WMC - First to Die

Chapter 38

PHILLIP CAMPBELL had driven since the first light of dawn, setting out in the bulky rented stretch limo. He was nervous, wired- and he absolutely loved it. He chewed up the miles in a steady, purposeful daze, crossing the Bay Bridge and continuing east on 80. He finally broke free of the morning traffic near Vallejo and maintained a vigilant sixty on the speedometer as he headed east. He didn't Want to be stopped. The papers called him a monster. Psychotic, sociopathic. Expert witnesses on TV analyzed his motives, his past, his possible future murders. They know nothing. They are all wrong. They'll find what I want them to find. They only see what I want them to see. From the Nevada border it was a short drive down into Reno, which he considered a vulgar, aging cowboy town. He stayed on the highway, avoiding the Strip. Wide, stucco-lined boulevards of gas stations, gun dealerships, pawnshops. You could get anything here without a lot of questions. It was the place to come to buy a gun, or unload a car, or both. Out by the convention center, he turned into Lumpy's. He pulled the car up to an open area in the lot, opened the glove compartment, recovered the folded paperwork, breathed a sigh of relief. The limo was perfectly clean. Spotless. There were no ghosts whispering. All day yesterday, he had cleaned and polished, scrubbing out the bloodstains until the last trace of evidence was gone. Now the car was silent, as un confiding as the day he had picked it up. He breathed easier. It was as if Michael and Becky De George had never existed. In minutes he had paid for the car and called a cab to take him to the airport. At the airport, he checked in, looked through a San Francisco paper at a newsstand. Nothing about Becky and Michael. He made his way to the gate. He bought a bottle of Fruitopia apricot drink and a vegetarian wrap at a fast-food counter. He checked in at Gate 31, Reno Air to San Francisco. He took a seat and started eating his lunch. An attractive young woman sat next to him. Blond hair, tight ass, just tawdry-looking enough to attract his eye. She wore a gold chain around her neck with her name on it in script: Brandee. A tiny diamond ring. He smiled a quick, inadvertent greeting. She pulled out a Kipling knapsack, took a swig from a plastic water bottle, and took out a paperback, Memoirs of a Geisha. It interested him that of all things, she was reading about a woman in bondage. These were signs. "Good book?" He smiled her way. "That's what everyone says," she replied. "I'm just starting." He leaned over and breathed in the cheap, citrusy scent of her perfume. "Hard to believe," he went on, "it was written by a man." "I'll let you know." She flipped a few pages, then added. "My fiance gave it to me." Phillip Campbell felt the short, thin hairs on his arms stand up. His heart began to throb. He ran a tremulous finger along the edge of his goatee. "Oh- when's the big day?"

Chapter 39

RALEIGH DROVE back to town in our car. I hung around and caught a ride with Claire. I needed to tell her what was going on with me. Claire and I have been best friends for years. We talk at least once every day. I knew why I was having trouble telling her about my illness- I didn't want to hurt her. Or to burden her with my problems. I loved her so much. As the MEs van bumped down the mountain road, I asked if she had been able to pick up anything at the murder scene. "There was definitely sexual activity going on before they were killed," she replied confidently. "I could see labial distension around the vagina. Secretions on her thighs. "This is guesswork- I only had a few minutes- but I think the husband was shot first, Lindsay. The one clean wound to the head suggests he was dispatched without resistance. Head on. Wounds on Rebecca indicate something else. She was shot from the rear. Through the shoulder blades, the neck. From a distance, I would estimate, of no more than three to five feet. If the semen matches up and they were in the act when it took place, it suggests that she was on top. That would mean someone had to get in fairly close, unobserved, while they were at it. Come up at them from behind her. Since you said they didn't use their own car that night, they were obviously on their way somewhere. I think it's consistent with your theory that they were in some kind of vehicle when this took place. The killer in the front seat. So why not a limousine?" "That's all?" I shook my head and smiled at Claire. "Like I said, I only had a few minutes. Anyway, it was your theory. If it ends up proving out, all I did was co

Chapter40

IT CAME OUT OF THE BLUE--so unexpectedly -that it didn't really dawn on Claire what I had just said. She answered as if she were fielding a medical question in her lab. "Blood disorder. Pretty rare, serious. The body stops producing erythrocytes." "Red blood cells," I said. Claire glanced at me. "Why? It's not Cat?" referring to my sister. I shook my head. I sat rigid and stared straight ahead. My eyes were glassy. It was probably the long pause that caused it to slowly sink in. Claire whispered, "Not you?" An awful stillness took hold in the car. "Oh, Lindsay." Claire's jaw dropped. She pulled the Bronco onto the shoulder of the road and immediately reached out and hugged me. "What has your doctor told you?" "That it's serious. That it can be fatal." I saw the gravity of that wash over her face. The hurt, the pain. Claire was a doctor, a pathologist. She had taken in what was at stake before I even met her eyes. 1 told her that I was already undergoing packed-red cell transfusions twice a week. "That's why you wanted to get together the other day?" she declared. "Oh, Lindsay. Why couldn't you just tell me?" None of my past reasoning seemed clear now. "I wanted to so much. I was afraid. Maybe even more to admit it to myself. Then I allowed myself to get wrapped up in the case." "Does anyone know? Jacobi? Roth?" I shook my head. "Raleigh?" I took a breath. "Still think I'm ready for Mr. Right?" "You poor baby," Claire said softly. "Oh, Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay." Her body was shaking. I could feel it. I had hurt her. Suddenly, I let it all go- fear and shame and uncertainty rushing through me. I held on to Claire, and I realized she was all that kept me from hurtling out of control. I started to cry, and then we both did. It felt good, though. I wasn't alone anymore. "I'm here for you, sweetheart," Claire whispered. "I love you, girl."