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“When she heard that I was going to marry him, then she heard the rumors that I was sleeping with Elliott Benson, she wrote that she didn’t want to see me end up dead, like Melissa, and God knows how many other women.”
“Okay, Nick, something else must have happened to make you go to San Francisco and become homeless.”
“Just before I got her letter, someone tried to run me down. A man with a ski mask over his head, driving a black car. It was dark and I was walking just one block from the neighborhood store back to my building.”
Dane stiffened. “What,” he said, “were you doing out in the dark walking to the store? In Chicago? That’s really dumb, Nick.”
She poked her finger in his chest. “All right, you want to know every little thing? Okay, it was my period, if it’s any of your business.”
“Well, I can see that you wouldn’t want to wait. But, you should have had the store deliver.”
It was so fu
On the other hand, given what happened, maybe he had a point.
She cleared her throat and said, “As I was saying, I was walking back when this car came out of a side street and very nearly got me. There was no way it was someone drunk or a stupid accident. No, I knew it was on purpose. Then there was his sister Albia’s birthday di
“What happened?”
“I waved the letter in his face, asked him how many women he’d killed. He denied everything, said the letter couldn’t be from Cleo, he just wouldn’t believe that, demanded that I give it to him. Then he came at me and I thought he was going to strangle me. He got the letter, shredded it, and threw it into the fire, then turned on me. I pulled my gun out and told him I was leaving. That night, I woke up because I heard someone in my condo. I saw this guy from the balcony, ru
“So you went to San Francisco and just hid underground. You knew you couldn’t remain hidden there, Nick. What were you going to do?”
“I hadn’t yet decided. Believe me, I was in no hurry. Despite where I was, I felt safe until this happened.”
“Who is Albia?”
“She’s John Rothman’s older sister. They’re very close, always have been.”
“What is she like?”
“Albia is some seven years older than John. After their mother died in an auto accident, Albia more or less became his mother. As I said, they’re very close. Once I asked her about the family, and she told me about their mother, that she’d died tragically, that their father had died about five years ago of a heart attack.”
“Lots of automobile accidents in this man’s life.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So Albia didn’t tell you about her mother being unfaithful to her father?”
“No, would you?”
“Maybe not.”
“But there was something. At Albia’s birthday di
“No explanation at all.”
“Not really.”
“Nothing much there. Is that it?”
“No, there’s more, and this is something I know. I remember John told me he was in love with Cleo within minutes of meeting her. When she left him, he was devastated, just couldn’t believe it. He wondered and wondered why she hadn’t spoken to him, told him what was wrong, but she’d just up and left.”
“Hmmm,” Dane said again.
She said, “You know, Dane, it was really hard for me to believe that John began murdering women just because his mother cheated on his father. Do you think it’s remotely possible that he might have killed his own mother?”
“I think it’s possible that someone did.”
“But who else could it have been?”
He just shook his head. “There’s lots here to process, Nick. Let’s get Savich and Sherlock involved. MAX found out that you’re Dr. Nicola Campion quickly enough. They’re primed to help.”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
The four of them met in the Holiday I
Dane said, “Maybe you guys could consider stopping off in Chicago with us before going back to Washington.”
“Actually,” Savich said, “Sherlock was just about ready to call you, Nick, get all the details out of your mouth and not from MAX.”
“It’s a real mess,” Nick said. She talked and talked, slowly covered again all that had happened, answered many of the same questions, though many of them had a different slant, refreshing her memory for different things. She realized she was being questioned by experts. It was quite painless, actually. Finally, both Savich and Sherlock fell silent. Savich was holding his wife’s hand, stroking his thumb over her palm, slowly and gently.
Nick watched Savich sip his tea, frown. He said as he gently sloshed the tea around in the cup, “It’s very flat, no taste at all.”
Sherlock patted his hand. “I think we should start traveling with the tea you like.”
Dane, impatient, said, “Well? What do you guys think?”
Savich smiled at Nick and said, “I want to cogitate on all of this for a while. But first, I need to make a phone call.”
He pulled out his cell phone, dialed, waited. “Hello, George? It’s Savich, and I need a bit of help.”
“Who’s George?” Nick whispered to Dane.
Sherlock said, “It’s Captain George Brady, Chicago Police Department.”
Savich waited, listened, then said into the cell phone, “Here’s the deal, George. I need you to tell me about Cleo Rothman.”
Two minutes later, Savich pressed the off button on the phone. He looked at each of them in turn, then said directly to Nick, “I’m sorry, Nick, but Cleo Rothman wasn’t killed a couple of weeks ago.”
Nick said, “What do you mean? I don’t understand. I got the letter from her not more than a month ago.”
Savich said, “Captain Brady said the medical examiner was just about ready to a