1st to Die - James Patterson [57]
“I told you, I don’t know his name, Inspector.”
I raised my voice above the din in the terminal. “Merrill, someone must know. You knew her for years, partied together.”
Merrill hesitated. “In her own way, Kathy was loyal. She said his name was well known. Some kind of celebrity. Someone I would know. She was protecting him. Or maybe protecting herself.”
My mind raced to the film and music businesses. She was into a bad scene. She was in over her head, and like many people who feel trapped, she ran. She just couldn’t get far enough away.
“She must’ve told you something,” I pressed. “What he did? Where he lived? Where they would meet? You guys were like sisters.” Wicked sisters?
“I swear, Inspector. I’ve been racking my brain.”
“Then someone must know. Who? Tell me.”
I heard Merrill Shortley let out a mirthless laugh. “Ask her sister.”
Before we boarded, I beeped McBride and left a detailed message on his voice mail. Kathy’s lover was probably someone famous. It was why she had moved away from San Francisco. The profile fit the pattern of our killer. Her sister, Hillary, might know the killer’s name.
On board, all I could think about was that we were getting close. Raleigh was there beside me. As the plane rose, I leaned into his arm, surrendering to total exhaustion.
All my physical troubles seemed a million miles away. I remembered something I’d said to Claire. I had told her that finding this bastard gave me the resolve to go on. The red-bearded man in my dream who had gotten away.
“We’re going to get him,” I said to Raleigh. “We can’t let him kill another bride and groom.”
Chapter 63
EIGHT THE NEXT MORNING, I was at my desk.
There were several ways I could go with this investigation. Hillary Bloom was the most direct, assuming, as Merrill had implied, that she was able to give us a name. It was clear that in a twisted way she was trying to save her family the added pain of having Kathy publicly branded as some kind of pathetic sexual victim, cheating on her husband-to-be right up until their vows.
Sooner or later a name would emerge. From her, or from Seattle.
Before I did anything else, I called Medved’s office and rescheduled the blood treatment I had canceled for five o’clock today. After a brief wait, the receptionist said the doctor would see me himself.
Maybe it was good news. Truth was, I was feeling a little stronger. Maybe the treatments were beginning to do their work.
It was hard picking up where I had left off in San Francisco. The best leads were now in Cleveland. I read some reports on the evidence Jacobi was tracking down, held a meeting of the task force at ten.
Actually, the most promising leads—the hair and the Bridal Boutique at Saks—had come from my meetings with Claire and Cindy. I couldn’t resist calling Claire a little before noon.
“Bring me up to date,” she said excitedly. “I thought we were partners.”
“I will,” I replied. “Get Cindy. Meet me for lunch.”
Chapter 64
THE THREE OF US leaned against a stone wall in City Hall Park, picking at salad sandwiches we had bought at a nearby grocer’s. The murder club meets again.
“You were right,” I said to Claire. I passed her a copy of the security photo showing Red Beard sneaking into the Cleveland wedding.
She stared at it, her eyes focusing intensely. Claire looked up only when the confirmation of her first physical supposition brought out a curious half smile. “I only read whatever that bastard left behind.”
“Maybe,” I said, tossing her a wink. “But I bet Righetti would’ve missed it.”
“This is true,” she allowed with a satisfied beam.
It was a bright, breezy late-June day; the air was fragrant from a crisp Pacific breeze. Office folk worked on their tans; secretaries gabbed in groups.
I recounted what I had found in Cleveland. I never mentioned what had taken place by the lake between Chris Raleigh and me.
When I finished with Merrill Shortley’s shocking revelation, Cindy said, “Maybe you should’ve stayed out there, Lindsay.