The Way You Look Tonight (11 page)

‘I understand your husband disappeared yesterday afternoon,' Wylie began.

‘Yes. The children and I had gone Christmas shopping around one. The lady next door says Steve left about 2.30, but she's not always reliable.' Wylie's eyebrows lifted. ‘She's ninety-two. Sometimes she gets mixed up or invents stories, but not all the time.'

‘I see. Did she say if your husband left alone?'

‘Yes, she said he was alone.'

‘And none of his things are missing?'

‘Nothing but the clothes he was wearing. And his jacket. And his car, of course.' She did not mention the money gone from Steve's desk.

‘The car was found near the airport early this morning.'

‘Yes,' Deborah said unsteadily. ‘I was told there was blood on the back seat.'

Wylie nodded, writing in his notebook. He showed no shock, no compassion, and Deborah suddenly felt angry with his cold-blooded efficiency. And what was he here for, anyway?

He looked up suddenly. ‘Your husband visited his sister at the nursing home in Wheeling about once every two months, right?'

‘His sister?' Deborah repeated, startled. ‘Yes, he did. But what has that got to do with anything?'

‘He left on Saturdays and spent the night in Wheeling.'

‘Yes. It's a long drive and he liked to see her twice – on Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning.'

‘Did you often accompany him?'

‘No. I only went once, right after we were married. That was seven years ago.'

‘Why didn't you go back?'

‘Steve didn't want me to. He said it was depressing – Emily doesn't move or speak. At least, she doesn't say much, although last night a nurse told me she
does
speak sometimes. Anyway, there were the children. I always stayed home with them.'

‘Did your husband usually call you from Wheeling on Saturday night?'

‘No. Well, he did a few times, but mostly when I was pregnant.'

‘He hasn't called you from Wheeling on a Saturday night for over five years? That's how old your twins are, aren't they? Five?'

Why did Agent Wylie know so much about their family and their routines? ‘Yes, my children are five. They'll be six in April. And he
has
called since their birth.'

‘But not often.'

‘Well, not every time he's gone to see Emily.'

‘Have you ever called him at his motel on those Saturday nights when he's in Wheeling?'

‘Maybe three or four times. Usually he's quite depressed after he's seen his sister – he's not in the mood for chit-chat. Besides, he doesn't always stay in the same place. Mr Wylie, will you
please
tell me why you're asking all this?'

Wylie ignored her, going on with passionless determination. ‘Did your husband go to visit his parents in Wheeling during these trips?'

‘No. He's estranged from his parents. He hasn't seen them for years.'

‘No chance meetings at the nursing home?'

‘Not that I was aware of. The Robinsons know he visits his sister the second Saturday and Sunday of every other month, and they stay away.'

‘What is the reason for this estrangement?'

Deborah hesitated. She resented Wylie's presumptuous manner. What business was it of his why Steve was estranged from his parents? But she responded to the authority in his voice. ‘Emily, Steve's sister, was attacked by a man named Artie Lieber. He'd been the Robinsons' handyman, but he had a bad reputation and they'd fired him when he showed too much interest in Emily.' She realized how stiff she sounded, but she couldn't seem to speak naturally to this cold-eyed man. ‘One weekend they went away and Steve was supposed to be looking out for Emily, only he left the house for a couple of hours. That's when Lieber got to her. She was raped, strangled and beaten.'

‘What were the extent of her injuries?'

‘Lieber hit her in the head with a pipe and she suffered brain damage. At least, I think she did.' Wylie looked at her enquiringly. ‘What I mean is, Steve told me doctors say there was some brain damage, but it wasn't irreparable. They claim her problem is mostly psychological, not physical. It's still the result of the attack, though. But you know all this, don't you?'

‘I'd like to hear it from you.'

Growing angrier and more frustrated by the minute, Deborah glared at him. ‘Well, you've heard it from me. Now I'd like to hear something from you, such as why you're here.'

‘I can't go into that right now.'

Deborah's jaw sagged. ‘You want me to answer all these questions, but I'm not to know why?'

‘I'd appreciate your cooperation.'

‘I will cooperate in any way possible to find my husband, but I don't see how these particular questions are going to help locate Steve. You must already know about Lieber and how he vowed to get even with Steve for giving testimony that put him in jail.'

‘Lieber knows going after your husband would land him back in jail. Why would he risk that?'

‘I don't know. He's crazy, but I don't see how this concerns the FBI.'

‘If that's what happened, and unless, as Ms Levine suggested, Lieber took your husband into another state, it doesn't.'

‘
If
that's what happened? What else
could
have happened?'

‘A lot of other things.'

‘Things that concern the FBI?'

‘Yes.'

‘Like what?' Deborah demanded. ‘Why is the Bureau looking for my husband?'

‘I can't go into that right now.' Wylie frowned, looking at a plant placed on the wide mantel. ‘Is that oleander?'

‘What?'

‘Is that plant an oleander?'

Deborah gazed at him, bewildered. ‘Yes, it is.'

‘Who has the green fingers?'

‘My husband.'

‘Is he particularly fond of oleanders?'

‘Yes, I suppose. They aren't easy to grow in this area. He was proud that he could do it.'

‘I see.'

‘I don't. What on earth does that have to do with—'

‘You've been a great help,' Agent Wylie said abruptly, standing. ‘I may need to talk with you again.'

Deborah's tolerance, which had already reached strained levels, suddenly snapped. ‘I will not answer any more of
your
questions until you answer some of
mine
.'

‘Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs Robinson,' Wylie said calmly, his gaze flat. ‘I'll see myself out.'

Two

Stunned by Wylie's visit, Deborah walked into the kitchen where Barbara and Joe were sitting at the kitchen table. Barbara looked at her expectantly. ‘Well? What did
he
want?'

‘I don't know,' Deborah said quietly. ‘But Joe does.'

Her eyes met Joe's. He glanced down for a moment, tapping his tanned fingers on the table. ‘Joe, you know something we don't?' Barbara asked in a surprised voice.

Joe took a deep breath, and Deborah was afraid he was composing himself to tell a lie. Instead, he looked at her, regret showing in his usually steely eyes. ‘Deborah, you'd better sit down.'

‘I think I'd rather stand.'

‘My mother always said that when someone had bad news to give her,' Joe said absently. ‘Okay. Steve didn't want you to know. But he told Evan and me because he was scared to death. He wanted our help.'

Deborah swallowed. ‘What did he tell you?'

Joe folded his hands, and for the first time Deborah noticed the turquoise ring he wore. It looked American Indian in design and the silver caught the weak winter light coming in through the window behind the table. ‘You've heard of The Dark Alley Strangler.'

Deborah blinked. ‘The Dark Alley Strangler?'

‘The serial murderer?' Barbara asked.

‘Yeah. In the past three years he's murdered eight women in Ohio and Pennsylvania. Last Saturday night he attacked a woman named Sally Yates in Wheeling.'

Barbara had gone completely still, but Deborah continued to look at Joe, baffled. ‘I read about Sally Yates. The last I heard she was in a coma but not expected to live. But I still don't get it. What does all this have to do with Steve?'

‘All the women were murdered within a hundred-mile radius of Wheeling. They were beaten, raped, and strangled, always on weekends when Steve had gone to Wheeling to visit Emily.'

Deborah gaped, then started laughing. ‘Are you telling me that the FBI thinks
Steve
is this Dark Alley Strangler? That's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard! My God, it sounds like something Mrs Dillman might come up with.'

Joe's eyes dropped. ‘An FBI agent came to see Steve Friday morning, Deborah. It seems on Thursday a witness came forward. This person was in a bar named Kelly's, where Sally Yates had been earlier the previous Saturday evening when she was attacked. The witness didn't see the actual attack, but he or she, whatever, saw a man coming out of the alley shortly after Yates was raped and beaten. The man had also been in the bar earlier and now he seemed to be in a real hurry, although he was talking to himself and snickering. The witness didn't know about Yates yet but thought it was all pretty strange – a guy coming out of the alley acting weird – so out of curiosity watched him. He got into a white car. The witness couldn't identify the make but got a partial reading of the West Virginia license plate –
8E-7
.' He raised his eyes. ‘Steve, drives a white Cavalier and his license plate number is
8E-7591
.'

One

Deborah stared at Joe, aghast. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry, her hands cold. Finally she muttered in a feeble voice, ‘You can't be serious.'

‘Wasn't an FBI agent just here?' Joe asked softly.

‘But he could have come for some other reason. Maybe he thought Steve's disappearance involved interstate crime or—'

Joe was shaking his head. ‘No, Deborah, that's not what the Feds think.'

Deborah sank on to the bench across the table from him. The shock made her feel dull-witted. ‘I can't believe this.'

‘Neither can I,' Barbara echoed faintly.

‘Why didn't Steve tell me?' Deborah asked.

‘He was thunderstruck. And scared.'

‘But he told you and Evan.'

‘He thought we could help. Deborah, the evidence against him is circumstantial, but in spite of what we hear in the movies, circumstantial evidence can convict a person.'

Barbara leaned forward, her voice strong and sure again. She was no longer the puzzled friend – she was an attorney. ‘Did this person who claims to have seen a man come out of the alley get a good look at him?'

‘Apparently good enough to identify him as a man who'd been in Kelly's earlier,' Joe said.

‘Why did the witness wait so long to come forward?' Deborah asked.

Joe looked at her. ‘This kind of thing happens all the time. For one reason or another someone doesn't go to the police with what they know. Maybe they have something to hide, or maybe they just don't want to get involved. Then conscience gets the better of them.'

‘And you don't know the witness's name?'

‘The police aren't careless enough to release that information and jeopardize another life. Anyway, this person said the guy was about six feet tall, with dark brown hair, slender. Looked to be in his late thirties, good shape. Had a mustache. He wasn't a regular at the bar.'

‘What about eye color?' Barbara asked.

‘He had on tinted glasses.'

‘Steve doesn't wear glasses,' Deborah said. ‘He also doesn't have a mustache or dark hair.'

‘The FBI believes he could have been in disguise – a fake mustache, spectacle frames with non-prescription tinted glass. Maybe he even used a wig or temporary dye to give him the dark hair.'

‘And they're absolutely sure the man who attacked the Yates woman is The Dark Alley Strangler?'

‘Yes. He pulls a woman who has just come out of a bar into an alley. He beats, strangles, and rapes her, although there's never any semen for DNA testing.'

‘What about hair samples?'

‘None.'

Barbara looked perplexed. ‘Okay, if he wears a condom, there might not be any semen, but how can there be a rape without hair samples?'

‘I think the theory is that he's using an object for the rape.'

‘You mean he's not actually…'

‘Right,' Joe said abruptly. ‘How better to be absolutely sure you don't leave semen or hair? They've never managed to get a blood sample, either. Apparently this guy knocks the women senseless almost immediately so they don't have much time to struggle. All they've picked up are some fiber samples. This killer is careful. And strong. Another part of his ritual is that he takes his victim's jewelry, often ripping earrings right out of the ear-lobes.'

Deborah cringed, but Barbara was frowning. ‘The car,' she began. ‘Couldn't the witness be mistaken about the license plate?'

‘Maybe, but you have to admit, it would be quite a coincidence if the mistake just happened to match Steve's license plate number. And don't forget, the car was white, the same color as Steve's.'

Deborah looked at him in disbelief and reproach. ‘You sound like you think Steve really is this Dark Alley person. Surely you can't believe Steve would
murder
someone!'

‘We're not talking about what I believe,' Joe said calmly. ‘We're talking about what the FBI believes based on some pretty damning evidence. It doesn't help that these women were raped, strangled and beaten, the same as Steve's sister.'

‘Oh, God,' Deborah gasped. ‘But it was Lieber who attacked Emily.'

‘According to Steve. He was the only witness.'

Deborah put her head in her hands, her long hair falling over her face. ‘This is too awful.'

‘That's why Steve didn't want to tell you.'

Barbara looked angry. ‘Why do men always have to play the big heroes? He couldn't have thought he could keep it from her for ever.'

‘Believe it or not, I think he did. That's why he turned to Evan and me – he wanted us to help clear him before Deborah ever knew. But now, since his disappearance…'

‘His disappearance,' Deborah said slowly. ‘The FBI doesn't believe Artie Lieber did anything to him, do they? They think he faked a disappearance because he felt the net closing in on him.'

Joe looked at her gravely. ‘Wouldn't you think the same thing if you were an outsider? This makes him look more guilty than ever. They've even set up surveillance on the house.'

‘If they're watching the house, why didn't they see where Steve went yesterday?'

‘Surveillance probably wasn't supposed to start until this morning. At least, that's what Steve guessed. Looks like he was right.'

‘Oh, hell,' Barbara muttered. ‘That's just great. Steve tells you and Evan he's expecting surveillance to begin on Monday, and he disappears on Sunday. It
does
look bad.'

Joe was still gazing steadily at Deborah. ‘They think you know more than you're saying. They think he might call or even come back here.'

Deborah's voice turned fierce. ‘If he supposedly went to all this trouble to stage a disappearance, I don't believe he'd come back the next day. But he didn't stage a disappearance. I know it. My God, if he were suspected of being this Strangler person, why would Steve have told you and Evan? Why would he have asked for your help?'

‘We were there when Wylie came to the office and questioned Steve. It was obvious from Steve's reaction to the visit Wylie hadn't been there on any routine kind of business. They would say he thought he couldn't hide it from us, and they'd be right.'

‘But he could hide his fear from me,' Deborah said desolately. ‘He was always hiding things from me. Sometimes I felt like I didn't know him at all.' She saw Barbara and Joe exchange a look and her voice tensed. ‘I don't mean he could have been a cold-blooded serial killer and I wouldn't have known it. I just mean that he kept small things from me, the confidences that husbands and wives usually share. At least, I think they do.'

Joe looked at her intensely. ‘Deborah, don't say to the FBI you felt you didn't really know your husband. They'll jump on that and ignore the subtleties that explain exactly what you meant.'

‘I…of course I won't,' Deborah said, feeling foolish and blundering. What if she had blurted out such a statement to Agent Wylie? The thought frightened her and immediately she began a mental replay of her conversation with the man. Had she said anything wrong? Anything that might hurt Steve? She couldn't remember. The whole conversation with the FBI agent seemed like a dream. In fact, the last two days seemed like a dream. Or a nightmare. Steve should be at work and she should be diligently typing her current project, the sleep-inducing manuscript on an obscure, mediocre poet by a local author. Instead, Steve was missing, a man who had threatened to get even with him was on the loose in Charleston, and the FBI was convinced Steve was a serial killer. The situation was almost too absurd for her to accept, but it was all true and she couldn't handle it alone, she knew that. She looked at Joe.

‘Were you going to help Steve?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then neither you nor Evan believed – even for a second – that Steve could be a killer?'

‘No.'

She nodded. ‘In that case, I need for both of you to help me now. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help Steve. God, I don't even know if he's still alive.' Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I don't know
anything
!'

Barbara put her hand with its graceless onyx ring – the only jewelry she ever wore – on Deborah's shoulder. ‘Everything's going to be all right. Somehow, everything is going to be all right and your life with Steve will be just the same as it's always been.'

But Deborah knew that no matter what the explanation for Steve's disappearance was, things would never be the same again.

Two

Sharp December wind nipped at Kimberly's fingers as she stood in the schoolyard at morning recess. She'd lost her new blue gloves. She'd already lost the red pair, and Mommy had told her the blue ones would be the last for that year. She didn't really think Mommy meant it, but neither did she want to say she'd left another pair at school where some kid had taken them. Mommy would go on and on about something she called ‘respon'bil'ty' and tell her money didn't grow on trees, which she already knew. Did Mommy really think she was so dumb she didn't know they made money at ‘The Bank' and gave it to people who went to the machine outside and typed in the secret code? Kim shook her head. Mommy just didn't know how smart she was, even if she kept losing her gloves.

Kim plunged her cold hands into her coat pockets. Wind pulled at her long blonde hair, which reminded her she'd left her fuzzy wool scarf inside. She didn't want to go back for it. She glanced over at some of her friends jumping rope. They'd asked her to play, but she didn't want to. She felt too sad about Daddy. Mommy thought someone had
killed
him. She said she didn't mean it, but she did, Kim could tell. But Mommy
had
to be wrong. Daddy wouldn't let someone kill him, especially right before Christmas. Still, Mommy had been crying, and Mommy never cried.

Her own eyes filling with tears, Kim looked around the playground until she spotted Brian. He was hanging upside down on the Jungle Jim. Mommy didn't allow him to climb on the Jungle Jim because he usually got hurt. Rubbing her tears away, Kim marched toward him. ‘Get down,' she ordered. ‘Get lost,' Brian responded.

‘You're not s'posed to be on the Jungle Jim,' Kim continued in her most grown-up voice. ‘Mommy said you'd fall and crack your head open.'

Climbing like monkeys, three other little boys snickered. Brian glowered at his sister. ‘If you don't leave me alone, I'll tell Mommy you lost your new gloves.'

Kim considered this possibility and decided getting tattled on wasn't worth preserving Brian's head. Besides, if he cracked it open, the doctor could fix it like he did last Christmas when Brian fell down the attic stairs.

She made a face at him and wandered toward the big tree where their teacher, Miss Hart, said robins would make nests in the spring. Last spring Daddy had carried her and Brian, separately, up a big ladder and let them peer in at a robin's nest in a tree in the back yard. Inside were four tiny blue eggs. Kim had been delighted, especially when the eggs hatched. For a while, Scarlett had only been allowed out on her leash until the baby birds learned to be good fliers in case one of them nose-dived and couldn't make it back up into the air before Scarlett reached him.

Thinking about the baby birds and Daddy made her want to cry again. She turned to the gate in the schoolyard fence and froze. A man stood there, motioning for her to come to him. He wore a blue coat like Daddy's, but he had the hood pulled up and Kim couldn't see his face clearly. She squinted like Mommy did sometimes. Was it Daddy? From so far away, she couldn't be sure.

She slowly walked toward the figure. He was tall like Daddy. His hair was about the same color as Daddy's. But he had on dark glasses. She couldn't see his eyes.

‘Kimberly, come here.'

His voice seemed soft and kind, but the wind carried it away and she couldn't be sure it was Daddy's. The wind was also stinging her eyes, making them water. He beckoned to her again. Kim hesitated, thinking. If he was Daddy, and she found him, everybody would be
so
happy. But if he
was
Daddy, why didn't he just go home? Her thumb shot to her mouth again. She was mixed up. He looked an awful lot like Daddy, but Daddy wouldn't come to school and stand outside the gate with a hood pulled so tight she couldn't even see most of his face. Unless…

Her thumb drifted from her mouth as she remembered a television show she'd seen once about a man who forgot who he was. Mommy said the man had…what was it?
Am
-something. It didn't matter. He'd gotten hit on the head and he didn't remember his name or where he lived. Maybe Daddy got hurt and didn't remember where he lived, either.

‘Kimberly, please come to me,' the man called again. ‘Come on, honey. I want to give you an early Christmas present.'

Kim smiled. ‘Daddy!' She burst into a run toward the gate where the man stooped, arms outstretched.

She was only inches away from him when suddenly Miss Hart screamed, ‘Kim! No!'

Startled, the child slowed. The man shot to a standing position, his head jerking toward the teacher.

‘Kim, don't go near him,' Miss Hart shouted, her young face white, her eyes wide.

Kimberly stopped, confused. Miss Hart acted scared, and so did the man, yet his arms thrust out to grab her. An abrupt, instinctive fear flashed through Kim as the man's fingertips touched her coat. She stumbled backward. ‘Come
here
,' he hissed, no longer sounding nice at all. Kim whimpered, tripping over a clump of tough, dried crab-grass. She went sprawling to the ground and the man rushed foward. He was almost on her when Miss Hart swept down, jerking Kim into her arms. ‘Get
away
from her,' she shrieked. ‘Help! Someone help me!'