Haunting Refrain (27 page)

“I think so. It looks like one of mine.”

“We’d better let Detective Waite talk to you.”

“It’s easy enough to guess.” John tightened his hold on Kate. “He expected to find her in bed. When he didn’t, he lost it. That’s why the bedroom’s torn apart.”

“Yeah, that’s how we see it, too,”
Wolynski
said. “He was regaining control, cooling, when he went downstairs. The destruction’s less savage.”

Waite and her partner, a tall, dark contrast to her fair coloring, arrived, joined them on the porch. She spoke briefly to Kate and John, introduced her partner as Jamal Burnett, and turned away to speak quietly with the two officers. Gesturing for Kate and John to wait, the four of them went into the house.

Kate folded her arms tightly across her midriff and began pacing, her head down.

“Your neighbors are out,” John said, indicating people across the street in clusters of two and three. One wizened little woman on the porch next door had turned her chair toward them, unabashedly staring as she rocked. He glanced at the black Timex on his wrist. “I guess a lot them are coming home from work now. I wonder if anyone saw or heard anything.”

The lab man arrived in another marked car, a Blazer with
Crime Scene Unit
written on a gold band, and pulled up behind
Wolynski’s
black and white cruiser, causing a ripple of excitement to spread through the growing group of watchers.

John slowly perused the faces. “Kate, do you know who lives around you well enough to pick out anyone who doesn’t belong? These creeps often return when they can hide in a crowd, to see the results of their handiwork.”

She quickly scanned the knots of people. Cold waves undulated through her stomach at the thought. “I don’t think he would be here. With what Rita and Josephine have told me, I think he would stand out in this crowd.”

“Rita?
Nelson?
When did you talk to her?” John’s attention switched back to Kate. “And who’s Jo—Ah!” he interrupted himself.
“The roommate.
What have you been doing, Kate?”

“I ran into Josephine at the hospital this morning, and Rita called as soon as I got to the studio.” She started to explain when Lynne Waite came out of the house.

“Let’s go inside. We can sit in the living room now.” The detective motioned them to follow her. “Kate, John, we’ll need your fingerprints and those of anyone else who’s been here recently. Frankly, I don’t think we’re going to find anything. There’s nothing on the glass where he broke in, and
Debis
, the fingerprint guy, thinks the subject was wearing gloves. There are some indentations—and a concrete block he used as a stepping stone—in the soil under your dining room window, but nothing distinct enough for a print. This is a very careful person.”

“Kate has had some other ‘accidents’ that you should know about,” John said.

“What?” the detective asked.
“When?”

“I didn’t connect them with anything at the time, but now I don’t know.” Weary and confused, Kate wilted like a rose out of water.

“Is that what I think it is on your front door?”

Kate nodded.

“That doesn’t look like an accident to me. How did it get there?”

“That prophet from the mountains.”
Kate told her about running into him and then finding him in front of the house. “I guess the officer could tell you about it.”

“He will, as soon as I get back to the station.” Waite called to Burnett to join them.

The tall detective clattered down the wooden stairs and pulled up a chair near Waite. Kate and John sat together on the sofa. Kate sneezed.

“It’s the fingerprint powder. It’ll go away soon,” Waite said, balancing a steno-style notebook on one knee. She turned to her partner. “There’s more, Jamal.” She nodded toward Kate.
“All right.
From the top.
Let’s hear everything this time.”

Kate told them about the car on the mountain and the elevator, about the feeling that someone was outside the studio that morning. “I snapped a few shots with a long lens, but I don’t know if anything will show up. I haven’t developed it yet.”

Waite excused herself briefly to make a call. Her voice carried from the kitchen. “I want that report from the Fire Department.”

For her partner’s benefit, Waite asked Kate to repeat what she had said at the studio Sunday about the parapsychology group and the visions.

As concisely as she could manage, Kate told them. She tried to keep any emotion out of her voice, but an underlying quaver crept through.

Skepticism written all over his handsome face, Burnett refrained from comment, asking instead, “Did you have any connection with Kelly Landrum before this? Do you know anyone who did?”

“Not directly, except that Detective Waite told me she used to live in this house.” Kate started as the big detective jumped up and strode to the steps.

“Hey,
Wolynski
!
Come down here a minute,” he called. The young officer appeared immediately. “Tell us what happened that night you went to the meeting at Poinsett.
The one where Ms. McGuire had her ‘vision.’”

Kate shook her head at his emphasis on “vision.”

Wolynski
, as carefully as if he were on the witness stand, described the meeting. It sounded like a scene from a grade D movie. Kate was just grateful that he didn’t describe
Venice
’s outfit.

Burnett watched Kate but said nothing as
Wolynski’s
story ended. He nodded, dismissing
Wolynski
, and said to Waite, “I don’t know about psychic powers, but she’s probably convinced the killer that she knows something.”

“I agree. And while it looks like this is connected to Kelly Landrum’s death
, ”
Waite gestured toward the upstairs, “we need to rule out any personal motives. Any rejected lovers or upset business associates, anything like that?”

Kate’s heart sank. If they questioned J. B., he would be furious, but she would have to tell them.

John sat quietly beside her, taking it all in, his surprise evident when she told them she had only had a few dates since her divorce.

“Did you turn down anyone who was especially persistent?” Waite asked
,
her blue pen poised above the small notebook.

“I don’t think so. Most of them accepted it with unflattering ease.” The corners of her mouth turned up in a wry smile.

John asked. “Who cuts your grass? Have you had any work or repairs done in the house? What about the studio?”

“I do it all. If it’s bigger than I can handle, James Earl, the maintenance man at the warehouse, helps me. If the house needs serious work, the landlord takes care of it. A contractor remodeled the inside when I first moved in, so it hasn’t needed anything much.”

“A contractor?
Here? There’s a big difference between the inside and the outside of this house. Someone’s done a lot to a rental in a—
“ John
stumbled, looked at Kate.
“In a less expensive neighborhood.
Who owns it, Kate?”

“I don’t know. Someone bought it right after I moved in and had the inside redone. The rental agent said the new owner needed a tax write-off.”

“Save it, Gerrard. Let’s get back to this business.” Waite scribbled something on her notepad and flipped the page over.

“Tell me about this James Earl,” Burnett said.

“James Earl Withers.” Picturing the slow, kindly man, Kate smiled. “He’s helpful, quiet,
pleasant
—”

“No, it’s not him,” John said, shaking his head. “I saw him when Kate was trapped in the elevator. It scared him to death.”

“I’ll decide that for myself.” Waite frowned at him and nodded at Kate to continue.

“If he works at the Principal Players warehouse, he knows you and Ashburton, and he could easily have tampered with the elevator—if that wasn’t an accident.” Burnett said.

Unconvinced, Kate told them what little she knew. “He was working there when I moved in with my studio. I think he was laid off from one of the mills. Gwen Gordon would know.”

There wasn’t much else to say, and they wrapped it up quickly. Waite and Burnett rose together.

“Whatever this is about, someone is very serious.” Waite said. “Are you staying with Gerrard?”

“Yes, she is,” John answered. As the detectives turned to go, he added, watching their reactions, “Kate ran into Josephine
Wardlaw
at the hospital this morning.”

“
Wardlaw
?
The roommate?”
Burnett asked. “What was she doing there?”

“I didn’t ask. I just saw her in the parking lot. She was very friendly.” Surely they didn’t think Josephine had anything to do with it.

“She’s big enough,” John said.

Burnett glanced at Waite. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally.

My God, they do suspect her!
“No, no, it’s a man. I’m sure of it,” Kate protested. Over the last week, her feelings about the killer had gelled. She was certain now.

“We haven’t ruled out anyone yet. Tell us about seeing
Wardlaw
,” Burnett said.

Kate told them, including the incident with the BMW driver, but she left out the visit to the dormitory. It couldn’t help their investigation, and it might make them think worse of both her and Josephine. She had a feeling Burnett didn’t trust either one of them.

She started to tell them about visiting the Nelsons and meeting Rita, but John tightened his fingers on her arm with a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“Kate, whatever you do, be careful,” Waite warned. “Gerrard may be a pest, but he’s not stupid. Stick with him.”

“
Debis
will be finished in a few minutes, and you can have your house back,” Burnett said. “But Lynne’s right. Be careful. Whoever did this will be back, and my guess is soon.”

As the two detectives drove away, John turned to Kate. “You’re too tired, and I’m too hungry to start cleaning up now,” he said, brushing his thumb lightly over the shadows beneath her eyes.

“If they finish soon, I’d like to at least make a start.” She glanced at the house. “I guess I need a new mattress.”

“You won’t need it until they catch the guy, for sure.” He draped his arm over her shoulders and started slowly back inside, dropping a light kiss on her cheek. “While we wait, you can tell me about Rita Nelson.”

Debis
, a lanky stick of a man, met them at the door with
Wolynski
and Dill in his wake. “We’ve finished here, Ms. McGuire. We’ll send you a list of the items we removed.”

At the bottom of the porch steps,
Wolynski
turned back to them. “Be careful.”

John closed the door and followed Kate into the living room.
“Now.
Tell me about Rita.”

“That poor sad girl.
She had to sneak out to give me a box of Charlene’s things—letters, some photographs, stuff like that.” Kate rubbed her eyes, then leaned down and retrieved a copy of
Outdoor Photography
, its bent pages fanned over another magazine. “Damn him! Look at this,” she said, waving a
National Geographic
with a torn cover. She put aside the thought of him, here, touching her things.
The knife.
At least the police had taken that—no one had suggested she touch it, and she was grateful. Ignoring the ugly scene upstairs, she began straightening and picking up with John. “Charlene was a pretty girl. In the pictures, she looked so full of life.”