The Christine Murders (24 page)

She woke up abruptly, nearly crying out. She opened her eyes and searched the familiar surroundings of her own room.

Lying beside her was John Kinsella, his black hair and handsome features as beautiful in sleep as when he was awake. She glanced over at her clock. It was nearly six a.m. They had made love far into the night.

She wondered if she had been wrong to come this far with him so soon. She had never done this with anyone, ever before. But there had never been anyone like John before and she had never wanted or needed a man the way she wanted him. She knew now that she had fallen in love with him the moment she had seen him.

She snuggled down against him, wrapping her arms around his strong body. He stirred slightly, and she lay there, feeling his heart beating, remembering the ways he had loved her through the night.

Then a nagging thought swept into her mind. Had they both been caught up in the passion of the moment, influenced by the strange violent circumstances that had brought them together? Were they building something lasting here, or was she merely one more of the many women John must have had since his divorce? He was an experienced lover, that was for sure. She had her doubts that a man like Kinsella had remained celibate. What would happen to her once the serial killings had been solved and the case was closed?

In spite of how fast things had moved, she knew she wanted him with her forever and she would do her best to keep him. It had taken her long enough to find a man she felt this way about; she vowed with all her heart that she would not let John Kinsella slip away. She could only hope and pray that he felt the same way about her.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

SUNDAY – OCTOBER 23rd – EARLY MORNING

Only a few scant rays of weak sunlight poked timidly through the early morning fog when Christine woke and slipped quietly out of bed to feed Tommy. Next to her, John continued to sleep.

He was awake, however, when she came back, smiling up at her with a pillow propped under his elbow and his black hair attractively tousled across his forehead. With the drapes still closed, the room remained dim. Only the faintest pink light of the early sun shown through the heavy fabric.

John whistled softly. “I wish I could wake up and look at you first thing every morning.”

You could!
Christine thought. She had gone to the kitchen without bothering to put anything on, and now she grabbed for the robe she’d tossed across the bottom of the bed, but John reached out and took her hand.

“No, don’t put that on, not yet.” Gently, he pulled her back into bed, easing her down against the pillows. He kissed her. Christine sighed and ran her hands through his hair.

“My lovely Christine,” he murmured. She felt herself slipping once more into the ecstasy she’d experienced with him throughout the night.

John lifted her against him, holding her tightly and kissing her. They sat locked together for several minutes before he put her down upon the pillows and began to make love to her once more.

Afterwards, they remained in each other’s arms, dozing softly off to sleep. When they finally woke again, John glanced at the clock and abruptly jumped up.

“Oh, geez, Chris, I have to leave. I lost track of the time.” He turned to her. “I’m sorry, baby. What are you going to do today before your flight?”

Christine took a deep breath and tried to pull herself back to reality. It was morning, Sunday morning, yes – but Sunday morning in the middle of a serious murder investigation. She had been terribly disappointed that John had made no progress yesterday. She knew he didn’t really believe it was Luther she had seen outside; a trick of your mind, seeing what you have been concentrating on too much, he had told her.

Now she wondered if this was what life had been like for his wife. A sudden, abrupt end to a night of love and passion? “I’ll be all right,” she said, trying not to sound as hurt as she felt. “I’m going to go to the hospital. I’ll be back here later on to get ready for work.” She couldn’t bear to let him go, to leave her alone today, even though she knew there was no way he could stay with her.

“What time is your flight report?” John asked, heading into the bathroom. She heard the shower go on before he poked his head back around the door for her answer.

“Five o’clock. I’ll leave here around four.” She could hardly speak.

“I’ll try to get back to you before then, either here or at the hospital. In any event, I’ll call you. I promise.”

Steam was pouring from the bathroom, and he dashed back in and under the shower. Christine got up and wrapped her robe around herself, listening to the sound of the running water.

When he returned, unshaven and with his hair still damp, he saw her sitting quietly on the bed. Gently he lifted her and held her. “I’m sorry I have to leave you like this, Christine. I don’t want to, you should know that.” But still she couldn’t speak, and she stood there clinging to him, feeling wretched and desperately not wanting to let him go. What kind of fool had she been to go to bed with him so soon? How did she know he wasn’t congratulating himself right now on another easy conquest?

All too soon he was gone. She watched him depart with a leaden weight around her heart. Instantly, all her terrible fears returned to torment her. What if Luther was outside the building waiting for her again? Because she was certain it was Luther yesterday, and not a trick of her mind. She imagined that the phone would ring at any moment, and she would hear his slow steady breathing once more. She showered and dressed hurriedly, eager to get out of the apartment. By this night, she’d be safely on a flight to Honolulu, surrounded by friends, busy with the work she loved.

All she could hope for now would be Luther’s capture and an end to the horror by the time she returned home. She would worry about her broken heart later.

Suddenly, with a sickening jolt, she realized that John had never once told her that he loved her.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

SUNDAY MORNING

After a small breakfast, most of which she couldn’t eat, Christine set out on foot for the hospital. It would be a long walk, but the day was gorgeous and she welcomed the exercise and time to think about what had happened last night.

She searched the streets outside Sutter Court, expecting to see the man in the jeans and sweater again. Mercifully, there was no sign of him. She started a brisk walk, drinking in the delicious autumn air.

Although she tried hard not to think about him, Luther stayed in her mind. Where was he hiding? What was he planning next? Would there be more victims here in the city, or was she next? Her steps slowed. For a few minutes she was not sure she could continue.

What did he want from her? This was more than an obsessive love. It couldn’t be because of spilled coffee either; it could not be anything so trivial. There had to be something more, something much deeper going on. She knew John had more information about the killings than he could tell her. What she didn’t know was if he even really believed Luther was the killer?

Last night, before they had made love, she had prodded him with questions about the victims. Had they received calls and gifts before they’d been murdered? It hardly seemed likely in the case of the doctor from Portland, but the other women lived here and could reasonably have known Luther. But John had been reluctant to say much more about the women than he had already told her, and that was no more than she could have found in the newspapers. She was positive the scarf had significance as well. The victims must have had similar scarves.

John Kinsella. What sort of trouble had she started for herself with him? All morning she had tortured herself with guilt over how impulsive she’d been, how eager she had been to become his lover. She blamed the hideous stress she’d been under, first with Luther and then with Bill’s attack, and all of it coming so soon after her breakup with Ted. Normally, she would never tumble so quickly into an affair. How might things have gone if she and Kinsella had met differently? But most likely they never would have met.

She thought sorely about the abrupt way he had left her this morning, reverting so easily to the efficient Lieutenant she had first met on Friday. Could he have tired of her already?

Half mad with pain and embarrassment and guilt and fear, she hastened toward the hospital, praying Bill would be improved. What a blessing it would be to go to work tonight as well, to escape to another life in another city, where her problems simply did not exist.

When she reached the hospital, she crossed the lobby and plopped wearily into a chair to catch her breath. Nearby, a blond man dropped his newspaper and looked over at her. “Christine? Christine Lindsey, is that you?” he called to her.

She looked up, instantly recognizing that voice. “Peter?” she asked. He was out of his chair and coming to her, surprise and delight brightening his face.

“Chris! I hoped I’d see you here today. Oh, how are you, love?” he cried, folding her into a big hug.

“Peter, you’ve come to see Bill, haven’t you? How did you hear? Did you come all the way out here to see him?” She smiled and held Peter at arm’s length briefly before hugging him once more.

“No, I’ve transferred here. I met Bill last week at a party, right before his last trip. I suppose he never had a chance to tell you about that, since I know he’s been here since the night he got home. I worked my first flight out of San Francisco to London, and when I got home last night, I heard the news about Bill when I stopped into scheduling. I had no idea and I was horrified. So I’ve been here since early this morning. I just came down a little while ago so the nurses could bathe him.”

“How was he this morning, Peter?”

“Well, he’s murmuring, and he’s restless. But his doctor said he thinks he’s on his way back. His blood pressure is good and he’s breathing on his own. Everything they’ve tested shows no permanent damage and he should recover fully, thank God. They told me to keep talking to him and touching him as much as possible, since this might help to pull him back to us.” Now Peter looked at her closely. “Are you okay, Chris? You look a little peaked, dear. Want some coffee or something before we go back up?”

“Yes, I’d love some coffee. And then you can tell me all about yourself. I had no idea you were coming out here with us.” She smiled, her face bright with pleasure. “You don’t know how good it is to see you again. I’ve missed you and our adventures.” She remembered the years she and Bill and Peter had worked out of New York, all the wonderful trips to Europe and South America when they’d been so new at their jobs. She’d been very happy in New York, in that wonderfully stimulating city, and the flights had been marvelous fun. But she’d wanted to try San Francisco, and she’d been happy here. Life had been very good, until Luther Ross-Wilkerson. Until John Kinsella.

Peter smiled. “Well, I intended to surprise the two of you. I had the transfer request in for ages, naturally. It’s so hard to get this base. I thought I’d wait until I finally got here and settled in a bit and then just casually call you both. But I ran into Bill at that party last week, so the cat was out of the bag, so to speak.” He frowned and shook his head. “And then this terrible thing happens to Bill. I was beside myself when I heard.”

Christine linked her arm in Peter’s and they started for the cafeteria. Peter was a comfortable link with her safe, happy past, and as such a perfect balm for her battered emotions. They would talk over old times. And, she decided, she wouldn’t mention a word about what was going on here now with Luther.

Just as she would do once her flight left the ground and soared into the skies tonight, she would pretend nothing wrong existed in her world.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

SUNDAY – MID-MORNING

Shirley Lao stood quietly inside Luther’s office while the two officers conducted a brief search. They didn’t have a warrant, but when they’d come to her home this morning, something had told her that she needed to take them here and allow them in to look at Mr. Ross-Wilkerson’s private office. In fact, she had encouraged them. Kenneth had been puzzled and asked her what was going on. She couldn’t really give him a proper explanation.

“You never did tell me what exactly you are looking for,” she told Kinsella and Lawrence. “If you did, maybe I could help you find it.”

Kinsella looked over at her. So far, they had found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, nothing but business related material, certainly nothing that would implicate Ross-Wilkerson in the killings. Which wasn’t entirely surprising.

“We aren’t looking for any one specific thing, Mrs. Lao,” he told her. A small, elegantly dressed Chinese woman in a wine colored suit and matching platform heels, Shirley Lao was clearly troubled by something.

She spoke again. “I know who you are, Lieutenant Kinsella. I’ve seen you on TV, and I know you’re in charge of investigating those terrible killings. So why are you here?”

Phil and Kinsella exchanged looks. Earlier, when they’d gone to Shirley Lao’s home, she had not been the least bit annoyed or angry with their Sunday morning visit. It was almost as if she’d been expecting them. She asked them if they wanted to come into the city with her and look at Mr. Ross-Wilkerson’s office. She would give them permission to do whatever they felt was necessary.

Highly unusual, but the men were not about to let the opportunity slip away. In the car on their way to San Francisco, she had been very quiet. Now, here in the office, she blurted out what was bothering her. “I saw the composite, of course. I was shocked, but I told myself this couldn’t be right. It was madness to even think such a thing. It was a coincidence. Nothing more.” She brought her hand delicately to her lips, as if surprised that she had said so much. Her eyes were wide and very bright.