Night Hunter (29 page)

“
When this breaks there’s going to be one helluva hoopla. ‘City Gallery’ will skyrocket right off the charts.”

Regina’s mind was elsewhere.

Tammy had been warned.

CHAPTER 23

Wednesday, four nights following Tammy’s death, John Davie walked toward the main doors of the hospital where Donna Lake was a patient. The streetlights warmed up to full incandescence. As he neared the entrance, he saw Regina come out, hurry down the steps, and turn in the opposite direction. She crossed the street to the station wagon.

John called out to her

She turned and watched him approach. “Are you following me?”

“
No. You’re in a car, I’m on foot, how can I follow you?”

“
What are you doing here then?”

“
I came to talk to you.”

“
How’d you know I was here?”

“
Kristy told me.”

“
Terrific.”

“
Don’t be mad at her. She trusts me, not like some people I know.”

“
It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that ...”

“
What?”

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and looked away.

“
Do you think I’d hurt you?” he asked.

“
Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not.”

Regina unlocked her car door, climbed inside, and slammed it shut. She sat staring straight ahead. John stood by the side of the car, waiting. When she leaned over and unlocked the door on the passenger side, he walked around the car and got in.

She started the car, shifted gears, and pulled away from the curb without another word.

After several minutes of silence, John said, “How’s Donna?”

“
She’s healing.”

“
Have the cops contacted you about Tammy?”

Regina glanced over at him. “No. You?”

He shook his head.

She chewed her lower lip.

“
I think we should do some checking on our own. What do you say?”

“
Not interested. I work in television, not in crime detection. I have a job. I have a daughter. I’m too damn busy to play cops and ... whatever.”

“
Too busy to want to stop this maniac before he hurts someone else?” He saw her fingers grip tight on the steering wheel. “We have a mutual friend in the D.A.’s office. Wilma would have access to all the reports and files. She’d want to help out a friend.”

“
You can do that without me.”

“
I’d like you to be the one to call her.”

“
You said you knew her.”

“
I do.”

She stared hard at him now.

“
You have a reason for wanting to know. Both women were friends of yours.”

She sighed, shifted around, tossing her hair back. “What do you want me to ask her?”

“
For starters, I’d like to know how they’re handling Tammy’s death. Accident? Suicide? Homicide?”

“
And?”

“
And then we’ll go from there.”

Regina made the
call to Wilma Greenwood from her apartment. Kristy and Sonya sat on the floor painting each others toenails and watching the Giant-Dodger ball game on TV. John paced at the bay windows.

“
Spill one drop of that nail polish and it’s —oh, Wilma, hi, it’s Regina Van Raven.”

“
Regina, how the hell are you? I’ve been thinking about you. God, I saw the show the other
day
—wild.
I get the chills just thinking about it.”

“
That’s partly why I called. Wilma, I’d like your help on something.”

“
Sure, hon. What do you need?”

“
With your connections at the district attorney’s office, I wondered if you could nose around.” Regina watched John turn his head and look at her, grinning. She turned her back to him. “Y’know, look into a few things for me concerning Tammy Kowalski’s death?”

Silence.

“
I want to know if the police are treating it as a homicide?” Regina finished quickly.

“
That’s it?”

“
For now.”

“
May I ask why you want to know? Is it for the show?”

“
No.” Regina decided the truth was best. “Donna, Tammy and I were contestants in the same pageant. I’d like to know if I should be concerned, that’s all.”

“
Ahhh. Yes, I can understand that.”

“
Will you do it?”

“
No problem. I’ll call you back tomorrow. At the station?”

“
Yes. Thanks, Wilma. Good-bye.”

“
Oh, Regina, how do you like the apartment?”

“
I love it.”

“
Have you met John yet?”

Regina glanced over at John. “Yes. I have.”

“
Enough said then.”

Regina wanted to ask what she meant by that, but John was staring at her now and Wilma was saying good-bye.

Regina hung up. To John she said, “She’ll call tomorrow.”

He lifted his jacket from the couch, draped it over his shoulder, and stepped up to her. Something fell from the pocket onto the carpet.

Regina bent down and picked up three red pistachio shells.

“
Some people smoke and do drugs, I’m hooked on pistachios.

“
Good choice.”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“
Coffee?”

“
Thanks, can’t. I’ve got to tend bar tonight. I’ll be here all day tomorrow. Call.” Then he was out the door, closing it softly behind him.

CHAPTER 24

At eleven o’clock the following morning, Wilma Axelrod Greenwood called Regina.

“
Good news, dear. Homicide has been ruled out. Of course it’s not official yet, but they’re leaning toward suicide or possibly an accidental drowning.”

“
She was fully clothed, Wilma. Not likely to take a swim in her high heels and miniskirt.”

Regina heard the rustling of papers. “Medical examiner’s report states death due to drowning. No sign of a struggle. The police had gotten excited over a couple deep scratches and facial burns. Turns out the scratches were made by the deceased’s own fingernails, and the burns were a result of an anti-aging cream and too much sun.

“
There was enough booze and barbiturates in her system to greatly impair her judgment,” Wilma went on. “In other words, she was bombed. Two people, a co-worker and her husband, both attested to the fact that prior to her death she was extremely depressed and irrational.”

“
What about acid?”

“
Acid? Oh, you mean acid like with Donna Lake? Nothing here about acid, or any corrosive material, that I can see. I’m sure it would’ve shown up in the report had there been any.”

“
I see.”

“
You don’t sound pleased. I thought you were concerned about a connection. There doesn’t seem to be one.”

“
I am pleased. Very pleased. Wilma, does that report give a time of death?”

“
Let’s see ... yes, sometime between four-ten and four-thirty-five P.M.
”

“
How did the medical examiner determine that.”

“
Not the M.E. The police report states she was last seen alive by her aerobics class and one Bradley Segal, employee, around four. She called her husband at four-ten and he found her in the pool thirty-five minutes later.”

“
I don’t suppose they can pinpoint the exact moment she died?”

“
Now why —oh, I see. Of course, the
psychic.
I don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo, but I must confess it was very convincing what that Cudahay woman did. Look, I’ll ask around. Let me get back to you.”

“
Thanks, Wilma. You’ve been a big help.”

“
Anytime.”

“
Oh, Wilma, about John Davie. What did you mean ...” But the assistant D.A. had already hung up.

At noon, John stirred the pot of chicken soup and tasted it. He added barley, carrots, and a quartered head of cabbage.

He poured another cup of coffee and returned to the living room, to the blue monitor with the cursed blinking cursor. Standing behind his swivel chair he read the five paragraphs that had taken him all morning to write.

Pure shit.
Punching function buttons, he deleted the entire text. Then he slapped at the back of the chair, sending it spinning.

Sonofabitch. What was the matter with him? He hadn’t been able to write a damn thing since Regina had moved in above him. He knew it wasn’t her alone that had robbed him of his creative juices, it was the whole frigging situation. Corinne, Amelia, the acid, his feelings of guilt and inadequacy. And until it was resolved he could damn well forget about writing anything that made sense.

John brought up the names of the Classic finalists. To the top of the page, under VICTIM, he added Tammy’s name to the list: (1) Corinne Odett (2) Donna Lake (3) Tammy Kowalski. Only two names remained at the bottom of the list, preceded by question marks —Amelia Corde and Regina Van Raven.

He heard a knock on his door, so quietly that at first he thought it was at another door down the hall. He heard it again, louder. It had to be someone who lived in the building, otherwise he would have been buzzed from the entry. He never locked his door and his relatives usually walked in without knocking. Regina?

He cleared the monitor. He pulled his shirt together, buttoned several lower buttons, tucked it into his Levi’s, then crossed the room and opened the door.

The young Hungarian girl stood timidly, a plate of strudel in her hands, her gaze meeting his before darting away.

John looked across the hall to see the door of his aunt and uncle’s apartment closing softly.

“
Hi,” he said. “For me?”

Ilona nodded, smiling.

“
Bake it, did you?”

“
Yes, your Aunt Anna and me. It’s sour cherry and walnut.”

“
That’s my absolute favorite.” And Aunt Anna knows it, he thought. “Shall we try it?”

She smiled again, moving ahead of him through the apartment.

She was wearing a pastel pink summer dress and sandals. Her honey blond hair hung straight down her back to her waist. Her blond hair intrigued him. The Hungarians in his family, and their friends, were all dark haired.

In the kitchen he poured coffee while she cut the strudel and put it on plates. He pulled out a kitchen chair for her. Then he hoisted himself up on the counter top and sat with his back against the cabinets. After taking a bite, he complimented her baking skills.