.

Freddie Brown and her partner, Worley, were the detec-tives on call that weekend, and they were already there. Freddie detached herself from the group of patrolmen as soon as she saw him. “Hi, doll,”

she said, tucking her hand inside his arm and drawing him to a standstill. “There’s no hurry. Talk to me for a minute.”

If it had been anyone but Freddie, Dane would have shrugged him off. But it was Freddie, and this was her crime scene. She wouldn’t have taken him to the side without a good reason. He looked down at her and lifted an eyebrow in question.

“Word is that you asked to be notified of any female stabbing fatality,” she said. He gave a brief nod, hoping she wasn’t irritated about him horning in on one of her cases. She patted his arm, reassuring him. “I figured you wouldn’t have done that without a damn good reason, so I’ve held the scene for you. We’ll consider it a birthday present.”

“Held the scene?” he repeated, stunned. “You mean no one has gone in?”

“That’s what I mean. The patrolman who found the body deserves a medal. He backed out as soon as he saw her, didn’t touch anything except the doorknob, and secured the area. It’s probably the most pristine crime scene you’ll ever get. Ivan’s on the way.”

“We’ll wait for him,” Dane decided. “Thanks, Freddie How did a patrolman happen to find the body?”

She flipped to her notes. “The victim’s name is Jacqueline Sheets, divorced, no children. Her ex-husband lives in Minnesota. She worked at one of the bigger law firms as a legal secretary, very good at her work. She had made plans to meet a friend for dinner, one of the other legal secretaries. When she didn’t show, the friend tried to call, but there was no answer. Evidently Sheets was normally very punctual, and had recently had some medical problems, so the friend was concerned. She drove over here to check. Sheets’s car is in the carport, there’s a light on, and the television is blaring, but she can’t get anyone to the door. She went to a neighbor’s house and called 911. Patrol Officers Charles Marbach and Perry Palmer were nearby and got here before the emergency crew. They beat on the doors and couldn’t get any response. Officer Marbach forced the lock on the front door, saw the victim immediately when he opened it, and stepped right back out.” She closed the notebook. “The friend’s name is Elizabeth Cline. She’s sitting down in the carport. She caught a glimpse of the body and she’s pretty rattled.”

Another car added itself to the congestion. Dane glanced at it and identified Trammell. Freddie did the same, and looked back at Dane with a wry look. “Now, how about you tell me what’s going on?”

“We want to look for similarities to the Vinick case,” he said quietly. “We think it might be the same perp.”

Her eyes widened, and a look of horror came over her freckled face as the implications hit home. “Oh, shit,” she breathed. “It’s even the same day of the week.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He could just see the headlines about the Saturday Slasher. He wondered what sensational name the newspapers would apply if the time
of
death was put before midnight, making it a Friday murder. The Friday Fucker?

Trammell joined them, resplendent in oatmeal linen slacks and a sky blue silk shirt. His hair was perfectly combed, his exotic face freshly shaved, and there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. Dane wondered how in the name of God he did it.

He brought Trammell up to date on what had happened so far. Freddie asked, “Do you want to question the friend?”

Dane shook his head. “This is your show. All we want is to see the scene.”

“You don’t have to wait for Ivan, you know.”

“I know. I’d just like for him to get it as clean as possible.”

“At a guess, I’d say he’s never going to get one any cleaner.” She patted both of them in that motherly way she had, and returned to the group in the carport.

“It’s a house,” Trammell said unnecessarily. “No cypress trees, but the address is Cypress Terrace. We were on the right track. It’s going to be interesting to see if the television is one of the big-screen models, on a pedestal.”

Dane put his hands in his pockets. “Do we really have any doubt?”

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either. Damn it.”

“I called the lieutenant. He should be here any time.”

Ivan Schaffer arrived, in the crime scene van. He unfolded his long, lanky body from behind the steering wheel as Dane and Trammell walked to meet him.

Ivan wasn’t in a good mood. He scowled at both of them. “I don’t know why I had to personally handle this one. I have good people on duty. Why did Freddie insist that I be here?”

Evidently Freddie had sensed something unusual all the way around, bless her. Dane wondered if her husband would break his nose if he kissed her. “This one’s special,” he told Ivan, helping him unload his kits and equipment. “For one thing, the scene’s untouched. You’re the first person in.”

Ivan halted. “You’re shitting me.” His eyes began to gleam. “That doesn’t happen.”

“It’s happening this time. Don’t expect it again in your lifetime.”

“What do I look like, an optimist? Okay, what’s the second thing?”

Trammell was coolly studying all the murmuring bystand-ers. “The second thing is, we think it was done by the same guy who did Nadine Vinick.”

“Ah, jeez.” Ivan sighed and shook his head. “God, I wish you hadn’t told me that. That’s big trouble, but I guess you already know that.”

“We’d thought about it. Is this all your stuff?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Okay, let’s see what we have.”

Dane called Officer Marbach to go in with them. A patrolman who had done that good a job deserved to be included. Marbach was young, not long out of training, and was pale under his tan. But he was steady as he detailed his actions for them, even telling them the body’s approximate distance from the front door.

“Can the body be seen from the street when we open the door?” Freddie asked, she and Worley having joined them.

Marbach shook his head. “There’s a little entry, with the living room to the right. I had taken one step in before I saw her.”

“Okay. Ivan, it’s your show.”

Ivan opened the door and went in. The rest of them followed, but stopped in the small entry hall and shut the door behind them. The television, tuned to an all-movie channel, was currently showing a Fred-and-Ginger. It was too loud, as if Jacqueline Sheets had been a little hard of hearing. Either that, or the sound had been turned up to drown out her screams. Ivan punched the power button and the screen went to black, filling the room with blessed silence. Dane and Trammell, standing in the entry, looked at the television. It was a thirty-five-incher, very modern and sleek, set on a pedestal. None of them said anything. Ivan silently began his collection ritual. From their viewpoint, only the upper half of the body was visible. She was nude, and her torso looked as if it had been savaged by a wild animal. The pattern of blood completely circled the couch, splattering over walls and carpet, and Dane remembered the odd phrase Marlie had used:
around and around the
mulberry bush.
But it hadn’t been a bush, it had been the couch. Why had she used those words? Had they been something the killer had said, or thought? Had the bastard been
amused
by Jacqueline Sheets’s fight for her life?

The door opened behind them and Lieutenant Bonness came in. He looked at the gore and turned white.

“Oh, Jesus.” The first scene had been more gruesome, but they had looked at it as a onetime deal, unconnected to anything else. This time, however, they knew better. Now they were looking at it as the work of a madman who would do this again and again, murdering innocent women and devastat-ing the lives of their families and friends, until they could stop him. And they knew that the odds weren’t in their favor, serial killers were notoriously difficult to apprehend.

But this time, Dane thought grimly, they had something the killer couldn’t have anticipated. They had Marlie.

Worley said, “Dane, you and Trammell have a look around. You know what you’re looking for.”

“That’s why you and Freddie should do it,” Trammell said. His thoughts had run the same as Dane’s, but then they almost always did. “Just tell us what you find, and then well have a look ourselves.”

Worley nodded. He and Freddie briskly began their methodical search of the house. Ivan summoned the finger-print team, and they began dusting every hard surface with black powder. Soon the house was crowded with people, most of them standing about, some of them actually work-ing. Eventually Jacqueline Sheets’s body was bagged and removed. Dane could hear the clamor of reporters’ voices outside, see the glare of television lights. They wouldn’t be able to keep the lid on it much longer, but he thought nothing much would be made of a second stabbing within a week. If there was a third one, though, no reporter worth his or her salt would let it pass as coincidence. Even if there were no similarities in the cases, there would be enough interest to warrant a “special segment,” whatever the hell that was.

Bonness took Dane and Trammell aside. “If it looks like the same guy did it—”

“He did,” Dane said.

“Everything’s just the way Marlie described it,” Tram-mell added. “Even the type of television set.”

“Any way she could have had any prior knowledge? I know, I know,” Bonness said, holding up his hands. “I was the one who originally thought she could help us, and you guys were the ones who thought she was an accessory, but this is a question that needs to be asked.”

“No,” Dane said. “We established that there was no way she could have been at the crime scene of the first murder, and I was with her last night. She called me when the vision started, and I drove straight to her house.”

“Okay. I want to see everyone in my office tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll go over what we have, anything new that Ivan’s found, set up a task force. I’ll notify the chief, and he can decide when and how much to tell city hall.”

“I hope he holds off,” Dane said. “Information leaks out of city hall like it’s a damn sieve.”