Dancing in the Dark Read online

  “What about the trophies?” Tony turned to scrutinize the list on the board. “We've got ears, a tongue, fingers, hair, and now eyes. What color were Molly's eyes?”

  “Blue, I think.” He pulled a sheet of paper from the pile. “Yeah. Blue. Why?”

  Tony blew out a breath, still squinting at the board. “Sara has blue eyes, right?”

  Chills chased across his skin as the train of Tony's thoughts crystallized. “And blonde hair.”

  “Same as Allison Moore.”

  “Jesus, he's choosing his vics because they remind him of Sara?” The idea that Sara could be the center of the killer's fantasy was almost more than Eric could contemplate, revulsion threatening to compromise his professional integrity. Forcibly he held his emotions at bay, focusing on the case. “So how do explain the fact that Candy Mason was African-American?”

  Tony frowned. “It was her tongue. Maybe she sounded like Sara?”

  “Sick bastard.” Eric clenched his fists, wanting to find the son of a bitch and castrate him.

  “Eric,” Tony's voice was cautious, “Brady thinks you're too close to this to do your job.”

  “I'm fine.”

  “You're not.” Tony shook his head to underscore the point. “But I told Brady that you wouldn't let it compromise the case.”

  “And now you're having doubts?” He tried but couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  “No. I just thought you ought to know how things stand.” Tony stood up, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You're the best cop I've ever known, Eric. And I'm proud to stand beside you. But this is a tough one. And it's become personal. No one would blame you if you stepped aside.”

  “I'm not going anywhere until we nail this bastard to the floor.” He spit out each word as if it were a bullet. “So you're either with me or against me.”

  Tony's smile was slow in coming, but it reached all the way to his eyes. “Then it's you and me all the way, partner.” He leaned over to pick up a file. “What do you say we try and catch a killer.”

  Chapter 23

  With all the wires and machinery, Sara felt like she was on the set of some sci-fi adventure. Instead, she was at her best friend's bedside.

  Intensive care was a small unit with a semicircle of rooms and a nurses' station in the middle. Molly's room was much the same as the others, except that a policewoman stood guard in the doorway, another at the entrance to the ward.

  Molly looked almost peaceful, if one could ignore the myriad tubes protruding from her every orifice. A steady beeping signified that she was still clinging to life. Tenacious to the very last. For once Sara was grateful for Molly's stubbornness.

  Bandages covered much of her body, the one across her eyes seeming garish against the backdrop of her fiery hair. Her breathing was unassisted, but she hadn't woken since she'd been found. And although there was brain activity, the doctors were being guarded as far as prognosis.

  She'd come a long way, but there was still more to come. Another surgery probably. Reconstruction of what was left of her eye sockets. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the psychological hurdles that she would have to overcome.

  But she was alive. And Sara knew that Molly wouldn't give up without a fight. The man who'd done this to her had severely underestimated his opponent. And with a little luck, and a lot of prayer, Molly'd find her way back. And Sara would be there. Waiting.

  “Ms. Martin?” A nurse bustled into the room, an IV bag in hand. “I'm afraid it's time.” Molly was only allowed five-minute visits every half hour. And then only from one person.

  Sara stood up, leaned over, and kissed Molly's cheek, careful not to touch the bandages, reaching out at the same time to squeeze her hand. “It's going to be okay, Molly. I promise. You just hold on. Okay?” Tears filled her eyes, and she stepped back, unable to force herself to leave the room.

  But when the nurse cleared her throat, the noise meant as a polite reminder, she turned her back and walked away, certain that if hate could take physical form, the man behind all of this wouldn't stand a chance.

  She walked out of the ICU with a nod at the policewoman, and made her way to the waiting room. Ryan was standing looking out the window, and Bess was going through the motions of reading a magazine, although considering the rapidity with which she turned the pages, Sara suspected there wasn't much actual reading going on.

  “How is she?” Ryan asked, crossing to sit beside Bess.

  “Breathing.” Sara sat across from them. “I think at the moment that's as much as we're going to get.”

  “Considering what that monster did to her, I'd say it's miracle enough.” Bess's anger mirrored Sara's, and judging from Ryan's thunderous expression, his as well.

  “So what did the doctor say?” Ryan asked.

  Before she had gone in to sit with Molly, the surgeon had updated Sara on her friend's progress. “He didn't say much, really. The surgery went as well as expected. It stopped the internal bleeding, but she's still dealing with injuries and blood loss, not to mention shock. At this point I think it's a waiting game.”

  “Molly's tough,” Ryan said. “She'll pull through.”

  “I don't know.” Nate walked into the waiting room, coffee cups balanced between his hands. “She lost a lot of blood. And there's no telling how much it's affected her brain. She may come out of it, but you all have to face the very real possibility that she might never be the same.”

  “Well, that kind of attitude isn't going to help very much.” Bess took a cup from him, her tone full of rebuke.

  “Sorry.” He handed another cup to Ryan. “I just thought it needed to be said. There's something to facing reality, you know. Lying to ourselves isn't going to change the outcome.”

  “No. But a positive attitude can help.” Ryan sipped his coffee.

  “Hey.” Nate held up his hands in defense. “I didn't mean to set everyone off. I just don't want us clinging to false hope, that's all.”

  “Sometimes that's all there is.” Bess's voice was soft, almost a whisper.

  “Look, you guys, we don't need to be picking at each other.” Sara's gaze encompassed them all. “Right now we need to stick together. Support Molly.”

  “Of course.” Nate smiled.

  “So tell me about the phone call.” Ryan reached over to take her hand, his eyes concerned.

  She suddenly wished she hadn't mentioned the call. It had seemed natural to tell Ryan. But now what had been private was suddenly public. It wasn't that she minded her friends knowing, it was just that she wanted to compartmentalize it, keep it locked away somewhere inside, where it couldn't scare her. Talking about it made it real. She sighed, pulling away from Ryan, leaning back in her chair. “He called to tell me that Molly was dead.”

  “Oh, God, that must have been horrible.” Bess's eyes widened as the idea sank home.

  “It was nothing compared to what Molly went through.”

  “So your caller is tied to the Sinatra killer?” Nate looked puzzled.

  “It looks that way.” Sara crossed her arms over her chest,as if in doing so she was protecting herself. “It really doesn't make a lot of sense, but Eric and Tony are working on it.”

  “God, the whole thing is so creepy.” Bess stood up and began restlessly pacing in front of the window. “It's like the whole world has gone topsy-turvy.”

  “I think the roses were the worst thing,” Nate said. “Do you think they were the same ones you threw out?”

  Sara nodded, shivering.

  “Well, it was a sick gesture, no matter what.” Nate leaned back in his chair, a myriad of emotions flashing in his eyes.

  “Nate.” Ryan's voice was sharp, a warning. “Let it go. Can't you see you're upsetting Sara?”

  “I'm fine, Ryan. And Nate's right. It is sick. Sick that someone could do this to women and even sicker that he wants to talk about it.” She blew out a shuddery breath.

  Ryan leaned over to take her hands again, his eyes searching hers. �
�Why don't you let me take you home. I could cook or something.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks. But Eric's coming back as soon as he finishes at the station.”

  “That could be hours,” Nate said, ever the pessimist.

  “It doesn't matter. I'll wait.” There was a world of meaning in her words.

  Ryan released her hands and sat back, his expression inscrutable. “All right. Then we wait.”

  “Tony thinks it's someone we know,” Bess said, coming to sit beside Sara.

  “One of us?” Nate's brows disappeared into his hairline.

  “Not us—us. But still, someone around us. Maybe someone at work. They even thought it might be Jack.”

  “But they don't now?” Ryan had his reporter's voice on.

  “No.” Bess shook her head. “At least I don't think so. I talked to him an hour or so ago. He came to see Molly.”

  “Why didn't he stay?” Nate frowned.

  “Because of Sara.” Bess's eyes met hers, her gaze knowing.

  “He told you?” Sara fought against a surge of anger.

  Bess nodded.

  “Told you what?” Ryan asked impatiently.

  Sara sighed, struggling for words. “Apparently, when he checked out Tom's car after the accident, he found something. Something that made him believe he was responsible for the accident.”

  “And he didn't tell you?” Nate looked confused.

  “No. He didn't.” Nate opened his mouth, but Sara cut him off with a shake of her head. “It doesn't matter why. What's important is that they found the same thing wrong with Eric's car.”

  “Which means they think both accidents may have, in fact, been the result of sabotage.” Ryan, as usual, got it in one.

  Sara nodded, and Bess slipped an arm around her. “I really haven't had time to process it. Jack just told me a couple of hours ago.”

  “Well, he shouldn't have kept it from you.” Nate's eyes glittered with anger.

  “He thought it was his fault,” Bess said.

  “Well, it could have been, right?” Ryan's expression was thoughtful, contemplative. “I mean, he is a mechanic.”

  “He could have done it, but he didn't.” Despite what Jack had told her, Sara couldn't stop herself from defending him. “And he's certainly never worked on Eric's car.”

  “Doesn't mean he didn't do it, Sara.”

  “Tony seems to think that he's telling the truth.” Bess joined Sara in Jack's defense.

  “Well, I think you should stay clear of him until they find out who is behind all of this,” Nate said.

  “I think you should all refrain from discussing what should have stayed a private matter.”

  “Tony.” Bess's voice came out on a squeak.

  Tony walked over to his wife, the look in his eyes a combination of rebuke and exasperation. “This is why I don't usually discuss my cases with you.”

  Bess pulled a face, her nervousness uncharacteristic. “I didn't say anything that Sara didn't already know.”

  “And how about Ryan and Nate?” Tony tilted his head toward the two men, his expression softening into something akin to loving tolerance.

  “Well, I suppose that wasn't the greatest idea. But we're all friends.”

  “And reporters.” Ryan added. “Tony's right. We need to draw some boundaries.”

  “Boundaries for what?” Eric walked into the waiting room, and the walls seemed to move closer together, breathing suddenly more difficult.

  Sara offered a tentative smile. “We were discussing Jack.”

  “Bess was telling all.” Tony shot his wife another look, one big arm draped around her shoulders.

  Eric shrugged. “I don't think there's any big secret. Truth is, we thought Jack might be a suspect, but at least for the moment, he's off the hook. But I would ask that you keep the possible tie to Tom and Charlie quiet a bit longer. I want to have some time to investigate it.” He reached for Sara's hand, his touch an anchor in all the madness. “Right now we're not certain how it all ties together, or even if it ties together, and I don't want it any more complicated than necessary.”

  “You're trying to protect Sara.” Ryan narrowed his eyes, studying the other man.

  “Among other things.” Eric's fingers tightened on hers.

  Sara wondered suddenly how they'd gotten to this place. Molly in I.C.U. Her friends gathered to sit vigil. Jack revealing secrets that might have been best left buried. And Sara herself the possible center of the maelstrom.

  Somewhere out there, a man was killing innocent women. And, somehow, she was a part of it, part of his vicious fantasy, a puppet in a game that had no rules. It was like playing chess with the Red Queen, logic existing only in illogic, everything the mirror image of what it really was.

  Only in Alice Through the Looking Glass nobody died.

  Chapter 24

  Visiting hours were long over, but Sara couldn't bring herself to go home. The ever-faithful Officer Jenkins was sitting across the room, but even his eyelids were drooping. Everyone else had gone. Tony and Eric had been called away, Ryan had a meeting, and despite their protests, she'd sent Nate and Bess home.

  So she was alone. Which, quite frankly, was the last thing she wanted. But at least in the hospital, she was surrounded by people. Her cell phone was off, which meant Eric couldn't call. But it also meant he couldn't call. And just at the moment, the latter was more important. Sara leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. There was simply too much to think about, and her overloaded brain was rebelling.

  “What do you say we get out of here?” Sara's eyes fluttered open, her mouth opening in protest, but Eric put his finger over her lips, silencing her. “It's late. And between the doctors and the guards, Molly is being well taken care of.”

  “I know. It's just that I couldn't face the thought of going home.”

  “Especially alone.”

  She nodded, feeling like a coward. Eric faced horrific things every day, and here she was hiding from a phone and an empty house.

  “Look, Sara.” He sat down beside her, reaching for her hands. “No one thinks any less of you for being scared. In fact, considering the circumstances, there'd be something wrong if you weren't afraid.”

  “I just feel so helpless. And I hate it. I can't get his voice out of my head. It's like he's out there, yanking us all around like marionettes.”

  “That's because part of it's about power. Proving that he's in control.”

  “Well, I'm convinced.”

  “Unfortunately that's not enough. This is about something only the killer can truly understand, some perversion of reality that twists around in his head until it's all he can see.”

  “So how do you figure it out?”

  “I don't. At least not completely. What I do, what all cops do, is to try and look at something from back to front. Particularly in homicide, we start with a scene. A victim. And by studying both we can put together a picture of a crime, what happened. That's usually the easy part. Even with the most meticulous killers, there's usually at least a body. From there it's all about why.”

  “And you can tell that from the evidence?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it's just a hunch. Experience counts for something, and there are certain patterns that become pretty evident if you do this long enough. Or sometimes one piece of evidence will lead to another until suddenly the why is clear. Once you have the what and why, then the next step is who. Usually along the way you've developed a list suspects.”

  “Like Jack.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “It's a process of elimination. But every time you eliminate someone, or gain another piece of evidence, or a clue, you tighten the parameters and get a little closer.”

  “But what if that's not enough?” She wasn't sure why she was goading him. Maybe because she wanted reassurance, or maybe because she wasn't sure a monster like the Sinatra killer could really be caught.

  “It isn't always. That's the hard part of the job. There's never a gu
arantee we'll win the day. But I sleep at night because most of the time we do. And every time I win one, the world's a better place. Sounds egotistical, I guess.”

  “No. It sounds noble. Not that many people are willing to take on that kind of battle, and even if they were willing to do so for some personal crusade, they wouldn't do it full-time, for lousy wages, and a lot of bad coffee.”

  He laughed, and the sound warmed her heart. This was a man she could easily lose herself in. Had already lost herself to some extent. And here they were spending valuable time discussing the very person who wanted to take it all away.

  Damned if she'd let that happen.

  “You offered to get me out of here.” She smiled up at him. “Do you actually have a plan?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He stood up, offering her his hand. “What do you say, just for a little while, we try and put all of this behind us?”

  “You think that's possible?”

  “I know a good place to try.”

  “Where are we going?” Sara pulled her coat close, shivering in the brisk air. A particularly persistent cold front had pushed its way south, and for the moment, at least, it actually felt like November.

  “Hang on. You'll see.” Eric's fingers tightened on her elbow as he guided her forward past a convenience store and a veterinary clinic.

  “See what? Austin at its eclectic best?” The tail end of the university drag, this section of Guadalupe fell somewhere between the student rental market and the Victorian renaissance of her Hyde Park neighborhood. Property here was worth a fortune, but on the surface, you'd never know it, apartment buildings crammed together with houses.

  But as they rounded the corner, Sara stopped, her breath lodging in her throat, surprise blending with amazement.

  “Welcome to 37th Street.” Eric's voice was low, almost a whisper. Or maybe she simply wasn't capable of hearing anymore, the visual onslaught of the street interfering with normal sensory perception.