tell you. I really would. But I don’t.”
“It’s in this morning’s paper.”
“I haven’t had the chance to read it.”
“Then I suppose you haven’t read about the woman in San Antonio?”
“The paper never said how she died.” And at his questioning look she added, “I do read the papers, Sergeant.”
The Austin paper and television stations had spent several days covering the unknown San Antonio body, trailing the story through the discovery and the identification. When the leads had run dry, the articles had stopped. “We don’t know how she died, but believe she was dressed in white.” He rested his hands on his belt, the heavy leather creaking. “She’d been exposed to the elements. Sun and animals took most of her away.”
Tension flattened her lips. “There was no mention of any of that in the paper.”
“That was deliberate on the part of the local police. They don’t want to show their cards until they have to.”
The pink he’d seen in her cheeks when she’d come out of the woods had faded. “The first woman’s name was Lou Ellen Fisk. Mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“What about Gretchen Hart? She’s the one that died yesterday morning.”
“No.”
Her clipped, almost defiant answers shortened his temper to breaking. She wanted to stay out of this game. Wanted him to walk away. Not happening. “You remember having that man’s hands around your neck? Remember what it’s like to have your wind slowly cut off?”
Her eyes widened. Fear and then anger shot back. “Is that supposed to shock a memory from me? Or make me go rushing to your doctor? Because if it is you’ll have to do better than that.”
“I got two dead women and I expect a little help from you.”
She sighed her frustration. “All I remember is waking up in a hospital room. My throat burned, and I could barely talk. I remember my face and neck were bruised and my eyes were so bloodshot it was hard to see my pupils when I looked in the mirror. The doctors said the Strangler just about crushed my windpipe. My voice is still hoarse today because of the attack.”
Imagining her face battered and bruised cooled the fire in his belly. “Any idea how you got away?”
“I was told someone passed by and saw what was happening. I must have blacked out by then, but I’m told the guy and his girlfriend called the cops and my attacker ran away.”
“Where were you attacked?”
“If you’ve spoken to Mike Raines then you have more details than me.” Impatience nipped at each word.
When he had a spare moment he’d read the Raines files cover to cover. “I want to hear what you have to say, ma’am.” His tone remained cool, even.
“There’d been a party, and I’d had too many drinks. I took a cab to my apartment, and I remember putting my key in the lock. And then my next memory starts in the hospital.”
“The other Seattle victims were killed by the highway.”
“It was in all the papers at the time. All women, including me, were thinking twice before heading out on Route 10. It never occurred to me that he’d be in my apartment building.”
He dug into his own memories of the crime. “The other victims had police records.”
She rubbed the side of her neck with her hand. “And I did not. Yes, I know. Some of the cops were certain I was lying and went to great lengths to dig into my past. In the end, they found out what I told them they’d find: one speeding ticket, which I got when I was sixteen. What I know is in Detective Raines’s files.”
“Except who attacked you. That detail is locked in your head, Ms. Church.”
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “The key is gone, sir. There is no way to reach the memories. Now I need to ask you to leave. I’ve got to be in town in less than an hour.”
“You have a show opening, don’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Photographs?”
“Yes.”
He dropped the shells in his jacket pocket and
“It’s in this morning’s paper.”
“I haven’t had the chance to read it.”
“Then I suppose you haven’t read about the woman in San Antonio?”
“The paper never said how she died.” And at his questioning look she added, “I do read the papers, Sergeant.”
The Austin paper and television stations had spent several days covering the unknown San Antonio body, trailing the story through the discovery and the identification. When the leads had run dry, the articles had stopped. “We don’t know how she died, but believe she was dressed in white.” He rested his hands on his belt, the heavy leather creaking. “She’d been exposed to the elements. Sun and animals took most of her away.”
Tension flattened her lips. “There was no mention of any of that in the paper.”
“That was deliberate on the part of the local police. They don’t want to show their cards until they have to.”
The pink he’d seen in her cheeks when she’d come out of the woods had faded. “The first woman’s name was Lou Ellen Fisk. Mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“What about Gretchen Hart? She’s the one that died yesterday morning.”
“No.”
Her clipped, almost defiant answers shortened his temper to breaking. She wanted to stay out of this game. Wanted him to walk away. Not happening. “You remember having that man’s hands around your neck? Remember what it’s like to have your wind slowly cut off?”
Her eyes widened. Fear and then anger shot back. “Is that supposed to shock a memory from me? Or make me go rushing to your doctor? Because if it is you’ll have to do better than that.”
“I got two dead women and I expect a little help from you.”
She sighed her frustration. “All I remember is waking up in a hospital room. My throat burned, and I could barely talk. I remember my face and neck were bruised and my eyes were so bloodshot it was hard to see my pupils when I looked in the mirror. The doctors said the Strangler just about crushed my windpipe. My voice is still hoarse today because of the attack.”
Imagining her face battered and bruised cooled the fire in his belly. “Any idea how you got away?”
“I was told someone passed by and saw what was happening. I must have blacked out by then, but I’m told the guy and his girlfriend called the cops and my attacker ran away.”
“Where were you attacked?”
“If you’ve spoken to Mike Raines then you have more details than me.” Impatience nipped at each word.
When he had a spare moment he’d read the Raines files cover to cover. “I want to hear what you have to say, ma’am.” His tone remained cool, even.
“There’d been a party, and I’d had too many drinks. I took a cab to my apartment, and I remember putting my key in the lock. And then my next memory starts in the hospital.”
“The other Seattle victims were killed by the highway.”
“It was in all the papers at the time. All women, including me, were thinking twice before heading out on Route 10. It never occurred to me that he’d be in my apartment building.”
He dug into his own memories of the crime. “The other victims had police records.”
She rubbed the side of her neck with her hand. “And I did not. Yes, I know. Some of the cops were certain I was lying and went to great lengths to dig into my past. In the end, they found out what I told them they’d find: one speeding ticket, which I got when I was sixteen. What I know is in Detective Raines’s files.”
“Except who attacked you. That detail is locked in your head, Ms. Church.”
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “The key is gone, sir. There is no way to reach the memories. Now I need to ask you to leave. I’ve got to be in town in less than an hour.”
“You have a show opening, don’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Photographs?”
“Yes.”
He dropped the shells in his jacket pocket and
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