“Okay. I want to see everyone in my office tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll go over what we have, anything new that Ivan’s found, set up a task force. I’ll notify the chief, and he can decide when and how much to tell city hall.”
“I hope he holds off,” Dane said. “Information leaks out of city hall like it’s a damn sieve.”
Bonness looked unhappy. “This isn’t something he can keep to himself. It would cost him his job if the media break the story and he hasn’t kept the head honchos informed.”
“Then ask him if he can give us a couple of days, at least. Both of the murders have been on Friday night or early Saturday morning, so if the pattern holds, the guy won’t hit again for almost another week. The longer we can work without him knowing that we’re on to him, the better chance we have of catching him.”
“I’ll talk to him,” was all Bonness would promise. Dane really hadn’t expected any more than that.
Worley and Freddie joined them. “The murder weapon was a kitchen knife, probably belonging to the victim,” Worley reported. “It matches others in the kitchen. He entered through the window in the guest bedroom, by cutting the screen.”
“It rained last night,” Dane said. “Any footprints beneath the window?”
Freddie shook her head. “Nothing. He was very careful.”
“Or he got in before it started raining, and waited in the bedroom,” Trammell suggested.
The idea made Freddie blanch. “God, that gives me the queasies, thinking of him in the house with her for hours, and her not knowing it.”
“What about afterward?” Officer Marbach asked. He blushed a little when they all turned to look at him. “I mean, it should have been raining when he left. Wouldn’t he have been likely to leave footprints then?”
“Only if he exited the same way he entered,” Dane said. “And there was no reason for him to. All he had to do was walk out the door, making him much less conspicuous if anyone happened to see him, which I doubt. The sidewalk and driveway are concrete; no prints.”
“She was evidently wearing pajamas at the time of the attack,” Freddie continued, looking at her notes. “We found a pair with blood on them, dropped into the laundry basket. We’re having the blood typed to make sure it’s the victim’s.”
“How about a husband or boyfriend?” Bonness asked.
“Nope. According to her friend outside, there’s an exhusband who lives in Minnesota, but they’ve been divorced for twenty years, and it’s been almost that long since Sheets had any contact with him. No current boyfriend, either. Okay, guys, level with me: Does this sound like the same guy did both women?”
“Afraid so,” Dane replied. “Did Sheets frequent bars, gyms, anything where she’d be in contact with a lot of men?”
“I don’t know. We hadn’t gotten that far in questioning the friend when you guys got here. Why don’t you talk to her while we finish up in here? We’re all going to be pooling our notes, anyway,” Worley suggested. From his tone, he would have been glad to hand the entire investigation over to Dane and Trammell.
A low wall of cement blocks, two high, enclosed the carport on the open side. Elizabeth Cline was sitting on the wall, huddled in on herself, staring numbly at the crowd of policemen milling around. She was a tall, sleek blonde, with her hair cut short in a feathery cap, and long earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders. Despite the earrings, she wasn’t togged out in party clothes; she was wearing sandals, yellow leggings, and a long white tunic with a gaudy yellow and purple parrot on the front. She wore several rings, Dane noticed, but none of them was a wedding band.
He sat down beside her on the block wall, and Trammell, more aloof as always, leaned against Sheets’s car a couple of feet away.
“Are you Elizabeth Cline?” Dane asked, just to make certain.
She gave him a vaguely startled look, as if she hadn’t noticed him sitting beside her. “Yes. Who are you?”
“Detective Hollister.” He indicated Trammell. “And Detective Trammell,”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said politely, then a horrified look edged into her eyes. “Oh, God, how can I say that? It isn’t nice to meet you. It’s because of Jackie that you’re here—”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. I’m sorry, I know it was a shock for you. Would you mind answering a few more questions for us?”
“I’ve already talked to those other two detectives.”
“I know, ma’am. But we thought of a couple of other things, and anything you can tell us will help us find her killer.”
She inhaled shakily. She was shivering, and hugging her arms. It was a warm, muggy night, but shock was getting to her. Dane wasn’t wearing a jacket to put around her, so he asked a patrolman standing nearby to get a blanket. A few minutes later a blanket was produced, and he put it about her shoulders.
“Thanks,” she said, huddling gratefully into the folds.
“You’re welcome.” His instincts were to put his arm around her and comfort her, but he felt constrained and settled for patting her on the back. The only woman he could hold now was Marlie; somehow, in taking her, he had forever set himself apart from other women. He was uneasily aware of the change but pushed it beneath his consciousness, to be considered later when he had the time.
“You told Detective Brown that Ms. Sheets didn’t have a current boyfriend. Had she recently broken up with someone, or maybe had a casual date or two?” She shook her head. “No.”