The Morning After (38 page)

Nikki rid herself of her coat, draping it over the back of a chair, leaving her in a slim gray skirt and fitted black top that showed off her curves. Jesus, why was he even noticing? This was Nikki Gillette, a woman who would only get close to him to use him for information. Sexy. Tough. And the adversary.

He searched the rest of the small apartment while she fed her cat. Her home was still messed up from the investigation, but no one was lurking in a closet or behind a door or under the damned bed. Reed checked every nook and cranny, but he didn’t linger too long in Nikki Gillette’s bedroom, didn’t study the antique-looking bed, nor touch the soft blue linens that covered it. Doing so would bridge an emotional gap he thought better left unspanned and bring images to mind, mental pictures of Nikki in a nothing nightie on the bedclothes that he’d rather not face.

“You know,” she said when he returned to the kitchen area, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Always a good sign.”

“Don’t be smart.”

“You’d rather I be stupid?”

She grinned, flashing white teeth and showing off her dimple again. “So you do have a sense of humor.”

“Upon occasion.”

“Well, let’s be serious for a sec, okay?”

“Okay.”

As the cat ate noisily, Nikki pushed some paperwork to the side of her café table, clearing a working space, then reached into a zipper pocket of her bag and withdrew some folded sheets of paper. Carefully, she smoothed the pages over the Formica. Reed recognized copies of the notes she’d received from the killer.

He leaned closer, caught a whiff of her perfume.

“Look at these. Two of the notes are basic. Simplistic.” She pointed to the first two letters she received. “They’re kind of a ‘heads up, Gillette. Pay attention. I’m going to do something. Something big.’ They remind me of a little kid who’s jumped into the pool and is yelling at his parents, ‘Watch me. Watch me!’ She shifted the two simple notes to one side of the table. The words: TONIGHT and IT’S DONE seemed stark against the white paper. “These are obviously in reference to a killing, probably the second one, but the next communication I got”—she moved her hand to the final note—“is much more sophisticated. It’s lots different from the others. It’s a rhyme, in the same tone as the ones you received. Right?”

“Yes,” he agreed, eyeing the note, listening to her logic.

“It’s another tone of voice, a bigger hint or broader clue: ‘Will there be more? Until the twelfth, no one can be sure.’” She tapped her finger on the poem as Jennings hopped on the table and began washing himself. Without losing her concentration, she placed the cat on the floor. “It’s not so much bragging as the first ones seemed to be. Uh-uh. It’s
meant
to be a clue, a seduction, almost a dare that begs me to solve the mystery. Just as the notes to you are. Look at the third line, ‘No one can be sure.’” Deep in concentration, her eyebrows yanked together, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip, she thought aloud, “First of all, the words ‘more’ and ‘sure’ don’t really rhyme, so I do think that this entire letter is supposed to be read after yours. But why repeat the line, ‘will there be more?’ Yours already had the ‘will there be more’ question. And check out ‘no one.’ Two words. Not ‘noone’ all put together as some people misspell it.”

She looked up at him with her intelligent green eyes and it clicked. He reviewed the other notes he’d received.

TICK TOCK,

ON GOES THE CLOCK.

TWO IN ONE,

ONE AND TWO.

Then,

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR…

SO, NOW, DON’T YOU WONDER HOW MANY MORE?

And finally,

NOW WE HAVE NUMBER FOUR.

ONE THIRD DONE,

WILL THERE BE MORE?

“They all have twelve words,” he said, “including the one you received. That’s why the meter’s off and the first line of your note repeats the last line of mine.”

“Exactly!” Her expression was serious, but her eyes glittered with anticipation and he noticed striations of gold punctuating her dark green irises. “And when we put the two together, it makes sense. The way I read mine was that on December twelfth, something would happen, and it may still, yet. You know, twelfth month, twelfth day, but really, the killer wants us to tie the two notes together, making the meaning entirely different. Your half didn’t indicate a date at all, but by saying a third was done with four deaths, gave you the clue that there will be twelve victims, and that probably both people in the coffins were part of the master plan.”

“Except he didn’t kill Thomas Massey or Pauline Alexander.”

“But they were chosen for a reason.”

Reed agreed and let her run with her theory. “And that is?”

“I don’t know but I keep coming back to the apostles. Thomas is one, Pauline or Paul the other, Barbara Marx, as Mark, and Roberta Peters obviously for Peter. Could he possibly be killing people he considers somehow represent Christ’s disciples?” she mused, frowning. “Perhaps that’s how he chooses the people already in the coffin, because of their names.”

It was possible, he thought, though far from solid.

“He has to prove he’s smarter than everyone, especially the police. That’s why he’s taunting you and showing off to me. I can get him press coverage and he’s chosen you, because you were the brains behind cracking the Montgomery case last summer and therefore the most challenging adversary. He might not have even known about you and Barbara Marx.” She held up a finger. “No. He did know! Don’t you see,” she said, getting more excited as she talked, “the Grave Robber wants us to work together. It’s the best of both worlds. He contacts me and is assured of a page one spread. He contacts you and he knows, because of your involvement with Barbara Jean Marx, that you’ll try your damnedest to expose him. He’s laughing at us both because this is a game. His game. And he expects to win.”

“I agree with you about the reasons he’s contacting us,” Reed said, turning everything over in his mind and stepping backward to put some space between them. He needed to focus. Concentrate. “But I’m not sure I buy the apostle angle. At least, not yet.”

“It only makes sense.”

“If the killer wanted to get to me with Bobbi Marx, then he’s killing everyone else just to link them to a biblical reference?”

“Who knows what’s going on in his sick mind?”

“So far, it’s just a theory.”

“But a strong one. You have to admit.”

“One we’ll consider, but,” he added, realizing the basis for her enthusiasm, “you’re not going to print it.”

She hesitated.

“Whoa, Gillette. Until you have the facts and the go-ahead from me or the department, you will not report any part of this. Nothing about the notes, nothing about the victims, nothing about your hypothesis or the killer’s M.O.”

“But—”

“Nikki,” he said, leaning forward again. His nose was less than an inch from hers. “I mean it. If you go off half-cocked and any of what we’ve discussed here is in the newspaper, I’ll personally see that you are arrested.”

“For?”

“Hindering an investigation, to begin with.”

“Damn it all, Reed, I thought we had a deal.”

“We do. When it’s all over, you get the exclusive. The inside view. If we capture the guy alive, I’ll see that you can interview him, but until then, you have to be very careful what you say. And I have to approve it.”

Little lines pulled her eyebrows together and she seemed about to protest, but eventually let out her breath and acquiesced. “Okay. Fine. But I get credit for this twelve-word thing and you keep me abreast of the investigation.”

He lifted one side of his mouth. “I’m not involved in it anymore, remember.”

“Shove it, Reed. I want to know what you know, when you know it.” She scraped her chair back. “Oh, geez, I forgot.” She was looking at her phone, focusing on the message light that was flashing dimly on an older-model answering machine. “Just a sec.”

Leaning a hip against the counter, she punched a button.

A mechanical-sounding techno voice stated, “You have three new messages. First message.”

There was a click and then a hang up.

“Great. Another one,” she said. “I got a hang up at work today.”

“At the office?” He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Yeah. It happens sometimes. People are impatient.”

“Second message,” the mechanical voice said.

“Hey, Nikki, are you avoiding me? Come on, give me a call.” A decidedly male voice gave her his phone number and Nikki frowned.

“Old boyfriend,” she said and Reed felt an inexplicable spurt of jealousy. “Sean Hawke. He dumped me several years back and doesn’t get it that I’m not about to come running back to him.”

“Maybe you should,” he said, testing.

“I’ll think about it. The day after hell freezes over.”

“Third message.”

“Nikki?” A woman’s voice. “I had a helluva time deciphering the message you left earlier. If it wouldn’t have been for Caller ID, I wouldn’t have guessed it was you, so get rid of that piece of junk that you call a cell phone, would ya?”

“Simone?” Nikki whispered.

“Anyway, I guess we have time for that drink, so I’ll see you at Cassandra’s! Maybe after a couple of martinis I’ll have the nerve to ask Jake out again. He wouldn’t turn me down twice, would he? See ya at seven.”

“Seven? Shit!” Nikki’s face turned white as she looked at her watch.

“What?” Reed demanded. “Don’t tell me you stood her up.”

“There are no more messages,” the machine informed them.

Nikki’s face was suddenly white as death. “It’s eight-fifty. That was Simone. Simone Everly. I…I never called her and I blew off the class.” She checked her watch again and replayed the message. “Damn it all to hell. She’s talking about the kickboxing class we take together. It’ll be over in ten minutes.” Nikki searched wildly in her bag for her phone. “I didn’t call her. Not on my cell. Not on
any
phone. Where the hell is it?” She was pawing through the purse wildly. “Oh, God. It’s not here. But it has to be. It has to!” In a full-blown panic she dumped her purse upside down. Pens, notebook, makeup case, recorder, change, stamps, and brush fell to the table, clattering, rolling to the floor, but there was no phone. “What did she mean, I called her? I haven’t used the cell!” She searched the clutter, as if the phone would suddenly materialize beneath a pile of stamps and hair doodads.

“When’s the last time you used it?”

“I don’t know…last night, maybe…Oh, damn, when was it?…I…talked to my sister while I was driving.” She hesitated. “I remember Lily hung up on me and I dropped the phone into the cup holder in my car. That’s where it is!” Nikki was already scooping her things into her purse and grabbing her coat.

“You haven’t used it since the call last night?” he asked and felt that familiar, sickening sense of doom that came upon him right before bad news.

“No. I couldn’t find it at the office today and just thought it was in the car, then I forgot all about it…I couldn’t have called her…. I didn’t…this has got to be a mistake…” She was racing out the door and down the stairs into the foggy night.

Reed locked the door, then was at her heels, catching her at the parking lot.

Fumbling with her keys, she tried to peer through the driver’s side window. “I don’t see it. Jesus! Please, please…don’t tell me…”

“Don’t you have an electronic lock?”

“It’s broken.” She finally jabbed the key into the lock and flung the door open. Quickly, she slid into the driver’s seat. Reed watched as she cast about the car. Her fingers scrabbled in the empty cup holder, console and floor mats. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “It’s gone.” Turning horrified eyes up at Reed, she choked out, “My phone’s not here and…and…I didn’t make that call…you don’t think…I mean, if someone stole my phone or…found it and then called Simone…it couldn’t…wouldn’t be the Grave Robber, would it?” Her face was twisted with a hideous fear. “He wouldn’t have called Simone and arranged a meeting?”

“I don’t know,” Reed heard himself say, though the bad sensation he’d felt in her apartment was deepening. “Here, let me look.”

She found a flashlight in the glove compartment and they shined it all through the interior of the little car. Reed checked under the seats, on the floor, in the side pockets, on the visors, in the glove box, then swept the flashlight’s weak beam under the car.

Nothing.

The phone was definitely missing.

“It’s not here.”

“No,” she cried, her chin wobbling. “Oh…no.”

He placed an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t borrow trouble,” he said, but he felt it more intensely than ever in the dark night. The dawning of a new, profound terror. If Nikki hadn’t left her cell phone at her parents’ house, or her office, Simone Everly was in trouble.

CHAPTER 24

Not Simone…please, God,
not
Simone!

Nikki’s world turned black and desolate. She leaned heavily against her car, the fog sliding around her, fear burrowing deep into her heart. The Grave Robber couldn’t have stolen her phone and called Simone to set up a meeting. No, no…she was jumping to conclusions. Just because
someone
, most likely the killer, had broken into her place didn’t mean that he had her phone and had set up an appointment with her best friend. “This has got to be a mistake or a prank or something,” she said to Reed, willing her fear to subside and trying to think logically. “Someone got hold of my cell phone, probably at work…maybe Norm Metzger or Kevin Deeter, and whoever it was they called Simone because she’s on speed dial, so…” So why set up an appointment? Pretend to be Nikki. Her insides turned to water and she sank against her car. No one would do that.

“Let’s go to the gym. See if she made it to class. Come on.” Once again Reed threw a strong arm over her shoulders, then shepherded her toward his Cadillac. For once Nikki didn’t resist letting a man guide her. For once she was grateful for a strong arm to lean on. Adrenaline shot through her bloodstream. Guilt gnawed at her brain. How could she have lost her phone? Shaking, she dropped into the passenger seat of the El Dorado, then leaned against the door.