Night Moves : Dream Man/After the Night Read online

  “So what do we have?” Mac asked.

  Bonness looked at Ivan Schaffer. “Nothing,” Ivan said flatly. “Not a damn thing. No fingerprints; he wears gloves. No semen, though vaginal bruising in both women indicates that they were raped. He either wears a condom or uses a foreign object. I haven’t found any stray hairs, either. No footprints, no fibers from his clothing, no witnesses. We have nothing.”

  “Let me understand this,” Chief Champlin said. His eyes flashed at the group. “I’m supposed to tell the mayor that there’s a serial killer working in the city, and we don’t have a shred of evidence on him? That even if, by some miracle, we managed to get our hands on him, we couldn’t tie him to the crimes?”

  “That’s about it,” Ivan said.

  “How can you be so sure it’s the same guy? There have only been two murders, and stabbing deaths aren’t that unusual—”

  “Two stabbing deaths with absolutely no evidence left behind?” Dane interrupted. “Both of them occurred on a Friday night, at roughly the same hour. Both of the murders were done with a knife from the victim’s kitchen, and both times the weapon was left behind. It’s the same guy.” He didn’t mention Marlie, and he was betting that Bonness wouldn’t, either. She would have to be brought into it sooner or later, but he wanted it to be later, when it was the right time and everything was under his control.

  “Any connection between the two victims?” Mac asked.

  Dane looked at Freddie and Worley, who had handled the paperwork on Jackie Sheets. Freddie shook her head. “There are still several people we need to talk to, but so far we haven’t found any connection at all. They didn’t look alike, they didn’t live in the same neighborhood. Mrs. Vinick was a housewife, Ms. Sheets was a legal secretary. They didn’t frequent the same places. As far as we’ve been able to find out, they never met.”

  “We can get a list from the telephone company of the calls made from both residences, and compare them. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they have some numbers in common,” Trammell said. “And there’s the always interesting contents of the trash.”

  “And we need to get copies of their canceled checks from the banks.” Dane wrote a note to himself. “Also copies of their charges on any credit cards. There’s a link. There’s always a link.”

  “I want to hold off on telling the mayor for a day or so,” the chief said, glaring at all of them. “Until you can come up with a little concrete evidence so I won’t feel as big of a fool as I do right now.”

  “The total lack of forensic evidence is a characteristic in itself,” Dane pointed out. “I think we should take it to the FBI for analysis.”

  As he had expected, the chief’s face took on a sour expression. “Goddamn Feds,” he snapped. “Are you saying you aren’t good enough to handle it yourself, Hollister?”

  Dane shrugged. All cops were jealous of their jurisdiction, and nobody, especially the old-timers, liked bringing the Bureau in on anything. Inevitably the federal boys got all the credit. “The Investigative Support Unit specializes in this, and I’d say we need all the help we can get. I don’t have to prove that my dick’s bigger than theirs.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Freddie remarked dryly. “But what about me?”

  “What about the rest of us?” Worley countered in a plaintive tone.

  The room erupted into laughter and a few coarse remarks. Bonness flushed at the lack of decorum, but couldn’t keep himself from grinning. Dane winked at Freddie, and she winked back.

  “If all of you are through comparing inches—or lack of them,” the chief said, raising his voice, “maybe we can get back to the business at hand. Okay, maybe we take it to the FBI. But not until I say so, and not until I’ve talked to the mayor. Is that understood? Exhaust all the other avenues first.”

  “We can’t afford to wait too long. Another Friday is only five days away.”

  “I know what day of the week it is,” the chief snapped. “I’ll talk to him Tuesday afternoon, and that’s the absolute soonest I’ll do it. That means, people, that you have two days to come up with something, so I suggest you all get to work.”

  15

  THERE WASN’T A HELLUVA LOT that could be done on a Sunday. A call to the Hairport, where Jackie Sheets had regularly gotten her hair cut, didn’t even get an answering machine but instead rang endlessly. No banks were open. The telephone company, however, was on duty and protecting the public’s right to reach out and touch whomever they wanted twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Someone was always there, so Dane started the process of getting a listing of all the calls made from the Sheets residence.

  Bonness organized a task force, choosing Dane, Trammell, Freddie, and Worley, since the four of them were already working on the two known cases. All of their other ongoing cases were parceled out to the other detectives, who were warned to tie up as many loose ends as they could, as fast as they could, because they would all probably be brought in on the task force soon.

  What with one thing and another, it was after four when Dane and Trammell were finally able to leave the building. Dane squinted up at the bright sky before slipping on his sunglasses. After the morning rain, the day had turned into a scorcher, with the rainfall only adding to the humidity as the heat turned the moisture to steam.

  “How’s Grace?” he asked.

  Trammell was annoyed. “You sound as if you expect us to elope at any moment, and, old buddy, it ain’t going to happen.” He paused. “Grace is fine.”

  “Still at your place?”

  Trammell checked his watch. “No.”

  Dane chuckled. “Not quite yet, huh? Maybe en route? You made a call right before we left; now, who could it have been to?”

  “Fuck you,” Trammell said mildly. “Where are you going?”

  “Home. To my place.”

  Black eyebrows lifted inquiringly.

  “To pick up more clothes,” he enlarged, with some satisfaction.

  “Why don’t you just pack a suitcase and move in?”

  “I would, but I still have to go by the house every day to get my mail, so that wouldn’t be saving me any trouble. Most of my clothes will end up at her house eventually.”

  “All of your other girlfriends have moved in with you,” Trammell pointed out.

  “Marlie’s different. She feels safe in her house; she won’t willingly leave it.” Besides, he didn’t like the idea of Marlie moving into his own house. As Trammell had pointed out, several women over the years had taken up temporary residence there. He had liked and enjoyed them at the time, but in the end they hadn’t been very important to him, certainly not as important or interesting as his job. Marlie was different; she didn’t belong in that company of ultimately forgettable women.

  Thinking of his house made him restless. It had always suited him before, but then, he had never been picky. Suddenly he wanted to change things around. “My place needs some work done on it,” he decided abruptly. “This would be a good time to have it done.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Maintenance stuff. New paint, the floors refinished. The bathroom needs complete renovation.”

  “I see.” Trammell’s dark eyes began to gleam. This was something he’d been itching to do for years. “How about new furniture while you’re at it? That stuff you’re using is about twenty years old.”

  “The place belonged to my grandparents. When they left it to me, the furniture came with it.”

  “It shows. How about it? New furniture, too?”

  Dane considered it. Unlike most cops, and not counting Trammell, his bank account was healthy. He was single and had cheap tastes in food, clothes, and cars. He had inherited the house from his grandparents, so he didn’t have a mortgage payment every month. He actually lived on half of his income, so the other half had been accumulating in the bank for years. Several times he’d thought about buying a boat, but when would he have time to use it? No other money-using schemes had come to mind. The house did ne