I thought back to my research on women killers. All those who had murdered multiple people had eventually been caught. I could only hope the same would happen for Bill.
But how many murderers walked the streets without being apprehended? Hundreds? Maybe thousands?
“What about you?” he asked. “Has Charles’ murder been solved yet?”
“Not to my knowledge,” I said. “If it has, I haven’t received word of it. I would think you’d know more than me with your connection to Detective Peterson.”
“Are you still nervous about living there?”
“Most definitely,” I replied, twirling a piece of hair around my finger as I stared at the popcorn ceiling, the little bubbles forming pretend pictures in my mind’s eye. “I think I will be until the killer is caught.”
“Do you have any other leads?”
“Well, we went to visit Karen, Charles’ girlfriend. Did you know the police never interviewed her?”
“No. I haven’t talked to Detective Peterson since I left.”
“Why wouldn’t they interview his girlfriend, Bill? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Maybe it was an oversight, or maybe they’ve found a lot of evidence on Wayne and they’re closing in.”
“Hmm… I still don’t think Wayne did it.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Patty. The police follow the evidence and if it’s leading them to Wayne… well, he’s their man. The killer would need motive and opportunity. Wayne had both. Charles owed him money, and I found someone who placed him at the apartment building earlier in the day.”
Well, what a surprise. “I didn’t know that,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it?”
“I’m telling you now. And sorry, but I can’t let a stew in on every aspect of the investigation.”
But he could sure use me to get introductions to everyone he suspected. I had been dealt the short end of the stick on the information aspect of the case.
With a sigh, I sat up and studied the room. I hadn’t noticed it when I first entered because I had been so focused on calling Mr. Coffee. The dark wood paneling gleamed with the sun streaming through the opening in thick, floor-length blue curtains. Running my hand over the yellow comforter, I was surprised by its softness and wondered if it was new. The opposing wall matched the bedspread, and held a dresser, the television sitting on top. Overall, I found the space clean and comforting.
“If they arrest Wayne, I think they’ve messed up their jobs,” I replied. “He’s not the killer. I know it in my gut.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Bill replied with a chuckle. “Especially for someone who has no training or experience with murder investigations.”
I knew he hadn’t wanted to be condescending—he only spoke the truth. I didn’t have any training or expertise, but I did know how to read people, and that counted for something. Unless, of course, Wayne was some type of psychopath who was able to hide his true self. From what I’d witnessed, he had been the most honest out of everyone I’d talked to about Charles’ death.
But evidence and facts would decide, not my hunches.
“Next time you’re in Dallas, will you give me a call?” Bill asked. “I’d love to see you again. We could have lunch or dinner… whatever your schedule permits.”
I smiled as my heart pattered, but I didn’t want to sound too eager. Frankly, I was irritated he’d held back information on the case from me, even though I shouldn’t be. As he liked to remind me, I was only a stew, not an officer of the law. “I’m not sure when my next flight there will be, but I’ll let you know.”
“Please do,” Bill said. “And have a great time in New York. Do you fly out tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Have fun but be careful.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. FBI. I won’t go home with any strangers.”
“Good girl. I hope to talk to you soon. Keep my number and call me anytime.”
With a grin, I placed the receiver on the cradle and stared out the window for a few moments. I was actually quite tired, but New York awaited me, so I’d have to find the energy to do the town. Besides, Donna would never forgive me if I stayed in.
A knock sounded at my door. Speaking of Donna…
“Are you ready to go?” she called.
“Not quite,” I said, hurrying over. I opened the panel, keeping myself hidden behind it in hopes of avoiding being the lingerie show for anyone walking by in the hallway.
Donna swooped in wearing a tan suede mini-skirt, matching boots, and a black turtleneck. She came bearing clothes and a white pair of low-heeled go-go boots. Her blonde bob had been coiffed to perfection, and her black eyeliner was on point, highlighting her blue eyes. Pale pink lipstick covered her lips. “Patty, you’re standing here in your underwear. We’re supposed to be leaving! We have exactly fifteen hours left in New York and we’re wasting precious minutes. What are you going to wear?”
“I was thinking about my blue dress.”
“Ugh,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “No way. You’ll look like a throwback from the fifties.” She tossed the clothing at me. “Put this on.”
I slipped on the hot pink, long-sleeved dress that fell to my mid-thigh.
“And wear these,” Donna said. “They shouldn’t hurt your ankle, but you’ll still look foxy as heck.”
I sat on the bed and slipped on the boots.
“You haven’t even done your makeup, Patty,” Donna said, shaking her head, obviously exasperated with me. “Do a quick touchup and let’s blow this pop stand.”
I quickly ran into the bathroom and combed my hair, added a little lipstick and eyeliner, then did a quick check in the mirror while I ran my hand down the front of the dress. Of course, Donna had been right. The pink dress looked fantastic with my black hair.
“Are you ready?” she called.
“I am.” I emerged with my hands on my waist and slowly spun around while tossing my hair as if I were a model.
“Yes, you are!”
