Tonight You're Mine (18 page)

“Recognize him?” Waters asked.

“You haven't raised the hood,” Nicole said.

Ray pulled her a step closer to the body. “We can't until we get pictures. But is there
anything
you can see now that would give us a clue—”

“The smell,” Nicole interrupted. “Mildew.”

“
Mildew?
” Waters repeated incredulously.

“She's got an incredible sense of smell,” Ray said.

Waters rolled his eyes and looked at her as if she were an idiot. “Maybe she should be in the canine corps. How are you at sniffing out cocaine, Mrs. Chandler?”

“Probably as good as I am at sniffing the garlic you had for dinner on your breath,” Nicole retorted, Waters's sarcasm sparking her own.

Incredibly, Waters's mouth twitched as if he were actually going to smile. “Anything else?”

“There are also dog bites. This guy's right wrist has a dog's teeth marks. And look at his left jeans leg. It's torn near the knee. I think you'll find more bites under the tear.” Nicole looked at Ray. “It's the man who mugged me on the River Walk last night.”

1

After pictures had been taken, tape strung, extensive notes made, they finally lifted the hood. “Well, what do you know,” Waters said. “Izzy Dooley.”

“Izzy Dooley?” Nicole repeated dully.

“Yeah. I think Izzy is short for Isadore. The wacko thinks he's a vampire. He's been dragged in a couple of times for minor offenses but always manages to hit the streets before long.” He frowned. “River Walk. That's not his usual area of business, though. Something strange about that.”

“Why do you think he was there?” Nicole asked.

“No idea.” Waters's frown deepened. “Would you believe the guy's only about twenty-four? Looks a good ten years older.”

All Nicole could focus on was the stream of dried blood that ran down the right side of his face. It was so near his eye, it looked like a tear. Vampires are supposed to cry tears of blood, she thought.

“So he got in by using the keys he took earlier in the evening from Mrs. Chandler,” Ray was saying.

“
After
he'd killed the officer in the car,” Waters added. “Mrs. Chandler was attacked around ten. What time did the patrol car show up?”

“Not until nearly one in the morning,” Nicole said.

“If Izzy got your ID when he attacked you, he knew where you lived. He had almost three hours to get out here before the patrol car arrived,” Waters pointed out. “Why didn't he just come in the front door? Why did he smash the padlock on the fence?”

“Because our dog was out there,” Nicole explained. “He must have wanted to get Jesse out of the way so he wouldn't cause a commotion, so he let him out, then went into the house and waited. He could have gotten in while Sergeant DeSoto and I were at the hospital, which is why neither we nor the patrolman you put on surveillance saw anything when we got home.”

“I checked the house,” Ray said.

“But not the backyard.”

“You said you locked the back door,” Waters reminded her.

“Yes, but if he had the keys, what difference did it make?” Ray argued. “He'd just let himself in again.”

“Was the padlock on the fence broken when you got back from the hospital?” Waters asked Nicole.

“I discovered it fifteen minutes after I got home.”

Waters's scowl was back. “I'm still troubled about this dog business. If Izzy's objective was to catch Mrs. Chandler alone in here and he had the keys, why didn't he just let himself in and hide? Why bother smashing the padlock to let the dog out?”

“The plan must have been to rob the place before Nicole got home and he didn't want the dog raising hell,” Ray said, sounding irritated. “Seems simple to me.”

Nicole's eyes met Ray's. “But none of this explains why Paul's music was on the stereo.”

“Paul?” Waters asked immediately.

“Paul Dominic,” Nicole forced out. “He was a concert pianist. I used to be involved with him. Fifteen years ago—”

Waters held up his hand. “I know the story, Mrs. Chandler. You probably don't remember, but I was on the case.”

Nicole stared. “No, I didn't remember,” she said faintly.

“Well, I'm not a pretty boy like DeSoto here. Women never remember me.”

Nicole looked at him closely. “Actually, I think I
do
remember you.” She swallowed. “Anyway, the cassette was playing on my stereo when I woke up this morning. It's not my cassette.”

Waters gave her a penetrating look. “You're not thinking Dominic killed Izzy and the cop, are you?”

Nicole felt like something tiny trapped in a corner. “I…well, I know everyone thinks he's dead, but…”

“Cy, she thinks she”s seen Dominic on several occasions,” Ray said briskly. “At first I thought maybe she was imagining things.”

“And now you don't?” Cy Waters asked.

“I'm pretty sure Paul Dominic is alive, that he's come back here, and that he's following Mrs. Chandler.”

Nicole had thought this a hundred times, but having one police detective say it with conviction to another made it sound completely different.

Gradually she became aware of someone climbing a ladder. They were going to cut down the man who had hung, wearing his black hood, in her backyard half the night. Shivers ran over her and she clasped her arms across her chest.

Waters seemed aware of her drifting attention and startled her with a sudden question. “What makes you think Dominic's here?”

She swallowed. “There have been several incidents.” He looked at her expectantly, and without thought she began telling him about the times she'd seen Paul. When she finished, she expected an argument, but Cy Waters merely looked at a gray cloud scudding across the sun.

“You know what all this means, don't you?” he asked Nicole. “If Paul Dominic murdered the men who attacked you fifteen years ago, then he probably murdered the man who attacked you on the River Walk last night.” He gave her a bleak smile. “He sticks with Gershwin all the way, doesn't he?”

“What do you mean?” Ray asked.

“Another Gershwin song—‘Someone to Watch Over Me.' If Dominic is alive, it looks like he's decided to watch over Nicole Sloan for the rest of her life.”

2

It wasn't a cold day and Nicole wore a heavy sweatsuit, but she was still shaking when she left the house. She nearly fell into Carmen's arms. “Take it easy, kid,” Carmen said.

“It was the man who mugged me last night,” Nicole told her. “He must have used my keys to come in, and someone was waiting for him.”

“Someone?”

“It looks like it was Paul.”

Carmen held her away from her, her face turning stern. “Nicole, when are you going to stop harping on Paul Dominic? The police will think there's something wrong with you.”

Ray and Waters appeared beside them. Ray said, “Mrs. Vega, it
is
possible that Paul Dominic is behind all this.”

“What?” Carmen repeated faintly. “You
believe
her?”

“Carmen, you're making me sound like a lunatic,” Nicole snapped, hurt.

“I'm sorry, but—”

“We think there is a
very
small chance that Dominic could be around,” Ray interrupted. “If he is, there's also a chance that he killed Izzy Dooley, the mugger, as well as the officer in the patrol car.”

Nicole glared at him. “A
very
small chance? I thought you believed me. Or do you think
I
killed those men?”

“Mrs. Chandler, I don't know who killed them,” Ray said coolly.

Waters gave her a penetrating look. “Do you own a gun?”

Nicole was so startled it took her a moment to grate out a yes.

“Where is it?”

Nicole looked at Ray. Why didn't he say something in her defense instead of letting Waters take over? “The gun is in my bedside table,” she managed. “The key to the drawer is under my mattress. But you can't possibly think
I
shot those men!”

“Why not?”

“Why
not
? Because a shot would have awakened the whole neighborhood.”

“I'm aware of that,” Waters answered. “A silencer must have been used.”

Although Nicole trembled all over, she looked at Waters unflinchingly. “Sorry to disappoint you, but my gun is a revolver.”

“I see you know about guns,” Waters replied slowly. “Enough to know that it isn't impossible to use a silencer on a revolver?”

“
If
the barrel of the gun has been threaded. Mine hasn't.”

“Nicole!” Carmen croaked. “Be quiet. You sound like a mobster!”

But Nicole couldn't stop. “Besides, you'll also see that the gun hasn't been fired in the last twenty-four hours.”

“How do I know you only have one gun?”

“Because I'm telling you,” Nicole returned coldly. “And what about my hands? Do a paraffin test—you won't find any nitrate residue.”

“Then why did you take a shower before we got here? The tub is still wet.”

“I took a shower because I had blood all over my feet. And Sergeant, that wouldn't get rid of all the traces of nitrate.”

“Mrs. Chandler, there's been an invention called the ‘glove' that would protect your hands from residue. Besides, you're a little too savvy about handguns to make me comfortable.”

They glared at each other, nostrils flaring, until Ray said, “That's enough for now, Waters.”

“And furthermore,” Nicole continued, ignoring him, “I suppose you think I
hanged
that man in the tree? Maybe you haven't noticed, but at five feet four and a hundred and ten pounds, I'm not exactly an Amazon woman.”

“The laws of physics—”

“The laws of
physics
!” Nicole exploded.

Carmen grabbed Nicole's arm. “If you don't be quiet and get a lawyer, I'm going to tape your mouth shut!”

Nicole glared. “I'm only—”

“Shut
up
,” Carmen hissed. “I mean it. Not another word.”

“This really isn't any of your business,” Waters told Carmen tiredly.

Carmen whirled on him. “It is
too
my business! Nicole is my best friend and you're taking advantage of her shock to get her to say things she shouldn't.” Her eyes narrowed. “It's not the first time you cops have done that to her.”

Waters gave her a sardonic look. “Just doing my job, ma'am. Besides, I didn't Mirandize her. You should know that means she's not under arrest.”

“How generous of you. I'll tell you what you can do—you can take your little Miranda spiel and stick it,” Carmen stormed. “Nicole is coming with me for now.”

“She's not leaving the house yet,” Waters snapped.

“I'm taking her to my car where I have a thermos of coffee,
if
that's all right, Your Majesty.”

“Fine,” Waters said casually. “Just don't try driving off with her.”

Carmen rolled her eyes and muttered something in Spanish. Nicole didn't catch it, but she saw a twinkle in Ray's dark eyes.

3

Ray stayed on the street to question neighbors. Waters returned to the backyard. A young man from the medical examiner's office waved him toward the body, which had been turned on its abdomen.

“Both victims were shot in the left temple,” he told Waters. “Both were contact wounds. I'd say a .38 caliber. The officer shows no other injuries in a preliminary examination. This guy is a different story.” He pointed to Izzy's lower back. “That's a hell of a stab wound. It would have immediately paralyzed him from the waist down.”

“No sign of a struggle?”

“No. He was probably taken by surprise in the house, stabbed, then dragged out. There's some bruising on the inside of his forearms. That means he wasn't dead when he was taken out of the house. He could have tried to hang on to the door frame and been jerked free. The arms would have hit the wood hard, causing the bruising.”

“Any bruising or bleeding around the throat?” Waters asked.

“Some abrasions, but no blood. He was shot first, then hanged.”

“I knew he wasn't hanged alive,” Waters snapped. His feet hurt and he was hungry. His wife had him on a diet.

“There
was
some bruising around the mouth,” the young man went on patiently. “I think something fairly rough had been stuffed in there to keep him quiet.”

“Something rough? Like what?”

“Well, of course, I can't be sure. We'll know more after the autopsy, but I'd say something like terry cloth. Maybe a big washcloth.”

“Interesting,” Waters muttered. “I wonder if Mrs. Chandler is missing any washcloths.”

4

Ray had questioned three people. Now he was talking to a middle-aged woman with hair dyed bright red who told him in detail about a violent argument Nicole had had with her husband Sunday night. “You should have heard her
language
,” she told Ray vigorously. “It was appalling.”

“I see. How about Mr. Chandler? Was he shouting back at her?”

“Well, certainly,” the woman sniffed. “No man would just stand there and take abuse like that. And I've seen plenty of
young
people at her house. She was entertaining a young, long-haired boy the very
night
of her father's funeral!”

“A funeral for which you refused to contribute one dollar for a wreath from her neighbors.” Ray looked up to see a man in his late seventies—stick thin, white-haired, dressed in gray flannel pants and a navy cardigan—rushing toward him.

“Newton Wingate,” he announced, sticking out a heavily veined hand toward Ray. Up close, Ray could tell the man was probably in his eighties, not his seventies, but his handshake was firm and his eyes a bright, alert blue behind his glasses.

“I've got some important information about those goings-on last night, Detective.”

“Oh, what would
you
know?” the redhead said tartly.

Newton Wingate ignored her, addressing himself to Ray. “I have prostate trouble. Lord, boy, hope it never happens to you. Nothing but pure misery. The doctors wanted to take the thing out, but I said, ‘No siree, I came into this world with all my parts and I'm taking them back with me.' ”

The redhead rolled her eyes and stalked away as Wingate continued. “Anyway, I have to go to the bathroom constantly. Haven't had a full night's sleep for fifteen years. Last night wasn't any different. Well, I've developed a habit. Every night when I have to get up, I put on my glasses—all I need is to trip and break a hip—-and I look out the bathroom window. The window's right above the toilet, you see. I could show you if you need proof.”

“No, thanks, Mr. Wingate, I believe you.”