Haunting Refrain (33 page)

“Who’s Lyle Border? I’ve never heard of him,” John said, hoping this wasn’t a wild goose chase. He wished Kate would call.

“He’s Thomas Andrews’s stepfather,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Who’s Thomas Andrews? The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place him.” He wanted to speed them up—he needed to get back to Kate.

“He’s a sometime student at Poinsett,” Martin said. “He graduated in Computer Science a few years ago. Now he takes business courses, working toward his MBA. I made some calls this morning to see if we could connect him with Kelly.”

Venice
squeezed his hand. “Go on Martin, tell him.”

“He took Business Law at the same time Kelly Landrum did, last spring,” Martin said.

“And he’s been dating Gwen Gordon the last couple of weeks,”
Venice
added, worried.

That’s where he’d heard the name. Although he was interested in the connection they had uncovered, John didn’t see how their information proved anything at all. He really wanted to get back to Kate. “That’s great, guys. I’ll try to track down a connection to Charlene. Meanwhile, I need to get to the studio. I don’t want to leave Kate alone.”

“Of course.
Tell her we said hello.” Martin said. He and
Venice
rose together and started toward the door with John.
Venice
stopped abruptly, causing Martin to bump into her.
“Oh, John!
I suddenly have a very bad feeling about Kate. You find her.” She shoved him toward the door and turned back. “Martin, call Detective Waite. Tell her Kate’s in trouble.”

Whether he believed in her talents or not, her panicky voice unnerved him. John ran for the Mustang, yelling over his shoulder to
Venice
, “Call Kate!”

He raced back to the studio, praying she would be there, safe and alone. He slid to a stop at the warehouse door, spewing gravel, and leapt from the car.
Where was her car?

James Earl reached the door at the same time he did. “Mr. Gerrard? What’s happened?”

“Where’s Kate?” he asked, his voice tight with fear. “Her car’s gone. Did you give her my message?”

The old man poked his head out, looking for the RX-7. “I thought she was still upstairs. I never saw her leave. I was about to go tell her you called.”

“God knows where she went. Maybe she left me a message.” Suddenly he stopped, struck by a horrifying thought. “If you didn’t see her leave, maybe you missed someone else’s coming in.”

“I don’t see how anyone could have come in, gone upstairs, and then left. I only went to the bathroom.”

“God, I hope you’re right. Can you open her door? Bring your keys.” The elevator had never seemed slower, but he knew it was faster than climbing the four long flights of stairs. When it reached her floor, John hopped out between the jaws of the freight gate before they opened fully.

The studio door wasn’t locked and opened in a rush, fluttering the pages of the open phone book on her desk. John looked around, but saw nothing.

When James Earl saw that the studio was empty, he left. “I’ll go back down and see if she left me a message or if anyone’s around outside.

John heard the elevator start up as he opened the darkroom door and saw the line of prints hanging from the clothesline. He took down the picture of Charlene dancing. Kate had told him about it, about wanting to have it printed by the color lab as a gift for the Nelson’s. The girl filled the frame with her swirling skirt and gypsy pose. He couldn’t see anything there that would have caused Kate to leave.

Carefully, he examined the other prints. These must be for the Principal Players, he thought, as Gorgeous Gwen gazed at him from one of the prints, and guessed from the posed facial shot of the man that he was the new actor. He turned to the group shots. He thought they might be from Charlene’s party—Kate must have recognized one of the faces. He didn’t.
Jesus, where is she! Why didn’t she wait for me?
She must have found something important to make her leave without telling me.

Maybe she called Waite. He dialed the station and asked for her.

“She’s in court. Hasn’t been here all morning,” the officer answered.

“Let me speak to Burnett then. Is he in?”

“He’s interviewing someone. Is this an emergency?”

“I hope not,” John said, slamming down the phone. He looked at the pictures again. There must be someone in that group that Kate recognized. Why else would she make that many prints of them? They weren’t good
pictures,
nothing he thought would interest the Nelsons. Maybe
Venice
would know. He grabbed a set of the pictures, punched in her number, and interrupted Martin’s voice. “Did you find her?”

“No, but—”

“Stay there, I’m on my way,” John said, dropping the phone as he ran for the steps. He could be down before the old elevator got back to the fourth floor. At the door he called out, “Lock up, James Earl. If Kate comes back, don’t let her out of your sight. I’m going to
Venice
’s house.”
Damn you, Kate. Where are you?

Kate drove slowly past Thomas Andrews’s house. No cars were in sight although the garage door was closed. He could be home and have his car inside. She should have telephoned first. If he had answered, she could have hung up. If, if, if! If he hadn’t started seeing Gwen, she would never have given him a thought. If he hadn’t killed those girls, she wouldn’t be here at all.

10:50. Get on with it, Kate!
Trees and shrubs surrounded the Georgian-style brick, and a dense hedge bordered the yard on three sides. She was certain no one would see her entering, but she had to find a place to leave her car.

A couple of blocks away she saw a For Sale sign in front of a new house, the red dirt yard still littered with construction debris. There were no cars or trucks around it; the crew was probably at another home in this new section. She pulled into the driveway. Anyone passing by would assume she was a potential buyer, looking through the house.
 

But how to get back to Thomas’s house?
She didn’t look much like a jogger in her stained, baggy shirt, but at least she was wearing running shoes. Tying the ends of her shirt around her waist and snapping a rubber band around her hair—no one would jog with that mess hanging loose—she just hoped she wouldn’t attract any undue notice. She locked the car, dropped the keys in her pocket and looked around. Good. Most of the houses in this block were unfinished and unoccupied. She started off as fast as she dared without drawing attention to herself. The two blocks seemed to take forever.

11:00
. At Thomas’s driveway, she stopped. Her heart tripped as a car passed, but it drove on. After a quick appraisal of the neighboring homes, she took a deep breath and ran quickly along the hedge to the garage. A glance at the handle told her it was locked. She would just have to hope he hadn’t come home for any reason. She would also bet he didn’t have any pets. He was too perfect to tolerate anything with hair. Nevertheless, she crept carefully up two steps to the back porch and tried to peek in through a window. From the style of the curtains blocking her view, she guessed it was the kitchen. The door was securely locked. She made her way across the back of the house to a set of French doors on the other side, the wooden kind with real panes. No plastic grills over
Thermopane
for Thomas.
 
At the far side of the house the lot
sloped
downward, exposing basement windows just above ground level.

She checked the narrow casement windows hidden by the foundation shrubbery one by one, constantly looking over her shoulder, fully expecting to be stopped by a watchful neighbor. The house was silent, locked tight. She would have to break one of the windows. Her heart was in her throat, and she was shaking so she could hardly get her shoe off. She had to get hold of herself and concentrate on what she was doing, forget about discovery.

The first time she hit it, the window didn’t break, but it made a noise that caused her to cringe. She crouched behind the bushes, waiting, but no one appeared. This time, she hit the glass hard, and it shattered with a loud crack. A jagged shard caught in the frame cut her arm. Blood welled up and began to drip. Cursing, she untied her shirttail and held it against the wound. It wasn’t too bad, but bleeding all over was a nuisance.

11:10. Forget it.
She had to stop finding excuses and get in and out fast. Gwen could be dead within an hour. She knocked the remaining fragments of glass out of the frame and stuck her head through the small opening.

The room below her contained a workbench and what looked like computers and parts in various stages of disassembly.
Nothing alarming, no bodies.
She gritted her teeth and wriggled headfirst through the window, catching herself with her hands on a small table. Several small parts and printed circuit boards fell to the vinyl-covered floor, and Kate fell with them. She quickly righted herself and froze, listening intently. To her ears, the pounding in her chest sounded loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but the house was silent.

A small, red light blinked above one of the computers. He must be testing something, burning it in or whatever they call it, she thought, crossing quickly to the door. Where next? A desk or Thomas’s bedroom seemed the most likely places to find some trace of the dead girls.

A brief glance around the lower level rooms yielded nothing of interest. She cautiously followed the stairs to a door at the top. Pressing her ear to the wood, she listened for a moment.
Silence.
She eased the door open and slipped into a long hallway. She looked into each doorway until she came to a study with a large mahogany desk facing the door. Crossing to the other side of the desk, she glanced at her watch.

11:17
. Her pulse rate must be over two hundred by now, she thought, pulling out drawers and rifling through papers, pens, bank statements, and other typical home office items—nothing that would help her. She didn’t bother with neatness or trying to hide her frantic search. She straightened, looking around the room. A computer sat on a small desk against the wall, but she couldn’t imagine how it would help her. She hadn’t touched one since she left her job with J. B. as a marketing account rep. A small red light winked at her from a corner of the monitor. He must have left it on, but she didn’t have time to fool with it and had no idea what to look for anyway. She didn’t see anything else in the room that looked likely, and she was running out of time.

His bedroom.
Surely something would show up there. If not, what would she do? Running up the stairs, she tried to think of places Gwen might go for lunch. Could she have her paged at every good restaurant in town? They could even be meeting at Gwen’s. She ought to call
Venice
again. Maybe Gwen had gotten her message and called.
Oh God, what a mess.

She started with his dresser, stopping to look at a studio portrait of a pretty blonde woman. Judging by the hairstyle and makeup, it had been taken years ago. She bet it was his mother. She picked it up, looking for some resemblance to Thomas. A sudden surge of intense longing shot through her, followed immediately by feelings of jealousy and betrayal. She dropped it, certain this woman was the cause of Thomas’s distorted relationships. Later, if there was a later, she thought, rooting frantically through papers in his top drawer, she might give some thought to it. Now she had to find some evidence of Kelly or Charlene, something tangible that the police could act on.

His jewelry box contained only cuff links, tie pins, the usual paraphernalia of well-dressed men.
11:36
.
She
turned to the nightstand beside the bed and yanked out the top drawer, dumping the contents on the bed.
Nothing.
She dumped the second drawer with the same result.
Oh, Gwen. Have a flat tire, run out of gas,
anything—just
don’t go
.

Disheartened, she pulled out the bottom drawer and emptied it onto the rug. Her breath caught. A linen handkerchief fell out, partially unfolding. A woman’s bracelet and a small diamond-like stone on a slender gold chain tumbled to the floor. She raked away the stack of magazines and catalogs that had been stored so neatly, sending them in all directions, and snatched up the handkerchief. She felt the lumps before she saw them, and knew instantly that they were Charlene Nelson’s silver earrings. Carefully, she uncovered them. The hammered silver curved around turquoise stones, catching the light from the window just as it had in the photograph. They looked expensive. He had probably given them to her. She folded them back in the protective linen and stuffed them in her pocket. She swiped at the other trinkets, sending them under the bed. Maybe he would think she’d taken all of them, wouldn’t find them there. Putting aside her feelings, she turned to the phone and punched in 911. The line went dead before it rang. Thomas! She ran to the window and saw the tail end of a green Jaguar at the corner of the house. As she drew back and raced across the room, a tiny red light winked at her. An alarm! How could she have been so stupid?