The Christine Murders (17 page)

Outside, the rain intensified, beating violently against the apartment’s bay windows. Inside, all was still except for John Kinsella’s voice on the TV news.

Hardly breathing, Christine stood up slowly and walked to the TV set, her eyes riveted on the nameless face on the screen. The TV picture changed to close-ups of each of the victims, all of them so similar in coloring and appearance they might have been sisters. And there was something else. Something else about these women hit Christine.

She felt as if her heart had stopped beating, as if all her blood had drained from her head and she was about to faint.

And then she knew why Bill had called from Honolulu. She knew why he had been so nervous. He had seen these pictures, too. He had recognized Luther Ross-Wilkerson just as she had right now. He had also noticed what she hardly dared to admit to herself - that each one of the murdered women looked just like her.

She jumped, startled, as the phone rang. The answering machine was still on. She walked toward it, hearing her taped message. She waited. Would this finally be Bill?

There came the signal to speak, followed by silence. And then a voice, a voice with a British accent: “Good evening, Christine. Oh, I know you’re home. I’ve already checked and your flight came in on time tonight, despite this wretched weather. So I know you’re there. Won’t you speak to me, Christine, please? Or are you hiding from me?” He laughed softly. “I know you’re listening to me, so I’ll tell you a secret. You can’t hide anymore. You’ll see why. Just wait, my dear, just wait.” A click on the line, and he was gone.

Rigid with fear, Christine stood staring at the machine, hearing only the rain’s staccato beat against the windows. He had checked on her flight arrival time. How? How had he known she was due home on a flight tonight? How did he even know she was away?

Her mind flashed back to the police composite she had just seen on TV. She rushed inside to her den, where Laura had stacked some newspapers. Finding today’s, she looked at the picture again.

There was no doubt anymore. The face in the composite drawing was Luther’s.

***

Back in Monterey, in a smaller hotel now, Luther put the phone down in his hotel room and walked over to the window. It was still raining heavily, so the drive into the city would be longer than usual. But he could expect little traffic at this hour.

He knew she was home. Of course she was. He knew she was right there listening to him. He wondered if he had frightened her. He really didn’t want to do that to her; he loved and wanted her, but if fear was the only way to convince her that she was now his, well, it would have to be. But she had cheated on him, just as Alyson had done all those years ago. He thought of the pictures of Ted and Bill. The voices had come back again, stronger than ever, telling him what had to be done to a cheater.

Earlier he had experienced a sudden vivid memory of the last night he had seen and spoken to Alyson. She had been frightened too, but she had been angry also and had told him he needed help. He didn’t like anyone telling him a thing like that. All his life he’d heard it – from his parents, his teachers, his doctors – even his pastor. Alyson should not have joined them in telling him something like that.

Alyson was a cheater. And all those other women who had confused him, the women he thought were Alyson or Christine – he didn’t want to hurt them, but he had. The voices had told him to because they were all just like Alyson. They would say they loved him and then tell him he needed help, while they moved on to other men.

Maybe Christine would be different. Yes, maybe she would be the one who would stay and would understand. A pure docile woman who adored him. But he had seen those pictures of her with those other men. His beautiful Christine. He wanted and loved her so, but what choice would he have once again?

Christine also had to die.

He pulled on hat, coat, and gloves, and picked up his small bag. Right before he left the room, he took Christine’s set of keys from a bureau drawer and dropped them into his pocket. Then he strode confidently from the room and began his slow drive back to San Francisco.

CHAPTER THIRTY

FRIDAY – OCTOBER 21
st
– EARLY MORNING

Too terrified to sleep, Christine sat through the early morning hours, listening to the rain, waiting for Bill’s call.

She thought of Luther’s face so expertly drawn in the police composite. She’d known something was wrong with Luther. Yet a vicious killer was something she’d never imagined. Until tonight.

She could not stop thinking about the three dead women. Had he lured them the same way he had attempted to get to her?

Shivering from fatigue and fear, Christine pulled a blanket tighter around herself and put her head on her knees. She felt like a hunted animal. She wanted to call the police herself now, but thought it would be better to have Bill with her.

Her cell phone rang, startling her so much she nearly jumped off the couch. It was nearly two o’clock. “Hello? Bill?”

“Chris! Finally! Are you okay, hon?”

“Yes, I’m here safe. Where are you, Bill?”

“At the airport, ready to leave. What an ordeal that flight was. But Chris, there’s something I have to show you, something very important . . .”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I saw the news tonight. I saw the picture, and those other women. That’s it, isn’t it? You recognized him, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I carried a paper to Papeete. I thought I was being paranoid, but it’s Luther, Chris, I’m sure of it. I’d never forget that face.”

“No, neither would I, especially those ice-blue eyes.”

“Okay, listen, I’m coming over there. I don’t want you to be alone. And then we’ll call the police. I’ll ring up from the gate when I get there because I don’t have the new gate key you have for me yet.”

“Oh, Bill, yes, I have the new keys here for you, they just changed locks again last week. I forgot to give them to you. All right, but you must be exhausted. Just drive carefully, please, the rain’s been so heavy.”

“I’m okay,” he said. “And the rain’s not bad right now. I’ll be leaving here in just a few minutes.”

“Bill, he called again tonight. He left another message. He knew I’d just come home. He said he’d checked the arrival time of my flight. How did he know that? Where did he find out what I was doing?”

“I don’t know, Chris,” Bill answered. “But that bothers me even more. He’s stalking you, getting information about you from someplace. Look, don’t answer the phone again until I get there. And then we’ll call the police, okay? Just take care, hon. I’m on my way.”

***

By the time Bill reached the city the rain had stopped. He parked halfway down the block from Sutter Court and started up the hill to the front gate. He was very tired, and he took the steep hill slowly.

As he walked, he noticed a car coming slowly up the street with its headlights off. The driver parked and crossed quickly toward the front gate of the complex. Wish I’d seen that closer spot first, Bill thought.

As Bill approached the man from the car, he saw him pull keys from his pocket. Working the gate lock, the man stepped fully into the pool of light above the entrance.

He was wearing a black knit cap pulled far down over his ears, and his face was scruffy with a light beard, so it took Bill a few seconds to realize that it was Luther. He stopped, astonished to see him here at Christine’s apartment, and letting himself into the complex with a key. Where in the hell had he gotten a key?

Bill, in spite of his fatigue, speeded up the last few feet to the gate. Maybe he was wrong, but at the sudden sound of his approach, the man turned toward him, glaring at Bill with those unusual eyes.

Dear God, he had been right! “What the hell are you doing here?” Bill yelled. “Where did you get that key?”

The gate was now unlocked, and Bill lunged at Luther, pushing him roughly inside the brick walkway beyond the courtyard. The two men were about the same height, but Bill had the weight advantage. If only he hadn’t been so damned exhausted!

The gate clattered shut behind them both. In an instant, before Bill could react, Luther’s hands came up and fastened around his throat in a fierce grip, while he struggled to free himself.

Struggling for breath, Bill lifted his leg and drove his knee sharply into Luther’s groin, successfully knocking him backwards. Luther cried out and doubled over, but only briefly. Bill went at him again, but this time Luther was too fast for him.

He pushed himself up and grabbed Bill, still weakened and gasping for breath, by both shoulders, slamming him against the wall and smashing his head against the bricks. Then, seeing that Bill was only stunned, Luther pounded his head against the wall twice more. As Bill slumped helplessly to the ground, Luther struck again, kicking him viciously.

Bill lay helpless on the cold wet ground, unable to move, his body burning with pain. Before he lapsed into unconsciousness, he saw Luther above him, his face crazed with anger. He reached inside Bill’s jacket pocket, roughly pulling out his wallet and phone.

The very last thing Bill noticed before he drifted into blackness was Luther reopening the gate and pulling the key from the lock. The key . . . he has a key, Bill thought weakly.

Luther dropped the key and Bill’s wallet and phone in a pocket and dashed quietly back into the night and into his car and sped away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A full hour and a half had dragged by and still there was no sign of Bill. Christine had begun to worry about him, realizing he should have arrived long ago. She had called his cell phone twice but the call had gone to voicemail. Where was he? What was taking him so long?

With her nerves already shattered, it was easy to imagine that Bill had had an auto accident. The rain had stopped, yet she knew how terribly tired he would be, coming in after such a long flight, a flight that had incurred an added long delay. Suppose he’d fallen asleep at the wheel of the car?

She was about to phone him one more time when she heard a knock at her front door. She ran to the foyer and called out. “Bill? Is that you?”

But it was Ray who answered her. “No, Miss Lindsey, it’s Ray. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we need to talk to you. I have the police here with me.”

Christine pulled the door open, finding Ray together with Sutter Court’s night security man and a city police officer. “Ray,” she said, her voice quivering. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“May we come in, Miss Lindsey?” the policeman asked.

“Yes, of course.” She stood back and motioned for the men to enter. “Just please tell me why you are here. What happened?” She almost yelled at them; her voice was shaking and she felt as if she were about to cry. Why were these men here now? What was going on?

Ray spoke first. “There’s been an accident, Miss Lindsey. Your friend, Bill Arnett? Well, apparently Mr. Arnett was mugged a little while ago, downstairs. Was he here visiting tonight?”

“What? Oh, my God, oh no!” Christine yelled. How many more shocks would this night bring? “No, he hadn’t come yet. I’ve been waiting for him for hours. He was on his way here from the airport.” She made her way unsteadily to the couch and sat down, her legs numb. “He was mugged? Where? Will he be all right?”

“He’s just been taken to the hospital, Ma’am,” the policeman answered. “Your guard here found him just a little while ago. He’d been roughed up pretty badly, I’m afraid. He was unconscious.”

Bill mugged, unconscious? How badly was he injured? How could all this horror be happening? Would she suddenly wake up and find that this entire night had been a bad dream?

She managed to push herself up onto her feet again. “What hospital did they take him to? I want to go to him now.”

“I’ll take you, if you feel up to it,” the policeman said. “Miss Lindsey, I do have just a few questions first, if that’s all right.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Had you buzzed Mr. Arnett onto the property yet, or does he have a key?”

“No,” Christine answered. “I told you I was waiting for him and I didn’t know why it was taking him so long to get here from the airport. He had called over an hour before. He doesn’t have the key. Usually, yes, but I had not yet given him the new one. They just changed all the outside locks again. Why do you ask?”

“Because he was inside the walkway,” the security guard answered. “Somebody must have let him in. I was in the garage when I heard some shouting. Then I heard the gate slam, somebody running across the street, and then a car started up and sped off like mad. It was gone by the time I got up to the street. Then I found Mr. Arnett slumped against the wall about halfway along inside the passage way. Somebody let him inside the grounds.”

Christine looked at the guard. “No, he doesn’t have the new key yet, so that doesn’t make sense. If somebody let him in, then he must have been attacked by somebody who lives here. Or if a mugger jumped him, wouldn’t whoever had let him in still be nearby and seen the attack and try to stop it?” She looked at the three men standing solemnly around her. “None of this makes sense, does it, Ray?”

“I think most likely the gate was left open, and either the mugger was already on the grounds here or else he was on the street and followed Bill inside. He saw an opportunity and took it,” Ray volunteered.