Where Dreams Begin (21 page)

Luke appeared incredulous. “You think someone is disguising herself as a hooker to off pimps? I think legitimate hookers, if they can even be described as such, would have excellent reasons of their own.”

“They undoubtedly do, but let’s think about this a minute.” She hoped she wouldn’t sound as intrigued by the gruesome murders as Nick and took a breath to slow down. “Felix Mendoza preyed on runaways, and if Bobby Clyde’s idea of a good time was watching one underage girl entertain a dozen men, then he was no better. That means a runaway might have felt justified in killing both men, and it could just as easily have been a boy as a girl. In fact, a boy would have greater need of a convincing costume.”

“A guy in drag?” Luke scoffed. He glanced toward the philodendron which was doing nicely atop the file cabinet. “I don’t even want to go there. Besides, my job is to protect the kids who come here, not conduct witch hunts.”

“I’m aware of that, but Nick appears to be fascinated by the crimes, and he has a slim build.”

“Oh Christ,” Luke swore. “Why stop there? Three quarters of the boys who come through here are painfully thin. There’s no fat on me either, and I’m sick to death of the bastards who prey on vulnerable teens. Maybe I ought to be the prime suspect in the murders.”

There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, and for one terrible instant, she believed him fully capable of murder. His daughter’s tragic death had filled him with a seething fury. Could he have unleashed it upon the despicable creatures who used homeless teens as sex toys? she agonized. Unable to meet his accusing gaze, she glanced away.

“Catherine, look at me,” Luke ordered, his tone harsh.

It took her a moment too long to comply. “Yes?”

“My God, you actually believe I’m capable of it, don’t you?”

She fought to make herself understood. “Please don’t consider it an insult when in the case of Felix and Bobby Clyde, it would have been a heroic deed.”

“You think vigilantes are heroic? I don’t. I’m trying to set an example here of how a responsible adult handles his life. It would defeat my whole purpose to step outside the law.”

“I didn’t actually accuse you of murder,” she stressed with forced calm.

“Fine.” The muscles clenched along Luke’s jaw as he pushed away from his desk. “But if I were going to do it, I’d gather a group of men who share my commitment to troubled youth. That way, none of us would have to handle more than a single killing, and it would be nearly impossible to link any of us to the crimes. But I sure as hell wouldn’t squeeze myself into an eye-catching red dress to commit murder.”

When he put it that way, Catherine had to laugh. She rose and reached for his hand. “That’s a convincing argument right there, but something very peculiar has to be going on for the woman in the red to want to call attention to herself.”

“I agree, but let’s let the police work it out.” He drew her close and dipped his head.

She reached up into the kiss, then regretfully broke away. “Lunch,” she reminded him. “You’ll be missed.”

“I miss you,” he breathed out against her lips. As he kissed her a second time, he hugged her tightly and lifted her clear off her feet. A loud knock at the door jolted them both.

“We were discussing the mural,” she whispered anxiously. She smoothed her hair with her fingertips and backed out of his embrace.

Luke shook his head. “This is my office, and I won’t make excuses to anyone.” He crossed to the door and pulled it open. When he found a pair of detectives flashing their brightly polished badges, he gestured for them to enter. “Let me get us another chair.”

“That won’t be necessary. We won’t stay long.” A handsome Latino walked into the office and nodded to Catherine. A neatly trimmed mustache set off his smile, and his dark eyes shone with a teasing sparkle. “I’m Gerry Garcia, but before you ask, I was named for Geronimo rather than the star of the Grateful Dead. This is my partner, Detective Salzman.”

Garcia was dressed in a tan suit, white shirt and gold patterned tie reminiscent of a Gustav Klimt painting, while his partner, a petite brunette, wore a severely tailored navy blue suit and the sturdy black heels worn by women in the military.

Startled by their arrival, Catherine responded as warmly as she could. “I’m Catherine Brooks. If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure you’d rather speak with Dr. Starns privately.”

Luke swung the door shut. “You’re one of our most trusted volunteers, Mrs. Brooks. I’d like you to stay. These are the detectives who came to take the girls’ statements after Felix Mendoza died. What progress have you made on that murder?” he asked them.

Chagrined, Garcia cleared his throat noisily, while his partner flipped open a small notebook and scribbled the date.

Catherine moved to the chair nearest the window and gestured for Detective Salzman to take the one closest to the door. After a slight hesitation, she sat on the edge of the seat, but her posture remained perfectly erect.

“You needn’t point out that Bobby Clyde Flowers wouldn’t be dead if we’d solved Felix Mendoza’s murder,” Salzman chided.

Luke slid into the chair behind his desk. He grabbed up the LATEXTRA section of the
Los Angeles Times
and flung it down on the desk top. “We were just reading about it. Do you believe it’s the same woman?”

Garcia jammed his hands into his pants pockets and began to pace the narrow space in front of the door. The new carpet swallowed the sound of his footsteps. “Frankly, I thought the witnesses to Felix’s murder were too rattled to provide an accurate description, but apparently they did.”

“Or some copycat killer was inspired by the news coverage to adopt a similar disguise,” Salzman murmured almost to herself.

“Do you regard that as a serious possibility?” Catherine inquired.

“Not really,” Garcia replied. “But it was no accident that the witnesses to Felix’s murder came here; and the girl meant for the main course at last night’s party had one of your cards listing your programs. I’d say that’s two important links to Lost Angel and the murders.”

“We work awfully hard to get word of our services out to the kids who need them,” Luke responded. “You can’t blame us if we succeed.”

Salzman tapped her pen against her notebook in a nervous beat. “Let’s cut to the chase. The killer must have had a good reason to despise Mendoza and Flowers. They won’t be missed, but we really dislike unsolved crimes. As we see it, the killer will continue her brutal attacks unless she’s stopped cold. Because the dead men were known to traffic in young girls, and you’ve plenty passing through here, we need you to provide us with the names of all those with long blonde hair.”

“No way,” Luke swore. “We keep no records of who visits Lost Angel. We tally the numbers to be certain we’ll have enough food, but that’s it.”

Garcia waved aside that objection. “Even if there are no written records, you must know the names of your regulars.”

“Sure,” Luke replied with a shrug.

“Well?” Salzman persisted, pen at the ready.

“Well, nothing. If I begin giving names to the police, the kids will scatter faster than cockroaches at dawn, and unlike those hideous insects, they won’t return. I always encourage the kids to contact you if they have knowledge of a crime, but I won’t rat them out.”

“Harboring a criminal is in itself a crime,” Garcia interjected.

“I’m not harboring anyone,” Luke assured them. “I have absolutely no information on either pimps’ death.”

Catherine watched the detectives’ expressions harden and couldn’t help but think of Violet, who had the requisite long, blonde hair, but who didn’t appear to be strong enough to even slap a man, let alone plunge a knife into his guts. She raised her hand. “If I might be permitted to ask a question?”

“Yes, of course,” Detective Salzman responded defensively.

“You described the crimes as brutal. I thought the men were simply stabbed.”

Garcia rocked back on his heels and smoothed out the ends of his golden tie. “There are stabbings and there are stabbings, Mrs. Brooks. An enraged killer can murder a victim several times over with multiple stab wounds. The woman in red is so calm and cool, she uses a single deep thrust to the belly to slice through the aorta, and then widens the wound when she withdraws the blade.”

“That must take considerable force,” Catherine offered.

“Definitely,” Salzman agreed, “to say nothing of a vicious lust for blood.”

“Would a teenage girl possess that kind of strength?” Catherine asked pointedly.

“She must,” Garcia replied.

Luke knew where Catherine was heading and stepped in. “Mrs. Brooks believes your killer is a man in drag. He could be a rival pimp or someone who lost a daughter or sister in the flesh trade.”

Garcia and Salzman exchanged startled glances. “What an interesting theory, Mrs. Brooks,” Garcia responded. “Do you consult with many of the police departments in the county, or do you usually keep such imaginative thoughts to yourself?”

Clearly he believed that’s what she ought to be doing now, but Catherine refused to give in. “Sometimes the obvious is overlooked, but clearly the killer wishes to be seen. I’d love to hear your theory as to why.”

Salzman snapped closed her notebook and rose to her feet. “We’d really hoped you’d be more cooperative, Dr. Starns.”

Luke stood as she did. “Believe me, I’m the very soul of cooperation when it comes to the police, but there’s no evidence to convince me there’s even a tenuous link between the stabbings and Lost Angel.”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse, Dr. Starns,” Garcia shot back at him. “And don’t think we don’t recognize a diversion when we hear one. Most of the drag queens in Hollywood would faint at the sight of blood, so Mrs. Brooks’ theory makes as little sense as your refusal to help.”

Neither Luke nor Catherine responded before the detectives left the office. “I really thought detectives would be more open to a variety of possibilities,” she mused aloud.

“I’m sure they are when it’s their own ideas they’re considering. Come on let’s forget them and get some lunch.”

She preceded him through the door. “I doubt they’ll just disappear. Do you suppose they’ll keep Lost Angel under surveillance?”

Luke cursed under his breath. “Probably, which means I’ll have to discuss the murders at this afternoon’s counseling session.”

As they crossed the courtyard, she drew to an abrupt halt and tugged on Luke’s arm. “You’d know this. Aren’t the overwhelming majority of serial killers male?”

He nodded. “Yeah, they sure are. The next time Garcia and Salzman appear, and they will, I’ll remind them of it. I’ll also give you the credit for the thought, since they seem to be particularly incensed by your observations.”

“Why was that?”

“You made them appear incompetent, which is easy enough to do. What did you think of Garcia’s flashy tie?”

“I thought it an odd choice. Shouldn’t a detective strive to blend in rather than stand out in a crowd?”

Luke glanced toward the hall’s open doorway. He could hear laughter and the scraping of chair legs as kids got up to go back for seconds. His stomach growled, and he urged Catherine on toward the entrance. “They weren’t on a stakeout, so their clothes probably don’t matter.”

“Not yet, maybe, but are they likely to park across the street and watch for blondes?”

“Maybe I ought to ask Toby to entertain them,” Luke countered.

“Are you speaking to him?”

“No, not really, but I doubt he’d enjoy having the police hanging around either.”

Catherine entered the hall first, but she went to check on the pencil supply before joining the line and let Luke get ahead of her. The police visit had left her feeling vaguely unnerved, as did the prospect of those coming to Lost Angel being under surveillance.

In mid-afternoon, Catherine was sharpening colored pencils with a small battery-operated sharpener she’d brought from home, when Tina Stassy slumped into the chair opposite hers. She set her canvas bag on the floor, and her cat bounded out and made a dash for the door.

“Charlie has to go pee,” Tina explained. “He’ll be back in a minute.

“He seems very attached to you,” Catherine observed, although she thought the attachment mutual.

Tina shrugged, then yanked her overall strap back up on her shoulder. “He’s loyal ’cause he’s well-fed. I should have thanked you again for the money for cat food. That was real nice of you.”

“You’re welcome.” Catherine watched Tina pick up her bag and hug it to her chest as though the cat were still snuggled inside. She doubted Tina really wanted to discuss cat food and continued sharpening pencils. The soft whirring sound broke the silence while she waited to hear what was really on the girl’s mind.

“I met the Candyman once,” Tina whispered. “You won’t tell Luke, will you?”

Catherine laid the newly sharpened pencil aside and waited to pick up another. “No, not if you’d rather I didn’t.”

“I like Luke an awful lot, but he’d never understand.” Tina sent an anxious glance toward the door and was clearly relieved when she saw her cat wandering back her way.

“Understand what?” Catherine asked.

“Let’s just say the Candyman, and he did pass out candy like it was Halloween, he said, well…” She dipped her head to hide a brightening blush. “He was looking for virgins.”

Catherine was appalled. “Just like that? Any virgins in the crowd?” she inquired softly.

“Sort of, except he talked like a hillbilly. He said, ‘you all’, and stuff like that.”

“He was a Southerner?”

“Yeah, but no Southern gentleman. The guy creeped me out. He offered $2,000, though, and swore no one would have to sleep with him unless they wanted to.”

Catherine was glad she’d eaten only half a tuna melt for lunch and swallowed hard to keep from losing it right there. “Apparently that wasn’t enough for you.”

Tina raised her hands to smother her laughter. “Oh, I would have grabbed for it, but I haven’t been a virgin since I turned twelve.” She welcomed her tattered cat onto her lap, slipped the bag around him and stood. “Thanks again for the cat food.”

Catherine tried to continue sharpening pencils, but she felt more like breaking them all in half. Finally, she grew so angry she had to leave the hall to find Luke. Pam was on the telephone and waved her on in.