The Way You Look Tonight (19 page)

Joe stepped in. Trapped air flooded from her lungs. ‘Where on earth have you been?' she croaked.

‘Outside.'

‘I
know
that,' she snapped, her fear turning to fury at Joe for frightening her so badly. ‘
Where
outside?'

Joe closed the door behind him and relocked it. ‘I thought I saw a light in the O'Donnell house. I went over to investigate.'

‘And?'

‘And nothing. By the time I got over there, the light was gone. If there ever was one. I'm not sure now. Maybe it was just a reflection.'

‘I had two calls when you were gone. A man said, “I love the way you look tonight.” '

Joe frowned and she noticed his eyes traveling over her, taking in her disheveled hair and bulky terry cloth robe. ‘What the hell did he mean by that?'

In spite of her earlier terror, Deborah couldn't help a wry smile. ‘Obviously you don't share his opinion.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean—'

‘It's okay. Believe it or not, I have some lovely negligées. Now just doesn't seem the time to wear them, but I don't
always
look like this.' She stopped and ran a hand over her forehead. ‘What am I babbling about? Anyway, the first call came around fifteen minutes ago. I slammed down the receiver, which I shouldn't have done.'

Joe sat down across from her, still wearing his leather jacket. ‘Did you recognize the voice?'

‘No. It was deep, gravelly, disguised. The second time he said I sounded tense and that I must be worried about being alone in the house with my children. He called himself my admirer.' She paused. ‘Joe, do you think he could actually see into the house?'

‘No,' Joe said thoughtfully. ‘But he knew you were alone and chose then to scare the wits out of you. He may not have been able to see inside, but I'd bet my life he
was
watching the house.'

‘From where?'

‘He had to be near a phone to call before I got back, and you now have the only occupied house in the cul-de-sac. He could have been in any one of them. Or he could have been calling from a mobile phone. In other words, he could have been anywhere around here. He might still be. These days traces are instantaneous. I'll try to find out where the call came from.'

And he did. It originated from a pay-phone in the parking lot of a self-serve gas station a block away. No one at the station remembered seeing who made the call.

Just as I expected, Deborah thought bleakly. In spite of all the police technology, no one seemed able to help. She was basically on her own in this nightmare.

Later, after Deborah had gone back to bed and lay under an extra blanket, trying to ease the chills racing over her body, she wondered why Joe had used the back instead of the front door, and where he had gotten a key.

One

The next morning Deborah woke up early and came downstairs to find Joe already sipping from a mug of coffee. ‘Do you ever sleep?' she asked. ‘No matter what time I get up, you're awake.'

‘I had to get up at five every morning when I was growing up on the ranch,' he said.

‘To milk the cows?'

Joe smiled. ‘It's a horse and cotton ranch, Deborah.'

‘That's right. You told me. I really was listening – I'm just absent-minded these days.' She poured coffee and sat down. ‘Did you raise thoroughbreds?'

‘Quarter horses. Have you ever ridden one?'

‘I've never been on a horse in my life. I can't even bear to watch the Kentucky Derby because I'm afraid one of the horses will fall and injure one of those slender legs and they'll have to shoot it.'

‘They don't always shoot them now.'

‘I'm glad. Shooting those beautiful creatures always seemed like a sacrilege.'

Joe grinned. ‘My mother would like you. You're kindred spirits.'

‘Really? Tell me about her.' Talk to me about anything except my missing husband, Deborah thought desperately.

Joe leaned back in his chair. ‘My mother's name is Amanda and she's originally from Massachusetts. After my dad died when I was nine, everyone thought she'd sell the ranch. You see, I have a younger brother, Bob, and two younger sisters. People figured with that brood, and very little experience in handling a ranch, Mom would just give up and head back to Massachusetts. But she held on. Things were tough at first. We had to sell off a few hundred acres – we're down to about three hundred right now – but the ranch is going strong.'

‘Living in Texas must have been quite a change for her after Massachusetts.'

‘That's an understatement. She came from one of those Boston Brahmin families – all very correct, very genteel. Right out of Henry James.' Deborah stifled a look of surprise that Joe was familiar with Henry James. He'd most likely be quite insulted that she thought he'd only read Zane Gray. ‘Her parents thought she should come home and spend her life pouring tea and having literary parties. Instead she took on rough-and-tumble life on a ranch, so they refused to help her out financially.'

‘Good heavens, she sounds like a daunting woman.'

Pride shone on his face. ‘She is, but not on the surface. People are always surprised by her because she looks so delicate, she's soft-spoken, and she's still every inch the lady. But I remember one time when my brother Bob was ten and he went riding off by himself to do some exploring. He was bitten by a rattlesnake and even though we'd been taught how to handle snake bites, he panicked and just rode like hell for home. It was over a mile. We had company that day. Everyone was sitting on the veranda and Bob came tearing up on his horse, yelled, “Ma, I think I'm dying,” and fell to the ground. The other ladies started screaming. Even the men were blundering around like a bunch of frightened cattle. But my mother very calmly sent our housekeeper in to call for the doctor, then grabbed a knife, made a neat little incision in his leg, and began sucking out the venom.'

‘And Bob was all right?'

‘He sure was. He still lives on the ranch with his wife and their little girl.'

‘Your mother
does
sound amazing. I'm afraid I would have been screaming and blundering with the rest of the guests.'

Joe looked at her speculatively. ‘No, I don't think so. You have a lot more grit than you think, Deborah Robinson.'

‘I didn't show a lot of grit last night.'

‘Those calls would have shaken up anyone. I'm sorry I wasn't here.'

She ran her fingers around the rim of her coffee mug. ‘Joe, where did you get a key to the back door?'

‘Oh the hook
beside
the door,' he said casually. ‘Did you forget one was hanging there?'

‘Yes, actually I did,' she said, embarrassed.

‘And you were suspicious.'

‘A little. I'm sorry.'

‘Don't be. You had every reason to wonder why I was coming and going with my own key.'

‘You're trying to make me feel better.'

‘Evan Kincaid would be the first to tell you I
never
try to make people feel better. I just say what I think, and I think you're handling all this pretty well.'

‘Well, thank you for the compliment,' Deborah said, feeling silly and girlish and angry with herself. The guy wasn't flirting with her. He was just being nice. Still, her mind darted for a new conversational topic. ‘There's something I've always wanted to ask you. How did you get the scar on your forehead?'

He touched the narrow scar above his eyebrow. ‘Bob wasn't the only one who took a spill off a horse. I got this when I was ten. I fell on the only rock within a mile radius. Afterward I was sort of proud of it. I thought it made me look tough.'

‘Why didn't you stay on the ranch with your family?'

Joe tossed her a self-deprecating smile. ‘Before my grandfather bought the ranch, he was a Texas Ranger. I was brought up on tales of his exploits. Do you know the Rangers' motto?' Deborah shook her head. ‘ “One riot, one Ranger.” I took that to heart. I was going to be that ranger standing alone, guarding good against evil.' He emitted a short, bitter laugh. ‘Instead I got involved with a call-girl and left the police force in disgrace.'

Deborah studied him for a moment. ‘Joe, would you mind telling me about that woman in Houston?'

‘Didn't Steve tell you?'

‘Just the bare outline. He said you were cleared of any wrongdoing.'

He began slowly, not looking at her. ‘When I was in high school, I was crazy about a girl named Lisa. We dated for two years. Then during our senior year, her parents split up, and her mother took her east. We wrote for a while, then her letters stopped coming. I was stunned when I ran into her in Houston ten years later. We started seeing each other again. She told me she was an investment counselor.'

‘And you believed her.'

‘I had no reason not to. She'd always been smart, and she was obviously successful. She had beautiful clothes, a nice apartment.' He smiled wryly. ‘Then, after a few weeks, I noticed she never talked about her work. When I asked questions, she hedged. And there was never any sign of her business dealings in the house – no papers, no computer, not even a briefcase. And she seemed inclined to mood swings, sometimes hyperactivity. I wondered if she was taking drugs.'

‘So you got suspicious.'

Joe nodded. ‘It didn't take long to find out what her business
really
was. I should have walked away, but I loved her. I tried to talk her into changing her life. I even offered to help send her to college. That brought a huge laugh. Then I did more digging and found out that one of her clients was a high-powered drug dealer we'd been after for months. I wasn't working that particular case, but I suddenly realized how often she'd asked me to talk about police business. She was pumping me for information. There was no excuse at that point for my not staying completely away from her. Instead I decided to play savior. I put pressure on her to get away from this dealer – he was dangerous as hell. She got really hostile then. Looking back, I think she knew she was in over her head. She was
expected
to produce information or else. For some reason she started telling people she was afraid of me. Maybe she
was
afraid that I was using her like she was using me or that I'd already found out too much. Anyway, I finally made myself leave her. I hadn't seen her for about two weeks when she was found with her throat slashed.'

His voice was cool and emotionless, but Deborah saw a slight tremor in his hand. ‘Did they find who did it?' she asked.

‘After dragging me over the coals, which I guess I deserved, they arrested some poor jerk who was obsessed with her and had been following her around. But I know in my bones he didn't do it – the dealer did because she was doing too much cocaine and talking too much.'

‘But he wasn't arrested.'

‘Hell, no. He'd covered his tracks too well. So Lisa's murderer is still free and I left the force under a cloud, as they say. End of tragic, stupid story.'

‘Stupid?'

‘The way she lived her life was stupid. And the way I lost my career was stupid. But I guess that's life.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Yeah, me too.'

Uncomfortable silence hung in the air. ‘Have you brought in the newspaper?' she asked quickly to hide her emotions.

‘No. I'll get it right now.'

Joe rose from the table and went to the front door while Deborah poured a cup of coffee. When she sat down again, Joe entered the kitchen slowly, his face pale, his eyes full of dread. ‘Oh my God,' Deborah exclaimed. ‘They've found Steve.'

‘No. If they had, they'd notify you before they put it in the newspaper.'

‘Then what
is
it?'

‘The Strangler killed again last night, this time right here in Charleston.'

Two

Deborah stared at Joe, although she felt as if her eyes weren't quite focusing. ‘Read the article to me.'

As Joe read, particulars jumped out at Deborah. The victim was Toni Lee Morris. She was a twenty-two-year-old housewife. She'd been attacked in the alley beside a local bar – raped, beaten, and strangled. She hadn't fared as well as Sally Yates. She was dead when she was found around 1 a.m. by a wino who stumbled over her body. Her earrings had been ripped from her ear-lobes. The medical examiner placed the time of death at between eleven and twelve. Patrons of the bar said she was a regular and had left around 11.30. She was survived by her husband, Daryl, and a sister, Brenda Johnson.

Joe looked up at her. ‘The Strangler has changed his pattern. He's always waited a few months between killings, and he always struck on a Saturday night.'

‘But this time he hit less than two weeks from the last attack and he did it on a week night. Why the change?'

‘Sometimes that happens with serial killers. They start out slowly, cautiously. Then they get more confident. They don't do all the preparation they did in the beginning. And they pick up speed.'

‘Pick up speed?'

‘They kill more frequently.'

‘Why? Because they want to be caught?'

Joe smiled sadly. ‘Maybe some killers want to be caught, Deborah, but this guy is a psychopath and a psychopath doesn't have a conscience. However, he can lose control.'

Steve, wildly murdering young women as he spun out of control? Ripping out their earrings, smashing their faces, raping and strangling them?

Deborah's stomach lurched. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. ‘It's Lieber,' she said fiercely. ‘Artie Lieber is in Charleston and
he
murdered that woman last night. Not Steve. Not
Steve
!'

Three

She'd read the article about Toni Lee Morris twice more during the morning, and each time fear tingled through her at the thought of The Dark Alley Strangler killing right here in Charleston. Finally Joe took the paper from her. ‘Enough, Deborah. Going over and over the details isn't going to change anything, and you get whiter every time you read this piece. I'm almost sorry I brought it to your attention.'

‘And you think I wouldn't have noticed it otherwise? Besides, I had to know. I have to know as much as possible. After all, as far as the FBI is concerned, I'm right in the middle of this whole thing. I believe Agent Wylie actually thinks I'm protecting my serial-killer husband.'

Joe had said nothing, and she knew there was nothing for him to say. It wasn't just Agent Wylie who believed Steve was The Dark Alley Strangler. She was beginning to think Joe thought so, too.

Later, as she rinsed the last plate from lunch and set it in the drainer, the phone rang and she picked up the receiver with a damp hand.

‘Is this Deborah?' a woman asked.

The sharp-edged, somewhat imperious voice was unfamiliar and Deborah feared it was yet another reporter. ‘This is Deborah Robinson,' she said cautiously.

‘This is Lorna Robinson, Steven's mother.'

Deborah had always wondered how she would react if one of Steve's parents called out of the blue. Now she knew. She was speechless. ‘Are you still there?' the woman demanded.

‘Yes. Hello, Mrs Robinson.'

‘Hello. My husband and I are in Hawaii. We heard from friends last night that Steven has been missing for days. Why didn't you let us know?'

‘I tried to,' Deborah said, annoyed that Mrs Robinson had rebuked her before even asking if there was news of Steve. ‘You were traveling around the islands.'

‘You could have left word.'

‘Mrs Robinson, I didn't want you to come back to your hotel and find this out from a message and I wasn't sure you'd return my call. Besides,' she couldn't help adding, ‘I didn't think you would be so worried.'

‘That wasn't a very kind thing to say.'

On the phone two minutes and we're already sparring, Deborah thought. It was time to pull the reins on this conversation. ‘This is a very rough time, Mrs Robinson. We still have no idea what's happened to Steve, but we're fearing the worst, especially with Artie Lieber hanging around.'

‘Lieber! Good lord, I didn't know
he
was involved!'

‘As I said, he's around. Or he was at the time of Steve's disappearance.'

‘I see. Then the police haven't located him
or
Steven?'

‘No.'

Anxiety crept into the unpleasant voice. ‘You don't think Lieber will try to harm Emily, do you?'

The woman's concern for her daughter was natural, yet Deborah felt even angrier. She sounded more alarmed about Emily, who was safe, than Steve, who had been missing for days. ‘I've alerted the nursing home about the situation. They've promised to take extra precautions to safeguard Emily, and I would have heard if anything were wrong.'