As Darkness Fell. Joanna WayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
what did you think of Jack?”
“Do I know a Jack?”
“He was at the party last night. Cute guy. Blond hair. I saw you talking to him before he left.”
“Oh, yeah. He seemed nice enough. Why?”
“I just wondered.”
And probably wanted to fix her friend up with him. But the guy obviously wasn’t interested, or he wouldn’t have cut out early.
They said their goodbyes and she opened the door and retrieved the note. It was about three inches square with a sticky strip across the back. She might have spoken too soon about how acute her vision was. This time she had to squint to read the tiny, but very neat, print:
I saw you last night in the park. You look good in red. Come to my next party. I’ll be looking for you.
She read the note again, but this time her blood ran cold. My party. Surely this couldn’t be from the deranged bastard who’d killed and cut up the woman in the park. Yet…
She sat there, shaking, holding the note and staring at it until her fingers grew numb. Finally she turned the key and the engine purred to life. She yanked the car into gear, then waited for a black sedan to pass.
Driving the sedan was none other than Sam Turner, talking into a cell phone without even a glance her way. She pulled out quickly and stayed close behind him, not sure that following him was a smart thing, but thinking she should show him the note.
Two blocks later he pulled into the parking lot of the Prentice Bar and Grille. She lingered in the car, giving him time to go in and be seated while she pulled herself together. Her first murder assignment. And now the killer wanted her for a pen pal. It was the stuff of horror movies.
Once inside, it took her a minute or two to locate Sam. He was in a booth in the back, on his cell phone again, one hand cradling a tall glass of iced tea. He looked even more imposing here than he had at the crime scene and the press conference.
“Table for one?”
She smiled at the hostess. “I’m with the guy in the back, the one wearing the blue shirt.” She nodded in his direction.
“Sam didn’t say he was expecting anyone.”
“I wasn’t sure I could make it.” She brushed past the waitress, made her way to Sam’s booth and slid in across from him.
He glared at her but finished his conversation. When he was through, he laid the phone on the table and made eye contact. His eyes were a deeper brown than his short hair, and she had the feeling he could see right through her. But mostly it was the sheer virility of the guy she noticed. He seemed to ooze testosterone.
“The news conference is over,” he said, his tone commanding.
“I don’t have a question. I have information.”
His expression changed very little. “What kind of information?”
She pulled the note from the side pocket of her handbag and slid it across the table toward him. “I found this on the windshield of my car after the press conference. I think you should read it.”
The condensation from his glass of tea had wet his fingers. He wiped them on a paper napkin and picked up the note, careful to touch only one corner. To avoid fingerprints, she was sure. Now why hadn’t she thought of that?
He read it slowly, his expression unchanging. But when he looked up, his gaze was piercing. “Where were you parked?”
“Behind the administration building. Between Cork Avenue and Savannah Street.”
“Did you see anyone when you approached the car?”
“No, but I had this strange feeling someone was watching me.”
“A feeling?”
“You know, just an uneasy sensation. And I’m not usually a nervous person.”
The waitress appeared and put a plate overflowing with a hamburger and fries in front of Sam. Caroline ordered a diet soda, quite certain it was all her stomach could handle at this point.
She waited until the waitress had walked out of hearing range before she asked the question that consumed her thoughts. “Do you think this note is from the man who killed Sally Martin?”
“It’s hard to say. That’s obviously what he wants you to think.”
“But who else would write something like this?”
“Any time there’s a murder like this, it brings out the weirdos.”
“You talk as if you’ve seen a lot of murders like this one.”
“I’ve seen my share. What about you, Miss…?”
“Kimberly, but you can call me Caroline.” She hesitated, hating to admit the truth but seeing no reason to lie. “This is my first one.”
His face remained unreadable. “Are you with a newspaper or a TV station?”
“The Prentice Times.”
“I thought Doreen Guenther handled their crime beat. Not that Prentice had much of a crime beat before now.”
“Her mother’s ill. She took a family-emergency leave.” The waitress returned with Caroline’s drink. She slipped the straw between her lips and took a huge sip, needing to soothe her dry throat. “So what do I do now?”
“I’ll take the note and try to get some prints off it, but I doubt I can, since you mishandled it.”
“I didn’t know it might be from the killer when I tore it off the window.”
“If you get another, I want you to lift it by one corner and put it in a plastic bag. And call me immediately.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and passed it across the table. “Use the cell number. And just for the record, I wouldn’t publish the fact that the killer may have contacted you.”
“Why not?”
“Whether the note’s a prank or from the killer, publicity is likely to spur him on.”
“So I may just keep getting these notes?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“Do you ever say anything definite?”
“When I have something definitive to say.”
Yeah, well, she was beginning to wonder if he had a clue what he was doing or if he was just faking the whole experience bit. Which didn’t make her feel any better, considering she was getting fan mail from a killer. “Why me?” she murmured more to herself than to Sam.
“You didn’t exactly fade into the crowd in that getup you had on last night.”
“I was at a party when my editor called and told me to head straight for Freedom Park. I didn’t have time to change into something appropriate for a murder scene.”
“No reason to get huffy with me. You asked why you were singled out. I was just answering.” Sam slid his plate in front of him and switched his attention to the loaded sesame bun. She figured that was her invitation to leave.
She took another sip of her drink, then wiped her hands on her napkin. The man was too calm. If he thought she’d heard from the killer, he should be doing something. She wasn’t sure what, but she wasn’t a detective. “Aren’t you going to ask for my phone number in case you think of something else to ask me?”
“Your number’s easy enough to get.”
“It’s unlisted.”
He took another bite of his burger.
She stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder.
“One more thing, Miss Kinnerty.”
“Kimberly.