He heard her call his name again as he left to follow what he assumed was the path the intruder had taken.
In the kitchen he discovered the open window. On the closed-in brick area that served as his patio he found two tipped-over flower pots.
He went out, righted the pots, and cursed under his breath. He was certain Donna and Tammy’s attacker had been here. But why? Why?
When he reentered the bedroom, Ilona had put on her skirt and top, but her feet were still bare. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands limp in her lap, her head bowed.
Going to her, he knelt at her feet, lifted her foot, and slipped on her sandals.
“How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
The Doboses lived above the restaurant eight blocks away. It was dark now. He couldn’t just send her out to walk home alone. “I’ll call a cab for you.”
“No!” she said, rearing back as if he’d slapped her. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I cannot go home yet.”
“Why not?”
“My family believe I am at school for my class in English. If I go home now, they will know I lied.”
“The cab can take you to the school.”
“There is no class tonight. It is canceled.”
John sighed. “What time is the class usually over?”
“Ten.”
“Ten o’clock?”
She nodded.
He looked at his watch. It was 9:15. His aunt was at her sewing group. Regina was waiting for him upstairs. He cursed his rotten luck.
She began to cry softly.
“Please don’t cry.”
“You hate me. I make fool of myself and now you hate me.”
“That’s not true, Ilona.”
“You only want to get rid of me. Out of your head.” She shook fingers through her hair. “Like that.”
“Stop crying, please.”
“I want to die. You think because I take off my clothes I am not a virgin?”
“It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re a virgin or not.”
She cried harder.
“Look, I’ll take you home at ten o’clock. Okay?”
She sniffed, swiping roughly at her eyes. She nodded, smiling weakly.
“Good.”
“Do you have wine?”
At the mention of wine he was reminded of the reason he had come downstairs in the first place. Regina was waiting for him to bring the wine that would accompany their dinner. “Ilona, I have to run upstairs. You’ll be all right till I get back. It’ll just take a few minutes.”
He hurried into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of red wine, and went out the apartment door. He nearly careened into Kristy, who had just come in.
“Hi, John,” she said. “Hey, what happened to your head?”
“Barbell fell on me,” he said, touching the cut that had now stopped bleeding but still hurt like hell.
“You shouldn’t press weights without someone to spot for you.”
“You’re right. It was dumb of me.”
From inside his apartment, Ilona called out to him. “Johnnie, where are you? Johnnie?”
Kristy stared at him.
He handed her the wine. “Give that to your mother, will you? And tell her I can’t make dinner tonight. Something’s come up. Tell her I’ll call her as soon as I can.”
“Sure, okay,” she said, glancing into his apartment.
John went back inside and closed the door.
Ilona was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He motioned for her to come into the living room as he paced impatiently, glaring at his watch.
Regina had eaten little of the meal she’d prepared, though she had drunk a good portion of the wine.
Back in the living room, Regina picked up the list and the phone. She dialed, but hung up before it could ring. Without John, she realized, she had lost her enthusiasm for investigating.
After dousing most of the lights, she went to the window seat. She leaned against the inner casing, her knees drawn up to her chest, looking out at the tiny red lights atop the Bay Bridge as she listened to the distant, soft love songs from Kristy’s radio.
Again she wondered what had happened to prevent John from coming back upstairs. Kristy had handed her the bottle of wine and delivered the message from John. But there was something odd about the whole thing. Kristy had avoided her eyes through dinner, and after helping with the dishes, had disappeared into her room.
What could possibly have come up in the short span of time it took for him to run down to his place for a half bottle of wine? A death in the family? An accident? A change of heart?
Don’t be a fool, she told herself, one kiss does not an affair make. Something important had come up and it had nothing to do with her.
She found herself studying her shadowy image in the windowpane. Her looks had meant little to her for so many years. Leo had praised her in everything except her appearance, actually discouraging any notions of vanity. She thought of Corinne and Donna, beautiful women now marred for life, and suddenly she felt a sense of panic. Would John have looked twice at her, she wondered, if she hadn’t been pretty?
She heard the exterior door open and close. A moment later she saw two people standing on the sidewalk. A man and a woman —lovers, she surmised. They turned left, heading west. The woman had a youthful air about her. Her step was light, and her free arm swung back and forth, whipping the filmy gauze skirt about. She held onto the man’s arm, her head against his shoulder.
A car turned east onto the street and as it passed the couple, its beams bathed them in light.
Regina recognized the woman as the young Hungarian girl she’d met in John’s apartment. The man was John.
No wonder Kristy couldn’t look her in the face at dinner. Regina suddenly felt sick to her stomach.
From the dark front seat of the old Packard, Corinne watched the couple walk down the street. The woman clung possessively to John’s arm.
Corinne waited until they reached the corner before leaving the car. She followed, keeping close to the building fronts. After a half dozen blocks the pair ahead of her reached Van Ness Avenue. They crossed.
Corinne couldn’t decide whether to continue or turn back. The busy avenue was well lighted by traffic and street lamps. Standing on the corner, her hood pulled across the scarred side of her face, she decided to wait, watching until John and the young woman disappeared from view. But to her surprise, they stopped in front of a restaurant kitty-corner from her.
A man lumbered out of a bar several doors down and looked up and down the street. He stopped to light a cigarette and paused when he saw her. With the unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, he walked toward her, swaying drunkenly.
“Hey, babe, you lost?”
Corinne turned her head away and said nothing.
“Need an escort home?” He reached out and plucked at the sleeve of her coat.
She backed up and he pursued. More angry than frightened, she pushed at him. He was interfering in something very important.
“Let’s see what you look like behind that mysterious hood,” the man said, cigarette bobbing between his slack lips. He pulled it away from her face.
The cigarette dropped from his mouth and he frowned before stepping backward, his eyes widening. Without another word he swiveled around and hurried off the way he’d come.
Corinne collapsed against the cold concrete building, fighting an array of emotions. She hated the man for reminding her how ugly she was. Then she remembered why she was there and, pushing her hate and anger aside, looked across the intersection.
John and the girl stood facing each other, then suddenly they merged as one. Corinne realized they were kissing. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She wanted to laugh because the woman he was now kissing was not Regina, therefore it was obvious he didn’t love Regina. But she wanted to cry because the woman he was kissing was not her, Corinne.
John reached up and pulled Ilona�
�s arms away from his neck. Without warning she had embraced him, kissing him with brash, inexperienced force.
“You’re going to get into trouble doing things like that,” John said, holding tight to her wrists.
She smiled and came forward again, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him again. John turned his head and her mouth brushed his jaw. “Good night,” he said, opening the door, turning her, then propelling her through. He pivoted quickly and strode away.
A little more than halfway home, he sensed he was being followed. He slowed, listened for footsteps. His head hurt where he had been hit. There was still a slight ringing in his ear and he wondered if that was responsible for the sounds he was hearing; making him think that someone was behind him, keeping pace. He spun around quickly and he swore he saw, just a flash, a dark figure being swallowed by shadows.
Less than an hour ago he had been bashed on the head, and he realized then that if someone was following him there was a strong possibility it was the same person. His heart hammered. He was curious to know who that person was, but not enough to risk, unarmed, another confrontation. He hurried on, looking back often. Minutes later he reached his apartment house. The sidewalk behind him was clear for as far as he could see.
Looking up to the second floor, he thought he saw a figure in the dark upstairs window of Regina’s apartment. He entered the building, climbed to the second floor, and knocked softly several times. When he received no response, he went down to his apartment and called her on the extension in his bedroom. After four rings the answering machine greeted him.
CHAPTER 26
John called Regina’s apartment at 7:30 that morning. Kristy informed him that Regina had already left for work. He called the station. After holding on the line for an interminable amount of time, she finally came on.
“Hi,” he said softly
“Hello.” Her tone was cool and businesslike.
“Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back for dinner last night. Something unexpected came up and I had to take care of it.”
“I understand,” she said flatly.
“What time can you break away?”
“I’m sorry. It’s impossible today.”
“What do you mean? We have the butcher tape and—”
“Can’t you do it without me?”
“I can, yes, but I don’t want to. Regina, this is important. It won’t take long, I promise.”
A pause. Then, “All right. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
He hung up slowly, staring out the window. Her cool reception had him wondering if she now regretted the intimacy they had shared the night before. He’d made a promise to himself not to come on to her until she was ready. But the look, the smile she had given him as she stood at the stove, could have been interpreted only one way, and damnit, he had responded in kind. However, he sensed her reluctance to go with him today was an expression of anger rather than remorse. More than likely Kristy had mentioned the woman in his apartment or she had seen him walking Ilona home.
He’d decided not to tell her about the intruder. She was frightened enough as it was. So she would just have to think the worst. Trying to explain why Ilona was in his apartment, in his bathtub, wouldn’t be any easier.
After two cups of coffee and no breakfast, he showered and dressed. He paced for several minutes, then decided to go to the station instead of waiting. Deep down he was afraid she wouldn’t show.
The morning was overcast and chilly. He buried his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and walked briskly, covering the six blocks in minutes. He found her car parked on Lombard, a block from the station. Leaning against it, he waited, watching the entrance.
At exactly 8:30 she came out of the building, walking briskly toward him. Her hair was up today. Loose tendrils of hair, from the dampness in the air, curled against her cheek and neck. She wore a gray, knee-length straight skirt, split up the front, a fuchsia V-neck sweater under a matching oversized cardigan, and gray pumps. A silver rope chain swung between her breasts as she walked.
She stopped to get something from her purse. John watched her, thinking how different she’d become since the first time he saw her outside the apartment building. Was the change entirely due to her new job as talk show hostess? He wanted to believe that his recent emergence into Regina’s life might have something to do with her sudden desire to play up her looks.
She pulled her mace key chain from her purse and resumed walking. When she spotted him, she seemed to waver slightly, then she continued to the car.
“I thought I was to pick you up?” she asked, unlocking the door, not looking at him.
“I need the exercise.”
She got in the car and unlocked the door.
John climbed in.
“Where to?” she asked, starting the engine. Her gaze darted to the cut at his brow, but she said nothing.
He directed her to an area south of Market Street. They were both silent as she drove.
The Blue Ribbon Meat Company was a large gray building not far from the Mission District.
“This doesn’t look like a butcher shop to me,” Regina said, parking.
“It isn’t. It’s a wholesale place. Better for us. Now we can be relatively certain that someone didn’t pop in off the street for a pound of ground round. Whoever had that package probably buys their meat in bulk. Let’s find out if it’s Amelia Corde.”
They entered a door marked Office. The small room was empty. A button on the counter read. Ring Bell for Service.
John buzzed.
A middle-aged man with a pot belly and short legs pushed through a swinging door. “Help you?” he asked.
“We’re interested in buying some beef.”
“You with a market or a restaurant?”
“Neither. It’s for private consumption. We’re looking to buy a hindquarter.”
“Half’s the least amount we handle. Could sell you two hindquarters though.”
“Then you do sell to the public?”
“If it’s in bulk.”
“Any chance of us trying a couple steaks before we make a decision.”
“I’ll have to charge full price.”
“Sounds fair. Two porterhouses. Thick.”
The man smiled, nodding. He pushed through a swinging door into the plant. Several minutes later he was back with a package in white butcher paper.
“Came to a little more than two pounds. That’ll be — aw, what the heck, I’ll give it to you at wholesale price. Call it an introductory offer.”
“Thanks,” John said paying for the meat. It wasn’t the discount that had his heart beating soundly, it was the tape with the little blue ribbons stamped an inch apart.
“Friends of ours recommended Blue Ribbon,” Regina said. “The Cordes. Do you know the name?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t do the order taking or the billing. But tell them we appreciate the recommendation.”
Out on the sidewalk John handed the package to Regina. She looked at the tape, looked up at him, and for the first time since they met that morning, her eyes became bright. She smiled.
“We know where the meat was purchased,” John said, “but we still don’t know by whom.”
“I’ve been to Amelia’s house. There’s a freezer.” Regina said. “It’s in a utility room off the kitchen.”
“Let’s go back home.” John took her arm and began walking. “There’s something I want to look into.”
A half hour later they were in John’s apartment. Regina sat in the rocker, her legs crossed. The split in the straight skirt exposed her leg to mid-thigh. John’s gaze kept returning to her legs as he paced the room, talking into the cordless phone. The nylons she wore were sheer, and he saw the white line of a small scar on the kneecap. He wondered how she had gotten it.
The information operator gave him the number for the Meadowvale Inn in Napa.
“What did you say Amelia’s husband did for a living?” he asked Regina as he
dialed.
“He’s a judge.”
A female voice said, “Meadowvale Inn. Desk. Rachel speaking.”
“Rachel, this is Judge Corde in San Francisco. I have before me an invoice from your establishment. It seems there’s a discrepancy regarding a number of long-distance telephone calls made from the room my wife and I were said to occupy.”
“Which room was that, Judge Corde?”
“That, I believe, is another problem. The room number on this invoice is not the same room we occupied. And the dates, I fear, are off. We checked in on the eleventh and checked out the fourteenth. Now, if you’ll just pull your copy so we may get this straightened out.”
John heard papers rustling. “Your dates are correct. Judge Corde, and according to my records there were no long-distance calls charged to room nineteen.”
“That was my opinion, as well. Am I safe to assume a mistake has been made in billing and I may, therefore, dispose of this invoice?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry you had to be inconvenienced, sir. We have a new girl in accounting.”
John disconnected and turned to Regina. “Damnit.”
“What?”
“They were there from Thursday to Sunday morning.”
“But she still could have driven into the city on Saturday,” Regina said. “She may have lied about visiting her mother.”
“Or she could have had someone else go to the Fitness Center. Kincade.” John paced. “If I could just get a look in their meat freezer.” He whirled around to Regina. “C’mon.” He pulled her up from the rocker. “I have an idea.”
Donna stood at the window, looking out across the hospital parking lot. A sense of sadness was all that remained of yesterday’s deep depression. She’d been a fool to consider suicide. Tom, so levelheaded and compassionate, had convinced her she wasn’t to blame for Tammy’s death, or for her own attack. And she realized that had she succeeded in killing herself, the burden of her death would fall on Nolan. After all, he had brought her the pills, though, naturally, he hadn’t dreamed she would use them in that way.
Night Hunter Page 24
