The Christine Murders (19 page)

He remembered Christine with him here again. He could feel her soft hand stroking his brow. Why couldn’t he wake himself up, pull out of this haze and warn her about the key?

She had spoken to him. Somebody was wheeling him away. Christine had his steward’s wings – some other man had given them to her - she had them for safekeeping. She kissed him, and now she was going.

No! He tried to speak, to move, but his body would not respond. She couldn’t go back home alone!

He struggled unsuccessfully with the mists, trying to find his voice, terrified at the thought of Christine home alone, unaware of the danger she was in. But he could not move, nor could he make a sound.

When he’d last spoken to her, she had known about Luther. She had seen the picture and made the connection. She had agreed to go to the police. But would she follow through now? Would she go without him? She knew the danger she was in, yet she had no idea just how severe that danger had become.

Silently, Bill prayed and willed Christine to go to the police. That was the only hope she had now before Luther Ross-Wilkerson returned to strike again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

FRIDAY – OCTOBER 21
st

Not a speck of morning sunlight found its way through the heavy drapes inside Luther’s penthouse apartment high above San Francisco Bay.

As the brilliant sun grew stronger, Luther made no move to open the penthouse to the dazzling day and the sunlight glittering like diamonds across the water.

He had come back home after his attack on Bill, unnerved and furious at what had happened.

Luther had been so sure he had chosen the ideal time to get to Christine. His excitement, all along the long slow drive to the city in the sheeting rain, had been unbearable. When he had pulled up in front of her building in the quiet morning hours, all he could think of was the look on her face when she would find him standing over her. Surprise!

Then, suddenly and so unexpectedly, that flight attendant had been there. Luther had been dumbstruck when he recognized Bill, coming angrily upon him at the front gate.

He had reacted violently. He didn’t know, or care, whether he had killed Bill. It had never entered his mind since to check to find out if the man was dead or alive. He was only satisfied that he had remembered to grab his wallet and phone. That had helped make the attack look like a mugging, nothing more.

All Luther cared about now was that his careful plans had been thwarted so badly. Christine had been alone and helpless. Now he would have to start all over, wait another time and be sure she was truly alone before he went in. Everything had been spoiled.

He wondered why Bill had been there at all. Did he live with her? He remembered the photos he’d seen in the den. Well, Bill was out of commission now but then what about Ted MacIntyre? Perhaps he had not thought all this out as carefully as he’d liked to think he had. Was he going to be constantly thwarted by Christine’s boyfriends? She was no better than Alyson.

He stared at the keys lying on the coffee table where he had tossed them. Thank heavens he had remembered to pull the key from the gate before he fled.

Luther considered the scene outside Sutter Court once more. Bill had known who he was. His voice had been angry, challenging. He had even attacked him first. Could he have recognized the composite? Why else would he have reacted that way to someone he only had met once before on board a flight? But if Bill did know about him, there was a good chance Christine knew also. And what about Ted MacIntyre?

Christine could prove a real danger to him now, if she knew or even suspected. She might go to the police. And then there was still Bill to consider. If he was alive, he could identify him. He was in a lot of trouble all of a sudden, trouble he had never imagined falling into. Things were spinning terribly out of control.

Briefly, he considered trying to find out more about Bill’s fate, then decided it would be useless to do anything about him right now, if he were still alive. For one thing, it would be far too risky. For another, time was too precious.

He reached down and picked up Bill’s wallet and phone from where he had dropped them on the carpet next to the coffee table. He knew what he would do with them. Then, once he had finally gotten to Christine and ended that situation, he would find out what had happened to Bill.

He knew only that he had to make his final move very soon. He was convinced both Bill and Christine knew too much now. Before both of them turned the tables on him, he would have to get to her. He desperately wanted her, in spite of everything, and there was still a chance he could have her even for a little while, but unfortunately that chance was looking slimmer all the time. No matter what happened, he knew that Christine would have to die.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Christine’s deep sleep had led her into a series of nightmares. She was trying to help Bill, who lay on the ground bleeding and unconscious, when Luther suddenly appeared, gliding toward them from the fog and calling her name. Unable to move, she stood still while he came closer.

She tried to scream, but no sound would come. Then something soft was tapping at her face. Christine woke, her eyes focusing on the familiar room. On the pillow next to her sat Tommy. The cat extended his paw once more and tapped tentatively at her cheek.

Still shaking from the vivid dream, she pushed herself up on an elbow and looked at the clock. It was nearly two p.m. She barely remembered falling into bed this morning; she felt far from rested even now. The sleep she had gained barely touched the surface of her exhaustion, but she knew she could sleep no more today. There was too much to do. She reached for the phone and dialed the ICU to check on Bill’s progress.

Bill was little changed since the morning except for some attempts to speak. He had been moving and mumbling incoherently, although only briefly. This was considered a good sign. He was sleeping again now, and his vital signs remained strong.

She soaked herself under a hot shower, the water a balm for her weary body. The long flight home from Tokyo, followed by the past night of stress and fear had extracted a heavy toll from her.

She wasted little time, dressing and preparing herself hurriedly. Then she spooned some cat food into a bowl for Tommy, gathered up her coat and bag, and left the apartment.

***

“I want to see Lieutenant Kinsella,” Christine told the receptionist in the busy lobby of the Metropolitan Police Department. “It’s urgent that I see him, or someone who works with him. I have information about the serial killer.”

The woman just looked at her. “May I have your name?” she asked, her face blank. She looked like a robot, mechanically directing foot traffic in the lobby and answering phone calls. She picked up the phone and spoke briefly and quietly. Then she turned back to Christine, pushing a roster in front of her. “I need some I.D. from you. Then sign this, fill it all out, and put this on.” The woman handed her a plastic visitor’s badge on a clip as Christine turned over her driver’s license. “Just wait here, and someone will be right down to take you to Lieutenant Kinsella’s office. You’re lucky to find him in today.”

Christine followed orders and clipped the badge to her sweater. Then she sat down. She was nervous, and barely aware of anything happening around her. Again she asked herself if she was being ridiculous coming here. Luther was a nuisance, but was he a killer? Had she read too much into his calls and gifts? No doubt there were hundreds of men in San Francisco who fit the description of the serial suspect. Was it strictly coincidence that Luther did also? And might it also be purely coincidental that she looked so much like the women who had been murdered? She started to lose her resolve. Maybe it would be wiser to slip quietly out of here, before she made a fool of herself and wasted everyone’s time.

But what about Bill? Bill believed Luther was the killer. She remembered how much he had disliked Luther from the start, how he had gone on about Luther being weird and dangerous. Were they both wrong, accusing an innocent man they both disliked of unspeakable crimes?

“Miss Lindsey?” Christine pulled herself out of her troubled thoughts and looked up at a tall black officer standing before her. Unlike the woman at the reception desk, this man was smiling pleasantly at her.

“I’m Officer Clavens, Miss Lindsey,” he said, extending a firm hand. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to Lieutenant Kinsella’s office.”

Christine followed him through a security check station and metal detector and on to a bank of elevators. “Do you always provide an escort here?” she asked.

“Yes, we certainly do, especially these days,” Officer Clavens answered. “Security in our crazy world is the main purpose, of course, but otherwise people would be lost all over this huge place, if we didn’t escort them in.”

They took an elevator to the fourth floor where Christine went through yet another search, and then walked together down a wide corridor. Halfway along, the corridor branched off in three directions. Offices with opened doors lined the way. Officer Clavens turned left and led Christine down another short hallway to a closed door where, not bothering to knock, he opened the door and ushered Christine into a large room. “Here’s Miss Lindsey, John,” he called to the man seated behind a desk, before nodding a pleasant goodbye to Christine and closing the door behind him.

John Kinsella stood and walked around the desk to Christine, offering her his hand as he spoke.

“Please come in and have a seat, Miss Lindsey. I understand you have something for me about the serial killer?” It was a question, spoken politely, yet as if he had already repeated the same question many times already and was not particularly positive about the outcome. Christine felt her stomach muscles tightening, and all the misgivings about coming here returning.

She looked around at the large desk near the windows, stacked high yet surprisingly neatly with folders and papers. Against one wall near the door stood a bulletin board containing photos of the victims of the serial killer. A large map of the city displayed the marked locations where each body had been found. This office was not what she had expected to find here, since it was furnished tastefully. A smooth slate-blue carpet covered the entire floor space, and healthy plants were abundantly set on empty surfaces around the room. Spacious bookshelves, packed full, took up every bit of available wall space. The place resembled an attorney’s office rather than a police lieutenant’s.

“You have so many plants and books here, Lieutenant,” she said, trying to soothe her nerves. “I don’t feel as if I’m in police headquarters.”

“All overflow from home. I’ve nowhere else to put them, and I enjoy having them around me, especially the plants,” Kinsella answered, smiling. “Why not come over here and sit down, Miss Lindsey? There’s no reason to be nervous.”

He could sense how she felt. Christine studied him closely, remembering him from the television news. He was tall, slender, and extremely handsome, with raven hair and eyes a deep shade of brown. This afternoon, his face showed the shadow of a beard. He was certainly easy to look at. As she sat down, she felt annoyed with herself for concentrating so much on his good looks.

Kinsella sat down at his desk, fixing his dark eyes intently on her. For some reason, his scrutiny made Christine blush deeply, something she rarely did. Her cheeks flamed, and she felt herself sweating under her open coat and sweater. Her hands were quivering, too, and she clasped them quickly in her lap. To her embarrassment, Kinsella noticed.

“Please, relax,” he said softly. “Tell me what you came to see me about.”

Christine took a deep breath and held herself as straight as possible in her chair. “I think I know who the killer is,” she said. Her voice, clear and strong, surprised her. “And not only that, but I’m sure he’s after me, too.” She felt better now. Let him decide from here on if she was crazy or not.

Kinsella said nothing. His eyes, so dark and penetrating, aroused a disturbing, yet not entirely unpleasant sensation.

Finally he slid his eyes from Christine and toward the pictures tacked on the board across the room. Christine watched while he concentrated on them before turning his attention back to her.

“Tell me about him, Miss Lindsey,” he said finally, his voice calm and expressionless. “Take all the time you need, but please tell me everything you know.”

***

Mesmerized by those dark eyes, Christine told what she knew of Luther Ross-Wilkerson and how she had met him. Starting with the spilled coffee on the flight from London, she recounted each conversation, the arrival of the flowers and crystal and the silk scarf, and ended with last night’s call. She grew stronger in her conviction as she spoke, supported by Kinsella’s rapt attention. He never spoke, only listened, jotting down notes on a pad while she talked. Only once did she notice a sharp reaction from him: when she mentioned the scarf. “What color?” he asked. “Dark blue,” she answered. He looked at her, eyes narrowed, before continuing to write.

She finished her story with an account of Bill’s similar discovery, and his dislike of Luther from the start. He had urged her to come to the police before now, but she hadn’t seen any reason to do so, thinking that Luther was just a strange yet annoying man. She did meet some odd men in her work, no doubt of that. And some could be persistent. But last night, when she had recognized the photo on TV, she had put everything together and realized exactly what was happening to her.