1st to Die - James Patterson [51]
In her pictures—the wispy red hair and dare-me eyes—I could see the same joy for life the killer had obviously seen in his first two victims. It made me feel sad, weary.
“Do you know why I’m here?” I finally asked.
The father nodded. “To determine if there was any connection to those other horrible crimes out west.”
“So, can you tell me, did Kathy have any connection to San Francisco?”
I could see a cast of grim recognition creep its way onto their faces.
“After college, for a few years, she did live there,” her mother said.
“She went to UCLA,” her father said. “For a year or so she stayed in Los Angeles. Tried to catch on with one of the studios. She started out with a temp job at Fox. Then she got this publicity job in San Francisco, covering music. It was a very fast life. Parties, promotions, no doubt a lot worse. We weren’t happy, but for Kathy, she thought it was her big break.”
She lived in San Francisco. I asked if they had ever heard of Melanie Weil or Rebecca Passeneau.
They shook their heads.
“What about any relationships that might’ve ended badly? Someone, who out of jealousy or obsession, might’ve wanted to do her harm?”
“Recklessness always seemed like a basis for Kathy’s relationships,” Hillary said with an edge.
“I did warn her.” Her mother shook her head. “She always wanted to do things on her terms.”
“Did she ever mention anyone special from the time she lived in San Francisco?”
Everyone looked at Hillary. “No. No one special.”
“No one stands out? She lived there for a while. She didn’t keep up with anyone after she left?”
“I seem to remember her saying she still went down there every once in a while,” her father said. “On business.”
“Old habits are hard to crack.” Hillary smirked, with a tightening of her lips.
There had to be some connection. Some contact from the years she had spent there. Someone came all the way here to see her dead.
“What about anyone from San Francisco invited to the wedding?” I asked.
“There was one girlfriend,” her father said.
“Merrill,” said her mother. “Merrill Cole. Shortley, now. I think she’s at the Hilton, if she’s still here.”
I pulled out the artist’s sketch we had of the killer’s possible appearance. “I know it’s rough, but do you know this man? Someone who knew Kathy? Did you see anyone like this at the wedding?”
One by one, the Koguts shook their heads.
I got up to go. I told them if anything came to mind, regardless of how small or insignificant, to get in touch with me. Hillary walked me to the door.
“There is one more thing,” I said. I knew it was a long shot. “By any chance, did Kathy buy her wedding dress in San Francisco?”
Hillary looked at me blankly and shook her head. “No, from a vintage shop. In Seattle.”
At first, the answer deflated me. But then, in a flash, I saw that this was really a connection I was looking for. The first two murders had been committed by someone stalking his victims from afar. That’s why he found them in the way he did. Tracked them.
But this one, Kathy, she had been chosen in a different way.
I was certain that whoever had done this had known her.
Chapter 57
I DROVE STRAIGHT TO THE HILTON on Lake Shore Boulevard and was able to catch Merrill Shortley just as she was about to depart for the airport. She turned out to be stylish, maybe twenty-seven, with shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair tied back in a bun.
“A group of us were up all night,” she said, apologizing for the swollen lines around her face. “I’d like to stay on, but who knows when they’ll finally release the body. I have a one-year-old.”
“The Koguts told me you live in San Francisco.”
She sat on the edge of the bed across from me. “Los Altos. I moved down two years ago, when I got married.”
“I need to know about Kathy Kogut in San Francisco,” I explained. “Lovers. Breakups. Someone who might have a cause to do this.”
“You think she knew this madman?” Her face was clenched.
“Maybe, Merrill. You can help us decide. Will you help?”
“Kathy