1st to Die - James Patterson [56]
“You said something to me the first time we talked. Old habits are hard to crack. What sort of habits were you referring to?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. The Cleveland police are handling this, Inspector. Can’t we just let them do their job?”
“I’m trying to help you, Ms. Bloom. Why did Kathy move away from San Francisco? I think you know. Was someone abusing her? Was Kathy in trouble?”
Hillary sounded frightened. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m going to hang up now, Inspector.”
“It’s going to come out, Hillary. It always does. An address book. Her phone bill. It’s not just Kathy. There are four others, back in California. They were just as hopeful about the rest of their lives as your sister. Just as deserving.”
There was a tiny sob in her voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I felt I had one last chance. “Here’s the really ugly truth about murder. If I’ve learned one thing as a homicide detective, it’s that the lines don’t stay fixed. Yesterday you were an innocent victim, but now you’re in this, too. This killer will strike again, and you will regret whatever you didn’t tell me for the rest of your life.”
There was a heavy silence on the line. I knew what it meant. It was the struggle inside Hillary Bloom’s conscience.
I heard a click. She had hung up the phone.
Chapter 62
OUR FLIGHT BACK to San Francisco left at 4:00 P.M. I hated, hated to leave without a name. Especially when I felt we were so close.
Somebody famous.
Kinky.
Why were they protecting him?
Anyway, we had accomplished a lot in just two days. It was clear to me that all three murders were committed by the same person. We had a strong lead tying him to San Francisco, a possible identity, a confirmed description. The trail was warm here, and would grow ever hotter when we got home.
Both investigations would proceed locally. Cleveland would contact the Seattle police force to do a search of the bride’s home. Maybe something in her personal effects, an address book, an e-mail in her computer, would divulge who her San Francisco lover was.
Waiting to board our plane out of Cleveland, I called my voice mail for messages. One each from Cindy and Claire inquiring about my trip, our case. Reporters pushing for my comments on the Cleveland crime.
Then I heard the throaty voice of Merrill Shortley. She had left her California number.
I punched the number as fast as I could. A housekeeper answered, and I could hear the wail of a baby crying.
When Merrill got on, I could tell that some of her cool veneer had cracked. “I was thinking,” she began, “there was something I didn’t mention yesterday.”
“Yes? That’s good to hear.”
“This guy I told you about? The one Kathy was hooked up with in San Francisco? I was telling you the truth. I never knew his name.”
“Okay, I hear you.”
“But there were some things… I said he didn’t treat her well. He was into intense sex games. Props, scenarios. Maybe even a little filming. Problem was, Kathy liked the games.”
There was a long pause before Merrill went on. “Well… I think he pushed her, forced her, to do more than she was comfortable with. I remember marks on her face, bruises on her legs. Mostly it was her spirit that was broken. None of us were exactly bringing home Tom Cruise then, but there was a time when Kathy was real scared. She was in his control.”
I began to see where this was heading. “It’s why she moved away, isn’t it?” I said.
I could hear Merrill Shortley sigh on the other end. “Yes, it was.”
“Then why did she continue to see him from Seattle? You said she was involved with him right up to the end.”
“I never said,” Merrill Shortley replied, “that Kathy knew what was good for her.”
Now I saw Kathy Kogut’s life take on the shape of tragic inevitability. I was sure she had fled San Francisco, tried to break away from the grip of this man. But she couldn’t break free.
Was that true of the other murdered brides?
“I need a name, Ms. Shortley. Whoever this was, he might’ve killed your friend. There