Chapter 38
PHILLIP CAMPBELL had driven since the first light of dawn, setting out in the bulky rented stretch limo. He was nervous, wired- and he absolutely loved it. He chewed up the miles in a steady, purposeful daze, crossing the Bay Bridge and continuing east on 80. He finally broke free of the morning traffic near Vallejo and maintained a vigilant sixty on the speedometer as he headed east. He didn't Want to be stopped. The papers called him a monster. Psychotic, sociopathic. Expert witnesses on TV analyzed his motives, his past, his possible future murders. They know nothing. They are all wrong. They'll find what I want them to find. They only see what I want them to see. From the Nevada border it was a short drive down into Reno, which he considered a vulgar, aging cowboy town. He stayed on the highway, avoiding the Strip. Wide, stucco-lined boulevards of gas stations, gun dealerships, pawnshops. You could get anything here without a lot of questions. It was the place to come to buy a gun, or unload a car, or both. Out by the convention center, he turned into Lumpy's. He pulled the car up to an open area in the lot, opened the glove compartment, recovered the folded paperwork, breathed a sigh of relief. The limo was perfectly clean. Spotless. There were no ghosts whispering. All day yesterday, he had cleaned and polished, scrubbing out the bloodstains until the last trace of evidence was gone. Now the car was silent, as un confiding as the day he had picked it up. He breathed easier. It was as if Michael and Becky De George had never existed. In minutes he had paid for the car and called a cab to take him to the airport. At the airport, he checked in, looked through a San Francisco paper at a newsstand. Nothing about Becky and Michael. He made his way to the gate. He bought a bottle of Fruitopia apricot drink and a vegetarian wrap at a fast-food counter. He checked in at Gate 31, Reno Air to San Francisco. He took a seat and started eating his lunch. An attractive young woman sat next to him. Blond hair, tight ass, just tawdry-looking enough to attract his eye. She wore a gold chain around her neck with her name on it in script: Brandee. A tiny diamond ring. He smiled a quick, inadvertent greeting. She pulled out a Kipling knapsack, took a swig from a plastic water bottle, and took out a paperback, Memoirs of a Geisha. It interested him that of all things, she was reading about a woman in bondage. These were signs. "Good book?" He smiled her way. "That's what everyone says," she replied. "I'm just starting." He leaned over and breathed in the cheap, citrusy scent of her perfume. "Hard to believe," he went on, "it was written by a man." "I'll let you know." She flipped a few pages, then added. "My fiance gave it to me." Phillip Campbell felt the short, thin hairs on his arms stand up. His heart began to throb. He ran a tremulous finger along the edge of his goatee. "Oh- when's the big day?"
Chapter 39
RALEIGH DROVE back to town in our car. I hung around and caught a ride with Claire. I needed to tell her what was going on with me. Claire and I have been best friends for years. We talk at least once every day. I knew why I was having trouble telling her about my illness- I didn't want to hurt her. Or to burden her with my problems. I loved her so much. As the MEs van bumped down the mountain road, I asked if she had been able to pick up anything at the murder scene. "There was definitely sexual activity going on before they were killed," she replied confidently. "I could see labial distension around the vagina. Secretions on her thighs. "This is guesswork- I only had a few minutes- but I think the husband was shot first, Lindsay. The one clean wound to the head suggests he was dispatched without resistance. Head on. Wounds on Rebecca indicate something else. She was shot from the rear. Through the shoulder blades, the neck. From a distance, I would estimate, of no more than three to five feet. If the semen matches up and they were in the act when it took place, it suggests that she was on top. That would mean someone had to get in fairly close, unobserved, while they were at it. Come up at them from behind her. Since you said they didn't use their own car that night, they were obviously on their way somewhere. I think it's consistent with your theory that they were in some kind of vehicle when this took place. The killer in the front seat. So why not a limousine?" "That's all?" I shook my head and smiled at Claire. "Like I said, I only had a few minutes. Anyway, it was your theory. If it ends up proving out, all I did was connect the dots." We drove on a bit. I was still fumbling for the right words. Claire asked, "So how's the new partner?" I gave her an affirming nod. "Turns out he's okay. He's backed me up with Roth and Mercer." "And you were so sure he was only a watchdog from the mayor's office." "So I was wrong." "Wouldn't be the first time you ended up wrong about a guy," Claire said. I wrinkled my face in pretended offense and ignored her grin. "Anyway, watchdog or not," Claire continued, "he's a damn sight better to look at than Jacobi." "Smarter, too. When we drove up to Napa yesterday, I flipped on the stereo in his Explorer. A tape of The Shipping News came on." "So," Claire went on, with a look of inquisitiveness, "anything going on?" "You mean other than four innocent people being killed?" "I mean with Chris Raleigh, Lindsay. He's working out of the mayor's office, he's a hunk, and your social calendar isn't exactly Gwyneth Paltrow's. You can't tell me he's not your type." "We've been wrapped up in the case, Claire." "Yeah." She chortled. "He's not married, right?" "C'mon, Claire," I pleaded. "I'm just not ready." As Claire winked, I found myself imagining something going on with Raleigh. If I had driven back with him from Napa, instead of Cindy. If I had asked him up, it being nothing but a lonely Sunday, thrown together something out of the fridge. Shared a beer on the terrace as the sun melted into the bay. In my mind, I caught him checking me over again. You look nice, Boxer. He had noticed. Truth was, I had noticed things about him, too. Patient, sensitive eyes. Even finished The Shipping News. It wouldn't be so hard. Even as I sat there pretending I could fall in love with someone, the daydream crashed. Life was slowly leaking out of me. Something with Raleigh, or anyone, just wasn't a possibility now. I glanced over at Claire, who was pulling the car onto 101.1 took a deep breath. "You ever hear of something called Negli's aplastic anemia?" I asked.