WMC - First to Die

by James Patterson

  Chapter 58

  "NO WONDER the bride didn't wear white," Raleigh frowned and said as I told him about my interview with Merrill Shortley. McBride had set us up for dinner at Nonni's, an Italian place on the lake, a short walk from our hotel. Raleigh's interview with the groom's parents had yielded nothing eventful. James Voskuhl had been an aspiring musician who had floated on the edge of the music scene in Seattle, finally hooking his way into representing a couple of upcoming bands. He had no known connection to San Francisco. "The killer knew Kathy," I said. "How else would he find her here? They had a relationship." "Right up to the end?" he mused. "To the very end," I answered. "Meaning maybe here, in Cleveland. These weren't choir girls Merrill said this guy was older, married, kinky, predatory. It fits the pattern of the murders. Someone she knew in San Francisco must have seen Red Beard. Somebody knows. Merrill claims that Kathy was protecting her lover, possibly because he was a celebrity." "You think this Merrill Shortley has more to add?" "Maybe. Or the family. I got the feeling they were holding something back." He had ordered a '97 Chianti and when it came he tilted his glass. "Here's to David and Melanie, Michael and Becky, James and Kathy." "Let's toast them when we catch this pathetic bastard," I said. It was the first time we'd been alone in Cleveland, and suddenly I was nervous. We had an entire evening to fill, and no matter how we kept steering back to the case or joking how "this wasn't a date," there was this pull, this bass chord twanging inside me, telling me that this was no time to start anything with anyone, not even handsome and charming Chris Raleigh. Then why had I changed into a baby blue sweater and nice slacks instead of staying with the chambray shirt and khakis I'd worn all day? We ordered. I had osso bucco, spinach, a salad; Raleigh, a veal pail lard "Maybe it was someone on her job?" Raleigh said. "Or connected with her job?" "I told Jacobi to check out her firm in Seattle. Her father said she still came down to San Francisco on business. I want to see if that's the case." "And if it isn't?" "Then either she was hiding something or they are." He took a sip of wine. "Why would she go through with a wedding if she was still involved with this guy?" I shrugged. "They all said Kathy was finally settling down. I'd like to see what she was like back then, if this is what they meant by settling down." I was thinking that I wanted another crack at the sister, Hillary. I remembered something she had said. Old habits are hard to crack. I had thought she was talking about drugs, parties. Did she mean Red Beard? "McBride tells me tomorrow morning we should be able to review some film at the museum." "The guy was there, Raleigh," I said with certainty. "He was there that night. Kathy knew her killer. We just have to find out who he is." Raleigh poured a little more wine into my glass. "We're partners now, aren't we, Lindsay?" "Sure," I said, a little surprised by the question. "Can't you tell I trust you?" "I mean, we've been through three double murders, we're committed to seeing it through, I backed you up with Mercer. I even helped clean up after dinner at your place." "Yeah, so?" I smiled. But his face had a cast of seriousness to it. I was trying to figure out where he was going. "What do you say, maybe it's about time you started calling me Chris."

  Chapter 59

  AFTER DINNER, Chris and I walked down by the tree lined lakefront toward our hotel. A cool, misty breeze lapped at my face. We didn't say much. That same nervous apprehension was tingling on the surface of my skin. Occasionally, our arms brushed. He had his jacket off, and there was a solid outline to his shoulders and arms. Not that I was noticing superficial things like that. "It's still early," he said. "Five-thirty, our time," I replied. "I could still catch Roth. Maybe I should bring him up to date." Raleigh grinned. "You already called Jacobi. I bet he was probably in Roth's office before he hung up the phone." As we walked, it was as if this unbearable force were pulling me close, then pushing me away. "Anyway," I said, "for once I don't feel like calling in." "What do you feel like?" Raleigh asked. "Why don't we just walk." "The Indians are playing. You want to sneak our way in? It must be the fifth inning." "We're cops, Raleigh." "Yeah, that would be bad. You want to dance, then?" "No," I said, even firmer. "I don't want to dance." Every word seemed charged with a hidden, electric message. "What I'm starting to feel like" -- I turned to him" is that I'm having a hard time remembering to call you Chris." "And what I'm starting to feel like," he answered, facing me, "is I'm having a hard time trying to pretend that nothing's going on." "I know," I murmured breathlessly. "But I just can't." It sounded really stupid, but as much as I wanted him, there was a greater hesitation inside holding me back. "I know… but I just can't. What does that mean?" "It means I'm feeling things, too. And that part of me wants to go with those feelings. But right now, I just don't know if I can. It's complicated, Chris." Every nerve in my body was on alert. We found ourselves walking again, the breeze from the lake suddenly cooling the sweat that had broken out on my neck. "You mean it's complicated because we're working together?" "That," I lied. I'd dated guys on the force once or twice. "That… and what else?" Raleigh said. A thousand desires inside me were screaming to give in. What was going through my mind was crazy. I wanted him to touch me; and I didn't. We were alone on the waterfront. At that moment, if he held me, if he bent and kissed me, I didn't know what I would do. "I do want to," I said, my fingers reaching for his hand, staring into his deep blue eyes. "You're not telling me everything," he said. It took everything I had to hold off confessing. I don't know why I didn't. A deep part of me wanted him to want me, and to keep thinking I was strong. I could feel the heat from his body, and I thought he could feel the wavering resolve in mine. "I just can't right now," I said softly. "You know, I won't always be your partner, Lindsay." "I know that. And maybe I won't always be able to say no." I don't know if I was disappointed or relieved to see our hotel up ahead. Part of me wanted to run to my room, throw open the windows, and just breathe in the night air. I was sort of happy I wouldn't have to make that decision, when Raleigh took me by surprise. He leaned over without warning and pressed his lips on mine. The kiss was so soft, as if he were gently asking, Is this okay? I let the kiss linger warmly. Soft hands… soft lips. It wasn't as if I hadn't imagined this happening. It was just as I had imagined. I wanted to be in control, but here it was, out of the blue, and I was giving in. But just as I was starting to give him myself, the fear caught up to me- the fear of the inescapable truth. I dropped my head, slowly pulled away. "That was nice. For me, anyway," Raleigh said, resting his forehead against mine. I nodded but said, "I can't, Chris." "Why are you always holding back, Lindsay?" he asked. I wanted to say, Because I am deceiving you. Tell him everything that was going on. But I was content to deceive, though I did it with the greatest yearning I had felt in years. "I just want to nail Red Beard," I answered.

  Chapter 60

  THE NEXT MORNING, Detective McBride left a message for us to meet him in Sharp's office at the Hall of Fame. Something had come back on the film. In a sparsely decorated conference room, the museum's security chief, McBride, and several members of the CPD Homicide staff sat facing a wide-screen video monitor on a walnut cabinet. "At first," Sharp began self-importantly, "we were just randomly going through the tape with members of the families, stopping on anyone who didn't look familiar. Your sketch," he turned to me, "helped narrow it down." He flicked a handheld controller toward the screen. "The first clips you're gonna see are the main entrance." The screen lit up, standard black-and-white surveillance footage. It was so weird and strange. Several gaudily dressed guests seemed to be arriving at once, many of them outfitted as famous rockers. One was Elton John. His date had teased hair dyed in various light and dark shades, Cyndi Lauper style. I recognized a Chuck Berry, a Michael Jackson, a couple of Madonnas, Elvis, Elvis Costellos. Sharp fast-forwarded, the film advancing like individual, edited stills. An older couple arrived dressed in traditional evening wear. Behind them, almost tucked into their backs, came a man who was clearly shying from the camera, averting his face. "There!" Sharp said. I saw him! My heart pumped madly in my chest. Goddamn Red Beard! It was a horrible, grainy likeness. The
man, sensing the direction of the camera, quickly hurried by. Maybe he had come there earlier, scouting for security cameras. Maybe he was just smart enough to avoid a direct shot. Whatever it was, he sneaked into the crowd and disappeared. A ball of anger knotted in my chest. "Can you back up, home in?" I said to Sharp. "I need to see his face." He leveled his remote, and the image channeled in to a higher magnification. I stood up. I was staring at a partially obscured shot of the killer's face. No eyes, no clear feature. Only a shadowy profile. A jutting chin. And the outline of a goatee. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the killer. I didn't know his name. I could barely see his face. But the fuzzy image I had first sketched together in my mind with Claire was now in front of me. "Is that the best you can do?" Raleigh pressed. A member of the museum tech staff replied, "Might be able to get it technologically enhanced. On this rough footage, this is what we have." "We pick him up again later on," Sharp said. He quickly fast-forwarded and stopped at a wide-angle view of the Main Hall, the wedding reception. They were able to zoom in on the same tuxedoed man standing at the edge of the crowd, observing. When the image was magnified, though, it became grainy and lost its resolution. "He's purposely avoiding looking at the camera," I whispered to Raleigh. "He knows where they are." "We ran these shots by both families," Sharp said. "No one places him. No one can identify who he is. I mean, there's a chance it's not him. But considering your sketch…" "It's him," I said firmly. My eyes burned on the grainy screen. I was also sure we were looking at Kathy Voskuhl's mysterious lover.

  Chapter61

  HILLARY KNEW. I was almost sure of it. But why she would conceal such a thing related to her sister's death, I couldn't imagine. Old habits are hard to crack, she had said. I wanted another shot at her, and I reached her by phone at the family house in Shaker Heights. "I had a chance to speak to Merrill Shortley," I told her. "I just need a few details cleared up." "You realize this is a very stressful time for my family, Inspector," Hillary replied. "We told you what we knew." I didn't want to come on too strong. She had lost her sister in a horrible way. Her parents' home was filled with mourners and grief. And she was under no obligation to talk to me at all. "Merrill told me a few things about Kathy. Her lifestyle…" "We told you all that," she replied defensively. "But we also told you that after meeting James she had begun to settle down." "That's what I want to talk to you about. Merrill recalled there was someone she was seeing in San Francisco." "I thought we told you Kathy dated lots of men." "This one went on for a long time. He was older. Married. Some kind of big shot. Possibly famous." "I wasn't my sister's keeper," Hillary complained. "I need a name, Ms. Bloom. This man could be her killer." "I'm afraid I don't understand. I already told you what I know. My sister didn't exactly confide in me. We lived very different lives. I'm sure you've put two and two together already -there was a lot I didn't approve of." "You said something to me the first time we talked. Old habits are hard to crack. What sort of habits were you referring to?" "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. The Cleveland police are handling this, Inspector. Can't we just let them do their job?" "I'm trying to help you, Ms. Bloom. Why did Kathy move away from San Francisco? I think you know. Was someone abusing her? Was Kathy in trouble?" Hillary sounded frightened. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm going to hang up now, Inspector." "It's going to come out, Hillary. It always does. An address book. Her phone bill. It's not just Kathy. There are four others, back in California. They were just as hopeful about the rest of their lives as your sister. Just as deserving." There was a tiny sob in her voice. "I have no idea what you're talking about." I felt I had one last chance. "Here's the really ugly truth about murder. If I've learned one thing as a homicide detective, it's that the lines don't stay fixed. Yesterday you were an innocent victim, but now you're in this, too. This killer will strike again, and you will regret whatever you didn't tell me for the rest of your life." There was a heavy silence on the line. I knew what it meant. It was the struggle inside Hillary Bloom's conscience. I heard a click. She had hung up the phone.

  Chapter62

  OUR FLIGHT BACK to San Francisco left at 4:00 p.m. I hated, hated to leave without a name. Especially when I felt we were so close. Somebody famous. Kinky. Why were they protecting him? Anyway, we had accomplished a lot in just two days. It was clear to me that all three murders were committed by the same person. We had a strong lead tying him to San Francisco, a possible identity, a confirmed description. The trail was warm here, and would grow ever hotter when we got home. Both investigations would proceed locally. Cleveland would contact the Seattle police force to do a search of the bride's home. Maybe something in her personal effects, an address book, an e-mail in her computer, would divulge who her San Francisco lover was. Waiting to board our plane out of Cleveland, I called my voice mail for messages. One each from Cindy and Claire inquiring about my trip, our case. Reporters pushing for my comments on the Cleveland crime. Then I heard the throaty voice of Merrill Shortley. She had left her California number. I punched the number as fast as I could. A housekeeper answered, and I could hear the wail of a baby crying. When Merrill got on, I could tell that some of her cool veneer had cracked. "I was thinking," she began, "there was something I didn't mention yesterday." "Yes? That's good to hear." "This guy I told you about? The one Kathy was hooked up with in San Francisco? I was telling you the truth. I never knew his name." "Okay, I hear you." "But there were some things… I said he didn't treat her well. He was into intense sex games. Props, scenarios. Maybe even a little filming. Problem was, Kathy liked the games." There was a long pause before Merrill went on. "Well… I think he pushed her, forced her, to do more than she was comfortable with. I remember marks on her face, bruises on her legs. Mostly it was her spirit that was broken. None of us were exactly bringing home Tom Cruise then, but there was a time when Kathy was real scared. She was in his control." I began to see where this was heading. "It's why she moved away, isn't it?" I said. I could hear Merrill Shortley sigh on the other end. "Yes, it was." "Then why did she continue to see him from Seattle? You said she was involved with him right up to the end." "I never said," Merrill Shortley replied, "that Kathy knew what was good for her." Now I saw Kathy Kogut's life take on the shape of tragic inevitability. I was sure she had fled San Francisco, tried to break away from the grip of this man. But she couldn't break free. Was that true of the other murdered brides? "I need a name, Ms. Shortley. Whoever this was, he might've killed your friend. There are four others. The longer he's out there, the greater the chance he'll do it again." "I told you, I don't know his name, Inspector." I raised my voice above the din in the terminal. "Merrill, someone must know. You knew her for years, partied together." Merrill hesitated. "In her own way, Kathy was loyal. She said his name was well known. Some kind of celebrity. Someone I would know. She was protecting him. Or maybe protecting herself." My mind raced to the film and music businesses. She was into a bad scene. She was in over her head, and like many people who feel trapped, she ran. She just couldn't get far enough away. "She must've told you something," I pressed. "What he did? Where he lived? Where they would meet? You guys were like sisters." Wicked sisters? "I swear, Inspector. I've been racking my brain." "Then someone must know. Who? Tell me." I heard Merrill Shortley let out a mirthless laugh. "Ask her sister." Before we boarded, I beeped McBride and left a detailed message on his voice mail. Kathy's lover was probably someone famous. It was why she had moved away from San Francisco. The profile fit the pattern of our killer. Her sister, Hillary, might know the killer's name. On board, all I could think about was that we were getting close. Raleigh was there beside me. As the plane rose, I leaned into his arm, surrendering to total exhaustion. All my physical troubles seemed a million miles away. I remembered something I'd said to Claire. I had told her that finding this bastard gave me the resolve to go on. The red bearded man in my dream who had gotten away. "We're going to get him," I said to Raleigh. "We can't let him kill another bride and groom."