Dream Man (23 page)

Bonness looked unhappy. “This isn’t something he can keep to himself. It would cost him his job if the media break the story and he hasn’t kept the head honchos informed.”

“Then ask him if he can give us a couple of days, at least. Both of the murders have been on Friday night or early Saturday morning, so if the pattern holds, the guy won’t hit again for almost another week. The longer we can work without him knowing that we’re on to him, the better chance we have of catching him.”

“I’ll talk to him,” was all Bonness would promise. Dane really hadn’t expected any more than that. Worley and Freddie joined them. “The murder weapon was a kitchen knife, probably belonging to the victim,” Worley reported. “It matches others in the kitchen. He entered through the window in the guest bedroom, by cutting the screen.”

“It rained last night,” Dane said. “Any footprints beneath the window?”

Freddie shook her head. “Nothing. He was very careful.‘*

“Or he got in before it started raining, and waited in the bedroom,” Trammell suggested. The idea made Freddie blanch. “God, that gives me the queasies, thinking of him in the house with her for hours, and her not knowing it.”

“What about afterward?” Officer Marbach asked. He blushed a little when they all turned to look at him.

“I mean, it should have been raining when he left. Wouldn’t he have been likely to leave footprints then?”

“Only if he exited the same way he entered,” Dane said. “And there was no reason for him to. All he had to do was walk out the door, making him much less conspicuous if anyone happened to see him, which I doubt. The sidewalk and driveway are concrete; no prints.”

“She was evidently wearing pajamas at the time of the attack,” Freddie continued, looking at her notes.

“We found a pair with blood on them, dropped into the laundry basket. We’re having the blood typed to make sure it’s the victim’s.”

“How about a husband or boyfriend?” Bonness asked.

“Nope. According to her friend outside, there’s an ex-husband who lives in Minnesota, but they’ve been divorced for twenty years, and it’s been almost that long since Sheets had any contact with him. No current boyfriend, either. Okay, guys, level with me: Does this sound like the same guy did both women?”

“Afraid so,” Dane replied. “Did Sheets frequent bars, gyms, anything where she’d be in contact with a lot of men?”

“I don’t know. We hadn’t gotten that far in questioning the friend when you guys got here. Why don’t you talk to her while we finish up in here? We’re all going to be pooling our notes, anyway,” Worley suggested. From his tone, he would have been glad to hand the entire investigation over to Dane and Trammell.

A low wall of cement blocks, two high, enclosed the carport on the open side. Elizabeth Cline was sitting on the wall, huddled in on herself, staring numbly at the crowd of policemen milling around. She was a tall, sleek blonde, with her hair cut short in a feathery cap, and long earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders. Despite the earrings, she wasn’t togged out in party clothes; she was wearing sandals, yellow leggings, and a long white tunic with a gaudy yellow and purple parrot on the front. She wore several rings, Dane noticed, but none of them was a wedding band.

He sat down beside her on the block wall, and Trammell, more aloof as always, leaned against Sheets’s car a couple of feet away.

“Are you Elizabeth Cline?” Dane asked, just to make certain.

She gave him a vaguely startled look, as if she hadn’t noticed him sitting beside her. “Yes. Who are you?”

“Detective Hollister.” He indicated Trammell. “And Detective Trammell.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said politely, then a horrified look edged into her eyes. “Oh, God, how can I say that? It
isn’t
nice to meet you. It’s because of Jackie that you’re here—”

“Yes, ma’am, it is. I’m sorry, I know it was a shock for you. Would you mind answering a few more questions for us?”

“I’ve already talked to those other two detectives.”

“I know, ma’am. But we thought of a couple of other things, and anything you can tell us will help us find her killer.”

She inhaled shakily. She was shivering, and hugging her arms. It was a warm, muggy night, but shock was getting to her. Dane wasn’t wearing a jacket to put around her, so he asked a patrolman standing nearby to get a blanket. A few minutes later a blanket was produced, and he put it about her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said, huddling gratefully into the folds.

“You’re welcome.” His instincts were to put his arm around her and comfort her, but he felt constrained and settled for patting her on the back. The only woman he could hold now was Marlie; somehow, in taking her, he had forever set himself apart from other women. He was uneasi-ly aware of the change but pushed it beneath his conscious-ness, to be considered later when he had the time.

“You told Detective Brown that Ms. Sheets didn’t have a current boyfriend. Had she recently broken up with some-one, or maybe had a casual date or two?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“No one? Any steady boyfriends at all since her divorce?”

Elizabeth gathered herself enough to lift her head and give him a shaky, wintry smile. “Sure.” The one word was bitter. “She had a twelve-year affair with one of the attorneys in the firm. He told her they’d be married when he divorced his wife, but the time wasn’t right while he was building his career. Then the time was right, he got his divorce, and promptly married a twenty-three-year-old trophy wife. Jackie was devastated, but she’d been with the firm for a long time and couldn’t afford to start over. He wanted to continue the affair, but Jackie broke it off, very quietly. At least he didn’t try to get her fired, but I don’t guess there was any reason for it. Their affair wasn’t a secret; everyone in the office knew about it.”

“When was this?”

“Let’s see. About four years ago, I guess.”

“Who has she dated since then?”

“I don’t know that she’s dated at all. Maybe once or twice, right after the affair ended, but I know she hasn’t gone out with anyone for at least a year. She started having health problems, and she didn’t feel well enough for the dating scene. We would eat dinner out every week or so; it helped keep her spirits up.”

“What kind of health problems?”

“Several things. She had really bad endometriosis, and about a year ago finally had a hysterectomy. A stomach ulcer, high blood pressure. Nothing life-threatening, but everything seemed to hit at once, and it made her depressed. Lately she’d fainted a couple of times. That was why I was so worried when she didn’t show up at the restaurant on time.”

They had hit a dead end on ex-boyfriends, but Dane hadn’t really expected anything different. He was just covering all the bases. “Had she mentioned anyone she’d met recently? Did she get into an argument with anyone, or had she mentioned anyone following her?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Jackie was very even-tempered, got along with everyone. She didn’t even lose her temper when David married his little bimbo. Actually, the closest she came to getting angry recently was when a new silk blouse came apart at the seams the first time she washed it. Jackie loved clothes, and was very particular about them.”

“Did she go any place regularly, where she might have met someone?”

“Not unless it was the grocery store.”

“Everyone has a routine,” Dane insisted gently. They had to discover how the killer picked his victims. Nadine Vinick and Jackie Sheets had had something in common, some-thing that had brought them to the killer’s attention. They had lived in different neighborhoods, so it had to be something else, and putting his finger on that something else was vital. “Did she have her hair done regularly, go to the library, anything like that?”

“Jackie had beautiful red hair. She got it trimmed every few weeks, at a little salon close to the office. The Hairport. The stylist’s name is Kathy, I think. Maybe Kathleen, or Katherine. Something like that. The library? No, Jackie wasn’t much of a reader. She loved movies; she rented a lot of movies.”

“Where did she rent them?”

“At the supermarket. She said they have a nice video selection, and it saved making an extra stop.”

“Which supermarket did she shop at?”

“Phillips, about a mile from here.”

A neighborhood market, not one where Nadine Vinick would have shopped. But Dane made notes of everything; they wouldn’t know exactly what they had until they had compared every detail with the Vinick case.

“What about you?” he asked. “Are you married?”

“Widowed. Seven years ago. Jackie helped me through a rough time, and that’s when we became close friends. We were friendly before that, you know, working in the same office for as long as we had, but that’s when I really got to know her. She was—she was a really great friend.” Tears slipped down Elizabeth’s cheeks.

Dane patted her some more, aware of and ignoring Trammell’s enigmatic gaze. Trammell hadn’t spoken once, leaving all the questioning to him. Occasionally he did that, when for some reason he decided Dane would have better luck getting answers.

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said, still weeping. “I know I haven’t been able to help.”

“But you did,” Dane assured her. “You helped us elimi-nate several things, so we know where to concentrate and won’t waste our time on dead ends.” Basically it was a lie; all they had was dead ends. But she needed all the comfort she could get, lie or not.

“Do I need to come down to the station or anything? Funny,” she said, wiping her eyes and trying a pathetic smile. “I know how law works on the finished end, the courthouse end, but nothing about the raw stages.”

“No, there’s no need for you to come to the station,” he said, soothing her. “Does Detective Brown have your ad-dress and phone number?”

“I think so. Yes, I remember telling her.”

“Then I don’t see why you can’t go home, if you like. Do you want me to have someone drive you? Or call someone, a friend or relative, to stay with you tonight?”

She looked around vaguely. “I can’t leave my car here.”

“If you want someone to drive you, I’ll get a patrolman to drive your car and another one to follow, to bring him back. Okay?”

But she didn’t seem able to make a decision, still too stunned and devastated to think clearly. Dane made the decision for her, getting her to her feet, calling a patrolman over and arranging for her to be taken home, giving instruc-tions for her to call a friend or neighbor to stay with her that night. She nodded as docilely as a child taking homework instructions.

“I have a niece nearby,” she said. “I’ll call her.” And she looked at him as if asking for his permission to call the niece instead of a friend. He patted her and told her that was fine, and sent her off with the patrolman, who had taken his cue from Dane and treated her as gently as he would a lost child. When Dane turned around, Trammell was still looking as enigmatic as a cat.

“What?” he demanded testily.

Trammell raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking something, though. You’ve got that shit-eating smirk on your face.”

“Why would anyone smirk while they eat shit?” Trammell asked rhetorically. He loved the man like a brother, but honest to God, sometimes Dane felt like messing up that pretty face. But when Trammell was in one of his moods, nothing could pry information out of him. Dane thought about giving him a couple of beers to loosen his tongue, then decided to leave well enough alone. He’d save the beer for special occasions.

There was nothing left to do but assist Freddie and Worley in tying up the loose ends: make certain the trash had been sacked up, to be gone through later; search the house for personal papers such as a diary, telephone and address books, life insurance policies. In death, Jackie Sheets would lose all of her privacy. They would go through her closets and her cabinets, in search of that one snippet of coinci-dence and fate that linked her to Nadine Vinick. Whatever the two women had had in common was the key to the killer. If poor Ansel Vinick hadn’t killed himself, he could have helped them pinpoint the crucial link, and maybe found a reason for living in helping to find his wife’s killer. In Dane’s opinion, the bumper sticker “Shit happens” should have the word “frequently” tacked on to the end of it. Ivan had taken his meager findings back to the lab to begin analyzing them; the medical examiner’s office had Jackie Sheets’s body, though there was little to be added other than the approximate time of death. They could have saved the ME the time and trouble; Dane knew the time of death, because Marlie had called him.

Worry had settled new lines in the lieutenant’s face as he glumly surveyed the outline on the floor where Sheets had lain. “Everyone be in my office at ten tomorrow morning,” he said. “For now, go home and get some sleep.”

Dane glanced at his watch. It was almost one, and he was suddenly aware that he hadn’t had much sleep the night before.

“Are you going back to Marlie’s?” Trammell asked.

He wanted to; God, did he want to. “No, I won’t disturb her,” he said. “She’ll be asleep.”

“You think so?”

He remembered the way she had looked when he’d left, that haunted expression back in her drawn face. He hadn’t even kissed her, he realized. His mind had already been on the murder scene, and he had totally blocked Marlie out. He had just made love to her, had gotten off her warm body to answer the beeper’s summons, and he had walked out without kissing her. “Damn,” he said tiredly. Trammell said, “See you in the morning,” and got in his car. Grace Roeg would probably still be waiting, Dane thought. She was a cop, too; she would understand that he had had to leave suddenly. But Marlie wasn’t a cop; she was a woman who had been too solitary her entire life, a woman who had borne enough pain for ten lifetimes. She was strong, incredibly so; she hadn’t cracked, but she wore the scars, both physically and mentally. It had taken guts for her to let him make love to her, and what had he done? Their first time, and he had turned it into a slam-bam; he hadn’t even said “thank you.”

If he could have reached it, he’d have kicked his own ass.