Watch Me Die (35 page)

“And the other night, when I came to you, you told him everything? About Jeff, that I thought he was alive?”

“I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.”

“You insisted you were alone.”

“What was I supposed to do? He was there, I had to tell him something!”

A stranger who said he knew her and Jeff. A stranger who had secretly insinuated himself into her life through Deni. One who knew everything about her—where she was and what she was doing and feeling.

Again, through association with Deni.

Could he be the one?
“When did you meet him?”

“I don’t know, a few weeks ago.”

“It’s important, Deni. When?”

She was silent a moment. “The same day that Preacher person attacked you.”

He was the one. He had to be.

“What’s his full name?”

“Why does that matter—”

“It does, dammit! What’s his full name?”

She hesitated. “Bill Smith.”

She might as well have said John Doe.
She told Deni so.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s an awfully pat name, don’t you think? How can you be sure that’s his real name?”

“Because he told me it was! Geez, Mira, why are you acting like this?”

“Because four people are dead! Did you know that it’s four now?” Her stunned silence told Mira that she hadn’t. “My neighbor. And I found her. It was awful. Horrible. The killer wrote a number four on her forehead!”

“Bill isn’t a killer. He’s really nice. You need to trust me.” It sounded like Deni was crying. “He said he liked you. That he met you and—”

“Last night you were afraid for me. Remember? And now you’re blindly trusting someone you don’t even know.”

“I know him! That’s what I’m trying to tell you, but you won’t listen!”

“Don’t you get it? What if this guy wants to put a number on
my
forehead!”

“Oh, my God! Why would you think that?”

“Because the only thing the victims have in common is me!”

“He opens doors for me and doesn’t curse. And he’s religious. In fact, last Wednesday night he didn’t come over because he promised his grandmother he’d take her to mass.”

“
He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
”

Fear gripped her. “Where are you?”

“Home. Why?”

“Stay there. Promise me. And don’t answer the door or call anybody—”

“Bill’s going to call any minute. We’re going out tonight.”

“No! Please, Deni, this is life and death.”

“You’re losing it, Mira. Are you sure you’re not using?”

“Please,” Mira begged, “don’t talk to this guy, don’t let him into your place until I call you back. Promise.”

“No. I’m sorry I lied to you. And I’m sorry all this is going on, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me or Bill. You need to chill. I’ve got to go.”

“Deni, don’t—”

Her assistant hung up.

Mira immediately dialed her back. Deni didn’t pick up and Mira didn’t leave a message. Instead, she dug out Malone’s number and dialed it.

“Malone here.”

“Detective, thank God!” The words came out half sob. “I think I know who the killer is.”

“Whoa, slow down, Ms. Gallier. What are you saying?”

“The killer. I think it’s a guy who Deni’s been seeing in secret. He told her he knows me, that he knew Jeff … she’s told him everything … I’m afraid for her.”

“Tell me everything,” he said flatly. “Don’t leave anything out.”

“Deni called me,” she said as calmly as she could. “She confessed that the night I stayed with her, there was a man there. His name was Bill Smith.”

“Bill Smith,” he repeated. “Do you know him?”

“No, though he claims he knows me. That he knew Jeff.” Her voice rose slightly, though she tried to control it. “Turns out he came into her life the same day Preacher attacked me. She’s been keeping him posted on everything that’s been going on!”

“Calm down, it’s going to be okay. Has he threatened her?”

“No. She thinks I’m overreacting. But it’s just too weird, with everything going on … If I’m right and he’s the killer and she tells him I’m suspicious of him, he’ll kill her. Won’t he?”

“Let’s not go there right now. Bill Smith, you said. Do you know anything else about him?”

“He’s a bartender.”

“Where?”

“Deni said they met at Daiquiris, but I don’t know which one or even if he was working when they met.”

“I’ll check it out. Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Your dog’s with you?”

“Of course, what … If you’re trying to make me feel less freaked out, it’s not working.”

“Look, I need you to stay put. I’m going to send a cruiser by to keep you company.”

“A cruiser?” For a moment, she was confused. Then she understood. And went cold with fear. “Something’s happened. What?”

“There’s been another murder.”

“Who?” she managed, the sound small and strangled.

“Dr. Adele Jasper. I’m sorry, Mira.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Thursday, August 18

7:10
P.M.

Dr. Jasper was dead. Mira struggled to wrap her mind around that fact. She had been murdered, though Mira didn’t know how. She wondered if the killer had placed a number 5 on her forehead.

She had accused Dr. Jasper of being the one who was terrorizing her and now she was dead. Regret settled like a fist in the pit of her stomach. And guilt, gnawing at her, whispering that if Louise Latrobe and Adele Jasper hadn’t known her they would still be alive. The same guilty voice that had taunted her over Jeff’s death.

Should she call everyone she knew, warn them they were in danger? Connor and Chris, the rest of her neighbors, Sam from the Corner Bar?

But now, this moment, it was Deni she had to warn.

The image of Louise Latrobe filled her head, face a ghastly death mask, the 4 painted on her forehead like an obscene exclamation point. She squeezed her eyes shut against it. She couldn’t let that happen to Deni. She wouldn’t.

She had made the right decision, coming here. Ignoring Detective Malone’s order to sit tight and wait. Deni could be in trouble. Bill Smith could be a killer. And if Deni told him about their phone call and that Mira thought he was a murderer, he could kill Deni to protect his identity.

She had put her friend in danger.

Mira looked at Deni’s double, at her red VW Beetle parked in the driveway. Without giving herself another moment to wimp out, she climbed out of her car. As she hurried to her friend’s door, she considered the things she would say, how she would convince her. She would beg her to hold off seeing Bill Smith until the police questioned him.

Mira reached the small covered porch and stopped short. Deni’s front door was open.

Just an inch or two. Just enough to send a shiver of fear racing through her.

Mira told herself to return to her car, call Malone again. Or 911. Then wait until help arrived. But what if she was the help? What if Deni needed her now, not ten minutes from now?

Heart thundering, as if her every instinct was resisting her will, she nudged the door open with just the tips of her fingers. Poking her head inside, she called out. “Deni? It’s Mira.”

No answer.

She had been in this same predicament yesterday. Standing on Mrs. Latrobe’s front porch, easing her door open, calling out hopefully.

She felt like she might throw up. An endless chant of
Please, God, not again
played in her head.

She pressed a hand to her stomach. She couldn’t bear finding her friend in the same condition she had found Louise. She couldn’t.

Wait for the police, Mira. Do not do this.

Even as she told herself she wasn’t a hero, she stepped gingerly into the apartment. “Deni,” she whispered, “are you all right?”

Absolute silence greeted her. She moved her gaze over the room—nothing looked out of place. At least for Deni, or in a way that aroused her suspicion. Newspapers, magazines and sketches littered most surfaces. Empty soft drink cans and water bottles, throw pillows on the floor, shoes scattered about. At least a dozen pairs. Tacked on an easel in the corner was a beautiful charcoal drawing of an angel, art materials covering the table beside it.

Creative clutter, Mira thought. Much the way Deni worked at the studio.

However, she wasn’t totally reassured by the absence of overturned furniture or signs of a struggle. There hadn’t been any of that at Mrs. Latrobe’s the day before, either.

Mouth dry, light-headed with fear, Mira tiptoed forward. She reached the kitchen and peeked inside.

She let out a shuddering breath.
Nothing. Thank God.

“Who the hell are you?”

Mira whirled around. The man standing just inside the doorway was huge, and judging by his expression, he wanted to tear her apart.

She took a step backward, a scream ripping past her lips and bouncing off the walls of the tiny kitchen.

The big guy went white. He threw up his hands. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you, please don’t do that again.”

Mira glanced wildly around her, looking for something she might be able to use as a weapon. The closest she came was the teakettle sitting on the range top. Even filled with water she didn’t think it’d be much good against Gigantor. “Who are you?” she managed. “Bill?”

“No, I’m Randy. Deni’s neighbor.”

Roid-rage Randy.
Of course. If she hadn’t been so freaked out already, she would have recognized him.

“Wait,” he said, “we’ve met before. You’re Deni’s boss.”

“Her friend, too. Mira Gallier. What are you doing over here, Randy?”

“I saw you creep in and decided to come see what was going on.” He frowned. “What is going on? Where’s Deni?”

“I was hoping she was here.”

He scratched his head. “She was a little bit ago. I heard her arguing with somebody.”

“With who?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It was pretty intense, though.”

“What was it about?”

“I couldn’t really make it out. Heard a lot of f this and f that. He called her a liar.”

“He? It was definitely a man she was arguing with?”

Randy paused. “Actually, I’m not sure. I just assumed. She’s been dating a couple different dudes.”

“Is one of them named Bill Smith?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t introduce me or anything, I just saw ’em around.”

“What’d they look like?”

“One has blondish-reddish hair. Kinda long and shaggy. Scruffy looking.”

“Scruffy, what does that mean?”

“You know, the way young people dress. Baggy cargo shorts, T-shirts, flip-flops.”

That sounded like Chris. “What about the other guy?”

“Real sharp looking. Short hair. Older.”

“How old?”

“I just got a couple of glimpses of him. Maybe in his thirties?”

“Did you notice what type of vehicle he drove?” she asked hopefully.

“Sorry.”

Sudden tears flooded her eyes. What was she supposed to do now?

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Not really. I’m afraid she’s in trouble. I’m afraid”—she struggled not to cry—“that this guy, the short-haired one, might have hurt her.”

He looked alarmed. “Have you checked the rest of her place?”

She shook her head. “I guess I should, huh?”

“I’ll look with you, if you want?”

She did and together they checked the rest of the house. No Deni. No sign of a fight or struggle. Judging by the pile of clothes and the damp towel hanging over the shower rod, she’d showered and changed clothes.

“This is starting to feel a little weird,” he said, averting his eyes from the discarded clothing. “I don’t think she’d be comfortable with us being in here like this. Especially me.”

Mira nodded but didn’t move. “Where could she be?”

“Probably went out. She’s almost never home at night.”

“Then why was the door open?”

He thought a moment. “She left in a hurry and didn’t close it tight?”

“And didn’t lock it?”

“If it’s like mine, it’s one of those that you lock from the inside, before you go out. All you have to do then is slam the door.”

She didn’t respond and they returned to the kitchen.

“Look,” he said, “she left her cell phone.”

He picked it up off the kitchen counter and held it out.

Mira stared at it, a funny tingly sensation moving over her. More than any other person she knew, Deni was attached to her phone. She used it for e-mail, social networking and games. She checked the weather on it and used it to keep up with the news. If somebody asked her a question about anything she didn’t know off the top of her head, she went to her phone.

Mira had never known her to be without it.

Randy must have seen the upset on her face. “She probably just forgot it.”

Mira didn’t believe that, even though she really wanted to. She glanced a last time around the kitchen. An empty Lean Cuisine frozen meal box sat on the counter by the microwave. She crossed to the appliance and popped open the door. Inside sat an untouched, cooked meal.

She bit back a squeak of dismay and shut the microwave. Who cooked a meal, then just left it to sit? Wouldn’t she have at least covered it with foil and stuck it in the fridge?

Randy went on. “My guess is, she’s out with one of those dudes. Too bad you can’t just call and ask.”

Call and ask. Of course.

“Can I have the phone?”

“Sure.” He handed it to her.

She tucked the device into her pants pocket. “How long ago did you overhear that argument?”

He tipped his face to the ceiling for a moment. “
Jeopardy!
was on. I’d say about forty minutes. Maybe an hour.”

Forty to sixty minutes ago. Shortly after she’d talked to Deni. She didn’t know what that meant or if it was even important, but she liked having the information, just in case.

“I think you’re right, Randy. This feels weird, we should get out of here.”

Outside, she thanked him for his help, then hurried to her car. After starting it and setting the A/C to arctic blast, she dug Deni’s phone out of her pocket.