Forever Mine (21 page)

“Has anyone figured out for sure if he sent the flowers?” She avoided using Dave’s name as speaking it had left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Ben sank into the opposite chair. Weariness clouded his eyes, and his shoulders slumped under his jacket. For the first time, she realized how much an investigation sapped a policemen’s strength. She could barely hold up her head, a reminder of her own depleted energy.

“Allie… listen…” He began then shook his head.

From his pained expression, she gathered the gesture was not meant as the answer to her question. What was he hiding from her? Certainly, something serious. Whatever Lt. Chase had shared with him and Detective Thompson.

“You know they were from him.” Her forceful tone demanded an answer however disturbing it might be.

“Yes. There’s no doubt.” He got up from the chair, walked to the window, and gazed into the night. He pressed his fingers into the back of his neck and kneaded the muscles. Finally, he turned, and she saw the depth of exhaustion in his eyes. “Dave leaves a small heart with the words Forever Mine printed on it, on the bodies of his victims.”

“My God.” Allie dragged in a breath and couldn’t seem to expel it. Her hands curled into tight fists. It took several moments before she said, “Like on the card included with the flowers I received.”

Ben nodded. “Unless proved wrong, the supposition is Dave got hold of a credit card, belonging to a woman named Jordan Weeks. He used it to place the order. From what we’ve already pieced together, there’s no other explanation.”

“This woman, the one whose card was used…has anyone found out if she’s safe?”

“There’s nothing concrete yet. The Red Bluff police are investigating her whereabouts. They’ll keep in close touch.”

“He sent the flowers from Red Bluff?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

The sickening sensation that gripped Allie’s stomach deepened. The men were in California. Red Bluff was only five to six hours north of the Bay Area by car.

“It might take some time before we get any further information. Let’s wait and see how things shake out. At least we have his location as of yesterday morning. Thompson’s downstairs. If you like, I can stay longer.”

Allie rose and came around to where he stood. “No. No, you should go home. It’s way past midnight. You must be tired.”

Less than three feet separated them. He took a step closer, and she read something in his expression that said he wanted to reach out to her, as he had once before, to lessen the shock. Emotionally and physically drained, she wanted nothing more than to sink against him, feel his arms around her. However, Thompson was in the house, so she fought back the urge. They stood facing each other for what seemed a long time. Then Ben produced a wan smile, stepped away and turned toward the doorway. When he reached the opening, he swung back toward Allie.

“I’ll see you at noon.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here.”

“Remember, no one will ever get past Thompson or me. That’s a promise.”

Allie believed he meant it. She also believed capturing Dave was going to take some extraordinary police work and, judging by the results so far, a lot of luck. She prayed hers was not about to run out.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Before heading home, Ben decided to make a quick stop at Taraval Station. On the way, he pulled over to the curb where Goodwill maintained a drive-by donation box. Since he seldom had an overabundance of clothes, he hadn’t thought recently about donating any of his things to the needy. Now, he slammed the gearshift into park, popped the trunk and exited the car. The tie Danielle had bought for him lay where he’d tossed it onto the floor of the trunk. He scooped it up and dropped it through the Goodwill slot. If he were driving straight home, he might have been tempted to add the shirt, too. He wondered if chucking the tie was a first step toward kicking loose from the past and came up with a big maybe.

He swung the car into the nearly empty lot adjacent to the station house, killed the engine, but didn’t exit immediately. The last remnants of Allie’s perfume, however subtle, still lingered inside the car. Clueless as to the chemicals that composed the fragrance, he only knew the scent gave a pleasant rush to his olfactory sense in much the same way the sight and sound of her gave a similar bump to his other senses. Early in the stakeout, he’d noticed her looks and not just from an official perspective. But nothing prepared him for Allie up close, wearing a backless gown. An image of her floated into his mind and brought a broad smile. It also brought a little physical action in another part of his body. He quickly killed it. Sitting outside a police station with half a hard-on made him feel stupid.

He waited a few more seconds before dragging his tired body out from behind the wheel and heading into the building.

Since it was well past midnight, only the desk sergeant was there to greet him. Back in the squad room, where he and Thompson shared desk space in a corner area, Ben found a lone detective. Murchison, a veteran of twenty-plus years, sat poring over a sheaf of papers spread out in the pool of light from his desk lamp. The ever-present smell of burnt coffee soured the stuffy air.

“You’re working late.”

Murchison turned away from his computer screen. “I’m just playing catch up. Spent the last half of my shift sorting out who shot who earlier tonight. A fight started in a club South of Market and spilled out onto the street.” The detective rubbed the side of his face. “The hours stretch out longer, but it never gets any easier does it?”

“Not in my experience.”

Ben shrugged out of his jacket and slid onto his chair. Before doing anything else he pulled back his shoulders and worked his sore muscles, seeking to relieve the cramp between his shoulder blades. His neck creaked, a reminder his job was aging him long before his time, and his body ached as if he’d just run a marathon. Yet, he’d barely moved more than a few feet in any direction all night. Once again, he promised himself to find time to haul out his bike and head over to Golden Gate Park for some meaningful exercise.

He found the envelope Lt. Chase had left for him and tore it open. A dozen or so copies of the pencil sketch the artist had drawn of Barnett spilled out. Ben pushed all but one aside and studied the drawing. From the description given by the Seattle police, Dave was fair-haired and blue-eyed. A photo would be more helpful in making an accurate identification if and when Ben ran into the subject. Then again, Dave might have changed his physical appearance. If he was smart, and Ben had little reason to doubt his intellect, he’d have made some adjustment. After all, his fingerprints were all over the interior of the car of a dead woman in Seattle. Now, every cop on the West Coast, was on the alert for him.

But it hadn’t stopped him from killing another woman. The sick, arrogant prick.

Ben grabbed a pencil from the coffee can where he now stowed such items and started fooling around with the sketch, adding a mustache, which made a slight change in appearance. He pulled a second sketch closer and traced in a lightly shaded beard that might have resulted from skipping a shave for a few days. To a third sketch, he made the addition of both the beard and mustache. Then he placed the three altered sketches side-by-side. He carefully studied each but still wasn’t satisfied.

Opening his desk’s center drawer, he rummaged through pens, pencils and the motley assortment of useless articles he’d collected over the years. To celebrate their engagement, Danielle had given him a richly tooled leather pencil and pen holder with his initials embossed in gold leaf on the front. It was as out of place in a squad room as a tuxedo in a pool hall. If it were up to him, he would have tossed it shortly after opening the gift box. Instead, he passed the organizer on to his niece once his engagement ended.

“You know if we have any felt tipped pens or colored pencils around here?” he called to Murchison.

“Funny you should ask. I keep a set but haven’t used them lately. What colors do you need?” Murchison opened a drawer and fingered through the contents.

“Yellow and blue if you have them. Maybe you’d better add a brown, too.”

More scrounging produced a box of colored pencils. “You can hang onto them. I’ll let you know if I ever need them.” Murchison wheeled his chair closer to Ben and handed over the box. He indicated the sketches. “That your suspect?”

“Yeah.”

Ben dumped a few pencils onto his desk. The points were worn but adequate. He used the yellow to color in the hair then penciled-in the beard on each face. On one sketch, he lengthened the hair on the sides of the head and behind the ears. The final step was to change the eye color to blue. He couldn’t think of any other changes the man could make except for the addition of glasses. Since he suspected Dave considered himself Mr. Cool, Ben penciled in what advertisers considered the latest innovations in eyewear.

“What’s he wanted for?” Murchison asked.

“At least two murders we know of and probably more. There are also missing women. Some of them might be tied to him. The latest suspected victim lives up in Red Bluff.” Ben filled Murchison in on the case. “An early victim in Seattle managed to escape. Lucky for her she had pepper spray in her purse. Later, she read a newspaper article about a missing woman in the area. She recognized the man in the accompanying sketch as the person, who’d tried to abduct her and called the cops. The woman who lives in Red Bluff might not have been as fortunate. Police there are searching for her now.”

“I wish you luck. He sounds like one bad ass dude who should be taken off the streets.”

“Preferably, in a body bag,” Ben said.

Murchison returned to his desk, and Ben continued his touchups. Since eyewitness descriptions weren’t always accurate, he began to make slight adjustments to the nose and ears on yet another sketch. Slightly wider nostrils and larger ears gave it a somewhat different appearance. On a fifth sketch, he made a minimal change to the eyes. Although his efforts were one step beyond doodling, he thought the changes might prove helpful in the days ahead. He didn’t need his policeman’s instinct to tell him Dave had every intention of showing up in San Francisco, and soon.

He returned everything to the envelope. The squad room, dimly lit at this late hour, showed its age, and he wondered about the last time anyone had noticed it needed a fresh coat of paint. No improvements had ever been done during his tenure. He leaned back in his chair, raised his bent arms and interlocked his fingers, making a headrest of sorts out of them. He closed his eyes but only for a brief moment. Be a hell of a thing to fall asleep at his desk. Still, he couldn’t seem to find the impetus to head home. Nothing was there to greet him except dead air and the emptiness of silence. It occurred to him he’d either never cared or never noticed. So why did it hit like a punch to the solar plexus tonight? Maybe because, for the first time in a long while, he was willing to admit to himself that his apartment served as little more than a place to sleep. It held no memories, mementoes or anything of great value. If or when the Big One struck, and the walls caved in, he’d suffer no major loss.

He pushed himself up and grabbed his jacket off the chair back. It was long past a time to head home —whether he wanted to go there or not. Also, maybe it was time to question what had suddenly brought about this change in his attitude. His barely discernible laugh told him he probably wouldn’t have to think too hard.

Yeah, he was pretty sure he already knew the answer, and she came wrapped in a sexy red, backless evening gown.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Allie awoke early on Sunday morning. The clock on her computer desk read 7:46, which meant she’d had less than six hours sleep. The encroaching deadline necessitated she spend long hours working on the clothes in spite of the shock of discovering the flowers the night before.

Many times more horrifying than the discovery was the knowledge that a credit card belonging to a missing woman, Jordan Weeks, had been used to pay for them. Had Ms. Weeks met with foul play? According to Ben, the police were still searching, but because of her connection to Dave, the authorities in Red Bluff suspected the worst.

After a quick breakfast of cereal and fruit, she headed downstairs to put the final touches on the bridal gown, one of the required elements of the competition. Over the years, she had hired a woman to stitch the intricate beading onto her formal designs. This time, as per Allie’s instructions, the woman had applied a perfect, intricate pattern of tiny crystal beads to the garment, which added just the right touch of elegance. Allie usually adhered to classic lines for her bridal gowns. This one especially pleased her from the off-the-shoulder satin bodice to the regal sweep of the long skirt.

Focused on her work, she was unaware the backdoor had opened and closed. In order to make a last inspection of the hem, Allie sat on the floor cross-legged with a tape measure and pins. Her heart suddenly lurched when a pair of brown laced shoes and several inches of sharply creased tan slacks appeared before her. She dropped the hem, and her eyes shot upward.

“Ben! I didn’t hear you come in.” Her breath caught on the relief of seeing him, and she almost swallowed the last two words. After a few moments, her heartbeat regulated.

“Sorry I startled you.”

“That’s okay. Everything has me on edge lately.” There seemed no need to elaborate.

He nodded his understanding.

“Either you’re early today or Detective Thompson has nodded off at his post,” she said though she very much doubted Thompson had given in to the final exhausting hour. She’d always found him alert whenever she’d ventured upstairs.

“You’re right. I’m early. Traffic was light coming from the Height.”

Allie checked her watch. Twenty minutes of twelve. “Isn’t it usually this time of day?”

“Still, I should have warned you, or at least called out to you from the garage. Sorry.”