The Christine Murders (22 page)

“This is lovely,” he said, touched by the elegant display. “Actually, I’m starved. There hasn’t been much time to eat anything decent these days.”

“Put some of the preserve on your scones. It’s delicious. A friend of mine makes it. She picks all the berries in Napa, where she lives, and then makes buckets of preserve. She sells a lot of it at Farmers Markets and in some of the stores here in the city.”

Kinsella generously spread preserve on a scone. “Excellent. Does she make the scones, too?”

“No, I buy them in London. Each time I go there, I stock up at a little place I know. I go there so often, they know me well. They know to have my order ready whenever they see me come in.” She poured milk into her tea and drank.

“It’s quite an interesting life you lead, Christine. Travelling all over the world, constantly meeting new people. But hard work, I know.”

“Yes, very hard work, and getting harder all the time in this insane world we live in now,” she said. “But it’s wonderful, and I wouldn’t trade it for any other job. It can be lonely at times, too. It’s difficult keeping friends outside the airline profession when you are away so much. You’re gone so often, soon they forget about you. So you do tend to exist within your own little core group of other airline friends, the people who know you best and understand your lifestyle. We talk shop all the time. Only our shop is the entire world. And we lead a very different kind of life in each of the cities we find ourselves in so frequently. I have a London life, a Paris life, a Hong Kong life, and a Sydney life. Plus a few other places as well.” She laughed softly.

“People unfamiliar with the job think we’re all running around having wild flings all over the globe. And because we’re always talking about doing this or that in Honolulu, or Hong Kong, or in Paris or Vienna, we can sound like snobs. But you see, all those places are just part of our work, our offices so to speak.”

She looked at him closely. “I love my work. I wouldn’t trade places with anyone else. But it can be hard at times, and very tiring. Bill Arnett had been coming home from Tahiti when his flight was delayed with an engine problem in Honolulu. They were there for hours, and the crew has to take care of the passengers, and many times things can get unpleasant. People are upset, and there is nobody else to blame so they take it out on us. He was exhausted when he finally got home, and yet he was coming to help and protect me, and look what happened to him.” She shook her head and frowned.

“When you like what you do, it makes all the difference,” Kinsella said. “And I think you must be very good at what you do, Christine.” He found himself looking at the roses again. “I have to ask. Did those gorgeous flowers come from Mr. MacIntyre?”

Christine stared at him, startled. “No, they’re the roses I told you about today. They came from Luther. I didn’t know what to do with them. Well, I didn’t want them of course, but they are so beautiful – still so fresh – I just kept them here. And the vase costs a fortune. I may give that away to someone. I don’t want to keep it.” She glared at him suddenly. “Tell me, please, did you find him? Do you know anything new about Luther? Because I’m still terribly afraid of him.”

Kinsella shook his head. “We did not find him. He was not at home, and he wasn’t at his office, which is odd. We did speak to his assistant, a Mrs. Shirley Lao. She told us he was out of town, but she has no idea where. And she admitted that was strange as well since he always tells her where he’s going and always keeps in touch with her. But she volunteered that he hasn’t been completely himself of late.”

“Do you believe her, that she doesn’t know where he is?”

“She’s a cool one, but yes I do believe her. She seemed a bit upset, too, but we couldn’t figure out what it was that was bothering her. She told us Luther has not called in, and when she’s tried to reach him on his cell phone she gets no reply at all. He’s never done that before. She’s worried about him.”

Christine nodded. “I’m not surprised he’s disappeared. Did she say how long he’s been gone?”

“Since Tuesday. As I say, something is definitely bothering Mrs. Lao about the whole situation. We are not finished talking with her yet. I couldn’t search his office, of course, but we did do a check to see if he’s left the country. He hasn’t used his passport, so he’s probably still around here somewhere. We ran a background on him as well. No record, no arrests, not even a parking ticket. From what we could learn today, Mr. Ross-Wilkerson is a model citizen – wealthy, owner of a prosperous importing business started by his family in England. Not a blemish. Yet he seems to have disappeared. He owns a Liquid Blue Metallic BMW-3 Series, new, a very expensive car. And that might still be at his condo, or not. We don’t know yet.”

“How charming,” Christine said. “Don’t serial killers frequently turn out to be fine upstanding citizens?”

“Very frequently. And with these killings, we have reason to believe the killer is somebody very like Luther.” He stopped and thought about something. “Christine, do you have the scarf he sent you? I’d like to see it.”

“Yes, I have it.” She got up and went into the den again, returning with the box and placing it on the table. “He knows where I live. He can phone me whenever he wants, although he doesn’t have my cell number. He could follow me. And he somehow knows my flight schedule, and I don’t know how he ever got that. He could wait for me outside. I suppose he could even get in here if he were determined enough.” She studied Kinsella briefly. “Why are you so interested in that scarf?”

Kinsella was looking carefully at the scarf and didn’t answer her. It was the same as those the women had been strangled with; even the little French designer’s label inside was the same. What could he or should he tell Christine?

He looked up at her. “Christine, I want you to know I take this very seriously. I want to find this guy, and I will. But I’m bothered about something you said earlier. Do you have a gun? Because I don’t want you trying to pull any heroics. I don’t want you trying to go after him or doing something stupid that might land you in jail.”

“A gun? No, I don’t. But I want to buy one. I’m not going to do anything stupid, as you say, but I’m not going to leave myself a sitting duck for him either. He knows too damn much about me, John.”

“Please let me do my job. I want you to call me if you hear from Luther again. In any way.” He handed her a card. “My cell is on there. Call me any time, any hour. And when are you flying again?”

“Sunday evening.”

“Okay. May I take this scarf? And the box and note?”

“Be my guest, I certainly don’t want it. But you didn’t answer my question. Why are you so interested in that? Did your victims have similar scarves? Did he send them silk scarves before he killed them? If so, he must have known them and stalked them.”

“Christine, I can’t go into that, not yet. All I will tell you is that there is a connection, but not quite what you are suggesting. We have no evidence that the women were killed by anyone they already knew.” He wanted to tell her about Alyson Merlott, but felt it would not be wise.

If Luther had been the man Alyson was seeing, and if Luther had indeed killed her all those years ago, it was possible Christine was now the trigger that had set him off again. The killings had started only a short time after the incident on the plane with the spilled coffee, when Christine had first met Luther.

“Christine, it’s getting late, and you’re tired. I’ll get going. Thank you very much for the tea and scones. Tell your friend her preserves are tops. The best I’ve ever eaten.”

“I will. She wins awards at the State Fair each year. I can get some for you if you would like me to.” She looked at him now with concern. “You must be very tired with all this going on. Are you married?”

“No. Not now. I was once. She couldn’t take my lifestyle, and I can’t say I blame her. It’s not easy.”

Christine smiled at him. “I suppose not.” Quickly she jotted a number on a piece of paper. “I forgot to give you my cell number. You should have this.” Then she put her hand to her face to stifle a yawn. Kinsella stood up, still watching her. She seemed so vulnerable now. He wanted desperately to protect her.

He had to restrain himself from putting his arms around her. “Get some sleep, Christine,” he said. “And how is your friend Bill doing?”

“He’s stable. He’ll recover, but he’s still not out of the woods. Did you find out anything else about the attack?”

He shook his head. “No more than you told me. We haven’t found anybody either. But there’s something just not quite right about the gate, as we mentioned, and how the mugger got in, unless he was already on the property, and your guard swears no to that too.”

“And I believe him. He’s good, I can tell you that. There’s not much he’d miss. If anybody was on this property, in the courtyard, hanging around and especially at that hour, he would have known it and done something.”

They were at the door. “Good night. I’ll talk with you tomorrow. Call me if you need me, but just be very careful, all right?”

“I will, I promise. And thank you, John, for coming over here. I’m sorry if I was rather rude at first.”

He smiled at her. “I think I deserved that. But it was Tommy who turned the tide, right?”

He waited to hear the deadbolt lock move into place before heading to the elevator. He was feeling much better now than he had when he’d first arrived here. He had won her over, it seemed. Sort of.

Sutter Court was a well-secured building, which reassured him. It was strange about the mugging, however. There had been no record of any trouble around here before, and there had been no other robberies or attacks anywhere else in the immediate neighborhood last night.

He knew he needed to find Ross-Wilkerson. Perhaps the man was innocent, but there were too many things adding up against him so far, too many coincidences for him to be brushed aside. The scarf especially worried him the most.

Wearily, he made his way home to his empty apartment, thinking about Christine all the way. The evening had turned out better than he’d expected. He was mystified by his feeling for her. She was perfectly lovely, but he’d had more than his share of beautiful women. Why did he feel the way he did about Christine?

She inspired something in him. It was something that went far beyond mere sexual desire. It was something he was quite unfamiliar with lately. He felt renewed somehow, as if she’d woven a spell over him. And he wanted to protect her.

Terribly lonely and depressed, Kinsella arrived at his cold dark apartment, which seemed worse after the warmth and comfort of Christine’s place. How nice it would be to have a woman like that waiting for him each night.

He managed a grim laugh at himself as he wearily removed his clothes and prepared for bed. How in the world had this woman managed to turn his whole world upside down only a few short hours after he’d met her?

CHAPTER FORTY

SATURDAY – OCTOBER 22nd

For the first time in days, Christine woke feeling refreshed and rested. The day had dawned cold and foggy again, with no hint of sun behind the early morning gloom. She was about ready to leave for the hospital when she remembered some bills she had forgotten to mail. But where were they?

She found them in her desk, inside the top drawer. Strange. She never put her outgoing mail inside the desk drawer. She noticed that all of the drawer’s contents seemed out of place today.

She looked in her key box. One set of building and apartment keys was missing, the set she had planned to give Bill. She was sure she had an extra set. Of course she did.

She rummaged through the desk. She found even more items out of place, but no sign of the missing keys. Maybe Ray hadn’t given her those extras? Dear God, what was going on here? Was she losing her mind? There had been far too much stress lately.

No matter now, it was getting late. She wanted to get to the hospital. She had been so tired and upset the past few days, she couldn’t think normally. She would ask Ray later on.

***

She drove slowly from the garage and out into the cold gloomy morning, slowing at the curb to check for traffic, noticing as she did so a man standing across the street looking at the building. When he heard her car coming out, he turned to see who was in it.

He was dressed in old jeans and a dark jacket, and he had a beard. But there was something about him, something that set off an alarm bell in Christine’s mind.

It was Luther; she knew it was. She sat behind the wheel of the car, unable to move or make a sound. Her worst fear had come true. He was here waiting for her.

While she sat helplessly, the man turned and started to walk casually up the hill. Was she wrong? It could have been a stranger. Her nerves were so on edge she was imagining things now, seeing Luther everywhere.

A driver in back of Christine honked his horn impatiently, startling her. Flustered, she accelerated swiftly into the street without looking, narrowly missing an approaching car. More horns honked, and she heard angry voices yelling. She sped up the street and turned right at the first corner, circling Sutter Court and turning back to search for the man in the jeans. He was nowhere in sight.

She continued driving up and down nearby streets looking for him, but with no luck. He had vanished. Had she really seen anyone, or was she starting to lose her mind?