Dancing in the Dark Read online

  “Which means there isn't any way to know for certain if she was working with Lydia.” Tony's comment was meant for Eric, but Cummings perked up.

  “You think that there's a connection between Allison and the other dead girl?”

  “We don't know anything for certain, Mr. Cummings. We're just trying to gather all the information we can. Is there anyone else here who was close to Ms. Moore?”

  “Amy Whittaker was her friend. At least I think so. Her cubicle's in the next aisle.” He stood up pointing across the partition behind Eric. “Maybe she'll know more about what she was doing outside the office.”

  They shook hands, and then walked back into the maze of cubicles.

  “Well, that was a wash.” Tony flipped his notebook shut, and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Maybe not. At least there's still a possibility of a connection.” They turned the corner and began to scan the cubicles for Amy Whittaker's name. It was the last cubicle in the row.

  “Ms. Whittaker?” Eric poked his head through the door, a petite brunette squinting up at him through oversized glasses.

  “I'm Amy Whittaker. How can I help you?” She stood up, tilting her head, studying them quizzically.

  “Detective D'Angelo.” Eric stuck out his hand. “And this is my partner, Tony Haskins.” She shook his hand, then released it, settling back into her chair. “Mr. Cummings said you and Allison Moore were close.”

  “I don't think Allison was close to anyone, Detective. But, yes, we were friends.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?” Tony sat on the edge of her desk.

  “Withthisjob the list can be quite long.” She frowned up at them. “But I thought the papers said it was the Sinatra killer.”

  “That doesn't change the fact that your friend knew the killer.”

  Amy's eyes widened. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “There was no forced entry,” Eric said. “She had to have let him in. Did she have a boyfriend? Someone new she'd been seeing, maybe?”

  “Not as far as I knew.” The woman looked down at her hands nervously. “I wish I could be of more help.”

  “How about the other victims? Any chance she knew them?”

  “I can't think of any reason Allison would have been dealing with prostitutes, Detective. We work with children here.”

  “Lydia Wallace wasn't much more than a child, Ms. Whittaker.” Tony picked up a pencil, twirling it absently. “She was sixteen.”

  Amy's head shot up. “What was her name?”

  “Lydia,” Tony repeated. “Lydia Wallace.”

  “Oh, my God.” Amy's face turned ashen, and she swallowed nervously. “About a week ago, Allison and I were having coffee and she was asking about the runaway hotline. I used to volunteer there. She wanted to know how it worked, that kind of thing. She said she'd received a call about a girl living on the streets. Allison thought maybe she was a runaway. But here's the important thing,” Amy said, “I'm almost positive the girl's name was Lydia.”

  Chapter 16

  “I feel like this bastard has us running in circles.” Tony took a swig of beer and leaned back in his chair.

  “I know it doesn't feel like it, but the pieces are beginning to fit. We've got a pattern emerging. We've just got to put it together in a way that identifies a perp.” Eric reached for his long neck, propping his feet up on the table. Dry Creek Saloon was a tiny hole-in-the-wall at the top of Mount Bonnell Road. A favorite place for the two of them to talk about cases.

  It wasn't a bar so much as a grocery counter with a couple of tables under a Schlitz beer lamp. The choice of beverage was beer, whatever was in the refrigerator comprising the choice of brand. Outside, there was a small rooftop patio with a couple more tables.

  It wasn't fancy, but it was comfortable, and private. Exactly what they needed.

  “So what do we know now that we didn't know this morning?” Tony frowned, looking out across the trees at the lake.

  “Jack Weston was following Sara, which at least indirectly connects him to Lydia Wallace. Although at least for the moment I'm inclined to think the link's circumstantial. If Amy Whittaker is to be believed, it looks like we can connect Allison Moore to Lydia, as well.”

  “Except that it's unlikely the kid called her directly. So that means there's a middleman somewhere, which could be our guy, or it could be someone totally unrelated. The only connection we have between the other victims is profession. But Allison Moore wasn't a prostitute. So maybe she posed a threat to the killer somehow.”

  “Like what, she was on to him?” Tony shook his head, dismissing the thought even as he voiced it. “That could explain the change in profession, but not the fact that he still followed the ritual. If he killed her to keep her quiet, as opposed to choosing her as part of the fantasy, it wouldn't have the same significance. But the signature was exactly the same, right down to the object rape.”

  “With something she treasured.” Eric closed his eyes, realizing his head was pounding. “But even that pattern's iffy. We know for a fact that Lydia Wallace collected baseball paraphernalia. And we know that Allison had the Barbie collection. But the link between Candy and her parasol is a lot weaker, and it's almost nonexistent for Laurel. So maybe that part of the ritual is developing?”

  “It's possible.” Tony shrugged. “Maybe the first time out he raped with what was at hand, and that somehow evolved into using objects the women cherished. You've got to admit there's a certain degree of irony in the action. Most of the time these things are about control, proving he's got the upper hand. If this is really about punishment, what better way than to degrade someone with something that has personal value?”

  “All right. So let's think like a serial killer. Our guy feels like some part of his life is slipping. His anger builds, and instead of tackling the problem head-on, he deals with it indirectly by torturing and then killing. Only he's not killing the primary source of his anger. He's using surrogates, which is why we're seeing the same thing over and over.”

  Tony leaned forward, putting his bottle on the table. “And if it's a surrogate, I'm betting the primary source is a woman. Someone from the past, maybe. Someone he couldn't control.”

  “Or maybe the first one was the real thing.”

  “Laurel Henry? Possibly. Her murder certainly seems less organized than the later killings. But according to Claire, there was already forensic method. Cruder than the later amputations maybe, but still not the work of a beginner.”

  “Generally, with a serial killer, fantasy precedes acting out, which means that there's been considerable thought put into the act before it ever occurs. Still, the first instance is usually pretty crude, a way to test the waters. And you're right, Laurel Henry's murder wasn't crude. The guy was prepared, and most of the ritual seems to already have been in place.” Eric dropped his feet to the floor. “Which means he could have practiced somewhere else. Let's check N.C.I.C. again. Maybe we missed something. These guys usually don't wander very far, but I'd rather err on the side of caution.”

  “All right. And in the meantime, I'll check with some of the old-timers, see if any of them remember anything in the past that sounds like it might be our guy.”

  Eric nodded, glancing at his watch. “Hell, I hadn't realized it was getting so late. I'm due at Sara's at seven.”

  “Another date?” Tony's grin was just this side of a smirk.

  “Seemed like I ought to at least try and make up for last night.”

  “You tell her about the bowling alley?” Tony stood up, glass clanking as he picked up his empty beer bottles.

  “Yeah, she's not a bowler.”

  “So no leads.”

  “Nothing. And you know as well as I do that the odds of tracking down someone who used a pay phone are basically astronomical. I told her we'd see where the next call came from, then go from there.”

  “Why don't we go one better and pull her phone records?” They walked do
wn the rickety stairs into the bar, handing over the bottles, then continued on into the parking lot. “Didn't you say she kept a log?”

  Eric nodded. “I've got a copy at the office.”

  “So I'll call the phone company in the morning. In the meantime, I'll have a look at the log.”

  Eric looked pointedly at his watch. “In case you missed the memo, it's now officially after hours.”

  Tony shrugged. “Bess is going out with Molly tonight, so I'm on my own. Might as well work.”

  “I'll come with you.”

  “No dice, buddy,” Tony said, his tone goading. “You're meeting Sara, remember? And I, for one, am not going to be responsible for you screwing up your second date.”

  “No worries.” Eric smiled. “Believe me, I'm more than capable of doing that all by myself.”

  “I'm meeting Molly for dinner after her rehearsal.” Bess walked into the photo lab, dropping down into the chair by Sara's desk. “Want to come?”

  “Can't.” Using her mouse, Sara zeroed in on a section of a photograph, cropping it with the precision only a computer could provide.

  “All work and no play makes Sara a very dull girl.” Bess's tone was teasing, but her eyes remained serious.

  “Hey.” Sara held her hands up in defense. “I'm just finishing up here. Then I have a dinner date.”

  “With Eric?” Bess didn't even bother to hide her delight.

  “Yes. With Eric. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic. For both of you, actually. He's a good guy.”

  “So what happened to his first marriage?” Sara tried for nonchalance but didn't quite make it.

  “Typical story. Eric and Lauren dated from high school right into college. Couldn't wait to get married. So junior year, they did. And for the next five years or so they had a pretty good thing going. But then they just sort of grew apart. Even in college Eric knew he wanted to be a police officer. Probably before that, too. And I think Lauren thought it was a romantic notion. Someone to protect her, that kind of thing. But the reality is a heck of a lot different. And Lauren wasn't cut out for the life.”

  “The life?”

  “Yeah.” Bess nodded, her expression resigned. “It's hard to have a husband who's never there. The truth is part of him belongs to the job, and in many respects that's always going to come first. Particularly in homicide. You never know when he's going to get called away. Vacations are nonexistent, and I can't think of a major holiday we've managed to make it all the way through.”

  “Like being married to a doctor.”

  “Sort of. Only when you're married to a doctor, you don't worry about your husband coming home in a body bag.” Bess shuddered, delicately, then smiled. “Anyway, Lauren wanted more than Eric could give. And she wasn't shy about asking. Don't get me wrong. She's a good person, just not the right woman for Eric.”

  “But he thought so.”

  “Yes, he did. And I think he blames himself for their breakup. Eric's the kind of guy who doesn't make commitments lightly. When he got married, he thought it was forever. I don't think it even occurred to him that something could go wrong. So when it did, it hit him hard, and he took full responsibility, even offered to quit the force.”

  “But he belongs there. It suits him somehow.”

  Bess shrugged. “He wanted to save his marriage more. But by then Lauren had already made up her mind. I never knew for sure, but I think maybe she'd already met her second husband. Either way, she was determined to get a divorce. So Eric gave it to her, along with their house and most of their possessions.”

  “Was he bitter?” She couldn't imagine anyone letting Eric go, but it was easy to see how much it would hurt him if they did.

  “Maybe a little at first. But whatever he felt, he kept it pretty contained. I never saw him angry or anything. Just certain it had all been his fault. Even after he and Lauren made peace, he still was convinced that he simply wasn't cut out for a relationship. He believed he was married to the job.”

  “And now?”

  Bess smiled. “Now there's you. He hasn't dated anyone seriously since the divorce. So the fact that he brought you to the barbecue says a lot.”

  “You can't know that for sure.”

  “Sara, I've known Eric for a lot of years now, and I'm telling you this is serious stuff. He doesn't date lightly. And certainly not publicly. I know you've only just met, but the fact remains that you matter to him. So treat him gently, okay?”

  “I will. But I think the sentiment needs to go both ways. I'm not exactly an old hat at this dating thing.”

  “Hey, you two. Go home.” Ryan poked his head around the corner, his grin lightening the mood immediately.

  “I was on my way out.” Bess stood up, shooting a significant look Sara's way. “I just stopped to wish her luck on her date tonight.”

  Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Another one? Aren't you turning into the social animal?”

  “I hardly think a quiet dinner qualifies as painting the town red.”

  “I guess it's all a matter of degree,” Bess said, heading for the door. “I've got to get going or I'll be late.”

  “I'm assuming you're going out with Eric D'Angelo again.” Ryan's face was inscrutable, but Sara had the distinct feeling there was disapproval there.

  Best to face it head-on. “You don't like him?”

  “I don't know him.” Ryan shrugged. “Just promise me you'll go slowly. Okay? I'm sure D'Angelo has the noblest of intentions, but that doesn't mean he's the right guy for you. To repeat a cliché, there are a lot of fish in the sea. So there's no hurry to find a keeper.”

  “God, I've reduced you to fishing analogies.” She opened her arms for a hug, and he pulled her close, his smell familiar, comforting. “Stop worrying. I'll be fine.”

  He pushed back to look into her eyes. “You're sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  His smile was slow, but genuine. “Then that's good enough for me.”

  Chapter 17

  Gray clouds hugged the craggy cliffs, hiding vegetation beneath a cottony canopy, thin fingers of mist stretching across the highway. The combination of rain and dusk made visibility difficult, which was only complicated by the fact that Eric's thoughts were as foggy as the air outside.

  Everything was tangled together in what seemed to be an inextricable knot. The Sinatra killer, the dead women, his career. All of it somehow interdependent on each other, the newest link in the chain being Lydia Wallace's apparent relationship with Allison Moore. He needed to corroborate Amy's statement, and to figure out whether Lydia had come to Allison on her own or had had help.

  The truth was it seemed that every turn brought new information, but instead of clarifying matters, they only made everything more murky. He wondered suddenly how many deaths it would take until the bastard made a mistake.

  Despite all the technological advantages of police work today, there were more unsolved homicides than ever. Partially because the face of murder was changing. The triad of motives—jealousy, greed, and revenge—had morphed into a nebulous concoction of twisted minds and indefinable motivation.

  It was a world of predators, strangers cultivating and hunting their victims. And he was a part of that world, out there day after day, up close and personal with man's inhumanity to man. It was a fight to the death, good against evil, and sometimes he was pretty damn certain they were losing the fight.

  Not exactly what he'd signed on for.

  He tightened his hands on the wheel, trying to clear his head. Self-pity wasn't his style. He was a problem solver, pure and simple. He found the what, and then worked backward through the whys until he got to who.

  Which meant that most of the time, the bad guys bit the dust.

  Most of the time.

  The car in front of him slowed abruptly, tires squealing, red taillights cutting through the gloom, reflecting off the slick pavement. He swerved, slamming on his brakes, surprised when his foot met no resistance. Pumping rapidly, he waited for the
brakes to catch, but nothing happened.

  The Mustang slid sideways, hydroplaning on the wet road. He jerked the wheel to the right, steering into the skid, his foot still pumping the brakes. He was aware of cars honking around him, and the screech of braking vehicles, then it seemed that everything went into slow motion.

  He fought for control of the car, but it careened across two lanes of oncoming traffic, the impact of a glancing blow jerking him hard against the seat belt. Next thing he knew the car was airborne, the ground below him rocky and brush covered.

  Bracing himself the best he could, he gritted his teeth, preparing for impact.

  It came quickly, surprisingly quiet, draped in black velvet that seemed to swallow him whole.

  He was late.

  Sara looked at her watch for at least the hundredth time, trying to contain her frustration. Part of her was certain she was being stood up, and the other, saner part knew that he'd probably just been called away on a case. Still, surely nothing was so pressing he couldn't find time to call.

  She felt like a bitch, but she knew it was just fear talking. Fear that he'd changed his mind. Fear that somehow she'd just imagined the chemistry between them. It had been a long time since she'd been out there. Maybe she'd mistaken lust for something more. Maybe he was only interested in a good time.

  Even as she had the thought, she knew she was selling him short. If he was only interested in a physical relationship, he'd have taken advantage of her last night. But he'd respected her wishes, agreeing to hold back until the time was right.

  An honorable man.

  Which meant that he'd been delayed, and she'd just have to sit tight. Bess had made it more than clear that Eric's life wasn't his own, and if Sara wanted a part of that life, then she had to be prepared to live within the parameters of his world.