She got up to look for a glass but the uniformed officer stepped forward to do it. As he moved past Ryan, his eyes, wide with surprise, lingered on the detective’s back. Jessie moved over to get a better look.
“You have blood seeping through the back of your shirt,” she said, hoping she sounded detached, though she didn’t feel it.
“Yeah, I had a bit of an altercation. You mind if I sit down?”
She pulled out a chair and he settled into it gingerly. From behind him, Jessie could see that he had some kind of gash in his upper back just above his left shoulder blade. The officer put the glass of water on the table in front of Ryan.
“Could you see if there’s a medic available?” she asked the officer before turning her attention back to Ryan. “Explain.”
First he took a big glug of water. Then he dived in, explaining what had just occurred, including his close call at the hands of a man who easily overpowered him.
“By the time I got the glass out of my back,” he concluded, “he’d disappeared from sight. I called in a description. But with all the empty houses here over the summer, he could be hiding anywhere.”
The officer returned with an EMT, who promptly removed Ryan’s shirt and began studying the wound. After cleaning it up, he got out a suture kit.
“It could have been a lot worse,” the EMT said. “I can sew it up but I recommend you go to urgent care to get it checked out when you get a chance.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said, clearly relieved. “I also have some shards in my palms. Do you think you could pull those out afterward?”
The EMT nodded. While he did his thing, Jessie looked outside and saw that Randy and his margarita hadn’t moved.
“You mind if I check on something?” she asked Ryan. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “I’ll check to see if anyone’s spotted my friendly man in black.”
Jessie nodded approvingly, though something about Ryan’s demeanor was unsettling. As she walked back to Randy’s place, she realized what it was. Ryan looked shaken by the encounter in the cabana. Jessie felt a bit of fear creep into her own gut.
Almost nothing shook Detective Ryan Hernandez. If this man in black had, he must really be bad.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kelly’s murderer, still clad in the silk pajamas, peeked out the window from behind a curtain. He was four houses south of the Landingham place but from his vantage point in the third-floor master bathroom, he could see everything the cops outside were doing.
He’d been lucky. He knew that the owner of this condo, the middle of the three massive units, was out of town. He also knew that the idiot kept his key in a fake plastic rock mixed among others just outside the door to the place. He knew that because he’d stayed in this condo before, more than once. Lastly, he knew that even in pajamas, with bloody feet, he could get here before the cops even made it out of the station.
In fact, he’d been just unlocking the condo door when he heard Carl Landingham’s wail of anguish just half a block north. It was terrible and thrilling at the same time. His heart was still beating wildly at the memory of it.
As with the annoying woman at the Bloom house, he hadn’t intended to kill the girl, at least not at first. After all, he was minding his own business. She was the one who’d startled him awake while he was sleeping.
After the spill she took down the stairs and his subsequent shove, he could have left. She was bleeding badly from the head and both an arm and a leg were badly broken. But she’d seen his face. She could identify him. Even then, he was on the fence. That was, until he saw the stockings.
It was like a talisman, calling out to him, telling him he had to do this. What were the chances that this lithesome young thing would be wearing the same brand of pantyhose that he’d been carrying at the Bloom house? It was as if it was all meant to be. It was as if he was supposed to use the stocking on her.
When he did, he felt that same buzz of exhilaration as he had the first night, only this time it was even more pronounced. He knew it was because it hadn’t all happened in such a rush this time. He’d had time to consciously choose to do this. He’d been able to roll the stocking off the girl’s leg, to savor the anticipation of wrapping it around her long, delicate neck.
And it was everything he hoped. As he watched the life drain out of her eyes, he felt more powerful than he ever had before, almost like a god. It was even better than the old days, when he’d actually been a man of power, a man of respect.
Despite that respect, he’d still been underappreciated by the women he coveted; the trophy wives like the one the other night, the models like the one he’d just snuffed out. Sure, they admired him. Some were even awed to be in his presence. But despite what he did for them, the contribution he’d made to their lives, none of them arrived at his place in sports bras with bottles of wine. None of them woke him up from a nap in just a teddy and stilettos.
He pictured the woman who’d put him in this position, who’d made his life what it was. She didn’t look that different from the gal at the bottom of the stairs. He imagined it was her he was squeezing the life out of. As he did, he was unaware that he was grinding his teeth together.
The fantasy made him tingle all over again. That’s when he accepted something he’d been keeping at bay in his mind for the last few minutes. He wanted to do this again. He had to.
*
Jessie stood in front of Randy Fuller, trying to get a bead on the guy. He smiled back amiably, a vague tequila haze in his eyes. The man seemed tickled to have her back.
“Lot of excitement over there,” he noted, nodding at the Landingham mansion, currently swarmed by police.
“You seem very interested,” Jessie replied. “Almost like you have a personal stake in what’s going on.”
Fuller smiled widely, squinting at her as he held up his hand to block the sun.
“Like I said, I’m a one-man neighborhood watch. I’m always interested in what happens here.”
“Randy,” she said, sitting down on the porch next to him. “Can I be straight with you?”
“I’d prefer it,” he said, taking another big glug. The massive glass was almost two-thirds empty now.
“I think you’re holding back.”
“What do you mean?” he asked coyly.
“I mean, you just reiterated that you’re a one-man neighborhood watch. You specifically referenced Carl when we spoke earlier, as if he was on your mind. I can’t help but wonder what put him there. Care to share?”
“I feel very much under attack here, Jessie,” he said, not sounding at all like he thought he was under attack.
Jessie appreciated Fuller’s curmudgeonly nature but her patience was wearing thin. Time was running short and she needed answers. She decided she needed to short-circuit his buzz.
“Randy, remember how I said I was going to be straight with you?”
“Considering that you said it thirty seconds ago, yes.”
“Right. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me the little secret about Carl that you’re guarding so preciously and you’re going to tell me now. There’s a dead girl in that house and I’m not in the mood to play games. If you have information that can solve her murder, I want it. If you persist in playing the role of the leather-skinned, coquettish, drunken know-it-all who keeps his mouth shut and his secrets close, you’ll do it down at the station, and not this one. You’ll be getting a ride to Central Station downtown, where we’ll resume this discussion. After that, you’ll spend the night in a cell with the guys we routinely pick up for public urination. That’s where you’ll sleep off your hangover, assuming you get any sleep. It’s your call and you have five seconds to make it.”