Dream Man

by Linda Howard

  If it had been anyone but Freddie, Dane would have shrugged him off. But it was Freddie, and this was her crime scene. She wouldn’t have taken him to the side without a good reason. He looked down at her and lifted an eyebrow in question.

  “Word is that you asked to be notified of any female stabbing fatality,” she said.

  He gave a brief nod, hoping she wasn’t irritated about him horning in on one of her cases.

  She patted his arm, reassuring him. “I figured you wouldn’t have done that without a damn good reason, so I’ve held the scene for you. We’ll consider it a birthday present.”

  “Held the scene?” he repeated, stunned. “You mean no one has gone in?”

  “That’s what I mean. The patrolman who found the body deserves a medal. He backed out as soon as he saw her, didn’t touch anything except the doorknob, and secured the area. It’s probably the most pristine crime scene you’ll ever get. Ivan’s on the way.”

  “We’ll wait for him,” Dane decided. “Thanks, Freddie. How did a patrolman happen to find the body?”

  She flipped to her notes. “The victim’s name is Jacqueline Sheets, divorced, no children. Her exhusband lives in Minnesota. She worked at one of the bigger law firms as a legal secretary, very good at her work. She had made plans to meet a friend for dinner, one of the other legal secretaries. When she didn’t show, the friend tried to call, but there was no answer. Evidently Sheets was normally very punctual, and had recently had some medical problems, so the friend was concerned. She drove over here to check. Sheets’s car is in the carport, there’s a light on, and the television is blaring, but she can’t get anyone to the door. She went to a neighbor’s house and called 911. Patrol Officers Charles Marbach and Perry Palmer were nearby and got here before the emergency crew. They beat on the doors and couldn’t get any response. Officer Marbach forced the lock on the front door, saw the victim immediately when he opened it, and stepped right back out.” She closed the notebook. “The friend’s name is Elizabeth Cline. She’s sitting down in the carport. She caught a glimpse of the body and she’s pretty rattled.”

  Another car added itself to the congestion. Dane glanced at it and identified Trammell. Freddie did the same, and looked back at Dane with a wry look. “Now, how about you tell me what’s going on?”

  “We want to look for similarities to the Vinick case,” he said quietly. “We think it might be the same perp.”

  Her eyes widened, and a look of horror came over her freckled face as the implications hit home. “Oh, shit,” she breathed. “It’s even the same day of the week.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He could just see the headlines about the Saturday Slasher. He wondered what sensational name the newspapers would apply if the time of death was put before midnight, making it a Friday murder.

  The Friday Fucker?

  Trammell joined them, resplendent in oatmeal linen slacks and a sky blue silk shirt. His hair was perfectly combed, his exotic face freshly shaved, and there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. Dane wondered how in the name of God he did it.

  He brought Trammell up to date on what had happened so far. Freddie asked, “Do you want to question the friend?”

  Dane shook his head. “This is your show. All we want is to see the scene.”

  “You don’t have to wait for Ivan, you know.”

  “I know. I’d just like for him to get it as clean as possible.”

  “At a guess, I’d say he’s never going to get one any cleaner.” She patted both of them in that motherly way she had, and returned to the group in the carport.

  “It’s a house,” Trammell said unnecessarily. “No cypress trees, but the address is Cypress Terrace. We were on the right track. It’s going to be interesting to see if the television is one of the big-screen models, on a pedestal.”

  Dane put his hands in his pockets. “Do we really have any doubt?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I don’t either. Damn it.”

  “I called the lieutenant. He should be here any time.”

  Ivan Schaffer arrived, in the crime scene van. He unfolded his long, lanky body from behind the steering wheel as Dane and Trammell walked to meet him.

  Ivan wasn’t in a good mood. He scowled at both of them. “I don’t know why I had to personally handle this one. I have good people on duty. Why did Freddie insist that I be here?”

  Evidently Freddie had sensed something unusual all the way around, bless her. Dane wondered if her husband would break his nose if he kissed her. “This one’s special,” he told Ivan, helping him unload his kits and equipment. “For one thing, the scene’s untouched. You’re the first person in.”

  Ivan halted. “You’re shitting me.” His eyes began to gleam. “That doesn’t happen.”

  “It’s happening this time. Don’t expect it again in your lifetime.”

  “What do I look like, an optimist? Okay, what’s the second thing?”

  Trammell was coolly studying all the murmuring bystanders. “The second thing is, we think it was done by the same guy who did Nadine Vinick.”

  “Ah, jeez.” Ivan sighed and shook his head. “God, I wish you hadn’t told me that. That’s big trouble, but I guess you already know that.”

  “We’d thought about it. Is this all your stuff?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Okay, let’s see what we have.”

  Dane called Officer Marbach to go in with them. A patrolman who had done that good a job deserved to be included. Marbach was young, not long out of training, and was pale under his tan. But he was steady as he detailed his actions for them, even telling them the body’s approximate distance from the front door.

  “Can the body be seen from the street when we open the door?” Freddie asked, she and Worley having joined them.

  Marbach shook his head. “There’s a little entry, with the living room to the right. I had taken one step in before I saw her.”

  “Okay. Ivan, it’s your show.”

  Ivan opened the door and went in. The rest of them followed, but stopped in the small entry hall and shut the door behind them. The television, tuned to an all-movie channel, was currently showing a Fred-and-Ginger. It was too loud, as if Jacqueline Sheets had been a little hard of hearing. Either that, or the sound had been turned up to drown out her screams. Ivan punched the power button and the screen went to black, filling the room with blessed silence. Dane and Trammell, standing in the entry, looked at the television. It was a thirty-five-incher, very modern and sleek, set on a pedestal.

  None of them said anything. Ivan silently began his collection ritual.

  From their viewpoint, only the upper half of the body was visible. She was nude, and her torso looked as if it had been savaged by a wild animal. The pattern of blood completely circled the couch, splattering over walls and carpet, and Dane remembered the odd phrase Marlie had used: around and around the mulberry bush. But it hadn’t been a bush, it had been the couch. Why had she used those words? Had they been something the killer had said, or thought? Had the bastard been amused by Jacqueline Sheets’s fight for her life?

  The door opened behind them and Lieutenant Bonness came in. He looked at the gore and turned white. “Oh, Jesus.” The first scene had been more gruesome, but they had looked at it as a onetime deal, unconnected to anything else. This time, however, they knew better. Now they were looking at it as the work of a madman who would do this again and again, murdering innocent women and devastating the lives of their families and friends, until they could stop him. And they knew that the odds weren’t in their favor; serial killers were notoriously difficult to apprehend.

  But this time, Dane thought grimly, they had something the killer couldn’t have anticipated. They had Marlie.

  Worley said, “Dane, you and Trammell have a look around. You know what you’re looking for.”

  “That’s why you and Freddie should do it,” Trammell said. His thoughts had run the same as Dane’s, but then they almost always did. “Just tell
us what you find, and then we’ll have a look ourselves.”

  Worley nodded. He and Freddie briskly began their methodical search of the house. Ivan summoned the fingerprint team, and they began dusting every hard surface with black powder. Soon the house was crowded with people, most of them standing about, some of them actually working. Eventually Jacqueline Sheets’s body was bagged and removed. Dane could hear the clamor of reporters’ voices outside, see the glare of television lights. They wouldn’t be able to keep the lid on it much longer, but he thought nothing much would be made of a second stabbing within a week. If there was a third one, though, no reporter worth his or her salt would let it pass as coincidence. Even if there were no similarities in the cases, there would be enough interest to warrant a “special segment,” whatever the hell that was.

  Bonness took Dane and Trammell aside. “If it looks like the same guy did it—”

  “He did,” Dane said.

  “Everything’s just the way Marlie described it,” Trammell added. “Even the type of television set.”

  “Any way she could have had any prior knowledge? I know, I know,” Bonness said, holding up his hands. “I was the one who originally thought she could help us, and you guys were the ones who thought she was an accessory, but this is a question that needs to be asked.”

  “No,” Dane said. “We established that there was no way she could have been at the crime scene of the first murder, and I was with her last night. She called me when the vision started, and I drove straight to her house.”

  “Okay. I want to see everyone in my office tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll go over what we have, anything new that Ivan’s found, set up a task force. I’ll notify the chief, and he can decide when and how much to tell city hall.”

  “I hope he holds off,” Dane said. “Information leaks out of city hall like it’s a damn sieve.”

  Bonness looked unhappy. “This isn’t something he can keep to himself. It would cost him his job if the media break the story and he hasn’t kept the head honchos informed.”

  “Then ask him if he can give us a couple of days, at least. Both of the murders have been on Friday night or early Saturday morning, so if the pattern holds, the guy won’t hit again for almost another week. The longer we can work without him knowing that we’re on to him, the better chance we have of catching him.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” was all Bonness would promise. Dane really hadn’t expected any more than that.

  Worley and Freddie joined them. “The murder weapon was a kitchen knife, probably belonging to the victim,” Worley reported. “It matches others in the kitchen. He entered through the window in the guest bedroom, by cutting the screen.”

  “It rained last night,” Dane said. “Any footprints beneath the window?”

  Freddie shook her head. “Nothing. He was very careful.”

  “Or he got in before it started raining, and waited in the bedroom,” Trammell suggested.

  The idea made Freddie blanch. “God, that gives me the queasies, thinking of him in the house with her for hours, and her not knowing it.”

  “What about afterward?” Officer Marbach asked. He blushed a little when they all turned to look at him. “I mean, it should have been raining when he left. Wouldn’t he have been likely to leave footprints then?”

  “Only if he exited the same way he entered,” Dane said. “And there was no reason for him to. All he had to do was walk out the door, making him much less conspicuous if anyone happened to see him, which I doubt. The sidewalk and driveway are concrete; no prints.”

  “She was evidently wearing pajamas at the time of the attack,” Freddie continued, looking at her notes. “We found a pair with blood on them, dropped into the laundry basket. We’re having the blood typed to make sure it’s the victim’s.”

  “How about a husband or boyfriend?” Bonness asked.

  “Nope. According to her friend outside, there’s an exhusband who lives in Minnesota, but they’ve been divorced for twenty years, and it’s been almost that long since Sheets had any contact with him. No current boyfriend, either. Okay, guys, level with me: Does this sound like the same guy did both women?”

  “Afraid so,” Dane replied. “Did Sheets frequent bars, gyms, anything where she’d be in contact with a lot of men?”

  “I don’t know. We hadn’t gotten that far in questioning the friend when you guys got here. Why don’t you talk to her while we finish up in here? We’re all going to be pooling our notes, anyway,” Worley suggested. From his tone, he would have been glad to hand the entire investigation over to Dane and Trammell.

  A low wall of cement blocks, two high, enclosed the carport on the open side. Elizabeth Cline was sitting on the wall, huddled in on herself, staring numbly at the crowd of policemen milling around. She was a tall, sleek blonde, with her hair cut short in a feathery cap, and long earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders. Despite the earrings, she wasn’t togged out in party clothes; she was wearing sandals, yellow leggings, and a long white tunic with a gaudy yellow and purple parrot on the front. She wore several rings, Dane noticed, but none of them was a wedding band.

  He sat down beside her on the block wall, and Trammell, more aloof as always, leaned against Sheets’s car a couple of feet away.

  “Are you Elizabeth Cline?” Dane asked, just to make certain.

  She gave him a vaguely startled look, as if she hadn’t noticed him sitting beside her. “Yes. Who are you?”

  “Detective Hollister.” He indicated Trammell. “And Detective Trammell,”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said politely, then a horrified look edged into her eyes. “Oh, God, how can I say that? It isn’t nice to meet you. It’s because of Jackie that you’re here—”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is. I’m sorry, I know it was a shock for you. Would you mind answering a few more questions for us?”

  “I’ve already talked to those other two detectives.”

  “I know, ma’am. But we thought of a couple of other things, and anything you can tell us will help us find her killer.”

  She inhaled shakily. She was shivering, and hugging her arms. It was a warm, muggy night, but shock was getting to her. Dane wasn’t wearing a jacket to put around her, so he asked a patrolman standing nearby to get a blanket. A few minutes later a blanket was produced, and he put it about her shoulders.

  “Thanks,” she said, huddling gratefully into the folds.

  “You’re welcome.” His instincts were to put his arm around her and comfort her, but he felt constrained and settled for patting her on the back. The only woman he could hold now was Marlie; somehow, in taking her, he had forever set himself apart from other women. He was uneasily aware of the change but pushed it beneath his consciousness, to be considered later when he had the time.

  “You told Detective Brown that Ms. Sheets didn’t have a current boyfriend. Had she recently broken up with someone, or maybe had a casual date or two?” She shook her head. “No.”

  “No one? Any steady boyfriends at all since her divorce?”

  Elizabeth gathered herself enough to lift her head and give him a shaky, wintry smile. “Sure.” The one word was bitter. “She had a twelve-year affair with one of the attorneys in the firm. He told her they’d be married when he divorced his wife, but the time wasn’t right while he was building his career. Then the time was right, he got his divorce, and promptly married a twenty-three-year-old trophy wife. Jackie was devastated, but she’d been with the firm for a long time and couldn’t afford to start over. He wanted to continue the affair, but Jackie broke it off, very quietly. At least he didn’t try to get her fired, but I don’t guess there was any reason for it. Their affair wasn’t a secret; everyone in the office knew about it.”

  “When was this?”

  “Let’s see. About four years ago, I guess.”

  “Who has she dated since then?”

  “I don’t know that she’s dated at all. Maybe once or twice, right after the affair ended
, but I know she hasn’t gone out with anyone for at least a year. She started having health problems, and she didn’t feel well enough for the dating scene. We would eat dinner out every week or so; it helped keep her spirits up.”

  “What kind of health problems?”

  “Several things. She had really bad endometriosis, and about a year ago finally had a hysterectomy. A stomach ulcer, high blood pressure. Nothing life-threatening, but everything seemed to hit at once, and it made her depressed. Lately she’d fainted a couple of times. That was why I was so worried when she didn’t show up at the restaurant on time.”

  They had hit a dead end on ex-boyfriends, but Dane hadn’t really expected anything different. He was just covering all the bases. “Had she mentioned anyone she’d met recently? Did she get into an argument with anyone, or had she mentioned anyone following her?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Jackie was very eventempered, got along with everyone. She didn’t even lose her temper when David married his little bimbo. Actually, the closest she came to getting angry recently was when a new silk blouse came apart at the seams the first time she washed it. Jackie loved clothes, and was very particular about them.”

  “Did she go any place regularly, where she might have met someone?”

  “Not unless it was the grocery store.”

  “Everyone has a routine,” Dane insisted gently. They had to discover how the killer picked his victims. Nadine Vinick and Jackie Sheets had had something in common, something that had brought them to the killer’s attention. They had lived in different neighborhoods, so it had to be something else, and putting his finger on that something else was vital. “Did she have her hair done regularly, go to the library, anything like that?”

  “Jackie had beautiful red hair. She got it trimmed every few weeks, at a little salon close to the office. The Hairport. The stylist’s name is Kathy, I think. Maybe Kathleen, or Katherine. Something like that. The library? No, Jackie wasn’t much of a reader. She loved movies; she rented a lot of movies.”

  “Where did she rent them?”