She picked them up again.
She held the pieces together.
The words were in Dal's handwriting:
Elizabeth Lassin, 522, Altina.
Could be anything.
Could be her.
***
Altina, she knew, was up in the Highland Estates. A plush area where she wouldn't mind living herself someday.
Lots of fancy cars. Cadillacs, Rolls Royces, Mercedes.
'My God,' she muttered.
Then she smelled burning sausage.
Connie looked up the circular driveway. The door of the two-car garage was shut. Somehow, she had to see inside.
She walked up the driveway. The house seemed deserted, but she kept her eyes on the windows. If anyone looked out, she planned to go to the front door with a story.
I'm a new neighbor, thought I'd drop by to get acquainted… Sounded perfectly plausible.
Of course, it wouldn't work if the woman recognized her. If it's the gal who posed as Pete's wife… But Connie didn't think it was her. The woman last night had seemed older. Her hair was different, too: darker and longer.
She reached the garage. Standing close to its door, she couldn't see the house windows-or be seen from them.
Bending down, she gripped the handle and pulled. The door didn't budge.
A pathway led around the comer of the garage. She went to it, and looked along the side. No window.
But maybe in back.
She walked up the path, stepping lightly from one flagstone to the next. The ground was covered with redwood chips like the school playground when she was a kid. Their sweet aroma was the same. She remembered the squeak of swing chains, the yelling of kids on the monkey bars, the smell of her lunch box. All so vivid. If she closed her eyes, she could…
She had to keep them open.
She came to the end of the garage, and stopped. Crouching, she peered around the comer.
A swimming pool. Plenty of outdoor furniture. No people.
She took a step forward, and looked at the back wall of the garage. It had a window. Sidestepping between the wall and a row of oleander bushes, she made her way to the window. She cupped her hands around her eyes, and looked through the glass.
Except for light from the single window, the garage was dark. Off to the right, she saw the vague form of a car. Maybe a Mercedes. Maybe not. To be certain, she would need a better look.
She had to break in.
The idea made her stomach go tight and cold.
I can do it,
she told herself.
After a mugging, what's a little breaking and entering?
She stayed close to the garage wall, and sidestepped toward the house. As she was about to step out from behind an oleander, a movement caught her eye.
At the far end of the pool was a woman.
Connie stared, holding her breath.
The woman was walking slowly away, taking small steps, holding herself rigid as if in pain. She had long, dark hair like the woman last night. In the sun, it was a rich, red-brown. She wore a white, string bikini. When she turned at the pool's corner, Connie saw her front. She was matted with bandages: bandages on her face, her neck, her chest and belly, her thighs. Her skin was blotched with bruises, her face swollen and blue.
As Connie watched, she walked along the other side of the pool. She was nearly even with Connie when she stopped at a chaise longue. She untied her bikini and let it fall. Then she eased herself onto the chaise and lay back. Her head turned until she faced the house.
Connie stood motionless behind the oleander.
The woman didn't move her head. She lay on her back, arms at her sides, her skin glistening with moisture.
Asleep?
The sunglasses hid her eyes.
Connie didn't dare move.
Finally, the face turned away.
Connie waited a few seconds, then inched back along the garage wall. The woman's head remained turned. At last, Connie reached the comer. She ducked around it, then looked back once more. Apparently, the woman hadn't seen her. She still lay there, naked except for the bandages, facing the back fence.
Connie circled around to the front of the house. Hoping to God the woman was alone, she tried the front door. Locked. She checked the windows along the front of the house. All were shut.
On the far side of the house, a bathroom window stood open. She looked around. The redwood fence was close behind her; if there were neighbors on the other side, they wouldn't see her.
She struggled with the screen, and finally got it off. She pushed the window high, boosted herself up, and climbed in. She tiptoed across the bathroom. When she looked into the bedroom, she almost screamed. She covered her mouth, and stared at the blood-matted carpet beside the bed.
My God, what had happened here? So much blood!
She thought about the woman's bandages. Had all of this come from her? It hardly seemed possible. Even the wall by the bed was splattered with it.
She wanted to get out. Fast. But she'd come this far. She needed to see inside the garage.
She walked swiftly to the sliding glass door. Stepping close to the draperies, she peeked out. The woman was still on her chaise.
Leaving the bedroom, Connie started down a hall-way. She came to other open doors, glanced into the rooms, and saw nobody.
At the rear of the living-room was an enormous picture window with a sliding door at one end. She saw the woman across the pool. On hands and knees, she crept the length of the room, staying behind furniture whenever possible. Then she was in the kitchen. She crawled across its tiles to a door at the far end.
She reached up for the knob. Turned it. Pushed the door open and looked into the dark garage.
She crawled ahead.
The garage was hot and stuffy, and smelled of grease.
She stood up. She pushed the door shut, and walked through the darkness to the car. Feeling along its side, she found a door handle. She opened the door, and the interior light came on.
A Mercedes, all right.
A gray Mercedes.
Leaving the door open for the light, she stepped to the front of the car. She couldn't see the bumper or grill, but the shiny hood showed two small dents. They were enough for her.
She went over to the garage window to see if the woman was still on her chaise. Even as she looked, the woman flinched and sat upright, frowning toward her.
What…?
Oh God, an alarm. The car has a burglar alarm! She'd triggered it when she opened the door! She hadn't heard it, of course-but she should've, should've caught the vibrations!
The woman sprang from the lounger and rushed alongside the pool.
Thoughts darted through Connie's mind. She could make a dash for the front door. Or find the garage door opener and get out that way. Or stand and fight.
That's it. Take the woman out. Bring in the cops. Plenty of evidence now. She knew, from research for an old crime novel, that there'd still be traces of blood on the car.
She shut the car door, pressed her back to the wall by the kitchen door, and waited.
Her heart felt as if it might explode. She blinked sweat out of her eyes.
God, what if I faint?
What if she has a gun?
The door stayed shut.
What's taking her so long?
Connie wiped a hand on her corduroys, and gripped the knob. She slowly turned it. She eased the door open a crack, and looked into the kitchen.
The woman stood at the other end of the kitchen, talking on the telephone.
The telephone. That's what brought her running, not a car alarm.
She stood there naked, dripping sweat, her back to Connie. Then she turned.
Gazing at her mouth, Connie could almost hear the words formed by her tongue and lips.
'Dal, you fucking idiot.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
'Thanks. That's just what I need after everything I've been through.'
'You weren't supposed to get in touch.'
'What can it hurt to call?' Dal asked, swiveling the seat of his stool. 'They didn't tap your phone, for Christsake.'
'What if a cop had picked it up?'
'I was ready for that. I would've pretended to be a magazine salesman.'
'Brilliant.'
'I know. Hey, look, how did it go?'
'I don't think we should discuss it on the phone.'
'That's ridiculous.'
'I'll just say that everything went as planned.'
'Fantastic! Did they check for fing…?'
'Dal!'
'Okay, okay.'
'No, they didn't. By the way, mister.'
'Yeah?'
'I read this morning's paper, did you?'
He knew what was coming. It was the main reason he'd finally decided to call. 'Yes,' he said.
'The woman last night.'
'Yes?'
'Your fiancee.'
'I know.'
'What the fuck was she doing there?'
'I asked her that, myself. This morning, after I read the article. She broke down, said she was lonely with me away and it meant nothing-just a last fling with her old boyfriend.'
'And why'd you lie to me last night? Don't tell me you didn't recognize her.'
'I recognized her. I just… couldn't bring myself to tell you. I was in shock. I couldn't believe it was her.'
'You should've told me.'
'I know. I'm sorry.'
'Don't ever lie to me, Dal.'
'I'm sorry.'
'You can lie your head off to the rest of the world, but save the truth for me.'
'I will. I promise.'
'All right. I take it nothing is up?'
'Huh?'
'She didn't suspect anything?'
'No. She thinks it was related to his job. Someone wanted to get even.'
'Very good.'
'So everything's working.'
'Seems to be.'
'We should get together and celebrate.'
'Sure. Don't call again. Dal, unless there's an emergency.'
'When can we get together?'
'A month, maybe.'
'I don't know if I can stand it.'
'You have to. Bye, now.'
'Hey!'
She hung up.
Dal hadn't mentioned the mugging, yet. But he didn't dare call her back. He'd tell her about it another time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Connie watched her leave the kitchen. She waited a few seconds, then opened the door wider and looked out. No one. She stepped into the kitchen. Through the window, she saw the woman heading back to her chaise.
She hurried to the front door.
Then she was striding up the driveway, breathing deeply of the fresh warm air. She felt as if she'd spent hours caged in that house. So good to be out and free!
Once her car was running, she felt even better.
She drove down the road away from the house, and tried to piece together what she had learned.
Obviously, the woman was Elizabeth. She was the one who lured Pete out of the house, last night. Dal used her car to run Pete down. But what happened to Elizabeth? Why the bandages? Why the blood in the bedroom? Did Dal attack her? That hardly seemed likely.
The bits she'd caught of the phone conversation, with Elizabeth turned away half the time, didn't make much sense.
As she drove out of the hills, she wondered where to go next. She didn't want to return home and spend the rest of the afternoon worrying about Pete.
Go to the police? Tell them what she'd learned? What's the penalty for attempted murder? Not much. Hell, even a life term for first degree murder never amounted to more than fifteen years. So what would they get, three or four? Unless Pete…
No! He's got to live!
She headed for the hospital, getting more nervous with each mile. All the detective work had kept her from dwelling on Pete's condition. Now, she could think of nothing else. Her hands were wet on the steering wheel and she had trouble getting enough breath.
She imagined the worst.
'I'm sorry,' the doctor would say. Just like in the movies. 'We did all we could, but…'
No, no, no!
The doctor had said he was stable.
'Complications.'
Finally, she entered the parking lot. She walked into the hospital on shaky legs. The lobby smelled like floor wax. She ignored the reception desk, and went to an elevator. Her hand felt cold and numb as she pushed the up button. She leaned against the wall to steady herself while she waited.
The elevator came. It was deserted. She stepped inside, and pressed the button for the third floor. When the doors slid shut, she wanted to squat down and hug her belly. She leaned on the wall instead. Her teeth were chattering. She clenched her mouth shut.
The doors opened. She stepped out, and walked to the nurses' station.
A pink-faced woman smiled up at her. 'Yes?'
'I'm here to… Mr Harvey? Is he…?'
'Just a moment, please.' Her eyes lowered to a clipboard.
Connie pressed her knuckles on the desktop to hold herself up.
The nurse smiled. 'Mr Harvey has been taken off the critical list.'