Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (21 page)

When Kate received the report I had mailed she would probably tell Derrick about Fred and Laura. I decided not to broach that subject tonight. I pushed my chair back and said I was going to check out the salad bar. Fred gave me a look I can only characterize as disdainful, undoubtedly remembering how I had heaped my plate at the Chart House.

I collected a few leaves of romaine, some spinach, Greek olives, and mushrooms, and topped the whole thing with oil and vinegar. I passed on the more filling food groups. When I arrived back at the table I noticed that Fred’s salad had been cleared and he was starting on his fourth double scotch. And he was driving.

“I’m sorry if my questions make you uncomfortable,” I said. “I have to ask. It’s my job.”

He remained mute, drinking his scotch and brooding.

When I’d finished most of my salad I waved David over and asked for the check. He took a black leather folder from his apron pocket and placed it on the table. I paid with cash to save time. I was anxious to get away from Fred, and even more anxious to question Elizabeth.

“Had enough of me for tonight?” I asked, as we walked toward the door.

Fred gave me a sideways glance, but said nothing. Could he have snuck out while I was chatting with the parking valet and seen Elizabeth at his car?

When the valet brought the Jag around, Fred opened the door for me. I got in and watched him tip the young man, who was now ignoring me in favor of cash.

The drive home was quiet until we reached the Whipple Road exit.

“Should I drop you back at your office?” Fred asked.

“Yes, thank you. I have some paperwork to finish up.”

He pulled into the marina lot and just sat there as I climbed out of the Jag.

He said, “Goodbye, Nicoli,” and drove away as soon as I’d closed the car door.

That sounded final. I wasn’t interested in Fred, and he might be a psycho-killer, but I still found his behavior unsettling. I don’t take rejection well, even if I don’t care about the person who’s rejecting me.

I entered my office, locking the door behind me, and turned on all the lights. I sat down at my desk and smoked a cigarette, waiting ten tortuous minutes before turning off the lights and locking up again. I walked back out to the parking lot and looked around for the Jag. I didn’t see it anywhere, so I hurried down to my boat, noting Elizabeth’s closed door as I passed her trawler. Three hours in cowboy boots was all I could stand. I hastily changed into jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of comfy old boat shoes. I left my dress and purse on the bunk, and jogged back to Elizabeth’s with only my cigarettes and lighter in hand.

I ran past D’Artagnon, who was out on the deck of his boat, without even stopping to pet him, and immediately felt guilty about it. I’d make it up to him later.

I knocked on Elizabeth’s door and waited. After a moment she called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

She slid the door open a crack. When she saw me, she opened the door the rest of the way, glancing over my shoulder at the companionway. She looked panicky.

“Hi, Nikki,” she said. “How was dinner?”

“Are you out of your fucking
mind?
”

“Come on aboard,” she said, grabbing my wrist. She pulled me inside, then closed and locked the door behind me.

“I saw you in the parking lot!”

Her eyes got as big as saucers. “You
saw
me? Oh my
God
. Did Fred see me too?”

“I not sure. He might have. What were you
thinking?
You broke into his car in a public place for Christ’s sake!”

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help myself. I searched his trunk. I forgot to give you back those lock picks, and after you left tonight I kept thinking about what you said. Anyway, I drove out to Castaway and saw there was only one parking valet on duty, so I thought, what the hell? Nikki, I found the knife.”

“You what? Slow down a minute. You mean you found
a
knife.”

“Okay, okay. I found
a
knife. And it’s just the way you described it, with spikes on the hilt. He keeps it in a black garbage bag behind his spare tire. I think there’s dried blood on it. And there’s a broom handle in there with the top sawed off, a coil of fishing wire, a bloody ice pick, and a pair of red Victoria’s Secret panties.” She slapped the galley counter for emphasis, causing me to levitate off the settee.

Elizabeth got up and emptied the last of a bottle of wine into a pewter goblet. “You want some wine?” she asked.

I shook my head. I needed to keep my wits about me. I considered what she had said and reached for my cigarettes. “Do you mind?” I asked, referring to the smoke.

“No, go ahead.” She cracked open a window as I lit up. “He’s got a twelve-pack of Trojan Supras in his trunk too, and a box of surgical gloves.” She swallowed some wine. “So, what do we do now?”

“First tell me you didn’t touch anything.”

“I’m not a complete moron,” she said. She walked to the sink and picked up a pair of pink Playtex gloves. “I wore these.”

“Atta girl,” I said.

I moved over to the window she had opened, and exhaled smoke through the gap.

“We need to
do
something,” she said, handing me a coffee cup to use as an ashtray.

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re
thinking
? What do you mean you’re thinking? What are you thinking about? I’m telling you I found a bag full of evidence in the trunk of Fred’s car!” Her face flushed and she started pacing. “Oh, wait, I know you. You’re thinking he somehow found out what each of the murder weapons was, and then he went out and bought a spiky knife, and a broom, and some fishing wire, and he’s
baiting
you. Like this is some kind of a
game
. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

Even under pressure, Elizabeth has one of the quickest minds I’ve ever known.

“It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do, just to prove how superior he is, and to mess with me. We can’t assume anything until Bill has the evidence tested.”

“I don’t
believe
this! There was nothing on the news about the knife having spikes on it. And what about that anonymous phone call the police got? He’s the
killer
, Nikki! Let’s call Bill right now and tell him what I found. Let him decide what to do about it.”

“I’ve got his cell number in my purse. I’ll call him as soon as I get home.”

D’Artagnon chose that moment to let loose with a long series of angry barks. Elizabeth and I looked at each other. We were both thinking the same thing. What if Fred
had
seen her looking in his trunk? What if he was here now?

“Jesus,” she said, putting a hand over her heart. She picked up her wine glass, which had somehow become empty. “I’m going to have another glass of wine. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“No, thanks.”

Elizabeth checked the door to make sure it was locked, and then got out her corkscrew and opened a bottle of something Italian. She took a clean goblet from the hanging rack over the sink and filled it, then sat down next to me. We waited in silence for a few minutes. D’Artagnon had stopped barking. That was a good sign. He’d probably seen someone up on shore he didn’t recognize.

Eventually Elizabeth said, “Since I found the evidence illegally, how will Bill justify the search warrant?”

“I don’t know. That might be a problem. Maybe he can follow Fred around until he commits a traffic violation. He drives really fast. Can the police search your car if they stop you for speeding?”

“I don’t think so.”

I put out my cigarette, and set the cup in the sink.

“I left my boat open with all the lights on. If I don’t go back soon the mosquitoes will move in.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be awake all night. Call me after you talk to Bill.”

We hugged each other at the door, and when I was outside I heard Elizabeth lock it behind me.

Chapter 30

D
’Artagnon wasn’t out on deck when I walked past his boat on the way to mine, and I still felt guilty about ignoring him earlier. I continued down the dock and stopped in my tracks when I saw that my Cheoy Lee was completely dark. I always leave the lights on. I even sleep with the lights on. I don’t like the dark.

I looked around and saw that all the dock lights and some of my neighbors’ lights were on, so it wasn’t the electricity. I checked my shore power to make sure someone hadn’t turned it off as a prank. The switch was in the
on
position. Unless all the bulbs on board my boat had burned out simultaneously, someone had gone aboard and turned off my lights.

My heart started pounding. I should have hired Lieutenant Quinn to guard my body. I should run back to Elizabeth’s boat and call the cops. That’s what I should do, but what would I tell them?
I can’t go home because the lights are off?
I could imagine the stories that would be circulating around the RCPD the next morning. Not that I cared what the local cops thought of me, much, but ever since I was a kid I’ve had trouble walking away from confrontations. I blame my father for this. When I was little he convinced me that no one would respect me if I turned away from a fight. Even if I got the shit beat out of me, it was better than being thought of as a coward. Now, as an adult, I know there’s no shame in being afraid, especially if you have a good reason, but I still respond to the stimuli.

I walked down the concrete finger to my dock steps. Listening intently I cautiously climbed aboard causing as little motion as possible. Someone had closed my pilothouse door. I knew I’d left it open, and there wasn’t enough of a breeze tonight for it to have swung shut. I silently opened the door, and stepped inside. The hatch was open, as I had left it.

The companionway steps on my Cheoy Lee are steep, and if you walk down them facing forward you have to arch your back in order to avoid clobbering your forehead on the top of the hatch. Normally I back down the steps, but tonight I didn’t have the nerve. I was shaking and my knees felt rubbery.

Inside the boat I couldn’t see a thing. I felt my way into the stateroom, flipped on the light and flinched at the sudden illumination. My pistol purse and dress were on the bunk where I’d left them. I picked up my purse and reached for the Glock. It wasn’t there. I unzipped the main compartment, looking for the flash drive. Also missing.

“
Shit!
”
I whispered as my heart moved up into my throat and cut off my supply of oxygen. D’Artagnon had
been barking at an intruder, and now whoever it was had the flash drive with all my notes on it, and
my new Glock. “Mother-fucking
shit
!”

I dumped the contents of my purse onto the bunk, just to be sure. Okay, now I was sure. Someone had gotten past the secure gate and had been on board my boat. Maybe they were
still
on board. I should slip back outside, run to Elizabeth’s boat, and call the police.

I stepped into the galley and turned on the light. Derrick Howard was sitting at my galley counter, holding my Glock in his lap. He was the picture of serenity, dressed in black, his hair covered by a watch cap, and he was wearing latex gloves. The expression on his face was so tranquil it was chilling.

I bolted for the companionway and made it to the base of the steps, but he was too fast for me. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me backwards.

“Sit down, Ms. Hunter,” he said. “We’re going to have a little chat, and then we’re going for a walk.”

He let go of me and I perched on the edge of the galley settee. I rubbed my scalp and squinted up at him. “You mind if I smoke?”

I felt terrified, helpless, and indignant. I needed to dull down the emotion so I could think. I needed nicotine.

“Go ahead,” he said.

I took the cigarettes and lighter out of my shirt pocket, and lit up. Under the right circumstances a cigarette can be a decent weapon. These were not the right circumstances.

“This is your party,” I said, exhaling smoke and nodding toward the Glock. “What do you want to talk about?”

He pulled the flash drive from his hip pocket and held it up. “I assume this contains the details of your investigation?”

I said nothing.

“How many copies did you make?”

“Why do you care? There’s nothing on it about you,” I lied.

“How many?”

“Three,” I said.

He smiled, pleased that I had chosen to cooperate.

“Where are the other two?”

“One is up in my office, locked in the desk, and one is in my safe deposit box.”

Of course I didn’t have a safe deposit box, but I had a bunch of flash drives in my desk and I was hoping to buy some time.

“Which bank?” he said. 

“First National.”

“Did you sign the signature card Nikki or Nicoli?”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Later,” he replied, and I froze, realization washing over me. He was going to rape me and kill me, and make it look like Fred had done it. He’d take some trophy from the scene and plant it in Fred’s trunk with the others.

“Have you shared the information with anyone?” he was saying.

I thought about that for a moment. He’d kill me no matter what, but if I said yes, there was a chance he’d kill others.

“No,” I sighed. “I haven’t even printed it yet.”

“Well, that’s something anyway.”

He sat down opposite me and my mind began displaying images of Laura after death, pre-lubricated condoms, a spiky knife, Kurt in the alley…

“Is there anything you’d like to know before you die?” he asked.

So, Derrick wanted foreplay. Fair enough. I did have questions. Lots
of them. I nodded and filled my lungs with smoke.

“Shoot,” he said, and grinned sardonically.

“Why are you killing all these people? You have a beautiful wife, a successful career, a great-American-dream life. What the fuck is your problem?”

Derrick seemed unperturbed by my verbal assault. He tilted his head slightly to one side, perhaps deciding whether or not to respond. Finally he said, “Laura had started going to a therapist, recovering memories from her childhood. She confronted me, and said she was going to tell Kate. She even threatened me with public exposure. It would have ruined my business, and the notoriety would have been extremely unpleasant. So…” He flipped his free hand as though it should be obvious why he’d chosen to kill his own daughter.

This guy was bat-shit-crazy and a complete sociopath. I shivered involuntarily before repeating my question. “Why the others?”

“To lead the police to Fred, of course. They should have been onto him weeks
ago.”

“The anonymous phone call,” I blurted out.

“Very good, Ms. Hunter. Yes, I made that call. I told the police I saw Fred leaving the alley where the librarian was killed. And they did nothing. If you and your little friend hadn’t come along, there’s no telling how
long this might have taken.”

So I wasn’t the only one who had seen Elizabeth in the parking lot.

“Were you jealous of Fred? Is that what all this is about?”

“Of course not,” he said. “But I didn’t care for the way he treated Laura.”

Can anyone spell
irony
? The man who had abused Laura as a child, violated her innocence, and who had killed her rather than have his guilty secrets exposed, was offended by the way another man had treated her.

“He likes to have sex in public places,” he continued. “Did you know that?” I shook my head dumbly. “I was following her the night they had sex behind that dumpster. It was dark, but they wouldn’t have noticed me if it had been broad daylight. Afterwards, he just got in his car and left. It was like that with all of them.”

All of them?

“I need him to be arrested for these murders, and you’re
my insurance. When your body turns up, your redheaded friend will run screaming to the police about what she found in Fred’s trunk, and that cop you had dinner with last night will do whatever it takes to get a conviction. End of story.”

I felt a lifetime of rage against injustice hit the surface. It felt better than fear, so I let it come. I couldn’t allow Derrick to get away with this. I had to do something to make sure he got caught, even if I didn’t live to see it happen. I took a deep breath and forced myself to continue talking.

“Why Kurt?” I asked. “And why Barbara and Andrew? How were they connected to Fred?”

“Kurt described Fred to you perfectly. I thought it would be more incriminating if he was killed before you showed him the pictures.”

“Wait a minute. How do you know he described Fred to me?”

“My assistant was getting her hair cut in the next chair. She’s a terrible gossip.”

“Your
assistant
is involved in this?”

“Oh,
God
, no. That was just a coincidence.”

I felt my jaw drop. “Unbelievable.” I stubbed out my cigarette and lit another. “You know, the police were watching your house the night Kurt was killed. They saw your bedroom lights go off. How did you manage to slip out of the house without disturbing Kate?”

“She’s a creature of habit. Takes a Halcion with warm milk every night before bed. She has insomnia. So I just slipped an extra dose into her milk. Once she was asleep, I went out the patio door and walked to Redwood City.”

“Did you know you were being watched?”

“No, but it pays to be cautious.”

“What about Andrew and Barbara? Where do they fit in?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, like he couldn’t believe I didn’t get it. “Fred was having sex with them too. One night I followed him when he left Laura, and he went and hooked up with the hairdresser. One right after the other.

“That night he screwed Laura behind the dumpster he put a bag over her head. I could tell she liked it.” His eyes glazed over as he spoke, remembering. “I thought the timing was perfect. After he left I came out from where I was hiding, and she started to scream. I punched her in the face to shut her up, and that knocked her out. I fastened the plastic bag back over her head. When she was dead I stabbed her a few times so I’d have something with her blood on it to put in Fred’s trunk.”

He watched me for a reaction. I didn’t give him one.

“Were you wearing gloves that night?” I asked.

“I got in the habit. Started keeping surgical gloves and condoms in my car.”

He seemed to enjoy talking about his crimes, almost as though he was proud of himself, and he hadn’t been able to share his obscene little discourse with anyone else. I’d read about this. Psychopathic killers have an overwhelming need to take credit for what they’ve done. They want to brag about it. Telling someone, anyone, makes them feel god-like. At least it was giving me time to think of a way to disarm him. Also, I have to admit to more than a little morbid curiosity.

“Why did you rape Kurt before you killed him?”

“To keep the pattern consistent. I’d never done that before. Fred seems to like it, so I thought
why not
? It was interesting. You know what else he does? He brings a plastic bag with him on his little adventures, and when he’s done, he puts the used condom in the baggie and takes it with him. He has sex in public, but he doesn’t want to litter.”

I glanced at the gun he held in his lap and noticed that Derrick had an erection. I felt a wave of nausea, but determined to forge ahead rather than surrender to panic. I swallowed a couple of times before speaking.

“There was no foreign pubic hair found on any of the victims, even though they’d all recently had sex.”

“He shaves everything.” He stood up, adjusted himself, and began pacing. “So I started shaving too.”  

“There were no defensive wounds found on Andrew. No sign of a struggle.”

“You’d be surprised how docile people become after sex. Or maybe you wouldn’t.” He winked at me.

The man who was planning to rape and kill me was
flirting
with me?

“As soon as Fred left I moved in and finished the hairdresser off. It was so fast he never even knew what was happening.”

Jesus.

Derrick abruptly stopped pacing and turned to face me. “It’s time to go,” he said. He gestured with the gun, indicating that I should stand. “We’ll stop at your office first.”

I stayed where I was. “Derrick, your daughter is dead. You killed her, and four other people to cover it up. I’m assuming Hearn was trying to blackmail you, so you had to get rid of him?”

Derrick nodded curtly and motioned with the gun again.

“The police will find some evidence linking you to one or all of those victims,” I continued. “You are going to get caught.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Ms. Hunter. I’ve been very careful. Now get up.”

I put out my cigarette, stood, and moved slowly toward the companionway, wondering if an elbow to the solar plexus or a heel-stomp on the instep would cause his trigger finger to convulse.

He must have read my thoughts. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Just get your ass up those stairs.”