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Ashley’s grip tightened on the telephone. “Do you know how long he’ll be there?”
“It’s hard to say. I know he has another surgery scheduled after—”
Ashley found herself fighting hysteria. “I need to talk to him. It’s urgent. Can you get word to him, please? As soon as he gets a chance, have him call me.” She looked at the telephone number in the booth and gave it to her father’s receptionist. “I’ll wait here until he calls.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him.”
She sat in the lobby for almost an hour, willing the telephone to ring. People passing by stared at her or ogled her, and she felt naked in the tawdry outfit she was wearing. When the phone finally rang, it startled her.
She hurried back into the phone booth. “Hello …”
“Ashley?” It was her father’s voice.
“Oh, Father, I—”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m in Chicago and—”
“What are you doing in Chicago?”
“I can’t go into it now. I need an airline ticket to San Jose. I don’t have any money with me. Can you help me?”
“Of course. Hold on.” Three minutes later, her father came back on the line. “There’s an American Airlines plane leaving O’Hare at ten-forty A.M., Flight 407. There will be a ticket waiting for you at the check-in counter. I’ll pick you up at the airport in San Jose and—”
“No!” She could not let him see her like this. “I’ll—I’ll go to my apartment to change.”
“All right. I’ll come down and meet you for dinner. You can tell me all about it then.”
“Thank you, Father. Thank you.”
On the plane going home, Ashley thought about the unforgivable thing Dennis Tibbie had done to her. I’m going to have to go to the police, she decided. I can’t let him get away with this. How many other women has he done this to?
When Ashley got back to her apartment, she felt as though she had returned to a sanctuary. She could not wait to get out of the tacky outfit she was wearing. She stripped it off as quickly as she could. She felt as though she needed another shower before she met her father. She started to walk over to her closet and stopped. In front of her, on the dressing table, was a burned cigarette butt.
They were seated at a corner table in a restaurant at The Oaks. Ashley’s father was studying her, concerned. “What were you doing in Chicago?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “You don’t know?”
Ashley hesitated, trying to make up her mind whether to tell him what had happened. Perhaps he could give her some advice.
She said carefully, “Dennis Tibbie asked me up to his apartment to help him with a problem …”
“Dennis Tibbie? That snake” Long ago, Ashley had introduced her father to the people she worked with. “How could you have anything to do with him?”
Ashley knew instantly that she had made a mistake. Her father had always overreacted to any problems she had. Especially when it involved a man.
“If I ever see you around here again, Cleary. I’ll break every bone in your body.”
“It’s not important,” Ashley said.
“I want to hear it.”
Ashley sat still for a moment, filled with a sense of foreboding. “Well, I had a drink at Dennis’s apartment and …”
As she talked, she watched her father’s face grow grim. There was a look in his eyes that frightened her. She tried to cut the story short.
“No,” her father insisted. “I want to hear it all …”
Ashley lay in bed that night, too drained to sleep, her thoughts chaotic. If what Dennis did to me becomes public, it will be humiliating. Everyone at work will know what happened. But I can’t let him do this to anyone else. I have to tell the police.
People had tried to warn her that Dennis was obsessed with her, but she had ignored them. Now, looking back on it, she could see all the signs: Dennis had hated to see anyone else talking to her; he was constantly begging her for dates; he was always eavesdropping …
At least I know who the stalker is, Ashley thought.
At 8:30 in the morning, as Ashley was getting ready to leave for work, the telephone rang. She picked it up. “Hello.”
“Ashley, it’s Shane. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“It’s on television. They just found Dennis Tibbie’s body.”
For an instant the earth seemed to shift. “Oh, my God! What happened?”
“According to the sheriff’s office, somebody stabbed him to death and then castrated him.”
Chapter Six (#ulink_9fd85c79-f2bf-530b-b0cb-83f0418e4509)
DEPUTY Sam Blake had earned his position in the Cupertino Sheriff’s Office the hard way: He had married the sheriff’s sister, Serena Dowling, a virago with a tongue sharp enough to fell the forests of Oregon. Sam Blake was the only man Serena had ever met who was able to handle her. He was a short, gentle, mild-mannered person with the patience of a saint. No matter how outrageous Serena’s behavior, he would wait until she had calmed down and then have a quiet talk with her.
Blake had joined the sheriff’s department because Sheriff Matt Dowling was his best friend. They had gone to school together and grown up together. Blake enjoyed police work and was exceedingly good at it. He had a keen, inquiring intelligence and a stubborn tenacity. The combination made him the best detective on the force.
Earlier that morning, Sam Blake and Sheriff Dowling were having coffee together.
Sheriff Dowling said, “I hear my sister gave you a bad time last night. We got half a dozen calls from the neighbors complaining about the noise. Serena’s a champion screamer, all right.”
Sam shrugged. “I finally got her calmed down, Matt.”
“Thank God she’s not living with me anymore, Sam. I don’t know what gets into her. Her temper tantrums—”
Their conversation was interrupted. “Sheriff, we just got a 911. There’s been a murder over on Sunnyvale Avenue.”
Sheriff Dowling looked at Sam Blake.
Blake nodded. “I’ll catch it.”
Fifteen minutes later, Deputy Blake was walking into Dennis Tibbie’s apartment. A patrolman in the living room was talking to the building superintendent.
“Where’s the body?” Blake asked.
The patrolman nodded toward the bedroom. “In there, sir.” He looked pale.
Blake walked to the bedroom and stopped, in shock. A man’s naked body was sprawled across the bed, and Blake’s first impression was that the room was soaked in blood. As he stepped closer to the bed, he saw where the blood had come from. The ragged edge of a broken bottle had punctured the victim’s back, over and over again, and there were shards of glass in his body. The victim’s testicles had been slashed off.
Looking at it, Blake felt a pain in his groin. “How the hell could a human being do a thing like this?” he said aloud. There was no sign of the weapon, but they would make a thorough search.
Deputy Blake went back into the living room to talk to the building superintendent. “Did you know the deceased?”
“Yes, sir. This is his apartment.”
“What’s his name?”
“Tibbie. Dennis Tibbie.”
Deputy Blake made a note. “How long had he lived here?”
“Almost three years.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Not too much, sir. Tibbie kept pretty much to himself, always paid his rent on time. Once in a while he’d have a woman in here. I think they were mostly pros.”
“Do you know where he worked?”
“Oh, yes. Global Computer Graphics Corporation. He was one of them computer nerds.”
Deputy Blake made another note. “Who found the body?”
“One of the maids. Maria. Yesterday was a holiday, so she didn’t come in until this morning—”
“I want to talk to her.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get her.”
Maria was a dark-looking Brazilian woman in her forties, nervous and frightened.
“You discovered the body, Maria?”
“I didn’t do it. I swear to you.” She was on the verge of hysteria. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“No. You don’t need a lawyer. Just tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened. I mean—I walked in here this morning to clean, the way I always do. I—I thought he was gone. He’s always out of here by seven in the morning. I tidied up the living room and—”
Damn! “Maria, do you remember what the room looked like before you tidied up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you move anything? Take anything out of here?”
“Well, yes. There was a broken wine bottle on the floor. It was all sticky. I—”
“What did you do with it?” he asked excitedly.
“I put it in the garbage compactor and ground it up.”
“What else did you do?”
“Well, I cleaned out the ashtray and—”
“Were there any cigarette butts in it?”
She stopped to remember. “One. I put it in the trash basket in the kitchen.”
“Let’s take a look at it.” He followed her to the kitchen, and she pointed to a wastebasket. Inside was a cigarette butt with lipstick on it. Carefully, Deputy Blake scooped it up in a coin envelope.
He led her back to the living room. “Maria, do you know if anything is missing from the apartment? Does it look as if any valuables are gone?”
She looked around. “I don’t think so. Mr. Tibbie, he liked to collect those little statues. He spent a lot of money on them. It looks like they’re all here.”
So the motive was not robbery. Drugs? Revenge? A love affair gone wrong?
“What did you do after you tidied up here, Maria?”
“I vacuumed in here, the way I always do. And then—” Her voice faltered. “I walked into the bedroom and … I saw him.” She looked at Deputy Blake. “I swear I didn’t do it.”
The coroner and his assistants arrived in a coroner’s wagon, with a body bag.
Three hours later, Deputy Sam Blake was back in the sheriff’s office.
“What have you got, Sam?”
“Not much.” Deputy Blake sat down across from Sheriff Dowling. “Dennis Tibbie worked over at Global. He was apparently some kind of genius.”
“But not genius enough to keep himself from getting killed.”
“He wasn’t just killed, Matt. He was slaughtered. You should have seen what someone did to his body. It has to be some kind of maniac.”
“Nothing to go on?”
“We aren’t sure what the murder weapon is, we’re waiting for results from the lab, but it may be a broken wine bottle. The maid threw it in the compactor. It looks like there’s a fingerprint on one of the pieces of glass in his back. I talked to the neighbors. No help there. No one saw anyone coming in or out of his apartment. No unusual noises. Apparently, Tibbie stuck pretty much to himself. He wasn’t the neighborly type. One thing. Tibbie had sex before he died. We have vaginal traces, pubic hairs, other trace evidence and a cigarette stub with lipstick. We’ll test for DNA.”
“The newspapers are going to have a good time with this one, Sam. I can see the headlines now—MANIAC STRIKES SILICON VALLEY.” Sheriff Dowling sighed. “Let’s knock this off as fast as we can.”
“I’m on my way over to Global Computer Graphics now.”
