The Christine Murders (21 page)

“What keys? Where?”

“Your keys . . . has . . . ” Slowly, his voice drifted away again and he lay deeply sleeping once more, all movement and attempts to speak ended.

“What’s this all about keys, Bill? Is it the key I forgot to give you for that gate? I have it for you, don’t worry, when you’re well again.” She fixed the covers comfortably around him and sighed. “For all I know you are talking about the keys to the liquor carrier on that last flight you worked. I just don’t know where you are inside yourself now, Billy.”

Bill made no further response.

Feeling horribly discouraged, Christine yawned. She was exhausted. She would have to go home to rest and get something to eat.

“Okay, gorgeous guy, I’ll see you either later on or tomorrow morning. I’m dead tired. You’d better wake up before your next trip so some other poor soul doesn’t get pulled off standby to take your place. I called the airline and let them know where you are, by the way.” After a minute she continued. “And I’ve been to the police, Bill. They, well, I think they’ll be able to help me. I spoke with John Kinsella. I don’t think he believes me, but he said he’ll go and speak with Luther. In the meantime, I’ll be safe at home.”

Convinced that he was comfortable, Christine gathered her belongings, kissed her friend goodbye, and wearily headed home.

***

He was still locked in the same heavy clouds that had held him captive for so long now. But he could hear her, and he knew she was leaving again, going back home.

In his confused and drugged state he saw Luther Ross-Wilkerson holding the keys to Sutter Court and letting himself inside the entrance gate. Desperately, he fought his way up from the clouds once more and managed to call out to Christine.

“Don’t go home!” He managed that clearly, loudly.

But Christine was gone already, and it was only one of the nurses who answered his shout, trying with calm reassuring words to soothe him, yet having no idea at all what the poor injured young man was trying to say.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

On Friday afternoon, Luther hiked across town to the Tenderloin district, choosing a moldy looking, decrepit hotel where he took a room. Winded and sweaty from his long walk, he had no problems.

As far as the geezer behind the front desk was concerned, Luther was just another down-and-outer looking for a place to flop.

He despised the sleazy neighborhood and its degenerate inhabitants, yet he knew the area offered him his best chance of obscurity right now. Dressed to fit the surroundings, he would attract no attention here at all.

He had put on tattered jeans and an old black sweatshirt, together with an ancient pair of sneakers. Perfect for where he was now. A fresh clean outfit was carefully packed away as well - for later on.

He’d glanced at himself in a mirror before setting out. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday morning. Now he noticed a satisfactory growth of dark beard masking his features perfectly. He had always hated the feel of an unshaven face. But this was necessary too.

He looked nothing at all now like the composite the police were passing around.

How had it all ever come to this?

In his dingy room, he checked Christine’s flight schedule once more. She was due to fly again on Sunday evening.

If all went according to his new plan, she would never fly again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

FRIDAY EVENING – OCTOBER 21st

So tired she could barely walk, Christine unlocked her apartment door and let herself in. She looked around. Everything was so normal, so comfortable. She longed for her life as it had been before Luther Ross-Wilkerson had entered it. And before Bill had met with such a terrible attack.

Tommy appeared suddenly, quietly, his steady purring and soft, low calls bringing a soothing sense of normalcy and security. She picked him up and brought him to the kitchen where, while she prepared his meal, she realized that she too was weak from hunger as much as from fatigue and fear.

Perhaps if she ate something, even just something simple like a bowl of soup and some toast, she would feel better. If she felt stronger, perhaps the realization that she was threatened by a madman would lessen, and she might be able to look at the situation more clearly and see a way out.

She was a woman who was trained to act sensibly and competently in crisis situations. She could do so now as well.

“Here you go,” she told Tommy, placing his bowl on the floor for him. “I’m afraid you haven’t been getting much attention of late, have you?”

Then she prepared something to eat, but when she carried her solitary meal to the table a few minutes later the enormity of what was happening hit her again and she lost what little resolve she’d started to build. She choked back sobs. Never had she felt so alone and helpless in her entire life.

***

Christine decided that evening that she would be safer back at the hospital with Bill than at home all alone. At least there would be people around her, and she would not have to fear the phone ringing. She took a shower, changed her clothes, and was applying fresh makeup to her tired eyes when it did ring.

She looked at the phone, terrified and unable to approach it. But not willing to listen to the persistent ringing and furious at being terrified in her own home, she grabbed up the receiver and waited, listening to hear who was on the line before speaking.

A man’s voice, vaguely familiar, spoke up. “Hello? Miss Lindsey, are you there? Miss Lindsey?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s John Kinsella, Miss Lindsey. Are you all right?”

A giddy feeling of relief surged through her, yet her voice remained sharp. “Yes, Lieutenant, I’m fine, just fine. What did you want?” She didn’t want him to know how frightened she had been, or how foolishly happy she was to hear his voice again.

“Well, I wondered if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, if I might stop in to see you. Now. I’m only about five minutes away from you, and I do want to talk to you some more. Would that be all right?”

“Yes, certainly. Please come ahead. Just ring me from downstairs at the gate when you get here.”

“All right. See you in a few minutes,” Kinsella answered. “You know, I didn’t want you to think I took your complaint lightly this afternoon, Christine. You ran out so fast on me, I didn’t get a chance to tell you that. I’m sorry for my behavior. I think I didn’t express myself very well.”

Complaint? More like a plea for her life. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Christine answered. Her voice was still sharp. Why did this man disturb her so much? It was more than just Luther that was bothering her now. John Kinsella disturbed her in some other odd way. “We can talk about that when you get here. I’ll be waiting for you.”

She hung up and sat down on the sofa. Tommy jumped into her lap. She hugged him tightly to her. She felt strangely excited at the prospect of seeing John Kinsella again. Maybe everything was going to be all right. Maybe he had found Luther. In any event, he was coming over to see her and at least for a little while she wouldn’t be alone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

John Kinsella waited while Christine’s apartment door opened slowly, and she peeked cautiously out before allowing him inside. The haunted, fearful look in her eyes caused him a pang of regret for having been so casual with her that afternoon. She was clearly terrified.

He had looked around the courtyard before coming inside. “Sorry I took so long. I wanted to check the area where your friend was attacked. I don’t see how anybody could have left that gate open. It slams shut when it’s even slightly ajar; you can’t even prop it open.”

“I know. I’m afraid I have no answers for that. Nobody does,” Christine said. Kinsella looked at her. She was dressed in jeans and a lilac sweater that attractively accented her tall slim figure. Her hair was swept back and tied with a matching lilac ribbon. For a few seconds, Kinsella was unable to take his eyes from her face. It wasn’t just the resemblance to the serial victims. Christine Lindsey was stunning. Her lovely face, however, held not a fraction of warmth. Instead, she looked annoyed. He wondered what it would be like to see her smile.

He stepped into a large, comfortably furnished living room with high molded ceilings. Both the living room and the dining area next to it were decorated in soft pastels. Dominating the room was the large bay window, a San Francisco trademark in many of the city’s older buildings. On the cushions of the window seat sat an enormous striped red cat, who interrupted his face and paw cleaning to glare boldly at Kinsella. A vase of pink and red roses sat on the coffee table, perfuming the room. Resentfully, Kinsella wondered who had sent them, or perhaps if they were the ones Christine had told him had come from Ross-Wilkerson.

The pretty place instilled a feeling of comfort, security, and peace. Kinsella, whose own life had been very much without any of those things since his divorce, felt a welcome calmness wash over him. This was a place he’d like to spend time in often. Sadly, however, he decided he had little chance of ever getting that wish to come true.

The red cat gave a loud meow, jumped off his seat, and padded toward him. Slowly, Kinsella crouched and offered a tentative hand to the animal. The cat sniffed first, then came closer and allowed himself to be rubbed and scratched behind his ears. Very soon he was on his back, rolling from side to side and purring. Kinsella wondered if this display would raise his worth in Christine’s estimation.

“What’s your trick, Lieutenant?” she asked him. She was standing behind him, watching. “Tommy rarely comes to strangers.” He winced at the way she said that. “In fact, Tommy’s quite critical of visitors, especially men.”

Kinsella turned and smiled up at her. “Well, I would imagine that Tommy, like any intelligent feline, can easily recognize a cat lover. Isn’t that right, Tommy?” He gave him one more long rub and stood up. The cat got up too and began pushing against his legs, demanding more attention. “I’d say we have at least one thing in common, wouldn’t you?”

Surprisingly, she blushed deeply, and quickly reached down to pick up the cat. “Actually, it’s a good way to pick your friends. Find out if your cat likes them first.” Her blue eyes met his forcefully. “Would you care for some tea? Or I have stronger things here than that if you’d prefer, of course.”

She probably thinks I’d prefer a boiler maker, Kinsella thought, despairing of finding any way to win Christine’s approval. He wondered what type of guy she would approve of. “Some tea would be very nice. Thank you.” He was unable to take his eyes off her, and yet he hated staring at her like a gawky kid with a crush.

Without another word she put the cat down and walked to the kitchen. He heard the clink of china. Should he follow her? That might be unwise. Instead, with Tommy back at his heels again, he wandered into another room and turned on the light.

He was in a den. The walls were filled with photos and shelves of books. He began to read the book titles and look at the photos. There were family photos, travel photos, and airline photos, Christine in these shots looking smart in her neat airline uniform. Suddenly, his eye was caught by one photo of Christine with a man he recognized immediately. He noticed several more pictures of the same man. Well, he had his answer; this was the type of guy Christine Lindsey approved of, and from the look of the pictures in front of him, she approved of him very much. Now he knew who might have sent those roses. Tommy butted his head against his leg and meowed. He bent down to pet him again. “I wish you’d put in a good word for me with your mother,” he told the purring cat.

Silently, Christine appeared in the doorway. “You take liberties, don’t you, Lieutenant Kinsella? But I suppose you’re used to snooping around.” Kinsella felt like she’d hit him; the way she said his name made him feel like it was a dirty word.

“Do you think you could call me John, please? And I wasn’t snooping. You have such a nice place, and I didn’t want to bother you in the kitchen.” He gestured to one of the pictures. “That’s Ted MacIntyre, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she answered coolly. “Why? Do you know him?”

He gave a laugh. “Know him? Well, not personally, but doesn’t everybody in San Francisco? His family owns most of the city. Is he your boyfriend?” That was rude, granted, and he expected another sharp response, but he had to know. He kept thinking of those roses on the table.

Surprisingly, her answer was gentle, almost sad. “He was my boyfriend, once. Past tense now. Not anymore. It’s over, all finished. Because actually, John, I can tell you he’s a bit of a jerk. A rich jerk, but a jerk just the same. So I’m a single, eligible woman once again.” Her voice had lost all its sharpness and was very soft now. She even smiled at him.

From the kitchen, a kettle began to whistle. “Shall we have our tea? Some other time I’ll tell you the story of my life and how I met Ted. It was on a flight, of course. But right now I’m thirsty and I’d much rather talk about Luther Ross-Wilkerson.”

Kinsella, almost deliriously happy at her change in attitude, followed her to the dining room.

Two places were set with flowered cups and small plates of warm scones and butter cookies. Butter and a large pot of berry preserve sat on a tray together with sugar and cream. While Kinsella wished he’d dressed for the occasion, Christine neatly poured tea for both of them.