Night Hunter (37 page)

Shaking his head, he stood, stretched, then stepped to a rattan bookcase and began to peruse the titles.

Seeing him looking at the books reminded Regina she had forgotten to get the novel he’d given her. “I didn’t forget
Evil Tidings,”
Regina said. “In all the excitement with Kristy and the answering machine ...”

“
I know.”

“
I’d like you to autograph it for me, if you will?”

“
It’s already been done.”

She smiled, then began to pace. “John, I’ve been thinking. Assuming we’re not dealing with a copycat criminal, who would have the most to gain?”

“
It’s my guess the same person committed the assaults on Corinne, Donna, and Tammy.”

“
Corinne had a motive for Donna and Tammy. Jealousy and hate or, as Donna suspects, sheer dementia. And since she visited Donna in the hospital the same night that Tammy’s dog was poisoned, we know she goes out of her house.”

“
Perhaps only at night. The two other assaults happened in broad daylight.”

John drew in a deep breath. “There’s something we’re not seeing yet. Something there, but indirect and ...” He went to the counter, opened the file folder, and took out the pink slip on the back of which he had written Regina’s message. “Initially, a sea will lead to the assailant?”

“
A sea. Water ...” Regina began.

“
No, not ‘sea,’” John cut in excitedly “A. C. They’re initials.
Initially. A. C.
will lead to the assailant?”

“
Amelia Corde,” Regina said quietly. “John, are we grasping ... twisting things to make them fit? I just can’t picture her stalking women and tossing acid in their faces.”

“
What do you know about her?”

“
She’s married, has no children, and recently she started a modeling business with a man--” Regina stopped abruptly. “That man with Amelia ...”

“
What is it?”

Regina began to pace faster. “Her partner, Fletcher Kincade, was at the station the day Donna was splashed. Tammy overheard them talking about going to the wine country together. She said they sounded like lovers.” She turned to stare at John.

“
What part of the wine country?”

“
I don’t know. Is it important?”

“
It could be.”

“
Maybe I can find out.” Regina picked up the phone and dialed. She got the Corde residence, spoke to a woman with an Asian accent and asked to speak to Amelia. She sipped at the beer while waiting. Amelia came on the line.

“
Regina, I was about to call you,” Amelia said guardedly. “How dreadful to hear about Tammy. The poor girl. Is there word of a funeral date?”

“
No, nothing yet. There’s the inquest still. Amelia,” Regina said carefully, “the peculiar way Tammy died is one of the reasons I’m calling. First Corinne, then Donna, and now Tammy—”

“
Really, Regina, I refuse to listen to any of this doomsayer propaganda. It was obvious the woman was on a rapid course of self-destruction. You saw how she acted at lunch last week.”

“
I had a warning last night. Donna and Tammy also had warnings.”

“
Oh?”

“
A message on my answering machine.”

“
Did you recognize the voice?”

“
No. I’m sure it was disguised. But I intend to have it analyzed,” Regina lied. “Have you had any threats?”

Another long pause. “They can do that? Analyze a voice?”

“
Yes. They match speech patterns like fingerprints. About the threats ...”

“
No, no one has threatened me.”

“
Where were you when Tammy died?”

A pause. “Look, I resent this line of questioning. I don’t need an alibi, Regina.”

“
An alibi? According to you, Tammy self-destructed.”

“
Damnit,” Amelia said impatiently, “I wasn’t even in the city when it happened. If you don’t believe me call the Meadowvale Inn in Napa. In fact, at the time of her death I was visiting my parents at their home.”

“
Amelia, I only called to tell you to be careful.”

“
Good night.” A soft click punctuated the line.

“
The Meadowvale Inn in Napa,” Regina said to John, pausing to drink. “She was visiting her parents when Tammy died. She’s had no threats. She seemed rather fascinated about the voice analysis.”

John had the phone directory draped over his knees. “Too bad it was erased. It’d be interesting to compare it to Mr. Kincade’s voice. Hey, look at this, Regina.” He rose quickly, bringing the book with him.

“
You’ve found something?”

“
Blue Ribbon Meats. Where’s the butcher tape?”

Regina got it and handed it to him. John inspected it. “It could
be ...
yes, it could be.” He handed it back. “Does that resemble a blue ribbon?”

Regina studied it. Only half the emblem was there, but yes, she agreed silently, it could be a ribbon. She looked up and nodded.

“
First thing tomorrow we buy us some meat.”

“
Speaking of meat,” Regina said, sipping her Corona, “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since this morning. If I don’t get something in my stomach soon, I’m going to get drunk. Drunker.” She held up the empty bottle.

“
Come down to my place. I’ll fix you something.”

Regina looked at her watch. 8:28. Kristy would be home in half an hour. “Let’s eat here.”

Regina opened the freezer and pulled out a large plastic container. “I don’t cook often, but when I do, I make enough for an army. Spaghetti sauce.” She moved to the cupboard and took down a package of pasta. The container of frozen sauce went into the microwave and she started a pot of water to boil.

“
What can I do?”

“
Just sit and watch.” She pointed to a rattan stool at the breakfast counter.

“
It’ll be my pleasure.”

Regina glanced at him. Their eyes met and held. That feeling of longing that she hadn’t experienced in ever so long, surfaced again, making her breath come out shallow and tight. Regina broke eye contact first.

Quickly opening the refrigerator, she pulled out lettuce, tomatoes, feta cheese and black olives for a salad.

As she cut up the vegetables, she felt his eyes on her. She avoided looking at him. In her tipsy state she feared she might expose the passion that had lain so long under the thin veneer of her being.

The water began to boil, huge bubbles erupting lethargically at various points on the surface. She lifted the pasta and held it in her hand in front of the pot, waiting for the water to come to a full boil. While waiting she unconsciously ran her palm up and down the material of her pants where her hip and thigh joined. She watched the bubbles, her eyes staring trancelike, powerless to move. The bubbles became smaller, breaking the surface with an urgency that she found mesmerizing and very pleasant. I’m getting drunk, she thought, and felt herself smile.

With her face tipped to one side, her gaze swept sideways to look at the man sitting on the rattan stool. He was watching her with a somber expression, his eyes intense, almost brooding. He smiled, slow and easy, and she realized he was smiling back at her. Then he was standing and moving, as in slow motion, toward her. The pasta was taken from her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he laid it on the countertop. Her hands were still poised before her, holding nothing, with nowhere to go.

He stood before her, his eyes asking a thousand questions as they took in her face, one feature at a time, until they found her eyes and became locked. His hands lightly cupped hers. She turned, feeling the cool solid surface of the refrigerator at her back, her palms pressed flat to the smooth enamel. He moved in, his body melding lightly against her breasts and stomach. His lips touched her temple, then her eyelid, then the corner of her mouth. She twisted her head and his mouth brushed across hers. She came forward into the kiss, her lips parting. She tasted him. Found him wonderfully delectable. As they kissed, boiling water from the pot skipped across the stove top and pricked her skin.

She heard the hissing, sizzling sound of water boiling over on the electric coils. It might have been coming from the radio or television for all she cared.

John reached over and turn off the burner. She leaned her head back on the refrigerator, eyes still closed.

The buzzer on the microwave oven went off. Regina opened her eyes and glanced at the clock above the sink. It was nine o’clock. Kristy would be home soon.

John reached for her again, but she stiffened.

He looked at her questioningly.

“
Kristy. She’ll be walking in any minute.” She turned the burner on again and moved around him to finish the salad. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding flustered and breathless and on the verge of tears, “I’m sorry.”

He stood behind her, his fingertips drawing hair from her face, caressing the back of her neck.

“
Sorry for what?”

Sorry because she wanted him. Sorry because there wasn’t time. Sorry because she felt herself caring for him. She shivered.

“
Sorry for what, Regina?” he repeated.

“
I don’t have any red wine to go with the spaghetti,” she replied morosely, as though it was something to grieve for.

He took hold of her arms and forced her to look at him. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“
Nothing,” she answered without conviction, staring at the cleft in his chin. “Nothing.”

But everything was wrong. Leo was dead only six months and she wanted this man more than she had ever wanted any man, including, she thought grimly, her own husband. How could this happen? She’d only known him a few weeks. She didn’t know anything about him. Of course what she was feeling for him was purely physical. It had been so long. And the last few times with Leo, before he had gone into the hospital, it had been unpleasant. Unpleasant? It had been bad. Very bad.

“
There’s half a bottle of wine downstairs,” John said, kissing her mouth lightly. “I’ll run down and get it.”

John opened the door of his apartment and immediately heard someone inside. Water running. Soft humming. Puzzled, he followed the sound toward the bathroom.

The bedroom was dark, but light from the open bathroom door cut a pattern across the threshold. He bent down, pulled out the drawer in his nightstand and reached in for his .38.

“
Johnnie?” a woman’s voice called out.

Ilona. He’d recognize that accent anywhere. Christ, why now? he asked himself.

“
Ilona? What are you doing in my—” The sound of the floor creaking behind him interrupted his sentence. He started to turn, saw a flash of black, then a brightness so intense it was like an explosion behind his eyes. He went down on his knees, his head ringing and ringing.

John heard his name. The room spun and he flailed out, searching for a solid hold. He pulled himself up on the side of his bed. His knees buckled, but he managed to stay upright. He heard someone retreating down the hallway. Groaning, he looked around. Who the hell had hit him? And with what?

“
Johnnie!” the voice cried again. He pulled himself back to consciousness just before he could succumb to the blessed darkness. He touched his head at his brow and felt skin growing taut over a throbbing knot. His fingers came away wet and sticky.