He went back into the den to get a cigarette and stood there for a moment debating what he was going to do about Shelley and her car. He wanted to meet Roger ASAP and find out what was going on but he also wanted, no, needed to take a hot shower so that he could feel at least halfway human again. He wasn’t going to have enough time to get Shelley’s car out of the mud and shower unless the road had by chance dried out enough to enable him to get the car out under its own power. The first priority, Sam decided, was to drive the Jeep down and check out Shelley’s car.
He started to leave the room and stopped himself cold as he realized that he was going to need Shelley’s car keys, which most likely were in her purse. He didn’t particularly want to go rummaging through Shelley’s purse without her knowing it, so it looked like he was going to have to wake her up after all. He’d wanted to avoid awaking Shelley any sooner than needed and Sam now seriously considered why this was so. The reality of having to confront her after last night, perhaps..?
Yup. You got it.
Sam let out a groan and made his way back to the bedroom. Shelley was still fast asleep when he entered. He walked quietly over to the side of the bed and touched her shoulder.
“Shelley?” he said softly.
She mumbled something and opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw him.
“Hi,” she whispered sweetly.
Even after a long and crazy night of heavy drinking and unbridled sex, Shelley Hatcher still looked like a million bucks. Her silky blonde hair partially covered her lovely face and her deep blue eyes were just as wide and enchanting as they’d been the night before. Her full lips still had that sultry, seductive look that he had always found hard to resist.
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked, testing the waters.
She feigned a groan and replied, “Tired, but content. Last night was wonderful, Sam,” she purred with a playful grin.
“I have to agree with you there,” Sam said, knowing full well that he meant it. How the holy hell he was going to deal with all of this later, he didn’t have a clue. “Unfortunately, I have to go into town on some business now, so I’m going to try and move your car out of the way. Where are the keys?”
Shelley thought a moment before replying. “I left them in the ignition. I figured they probably wouldn’t get very far if somebody tried to steal it. But you can probably drive around it, Sam. It’s sort of off to the side in a ditch.”
Great, Sam thought. “Do you need to be anywhere in the next couple of hours or so?”
“No, I don’t have any plans.”
“Good. Then why don’t you just go back to sleep and I’ll take care of your car when I get back,” he suggested.
Shelley grinned. “I sort of hoped you would say that.”
Sam just smiled and said, “Okay. I’m going to take a quick shower then shove off. Just make yourself at home and I’ll call you if I’m going to be any longer than a couple of hours.”
“Thanks, Sam.” She sat up and gave him a kiss, the sheet falling down and exposing half of her luscious body. The kiss was short, but long enough to remind Sam of what had happened the night before.
“See you later,” he said, almost regretfully, before turning around and leaving the room.
Roger Hagstrom was standing beside his unmarked car when Sam pulled into the Smithtown Police parking lot. He pulled up beside his friend and rolled down the window.
“What’s shakin’?”
Roger came over to the Cherokee. He looked as though he’d been put through a wringer. “I need to get the hell out of here for a while. Had lunch yet?”
“Fuck, I haven’t even had breakfast yet!” Sam said.
“Let’s go over to the K amp;L, then,” Roger said as he walked around to the other side of the Jeep and got in.
Roger fumbled for a cigarette in his coat pocket, lit one up and looked over at Sam grimly. “Before you start grilling me, I’d better level with you first. Thompson’s in a real fucked up mood and just ordered me, in so many unpleasant words, to refrain from leaking police business to the press-referring of course to your ass. He’s at the end of his rope with the Bradley case and has decided to take it out on yours truly-like I’ve been just sitting around with my finger stuck up my ass all this time or something. Anyway, he has somehow managed to find out that I’ve let you have copies of the police reports and he’s ultra-pissed about that too. The chief is a real prick when he gets into this mode, as you well know. So, to make a long story short, we’re going to have to start being a little more discreet from here on out before the son of a bitch decides to fire my ass.”
“Great,” Sam groaned as he pulled out onto Court Street.
What Roger had just told him didn’t surprise him-it had happened a few times before in the past. The chief of police usually gave Roger Hagstrom considerable slack as far as Sam’s tagging along was concerned, but he had his limits. Especially when things weren’t going particularly well, as they apparently weren’t now.
“At any rate,” the detective continued, “I’ll start at the beginning. New York was a real bitch, any way you look at it. I met with the infamous Lieutenant Mancuso at his precinct and you might say that the two of us didn’t exactly hit it off together. The guy’s one of those arrogant Italian Stallion types who gets off on bossing everybody around, if you know what I mean. So here I am, Mister Small-Town Cop in the Big City, and Mancuso is constantly reminding me of my minor existence in the huge scheme of things-not in his words so much as in his goddamn condescending demeanor.
“Anyway, once we finally got down to business, he lightened up on me ever so little. I guess my natural charm and charisma eventually wore him down, eh? We went over our respective reports and theories on the Bradley and Hunt murders and then interrogated the witness who had claimed that he’d seen a man on the fire escape outside of what he believed to be Sara Hunt’s apartment on the night she was murdered. This guy lives across the alley from Sara’s apartment building-about a hundred yards away. He told us that he just happened to be looking out his window when he noticed a man climb out of the window and stand on the fire escape for a couple of minutes. He couldn’t see very well-it was late and pretty dark then-but he was able to make out some of the guy’s features.
“The man was fairly tall, about six-two, Caucasian, medium build, and had long, dark hair and a beard. He was wearing an overcoat, like a London Fog, and had a small carrying case of some kind slung over his shoulders-possibly a camera or binocular case. The man looked real suspicious, the guy said, because it seemed more than obvious that he didn’t want to be seen by anyone. He kept looking around nervously and kept his back glued to the wall. After a couple of minutes, the man went back inside and closed the window, then pulled down the blinds.
“The witness kept watching after the man had gone back inside. About a minute or so later, he saw several bright flashes of light come from the window-like a camera flash going off. He said that he observed five or six flashes within the span of a couple of minutes, then no more after that.”
“I knew it!” Sam exclaimed. “The bastard was taking pictures of the body, wasn’t he?”
Roger eyed him curiously. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a very strong possibility. Are you going to tell me now that you already had that figured out?”
Sam nodded excitedly. “I was comparing the crime scene photos of Marsha’s and Sara’s bodies yesterday evening and noticed how the positions were practically identical. Then it suddenly dawned on me that the killer had purposely arranged their bodies that way because he wanted an identically composed shot of each victim. I must admit that I was a little surprised nobody had noticed it before,” Sam added just a little too smugly.