Mania (10 page)

“You didn’t ask me what I was doing down here.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I found the man who took my shoes.”

“What?” Stolie couldn’t mask his incredulity. “Where?”

“At the homeless shelter. Right there, on the other side of the square.” Nick remembered the large cardboard sign in the window of the tall brick building. “The Seattle Emergency Shelter.”

“The Hudson Hotel?” the detective said.

An image of the building’s name, scored into the sandstone block above the front doors, came to Nick. “Yes,” he said. “At the Hudson Hotel.”

“The man who took your shoes—How did that work? You remember losing them now?”

“No.” Nick quelled his frustration. “And I didn’t get a good look at him. I only saw the shoes under the partition of a men’s room stall.” Nick brought the killer’s watery, light blue eyes into his mind. “I didn’t get a look at his face. I saw the back of his head—his hair. I saw his hands. The rags on his hands. But I couldn’t tell you for sure if it was the same man who attacked us.”

“This doesn’t give me much,” the detective said.

Nick had to stifle his impulse to tell Stolie that he had chased the man into the park—right before he had tripped over Daniel Scott’s dead body. He had blacked out, and he couldn’t account for the time. He tried to think instead of some way to prove what he was saying. “There was a doctor there,” he said. “I think his name was Barnes.”

The detective made a quick note on a pad, then slipped it back into his pocket.

“He was in the men’s room at the same time I was. Maybe he saw the man, too. Maybe he can identify him. He seemed to know the people there.”

The detective’s breath steamed from his mouth as he exhaled.

“So, are you going to arrest me?” Nick asked, breaking the silence.

The detective pondered the facts. Then he cracked a small smile. “I can’t arrest you if I can’t find you.”

Nick couldn’t mask his relief. “You believe me, then.”

Stolie touched him on the shoulder. The light caught the detective on the side of his face, and Nick saw the sincerity in his eyes. Once again, despite his gratitude, Nick found himself puzzled by the man’s sympathy. “Listen,” the detective said. “Lieutenant Dombrowski will have my head if he finds out, you got that?”

“I understand.”

“Don’t queer this up for me.”

“I won’t,” Nick said. “Thank you.”

Stolie looked away. Nick’s appreciation seemed to hang in the air between them. “Don’t thank me,” the detective said. “I’ll head over to the Hudson Hotel after I close up shop here.” His voice hardened. “Just pray I find your man. If this goes on much longer, there won’t be anything more I’ll be able to do for you.”

Nick held his camera up. “So what—you think I can get a couple of pictures now?”

Stolie assessed the scene for a few seconds. “Sure,” he said. Nick was aware of the moment when the detective’s eyes caught sight of the phone at his feet. He tried to keep his own eyes leveled at the detective’s face. “That yours?”

“What’s that?”

Stolie pointed at the phone, and at last Nick allowed himself to lower his eyes. He bent down and picked it up, flipping it open to light its screen.

“Yeah, thanks.” Nick glanced nonchalantly back up at the detective. “I must have dropped it.”

“Come on,” Stolie said. He led Nick toward Daniel Scott’s body. “Let’s get this wrapped up. I’m sure you’ve got places you’d rather be.”

Sara Garland’s huge, sleek Mercedes was parked in the small gravel lot behind Nick’s apartment building when he pulled up in his rusting white Corolla. When she stepped from her car, concern was etched onto her face. Nick was more than an hour late for the gala.

Nick glanced above Sara’s shoulder as she closed the distance between them. His neighbor, Reggie—a perennially stoned student in his last year at the university—was looking down at him from the third floor, his curly brown hair a tangle on his head. Reggie’s girlfriend joined him at the window. She wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Nick could see her breasts squeezed beneath one of her arms. Their eyes met, but neither Reggie nor his girlfriend looked away. Nick had become used to their morbid curiosity in the days since Sam’s murder.

When Nick embraced Sara, the relief he felt upon seeing his lover was eclipsed by a sense of panic. The last thing he wanted was to lose her. Her beautiful face was half hidden in shadow. Her golden and platinum blond hair was radiant, almost glowing. Leaving her hands on his shoulders, she drew away from their kiss, peering into his eyes. “Where have you been?” she asked him. “I’ve been so worried.”

Aware of her anxiety, Nick was nevertheless unable to respond. He found himself hypnotized by the refracted light emanating from the large diamond earrings she was wearing.
The police think that I killed my own brother. They think I stabbed him to death. They think I slashed my brother’s face and kicked his teeth into his throat
. “I’ve been thinking about Sam,” he said at last, unwilling to admit to Sara that he had blacked out. As much as he needed a friend, he was scared of what she would conclude if he told her about Daniel Scott. He was going to have to shoulder these secrets alone. “I haven’t been myself. I’m sorry.”

“Haven’t you been able to remember anything more?” she asked him.

Nick shook his head. A sense of helplessness welled up inside him. He wished that he could give Sara the reassurance she must need. “I don’t know why you stay with me,” he heard himself say. He hadn’t meant to voice his doubts. The headlong rush of events had shaken him.

“You’re grieving, darling.” She gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “I understand that. I’m here for you, and I’m not going to let you go. I promise.”

Nick had to fight a sudden urge to break down.

Sara’s face lit with a genuine smile. “Let’s go upstairs. It’s late. You have to change if we want to get to the gala in time for the dinner.”

“The gala,” Nick echoed. He would be meeting Sara’s parents for the first time, thrust into the spotlight with this impossibly beautiful woman. After the day he had had, Nick wasn’t certain whether he had the resolve to attend the lavish celebration. He had been thrown to the filthy, urine-stained restroom floor in the bowels of the homeless shelter. He had stumbled over Daniel Scott’s corpse and then been grilled by Stolie.
He had come face-to-face a second time with his brother’s killer.
His shin was still throbbing where he had collided with the bench, and he could still feel the grime of the men’s room on his hands and the tickle of his own dried sweat under his clothes.

“My parents are expecting us,” Sara said, reading his hesitation. “It will mean so much to me.”

“I’ll try, Sara.”

She leaned into him and gave him a hard kiss. “You can do it,” she whispered into his ear. “I need you to be strong.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Do you think I’m with you just to have a little fun, Nick?” She waited for him to understand. “Is that what you think?”

“We’ve only known each other a few weeks,” Nick said. “What do you really know about me?”

Jason Hamlin was aware of the instant when his stepdaughter entered the room. Hamlin had positioned himself midway up the broad red-carpeted staircase that swept down from the mezzanine of the concert hall. He was engaged in idle conversation with William Gutterson, Seattle’s chief of police. His muscular arms were folded across his chest, stretching the fabric of his crisp black tuxedo. The party spread out beneath him through the lobby and into the banquet rooms. The entire space had been elaborately decorated in broad swaths of silk patterned in a jungle motif. Huge cutouts of endangered animals were suspended from the ceiling on invisible wires, twisting in beams of carefully directed light. Hamlin’s posture stiffened, and he let his arms drop to his sides. Unconsciously, he closed his hands into dry fists.

The chief of police noticed the change in the man’s demeanor. He paused in midsentence, realizing that Hamlin was no longer listening to him. Following his host’s gaze over the coiffed heads of the elegantly dressed guests, he spotted the object of Hamlin’s attention. “Your daughter is a beautiful woman,” he observed. The chief of police was aware of the muscles working beneath the taut skin of the other man’s cheeks.

“Hmmm?” Hamlin mumbled, distracted. “What’s that?”

Hamlin’s eyes had been fastened on the young man who had walked into the hall next to his stepdaughter. A thin young man with long hair, dressed incongruously in a regular sports jacket and tie in an ocean of tailored dinner jackets and gowns. Yet the man moved gracefully, Hamlin thought, with an air of self-possession. Nick’s unease only became apparent gradually, after Hamlin watched him enter the party. Sara’s hand was resting lightly on his shoulder, but Hamlin had the impression somehow that the young man was hanging on to her instead.

Gutterson nodded in Sara’s direction. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman,” he said, repeating himself.

Like Gutterson, Hamlin was struck by Sara’s beauty. She had dressed for the evening in a simple black dress, but no one in the room looked more elegant. He watched a small circle form around her. “Yes,” he said, finding his voice, “she is beautiful.” He glanced toward his wife Jillian a few steps below him, conversing with a few women. “She takes after her mother.”

“Who is that with her?” Gutterson asked. “I’m sure I’ve seen him before. Recently.”

“I don’t know his name,” Hamlin said, irritated that he didn’t. “Sara told her mother and me that she was bringing someone special tonight. I wasn’t paying much attention, though, I have to admit.”

Gutterson didn’t miss the icy stare in his host’s eyes.
You’re paying attention now
, he thought to say. He knew Jason Hamlin well enough, though, to keep his mouth shut.

“Are you going to find him?”

Neither Hamlin nor Gutterson had noticed the woman approach, and the two men turned reluctantly from Sara. A tall, elegantly dressed woman was standing on the stair next to the chief of police, looking at him expectantly. Her hair was dyed a tasteful shade of chestnut, and she had seen the best surgeon in Seattle about the wrinkles around her eyes. Her age, Hamlin thought, was apparent only in the loose, wrinkled skin on her arms. “Natalie,” he said to her in brusque greeting.

She smiled in return. “It’s a wonderful gathering, Jason,” she said to him. “You outdid yourself.”

“It’s my pleasure. Have you tried the champagne yet?”

She held up a crystal flute half full with sparkling wine. “So what of it, Bill?” she said, turning once again to the chief of police. “The Street Butcher. Are you going to find him? Charles works downtown. So does my eldest son. I’m worried for both of them.”

“You’re correct to be vigilant, Natalie,” Gutterson said, straightening up. “But I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying if I were you. So far the violence seems to be confined to a pretty small community.”

“Another serial killer stalking the streets of Seattle, nothing to worry about?” The woman glanced at Hamlin for support, appalled. “The city is crawling with homeless people. It’s downright scary. And what about that man—the biologist? He wasn’t homeless. He was one of us, Bill. The whole room is buzzing about it. You really must catch this maniac.”

Across the soaring room, Nick felt totally at sea. Sara’s hand was resting lightly on his shoulder, but he had the impression that she was carrying him into the party, holding him up onto his feet. As he followed her into the crowded hall, the guests parted in front of them, then closed behind them, cinching them in more and more tightly as they moved toward the center of the lobby. Everyone seemed to know Sara, greeting her by name as she passed. Nick was aware of their eyes scrutinizing him, their surprise at his inappropriate clothes. He glanced down, following an elderly woman’s eyes to his feet. His old dress shoes appeared humble and clumsy against the plush red carpet, dross in a surfeit of glistening patent leather.

When Sara stopped to talk to a couple she knew, a wave of panic washed over him.
What if Sara left him alone there to fend for himself?
But she didn’t. She pulled Nick close as she engaged in easy conversation with the young woman. When the woman’s partner started talking to him, Nick nodded at him, smiling when the man smiled, listening to the rhythm of Sara’s voice as she responded for him. The woman in front of Sara, Nick noticed, was adorned in so many diamonds that she seemed to be surrounded in a prismatic aura of light. And then they were moving forward again, finding their way toward the red velvet bar.

“You’re doing beautifully,” Sara said.

“Maybe some water will help,” Nick said.

“We’re almost there, darling. I’ll get us a couple of glasses, and then in a few minutes we can go sit down at our table.”

“You don’t have any idea how wonderful you are,” Nick said.

“I told you, darling.” Nick felt her hand find the small of his back. “I’m not going to let you go.”

“It’s a party, my dear. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.” Nick became aware of the woman’s voice before he saw her. His eyes tracked the words, and he found himself looking at Sara twenty years older. Only the woman addressing him was decidedly more formal than Sara, much more reserved—wooden even.

“You must be Jillian,” he heard himself say. “Sara’s mother.”

“How good of you to notice.”

Sara’s fingers clenched his shoulder. Nick remarked that she didn’t move to give her mother an embrace. “Mother,” she said, “this is—”

“You must be Nick,” Jillian Hamlin said at the same time.

“Yes,” Sara confirmed. “Nick Wilder. The man I told you about.”

Jillian studied Nick’s face. “You don’t like big gatherings like this,” she observed. “Well, I don’t blame you, dear. It was an acquired taste for me as well.”

“It’s nice to be here with Sara,” Nick contradicted pleasantly. “And it’s nice to meet you.”

Jillian acknowledged the hollow compliment with a tight smile.

“Nick works for the
Telegraph
, Mother.”

“You do? How fascinating. And what is it you do there, Nick? Are you a reporter?”

“He’s a photographer, Mother. And a good one.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“I do some reporting, too.” Nick made an effort to find his voice. “But I’m not really working for the
Telegraph
. Not anymore.”

“No?”

“I work freelance now. Assignment by assignment.”

“Jason will be impressed,” Jillian said.

“I’m not so sure,” Nick said.

“Don’t be so modest.” Sara gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Of course Jason will be impressed. He’ll have every reason to be.”

“Why don’t you let me speak for myself?” Once again, Nick was aware that he was being addressed before he saw the speaker. His eyes alighting on Sara’s stepfather, he found that the voice matched Jason Hamlin’s angular, symmetrical face. He felt Sara’s fingers slip at last from his shoulder. “Jason Hamlin,” the powerful, charismatic man in front of him said, introducing himself. “And you are?”

Nick hesitated. He glanced at Sara, waiting for her to speak for him, but her eyes were veiled, dropped to her feet.

“Mr. Wilder, isn’t it?” Jillian offered.

“Yes.” Nick tried to smile. His hand felt damp and weak inside Hamlin’s dry grip. “Nick Wilder. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Hamlin let go of Nick’s hand and touched him on his shoulder. “I have a little emceeing to do, Nick,” he said. “But I’ll make a point to catch up with you later.”

Nick watched the possessive way the financier wrapped an arm around Sara’s shoulders in greeting. She was a tall woman. From the moment he had met her, Nick had been conscious of her strength. Caught in Hamlin’s grip, though, she looked small and helpless. He was glad when Sara’s stepfather let her go, and he was relieved once the man was gone.

After finishing dinner, Nick stood from the table where he and Sara had been seated and excused himself to go to the men’s room. He had barely touched his food, but he had drunk a glass of wine, and he felt flushed. He stood in front of the mirror, his hands pressed against the edge of the washbasin. “This is a party,” he said out loud to himself, repeating the words Jillian Hamlin had first spoken to him. “You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.” He twisted the taps, plunged his hands under the stream of cold water, and splashed his face, then yanked a few paper towels from the dispenser. “Only another hour to go,” he said to his reflection. “You go out there and enjoy yourself.”

Nick searched the large room for Sara as the door to the men’s room swung closed behind him. A small prickle of fear rose in his chest when he didn’t locate her at their table, and he made a conscious effort to calm himself. His gaze traveled from face to face across the expansive party, as if he were watching a slide show. Voices welled up against the walls, coalescing into a mechanical sound, Nick thought, like the rumble of a gigantic engine. All at once, from out of the cacophony, a single voice distinguished itself.
No, I’ve never seen him before, either. I have no idea where he’s from.
His eyes followed the voice to a woman, watching him from about thirty feet away. He tried to block out the woman’s voice, concentrating instead on the classical music drifting into the room from the orchestra, searching one more time for Sara.

All the way at the other side of the party, engaged in a close conversation with another man, Jason Hamlin was also watching him. When Nick caught sight of him, he realized that he recognized the heavy, dark-haired man Hamlin was speaking to. He couldn’t immediately place him, but he had seen the man before, Nick was certain of it.