Tell Me Your Dreams (4 page)

The room started to spin. Ashley held on to the edge of the table. Florence grabbed her arm.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Ashley. I thought you would have read about it, but of course . .. you had left for London.”

Ashley squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She saw herself sneaking out of the house that night, heading toward Jim Cleary’s house. But she had turned and gone back home to wait for him in the morning.
If only I had gone to him,
Ashley thought miserably,
he would still he alive. And all these years I’ve hated him. Oh, my God. Who could have killed him? Who
—
?

She could hear her father’s voice,
“You keep your goddamned hands off my daughter, do you understand?…If I ever see you around here again, I’ll break every bone in your body.’’

She got to her feet. “You’ll have to excuse me, Florence. I—I’m not feeling very well.”

And Ashley fled.

The detectives. They must have gotten in touch with her father.
Why didn’t he tell me?

She took the first plane back to California. It was early in the morning before she could fall asleep. She had a nightmare. A figure standing in the dark was stabbing Jim and screaming at him. The figure stepped into the light.

It was her father.

T
HE
next few months were misery for Ashley. The image of Jim Cleary’s bloody, mutilated body kept going through her mind. She thought of seeing Dr. Speakman again, but she knew she dare not discuss this with anyone. She felt guilty even
thinking
that her father might have done such a terrible thing. She pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on her work. It was impossible. She looked down in dismay at a logo she had just botched.

Shane Miller was watching her, concerned. “Are you all right, Ashley?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“I really am sorry about your friend.” She had told him about Jim.

“I’ll—I’ll get over it.”

“What about dinner tonight?”

“Thanks, Shane. I—I’m not up to it just yet. Next week.”

“Right. If there’s anything I can do—”

“I appreciate it. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

Toni said to Alette, “Miss Tight Ass has a problem. Well, she can get stuffed.”

“I feel
displace
—sorry for her. She is troubled.”

“Sod her. We all have our problems, don’t we, luv?”

As Ashley was leaving on a Friday afternoon before a holiday weekend, Dennis Tibbie stopped her. “Hey, babe. I need a favor.”

“I’m sorry, Dennis, I—”

“Come on. Lighten up!” He took Ashley’s arm. “I need some advice from a woman’s point of view.”

“Dennis, I’m not in the—”

“I’ve fallen in love with somebody, and I want to marry her, but there are problems. Will you help me?”

Ashley hesitated. She did not like Dennis Tibbie, but she could see no harm in trying to help him. “Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“I need to talk to you now. It’s really urgent.”

Ashley took a deep breath. “All right.”

“Can we go to your apartment?”

She shook her head. “No.” She would never be able to make him leave.

“Will you stop by my place?”

Ashley hesitated. “Very well.”
That way I can leave when I want to. If I can help him get the woman he’s in love with, maybe he’ll leave me alone.

Toni said to Alette, “God! Goody Two-shoes is going to the twerp’s apartment. Can you believe she could be that stupid? Where’s her sodding brains?”

“She’s just trying to help him. There’s nothing wrong with—”

“Oh, come on, Alette. When are you going to grow up? The man wants to bonk her.”

“Non va. Non si fa così”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Dennis Tibbie’s apartment was furnished in neo-nightmare. Posters of old horror movies hung from the walls, next to pinups of naked models and wild animals feeding. Tiny erotic wood carvings were spread out on tables.

It’s the apartment of a madman,
Ashley thought. She could not wait to get out of there.

“Hey, I’m glad you could come, baby. I really appreciate this. If—”

“I can’t stay long, Dennis.” Ashley warned him. “Tell me about this woman you’re in love with.”

“She’s really something.” He held out a cigarette. “Cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke.” She watched him light up.

“How about a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

He grinned. “You don’t smoke, you don’t drink. That leaves an interesting activity, doesn’t it?”

She said to him sharply, “Dennis, if you don’t—”

“Only kidding.” He walked over to the bar and poured some wine. “Have a little wine. That can’t hurt you.” He handed her the glass.

She took a sip of wine. “Tell me about Miss Right.”

Dennis Tibbie sat down on the couch next to Ashley. “I’ve never met anybody like her. She’s sexy like you and—”

“Stop it or I’ll leave.”

“Hey, that was meant as a compliment. Anyway, she’s crazy about me, but her mother and father are very social, and they hate me.”

Ashley made no comment.

“So the thing is, if I push it, she’ll marry me, but she’ll alienate her family. She’s really close to them, and if I marry her, they’ll sure as hell disown her. Then one day, she’ll probably blame me. Do you see the problem?”

Ashley took another sip of wine. “Yes. I…”

After that, time seemed to vanish in a mist.

She awakened slowly, knowing that something was terribly wrong. She felt as though she had been drugged. It was an enormous effort merely to open her eyes. Ashley looked around the room and began to panic. She was lying in a bed, naked, in a cheap hotel room. She managed to sit up, and her head started to pound. She had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. There was a room service menu on the nightstand, and she reached over and picked it up.
The Chicago Loop Hotel.
She read it again, stunned.
What am I doing in Chicago? How long have I been here? The visit to Dennis Tibbie’s apartment had been on Friday. What day is this?
With growing alarm, she picked up the telephone.

“May I help you?”

It was difficult for Ashley to speak. “What—what day is this?”

“Today is the seventeenth of—”

“No. I mean what
day
of the week is this?”

“Oh. Today is Monday. Can I—”

Ashley replaced the receiver in a daze.
Monday.
She had lost two days and two nights. She sat up at the edge of the bed, trying to remember. She had gone to Dennis Tibbie’s apartment… She had had a glass of wine… After that, everything was a blank.

He had put something in her glass of wine that had made her temporarily lose her memory. She had read about incidents where a drug like that had been used. It was called the “date rape drug.” That was what he had given her. The talk about wanting her advice had been a ruse.
And like a fool, I fell for it.
She had no recollection of going to the airport, flying to Chicago or checking into this seedy hotel room with Tibbie. And worse—no recollection of what had happened in this room.

I’ve got to get out of here,
Ashley thought desperately. She felt unclean, as though every inch of her body had been violated. What had he done to her? Trying not to think about it, she got out of bed, walked into the tiny bathroom and stepped into the shower. She let the stream of hot water pound against her body, trying to wash away whatever terrible, dirty things had happened to her. What if he had gotten her pregnant? The thought of having his child was sickening, Ashley got out of the shower, dried herself and walked over to the closet. Her clothes were missing. The only things inside the closet were a black leather
miniskirt, a cheap-looking tube top and a pair of spiked highheeled shoes. She was repelled by the thought of putting on the clothes, but she had no choice. She dressed quickly and glanced in the mirror. She looked like a prostitute.

Ashley examined her purse. Only forty dollars. Her checkbook and credit card were still there.
Thank God!

She went out into the corridor. It was empty. She took the elevator down to the seedy-looking lobby and walked over to the checkout desk, where she handed the elderly cashier her credit card.

“Leavin’ us already?” He leered. “Well, you had a good time, huh?”

Ashley stared at him, wondering what he meant and afraid to find out. She was tempted to ask him when Dennis Tibbie had checked out, but she decided it was better not to bring it up.

The cashier was putting her credit card through a machine. He frowned and put it through again. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. This card won’t go through. You’ve exceeded your limit.”

Ashley’s mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible! There’s some mistake!”

The clerk shrugged. “Do you have another credit card?”

“No. I—I don’t. Will you take a personal check?”

He was eyeing her outfit disapprovingly. “I guess so, if you have some ID.”

“I need to make a telephone call…”

“Telephone booth in the corner.”

“San Francisco Memorial Hospital…”

“Dr. Steven Patterson.”

“One moment, please…”

“Dr. Patterson’s office.”

“Sarah? This is Ashley. I need to speak to my father.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Patterson. He’s in the operating room and—”

Ashley’s grip tightened on the telephone. “Do you know how long he’ll be there?”

“It’s hard to say. I know he has another surgery scheduled after—”

Ashley found herself fighting hysteria. “I need to talk to him. It’s urgent. Can you get word to him, please? As soon as he gets a chance, have him call me.” She looked at the telephone number in the booth and gave it to her father’s receptionist. “I’ll wait here until he calls.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

She sat in the lobby for almost an hour, willing the telephone to ring. People passing by stared at her or ogled her, and she felt naked in the tawdry outfit she was wearing. When the phone finally rang, it startled her.

She hurried back into the phone booth. “Hello…”

“Ashley?” It was her father’s voice.

“Oh, Father, I—”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m in Chicago and—”

“What are you doing in Chicago?”

“I can’t go into it now. I need an airline ticket to San Jose. I don’t have any money with me. Can you help me?”

“Of course. Hold on.” Three minutes later, her father came back on the line. “There’s an American Airlines plane leaving O’Hare at ten-forty A.M., Flight 407. There will be a ticket waiting
for you at the check-in counter. I’ll pick you up at the airport in San Jose and—”

“No!” She could not let him see her like this. “I’ll—I’ll go to my apartment to change.”

“All right. I’ll come down and meet you for dinner. You can tell me all about it then.”

“Thank you, Father. Thank you.”

On the plane going home, Ashley thought about the unforgivable thing Dennis Tibbie had done to her.
I’m going to have to go to the police,
she decided.
I can’t let him get away with this. How many other women has he done this to?

When Ashley got back to her apartment, she felt as though she had returned to a sanctuary. She could not wait to get out of the tacky outfit she was wearing. She stripped it off as quickly as she could. She felt as though she needed another shower before she met her father. She started to walk over to her closet and stopped. In front of her, on the dressing table, was a burned cigarette butt.

They were seated at a corner table in a restaurant at The Oaks. Ashley’s father was studying her, concerned. “What were you doing in Chicago?”

“I—I don’t know.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “You don’t know?”

Ashley hesitated, trying to make up her mind whether to tell him what had happened. Perhaps he could give her some advice.

She said carefully, “Dennis Tibbie asked me up to his apartment to help him with a problem…”

“Dennis Tibbie? That
snake?”
Long ago, Ashley had introduced her father to the people she worked with. “How could you have anything to do with him?”

Ashley knew instantly that she had made a mistake. Her father had always overreacted to any problems she had. Especially when it involved a man.

“If I ever see you around here again, Cleary. I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“It’s not important,” Ashley said.

“I want to hear it.”

Ashley sat still for a moment, filled with a sense of foreboding. “Well, I had a drink at Dennis’s apartment and…”

As she talked, she watched her father’s face grow grim. There was a look in his eyes that frightened her. She tried to cut the story short.

“No,” her father insisted. “I want to hear it all…”

Ashley lay in bed that night, too drained to sleep, her thoughts chaotic.
If what Dennis did to me becomes public, it will be humiliating. “Everyone at work will know what happened. But I can’t let him do this to anyone else. I have to tell the police.

People had tried to warn her that Dennis was obsessed with her, but she had ignored them. Now, looking back on it, she could see all the signs: Dennis had hated to see anyone else talking to her; he was constantly begging her for dates; he was always eavesdropping…

At least I know who the stalker is,
Ashley thought.

At 8:30 in the morning, as Ashley was getting ready to leave for work, the telephone rang. She picked it up. “Hello.”

“Ashley, it’s Shane. Have you heard the news?”

“What news?”

“It’s on television. They just found Dennis Tibbie’s body.”

For an instant the earth seemed to shift. “Oh, my God! What happened?”

“According to the sheriff’s office, somebody stabbed him to death and then castrated him.”

D
EPUTY
Sam Blake had earned his position in the Cupertino Sheriff’s Office the hard way: He had married the sheriff’s sister, Serena Dowling, a virago with a tongue sharp enough to fell the forests of Oregon. Sam Blake was the only man Serena had ever met who was able to handle her. He was a short, gentle, mild-mannered person with the patience of a saint. No matter how outrageous Serena’s behavior, he would wait until she had calmed down and then have a quiet talk with her.

Blake had joined the sheriff’s department because Sheriff
Matt Dowling was his best friend. They had gone to school together and grown up together. Blake enjoyed police work and was exceedingly good at it. He had a keen, inquiring intelligence and a stubborn tenacity. The combination made him the best detective on the force.

Earlier that morning, Sam Blake and Sheriff Dowling were having coffee together.

Sheriff Dowling said, “I hear my sister gave you a bad time last night. We got half a dozen calls from the neighbors complaining about the noise. Serena’s a champion screamer, all right.”

Sam shrugged. “I finally got her calmed down, Matt.”

“Thank God she’s not living with me anymore, Sam. I don’t know what gets into her. Her temper tantrums—”

Their conversation was interrupted. “Sheriff, we just got a 911. There’s been a murder over on Sunnyvale Avenue.”

Sheriff Dowling looked at Sam Blake.

Blake nodded. “I’ll catch it.”

Fifteen minutes later, Deputy Blake was walking into Dennis Tibbie’s apartment. A patrolman in the living room was talking to the building superintendent.

“Where’s the body?” Blake asked.

The patrolman nodded toward the bedroom. “In there, sir.” He looked pale.

Blake walked to the bedroom and stopped, in shock. A man’s naked body was sprawled across the bed, and Blake’s first impression was that the room was soaked in blood. As he stepped closer to the bed, he saw where the blood had come from. The
ragged edge of a broken bottle had punctured the victim’s back, over and over again, and there were shards of glass in his body. The victim’s testicles had been slashed off.

Looking at it, Blake felt a pain in his groin. “How the hell could a human being do a thing like this?” he said aloud. There was no sign of the weapon, but they would make a thorough search.

Deputy Blake went back into the living room to talk to the building superintendent. “Did you know the deceased?”

“Yes, sir. This is his apartment.”

“What’s his name?”

“Tibbie. Dennis Tibbie.”

Deputy Blake made a note. “How long had he lived here?”

“Almost three years.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Not too much, sir. Tibbie kept pretty much to himself, always paid his rent on time. Once in a while he’d have a woman in here. I think they were mostly pros.”

“Do you know where he worked?”

“Oh, yes. Global Computer Graphics Corporation. He was one of them computer nerds.”

Deputy Blake made another note. “Who found the body?”

“One of the maids. Maria. Yesterday was a holiday, so she didn’t come in until this morning—”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get her.”

Maria was a dark-looking Brazilian woman in her forties, nervous and frightened.

“You discovered the body, Maria?”

“I didn’t do it. I swear to you.” She was on the verge of hysteria. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“No. You don’t need a lawyer. Just tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened. I mean—I walked in here this morning to clean, the way I always do. I—I thought he was gone. He’s always out of here by seven in the morning. I tidied up the living room and—”

Damn!
“Maria, do you remember what the room looked like before you tidied up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you move anything? Take anything out of here?”

“Well, yes. There was a broken wine bottle on the floor. It was all sticky. I—”

“What did you do with it?” he asked excitedly.

“I put it in the garbage compactor and ground it up.”

“What else did you do?”

“Well, I cleaned out the ashtray and—”

“Were there any cigarette butts in it?”

She stopped to remember. “One. I put it in the trash basket in the kitchen.”

“Let’s take a look at it.” He followed her to the kitchen, and she pointed to a wastebasket. Inside was a cigarette butt with lipstick on it. Carefully, Deputy Blake scooped it up in a coin envelope.

He led her back to the living room. “Maria, do you know if anything is missing from the apartment? Does it look as if any valuables are gone?”

She looked around. “I don’t think so. Mr. Tibbie, he liked to collect those little statues. He spent a lot of money on them. It looks like they’re all here.”

So the motive was not robbery. Drugs? Revenge? A love affair gone wrong?

“What did you do after you tidied up here, Maria?”

“I vacuumed in here, the way I always do. And then—” Her voice faltered. “I walked into the bedroom and…I saw him.” She looked at Deputy Blake. “I swear I didn’t do it.”

The coroner and his assistants arrived in a coroner’s wagon, with a body bag.

Three hours later, Deputy Sam Blake was back in the sheriff’s office.

“What have you got, Sam?”

“Not much.” Deputy Blake sat down across from Sheriff Dowling. “Dennis Tibbie worked over at Global. He was apparently some kind of genius.”

“But not genius enough to keep himself from getting killed.”

“He wasn’t just killed, Matt. He was slaughtered. You should have seen what someone did to his body. It has to be some kind of maniac.”

“Nothing to go on?”

“We aren’t sure what the murder weapon is, we’re waiting for results from the lab, but it may be a broken wine bottle. The maid threw it in the compactor. It looks like there’s a fingerprint on one of the pieces of glass in his back. I talked to the neighbors. No help there. No one saw anyone coming in or out of his apartment. No unusual noises. Apparently, Tibbie stuck pretty much to himself. He wasn’t the neighborly type. One thing. Tibbie had sex before he died. We have vaginal traces, pubic hairs, other trace evidence and a cigarette stub with lipstick. We’ll test for DNA.”

“The newspapers are going to have a good time with this one, Sam. I can see the headlines now—MANIAC STRIKES SILICON VALLEY.” Sheriff Dowling sighed. “Let’s knock this off as fast as we can.”

“I’m on my way over to Global Computer Graphics now.”

It had taken Ashley an hour to decide whether she should go into the office. She was torn.
One look at me, and everyone will know that something is wrong. But if I don’t show up, they’ll want to know why. The police will probably be there asking questions. If they question me, I’ll have to tell them the truth. They won’t believe me. They’ll blame me for killing Dennis Tibbie. And if they do believe me, and if I tell them my father knew what he did to me, they’ll blame him.

She thought of Jim Cleary’s murder. She could hear Florence’s voice:
“Jim’s parents came back and found his body. He had been stabbed to death and castrated.”

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut tightly.
My God, what’s happening? What’s happening?

Deputy Sam Blake walked onto the work floor where groups of somber employees stood around, talking quietly. Blake could imagine what the subject of conversation was. Ashley watched him apprehensively as he headed toward Shane Miller’s office.

Shane rose to greet him. “Deputy Blake?”

“Yes.” The two men shook hands.

“Sit down, Deputy.”

Sam Blake took a seat. “I understand Dennis Tibbie was an employee here?”

“That’s right. One of the best. It’s a terrible tragedy.”

“He worked here about three years?”

“Yes. He was our genius. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do with a computer.”

“What can you tell me about his social life?”

Shane Miller shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. Tibbie was kind of a loner.”

“Do you have any idea if he was into drugs?”

“Dennis? Hell, no. He was a health nut.”

“Did he gamble? Could he have owed someone a lot of money?”

“No. He made a damned good salary, but I think he was pretty tight with a buck.”

“What about women? Did he have a girlfriend?”

“Women weren’t very attracted to Tibbie.” He thought for a moment. “Lately, though, he was going around telling people there was someone he was thinking of marrying.”

“Did he happen to mention her name?”

Miller shook his head. “No. Not to me, anyway.”

“Would you mind if I talked to some of your employees?”

“Not at all. Go ahead. I have to tell you, they’re all pretty shaken up.”

They would be more shaken up if they could have seen his body,
Blake thought.

The two men walked out onto the work floor.

Shane Miller raised his voice. “May I have your attention, please? This is Deputy Blake. He’d like to ask a few questions.”

The employees had stopped what they were doing and were listening.

Deputy Blake said, “I’m sure that all of you have heard what
happened to Mr. Tibbie. We need your help in finding out who killed him. Do any of you know of any enemies he had? Anyone who hated him enough to want to murder him?” There was a silence. Blake went on. “There was a woman he was interested in marrying. Did he discuss her with any of you?”

Ashley was finding it difficult to breathe. Now was the time to speak up. Now was the time to tell the deputy what Tibbie had done to her. But Ashley remembered the look on her father’s face when she had told him about it. They would blame him for the murder.

Her father could never kill anyone.

He was a doctor.

He was a surgeon.

Dennis Tibbie had been castrated.

Deputy Blake was saying, “…and none of you saw him after he left here on Friday?”

Toni Prescott thought,
Go ahead. Tell him, Miss Goody Two-shoes. Tell him you went to his apartment. Why don’t you speak up?

Deputy Blake stood there a moment, trying to hide his disappointment. “Well, if any of you remembers anything that might be helpful, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. Mr. Miller has my number. Thank you.”

They watched as he moved toward the exit with Shane.

Ashley felt faint with relief.

Deputy Blake turned to Shane. “Was there anyone here he was particularly close to?”

“No, not really,” Shane said. “I don’t think Dennis was close to anybody. He was very attracted to one of our computer operators, but he never got anywhere with her.”

Deputy Blake stopped. “Is she here now?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’d like to talk to her.”

“All right. You can use my office.” They walked back into the room, and Ashley saw them coming. They were headed straight for her cubicle. She could feel her face redden.

“Ashley, Deputy Blake would like to talk to you.”

So he knew! He was going to ask her about her visit to Tibbie’s apartment.
I’ve got to be careful,
Ashley thought.

The deputy was looking at her. “Do you mind, Miss Patterson?”

She found her voice. “No, not at all.” She followed him into Shane Miller’s office.

“Sit down.” They both took chairs. “I understand that Dennis Tibbie was fond of you?”

“I—I suppose…”
Careful.
“Yes.”

“Did you go out with him?”

Going to his apartment would not be the same as going out with him.
“No.”

“Did he talk to you about this woman he wanted to marry?”

She was getting in deeper and deeper. Could he be taping this? Maybe he already knew she had been in Tibbie’s apartment. They could have found her fingerprints. Now was the time to tell the deputy what Tibbie had done to her.
But if I do,
Ashley thought in despair,
it will lead to my father, and they’ll connect that to Jim Cleary’s murder.
Did they know about that, too? But the police department in Bedford would have no reason to notify the police department in Cupertino. Or would they?

Deputy Blake was watching her, waiting for an answer. “Miss Patterson?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. This has got me so upset…”

“I understand. Did Tibbie ever mention this woman he wanted to marry?”

“Yes…but he never told me her name.” That, at least, was true.

“Have you ever been to Tibbie’s apartment?”

Ashley took a deep breath. If she said no, the questioning would probably end. But if they had found her fingerprints…“Yes.”

“You have been to his apartment?”

“Yes.”

He was looking at her more closely now. “You said you’d never been out with him.”

Ashley’s mind was racing now. “That’s right. Not on a date, no. I went to bring him some papers he had forgotten.”

“When was this?”

She felt trapped. “It was…it was about a week ago.”

“And that’s the only time you’ve been to his place?”

“That’s right.”

Now if they had her fingerprints, she would be in the clear.

Deputy Blake sat there, studying her, and she felt guilty. She wanted to tell him the truth. Maybe some burglar had broken in and killed him—the same burglar who had killed Jim Cleary ten years earlier and three thousand miles away. If you believed in coincidences. If you believed in Santa Claus. If you believed in the tooth fairy.

Damn you, Father.

Deputy Blake said, “This is a terrible crime. There doesn’t
seem to be any motive. But you know, in all the years I’ve been on the force, I’ve never seen a crime without a motive.” There was no response. “Do
you
know if Dennis Tibbie was into drugs?”

“I’m sure he wasn’t.”

“So what do we have? It wasn’t drugs. He wasn’t robbed. He didn’t owe anybody money. That kind of leaves a romantic situation, doesn’t it? Someone who was jealous of him.”

Or a father who wanted to protect his daughter.

“I’m as puzzled as you are, Deputy.”

He stared at her for a moment and his eyes seemed to say, “I don’t believe you, lady.”

Deputy Blake got to his feet. He took out a card and handed it to Ashley. “If there’s anything you can think of, I’d appreciate your giving me a call.”