Night Hunter (19 page)

“
Maybe you could apply for the position.”

She didn’t miss the sarcasm in Fletcher’s voice. “Maybe I will” she said coolly.

He laughed good-naturedly. “Sometimes I underestimate you. You have what it takes to make any business a success. I’m extremely fortunate to have you on my side.”

She chuckled low in her throat. “Matthew has a testimonial dinner tonight. I’ll be at your place around nine.”

“
Oh damn, what timing. I made arrangements to meet with Tapperman at his club tonight.”

“
Who the hell is Tapperman?”

“
Elia Tapperman, the promotional manager to RAM Electronics. A contract I promised to deliver.”

“
Change it to another night.”

“
It’s taken me weeks to pin him down. An invite to his private club is quite a coup, and an indication he’s interested. I called him when you canceled the weekend.”

“
I see. Well, good luck. How is everything else coming along?”

“
The lease has been signed and we open the account on Monday. We’re about ready to open our doors for business, Mrs. President.”

“
I like the sound of that.” She smiled, pulling a ten-dollar bill from the front pocket of Matthew’s wool blazer. “It’s so much better than Mrs.
Corde.”

“
How does Mrs.
Kincade
strike you?”

“
It strikes me fine,” she said sweetly, though deep down she wondered if she’d ever marry again once she’d gotten Matthew’s claws out of her. “I’ll see you on Monday, Fletch darling.” She hung up, and as she stuffed the bill into the toe of a sheepskin boot, she thought of the first time she had met Fletcher.

It had been at one of the endless charity functions that Matthew felt compelled to attend. While standing at the bar waiting for her third vodka Gibson, she had overheard Kincade telling another man that he was looking for a partner to match his investment capital in the modeling business. The other man had shown an obvious interest. Amelia’s fingers had trembled as she lifted her drink to her lips. When Kincade stepped to the bar for a refill, Amelia slipped him a note with her phone number and the words “Business Proposition.” He’d called the following day. The wheels had begun to turn almost immediately. Both in bed and out of it.

Fletcher was a bright man, handsome and sexy as all hell. But he wasn’t the only man in the world. Fortunately for Amelia, the world of stage, screen, and modeling harbored a whole realm of sexy, exciting, and handsome young men.

The front door was open a crack. Corinne stood behind it, ready to slam it shut if he tried to come inside.

“
Ma’am, please,” Detective Lillard said. “Just a minute of your time.”

“
Go away. I don’t want to talk.”

“
I could get a subpoena and have you hauled downtown.”

She thought he might be bluffing, but did she want to take that chance? She’d rather die than be forced to appear at police headquarters where people could stare at her with pity and revulsion. And she sure as shit didn’t want any of them snooping around in her house.

“
What questions?”

“
May I come in?”

“
No.” She inched the door closer to the frame.

“
Okay, look, we can talk here. Okay?”

“
What questions?” she repeated.

“
Donna Lake’s assault.”

She remained silent.

“
She was assaulted, with acid, the same as you. We’d like your help in finding her assailant.”

“
You didn’t find my assailant, yet you want me to help you find hers. Why? Is Miss Donna Lake more important than me?”

“
We believe both assailants are one and the same, Miss Odett.”

“
So? If I had any idea who did this to me, don’t you think I’d’ve told you?”

“
Yes, of course.”

“
I don’t know anything.”

He cleared his throat. “We’ve placed John Davie at the crime scene Friday.”

Corinne’s heart thumped beneath her breastbone.

“
Did you hear me, Miss Odett? John Davie admitted to being--”

“
Jack?” she whispered.

“
Yes, Jack, John. Let me in so we can discuss this.”

From behind her, in a room just off the kitchen, a muffled cry reached her ears.

“
No.” The door closed a little more. “I can’t talk to you now. I can’t .”

“
All right. No problem. Here’s my card. Will you call me and talk?”

Her hand shook as she snatched the business card that appeared through the crack. She closed and locked the door, leaning against it.

Oh, Jesus. Jack at the TV station? He lived in the area, so it had to have been a coincidence.

She crossed to a knick-knack shelf and took down a book, the cover worn and grimy from much handling. Years ago, when she’d read that he had become an author, she’d sent away for his suspense novel. His face on the book jacket was that of a serious man with strength and purpose —no trace of the boy she’d had etched in her mind. Yet even in a photograph his charm, his charisma, were apparent. Then she had opened it and had cried when she read a dedication to someone named Darlene. Darlene and Andrew. Wife and son? She never read
Evil Tidings.

The phone rang. The damn press again, she thought. She snatched it up angrily, barked out a “What?”

“
Corinne?”

She felt as if she’d been gut shot.
Jack.
There was no mistaking his voice. He said her name once more.

“
Don’t ever call me again,” she said low in her throat. “You can’t do this to me.” She hung up softly. Then she turned slowly, running the palms of her hands over her breasts roughly, shaking her head.

She went to her father’s room, leaned against the door frame, and watched him struggle silently on the bed.

Sauntering in, she looked down at him. His eyes watched her warily. With a jerk of her hand she stripped off the silver duct tape from his mouth. He pulled back, but said nothing.

“
Well, aren’t you going to call out? Shout the house down, maybe? Now’s your chance. That was a real, bona fide cop out there.”

“
You gonna keep my insulin from me?” he asked in a whimper.

“
Nooo,” she said, as though talking to a child. “You’d die if I did that.”

“
How ‘bout my pills?”

“
Don’t you want to know why the police were at the door?”

He stared up at her.

“
Donna Lake, the TV gal, got a dose of acid in her face. Just like me. What’dya think about that?”

“
My legs hurt, Cory. They hurt bad.”

“
Well, let’s have a look.” She pulled out one corner of the blanket that was wrapped snugly around his entire body. The stump of the leg that had been amputated was swollen and red, but it looked a million times better than the swollen, discolored foot on his other leg.

“
It looks bad, Daddy. Bad like the other one just before the doctors said it had to go. Real close to gangrene, I’d say.” She tucked the blanket back under mattress. “Too bad we don’t have any money to fix it up. I’ll get you an aspirin.” She turned to leave the room.

“
Cory? Please?”

“
Now you stop that whining. What good’s it gonna do, Daddy?” she replied in a gushy, overly sympathetic tone, mimicking his backwoods grammar. “Even if the doctor does fix it up, it’s never gonna be normal. So why waste the money?”

“
Cory, baby, I’m sorry. Jesus fucking Christ, how many times I gotta tell you I’m sorry?” Mucus smeared over his stubbled face. “If I’da known how important having those operations was to you, I’da gone and let you have em. If yer momma were alive—”

“
Don’t talk to me about Momma,” she said tightly. “You hear?”

“
Why you gotta blame me for everything?”

She downed the rest of her beer, crushed the can, then right hooked it into the plastic wastebasket. “I’ll get that aspirin.”

CHAPTER 19

John was on the roof, lying on his back, his toes hooked under the barbell. With one last burst of energy, the tendons on each side of his neck standing out like taut leather straps, he bent forward and touched his toes.“Hundred,” he wheezed and collapsed back down. Above his head, perched on the edge of the heating unit, two pigeons eyed him curiously and cooed.

It was all coming back to haunt him.

Early in 1970, up from San Jose to visit his aunt and uncle, John met Corinne Odett at a party in a rough neighborhood of Berkeley. She was twenty, he was eighteen. She was the most breathtaking female he’d ever seen. In addition to her beauty, she had spunk and tenacity. She was going to win a beauty contest and go to Hollywood to be a major star. At the time he never doubted that anything she wanted could be hers.

A salty rivulet ran into his eye, stinging. He rolled over on his stomach and shook his head, slinging sweat over his bare arms and shoulders. A brisk ocean breeze cooled his drenched body. He pushed off from the mat, bounding to his feet.

It was Wednesday, five days since Donna Lake had been attacked, and that incident, instead of diminishing in his mind, seemed to intensify with each passing day. If his suspicions were correct, what had happened to Donna would not be an isolated event.

There was no putting it off any longer. He glanced at his watch. 7:35. Regina would be going to work soon. If he hurried he could grab a quick shower, dress, and catch her before she left.

With the towel draped around his neck, he left the roof, jogged down a flight of stairs to the second floor, and nearly knocked Regina over as she rounded the banister to the stairway. Her large leather handbag hit the hardwood floor, its contents spewing everywhere.

She gasped, stumbling back, a stunned look on her face.

He grabbed her arm to steady her. “You okay?”

Stepping back, pulling her arm out of his grasp, she nodded and dropped down to retrieve the spilled items.

“
I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” He bent down to help her. She glanced up at him, a mere glance that seemed to take him in from head to toe, but she said nothing. He could imagine what she was thinking. His hair was wet and mussed, and he needed a shave. The only thing covering him was a pair of nylon shorts and a grimy towel. Sweat glistened on his entire body, a body which at the moment was still heaving from his workout on the roof.

“
I have to talk to you,” he said, awkwardly holding a handful of her things.

She held open her purse, he dropped everything inside. “About what?”

“
About what happened to Donna Lake.”

“
What’s your involvement in this? Why were you at the station that day?” She hastily slung her purse over her shoulder and started downstairs. “Never mind, it’s none of my business.”

“
Yes, it is,” he said, going down the steps and blocking her way. “It’s important we talk.”

“
Talk to the police.”

A elderly man wearing baggy pants, slippers, and a pajama top opened the door to 2D and looked out. “Davie, it’s gone and done it again. The sink in the John’s plugged. Awful smelling stuff coming outta there.”