Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (84 page)

“We found her,” Trammell said, his voice cool and expressionless. “Her name is Marilyn Elrod. Her estranged husband heard the bulletin and called from his girlfriend’s house to check up on her. When he didn’t get an answer, he drove over. Her car was in the driveway, and she always put it in the garage, so that bothered him right away. He still had keys to the house and let himself in, and found her upstairs in her bedroom.”

“Marilyn,” Dane said. “Not Maryland. Marilyn.”

“Yeah. Look, do you want Grace to come over and stay with Marlie so you can go to the scene?”

He didn’t like leaving Marlie, but it was his job, his weekend on call. “Send her over,” he said gruffly.

“She’s on her way,” Trammell said. “I gave her directions. She should be there in five minutes or less.”

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?”

“I just know you, pal.”

Grace proved that she drove faster than Trammell by knocking on the door right then. Her normally serene face was troubled when Dane let her in. “How is she?” she asked immediately.

“Still sleeping. I managed to rouse her for a few minutes about half an hour ago, but she was still too groggy to think. She conked out again as soon as I got her back to bed.” As he talked, Dane was slipping into his shoulder holster and putting on his jacket.

“I’m on second shift tonight,” Grace said, following him to the door. “I brought my uniform so I can stay until the last possible minute, but I can’t stay much past two-thirty. I know it isn’t enough time,” she said apologetically.

Dane swore under his breath, but didn’t see anything else he could do. “It’s okay. She’ll be more alert next time. Let her sleep until two, then
make
her respond to you. Tell her where I am, and that I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Grace nodded in understanding. As he started down the steps, she said hesitantly, “Dane? Um . . . I was wondering. That is . . . Marlie . . . Can she . . . ? Oh, damn,” she said in frustration. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Dane turned back. It was unusual for Grace to lose her composure. He saw how uncomfortable she looked, and took a guess. “Can she read your mind?”

Grace bit her lip. “Alex said you were good at doing that yourself,” she muttered. “But . . . yes. Can she read my mind?”

“She says she doesn’t.” Let Grace see if she could find any more reassurance in that than he did. “And I didn’t read your mind. It was a lucky guess, because the idea makes
me
uncomfortable too.”

Grace nodded, understanding completely. Dane went to his car, and she stepped back inside, closing the door against the heat.

She followed his instructions and at two began shaking Marlie and talking to her. To Grace’s relief, Marlie blinked her eyes open after only a minute. “Grace?” she asked, the word as blurred as if she had been drinking.

Grace sighed with relief. “Yes, it’s me. I’ve made some fresh coffee. Would you like some?”

Marlie swallowed, trying to push aside the thick fog in her brain so she could think. “Yes,” she finally said.

“I’ll get it. Don’t go back to sleep.”

“I won’t.” It was difficult. Marlie fought it, struggling to understand. Grace was here . . . Where was Dane? Had something happened to him? Sudden panic dissipated the
fog even more, and she managed to sit up. She was nude under the sheet; she clutched the bedcovers to her, looking around, trying to gather some clue about what was going on.

Grace returned with a cup only half-full of coffee, making it easier for Marlie to hold without spilling any. “Where’s Dane?” she blurted, her eyes dark with distress. “Has something happened to him?”

“No, of course not!” Seeing her distress, Grace sat down on the bed and patted her arm. “Dane’s fine. He left just an hour ago.”

“Left?” Confused, Marlie closed her eyes. Behind her lids flashed a nightmare image, surrounded with what seemed like a hundred candles, reflected in a darkened mirror. She caught her breath as part of her memory returned. “What day is this?”

“Saturday,” Grace replied.

“Then it was just last night that it happened.” She inhaled deeply, shoring up her fragile control, and opened her eyes.

“The victim’s been found. Dane’s at the scene now.” Grace knew, from talking to Trammell, that the scene was exactly as Marlie had described it. If she hadn’t been there herself last night, and listened to Marlie talking, she would never have thought it possible. Being an eyewitness, however, tended to make one a believer. “He didn’t want to leave you alone, so I came over.”

“Thank you,” Marlie said. “I’m so foggy when I first wake up that it’s easier if someone is here to explain things.” She had always gotten through it alone until Dane, but still, it was nice to have someone there.

“I can’t stay much longer. I’m on second shift,” Grace explained. “Will you be okay by yourself?”

“I’ll probably go back to sleep.” Marlie sipped the coffee. “Does Trammell mind that you work nights?”

“Of course. If I were on first shift and he worked nights, I wouldn’t like it either,” Grace said, her eyes twinkling. “However, being an intelligent man, he hasn’t made the
mistake of demanding that I quit work or try to arrange my hours around his.”

“He’s doing better. We mentioned the word ‘marriage’ several times last night, and you couldn’t see the white around his eyes.”

Grace considered the matter. “His eyes did look rather like those of a panicked horse, didn’t they?” she said judiciously. “I keep reminding him that it was his idea, and he can change his mind any time he wants. Then he thinks that I must not be sold on the idea myself, so he tries to convince me it’s the right thing to do and convinces himself instead.”

“Dane may have to prop him up at the altar.”

“I expect he’ll be steadier by then. I hope so, anyway. It’s just that it happened so fast between us. Things were out of control from the first time we went out together. Alex likes to be in control, so it’s driving him crazy.”

Tactfully Grace didn’t ask about Marlie’s relationship with Dane, and Marlie was grateful. There was nothing settled between them, no hint of permanence despite their living together, and she was too tired to try to explain. She liked Grace a lot, but she had never had the comfort of a confidante, nor had she grown up spending long hours giggling with other girls her age while they dissected every detail of their lives. Until Dane, she hadn’t really spent a lot of time just talking with anyone.

“Do you want to shower while I’m here?” Grace asked. “That will clear out a few of the cobwebs. Trammell said that they’ll want you to work with a police sketch artist as soon as possible, to get the killer’s description out.”

Marlie shoved aside the memory of his face. She couldn’t let herself dwell on it right now. “I’d love a shower. I’ll hurry, so you won’t be late.”

Grace left her alone, and Marlie got out of bed. She felt stiff and uncoordinated, her muscles weak. She had made an effort with Grace, but things still hadn’t quite clicked back
into their proper places for her. She would have to make an even greater effort to concentrate, later on, so the sketch would be accurate.

She kept the shower brief, and as cold as she could stand it. After dressing and drinking more coffee, she felt more in control. Grace was reluctant to leave, but Marlie shooed her on her way, then forced herself to walk around rather than lying down as she wanted.

How long would Dane be gone? Would he immediately take her to headquarters, so they could get started on the sketch? She paced until she was dragging, then stretched out on the couch. Sleep came almost immediately, but right before the dark curtain dropped, she had one last, very clear thought:

How long would it be before she no longer saw that face every time she closed her eyes?

T
HE SKETCH ARTIST WAS A
short, plump redhead named Esther. Esther had small, quick, ink-stained fingers, shrewd eyes, and a voice like Tinkerbell’s. Her age could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty; her hair was liberally salted, but her skin was smooth and fresh. Like most artists, she wore whatever was at hand. In this case, it was a pair of cutoff sweatpants, one of her husband’s shirts, and sneakers but no socks.

With a cup of coffee in her hand to sustain her, Marlie sat beside Esther and worked through the details of the killer’s appearance. It was a painstaking chore, involving endless variations of eyebrows and noses, size of eyes, width and thickness of lips, slant of jaw, jut of chin. She could close her eyes and picture the face, but duplicating it on paper wasn’t easy.

Dane didn’t interrupt but was always close by, frequently refilling Marlie’s coffee cup. It had been close to six when he had gotten home and roused her from the couch, where she had been sleeping. Though he had been solicitous of her,
his mood had been grim as he drove her to police headquarters.

“The bridge of the nose should be higher,” Marlie said thoughtfully, examining the latest effort. She’d done work with police artists so many times in the past, she knew what they needed from her. “And his eyes were a bit closer together.”

With a few deft strokes of her pencil, Esther made the changes. “Is this better?”

“Better, but still not quite right. It’s the eyes. They’re small, hard, and close together. Sort of deep-set, with a straight browridge.”

“Sounds like an ugly son of a bitch to me,” Esther drawled, making more minute adjustments.

Marlie frowned. She was very tired, but forced herself to concentrate. “No, he really wasn’t, not physically. I suppose he could have been called attractive, even with a bald head.”

“Bundy was a handsome devil, but he wasn’t anyone’s dream man. Just shows that you can’t tell by looks.”

Marlie leaned forward. This time Esther’s corrections had brought the sketch closer to the face in her memory. “That’s good. Make the forehead a little wider, and taper the skull more. His head wasn’t that round.”

“More like Kojak, huh?” Deft pencil strokes changed the shape of the head.

“Stop. That’s good.” Seeing the face on paper made her feel a little queasy. “It’s him.”

Dane came over to stand behind Marlie and look at the finished sketch, staring hard at it. So that was the bastard. Now he had a face. Now he would be hunted.

“Thanks, Esther,” he said.

“Any time.”

Marlie stood and stretched, vaguely surprised at how stiff she felt. Trammell, who had been waiting patiently in the background, came forward to stand beside Dane and examine the sketch. “I’ll get this circulated,” he said. “Take Marlie home and put her to bed before she collapses.”

“I’m okay,” she said, but the flesh around her eyes was dark with fatigue, and her face was drawn.

Dane didn’t argue. “I’ll call later tonight,” he said, putting his arm around Marlie and urging her toward the door. Once they were in the car, she tried to stay awake, but her eyes drifted shut before they had reached the second traffic light.

As he had the night before, Dane carried her inside, put her on the bed, and efficiently stripped her. “Good night, honey,” he whispered, bending over to kiss her.

She put her arms around his neck and clung. “Hold me tonight,” she said.

“I will. Go to sleep now. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

•  •  •

She was in his arms when she awoke the next morning. Seeing her eyes open, Dane turned her to her back and moved on top of her, pushing her thighs apart and settling himself between them. Gently he penetrated, and rocked them both to climax.

His lovemaking made her feel alive again, pushed the ugliness into the background. They lay together for a long time, each finding comfort in the other’s embrace. Finally she said, “Tell me about her.”

Dane kissed her temple, and held her closer as if his nearness would keep the horror at bay. “Her name was Marilyn Elrod,” he said. “Recently separated from her husband, but he was concerned enough to check on her, and went to the house when he couldn’t get her on the phone. He seems pretty broken up about it now, when it’s too late.”

“Marilyn,” she said, making the connection. “Not Maryland, then. Marilyn.”

“The storm had knocked out the electricity in the neighborhood. She lit candles on her dressing table. Everything else was the way you saw it.”

“She fought him?”

“Looks like it. Her knuckles were bruised. Pity she didn’t
manage to scratch his face; that would have given us an identifying mark.” Though it probably would have gotten her fingers cut off like Nadine Vinick’s, but he had never told Marlie that little detail. If she didn’t see it in the vision, he certainly wasn’t going to add to her burden of knowledge.

“Won’t his face be marked? Maybe she cut his lip. Was there any blood other than hers?”

“Not that we’ve been able to identify,” he said carefully. He tried not to think about the savage butchery, the vast amount of blood that soaked the room. Finding a few alien drops of blood wouldn’t have been feasible; it would have taken pure dumb, blind luck, and luck hadn’t been their best friend so far. If it hadn’t been for Marlie, they wouldn’t have a clue even now.