Scudder - Eight Million Ways To Die Part 35

'I can't help it. Somebody did a whole batch of things that don't make sense unless he knew the girl and had a personal reason for wanting her dead. He may be emotionally disturbed. Perfectly levelheaded people don't generally go bats.h.i.+t with a machete. But he's more than a psycho picking women at random.'

'How do you figure it? A boyfriend?'

'Something like that.'

'She splits with the pimp, tells the boyfriend she's free, and he panics?'

'I was thinking along those lines, yes.'

'And goes crazy with a machete? How does that mesh with your profile of a guy who decides he'd rather stay home with his wife?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you know for sure she had a boyfriend?'

'No,' I admitted.

'These registration cards. Charles O. Jones and all his aliases, if he ever had any. You think they're gonna lead anywhere?'

'They could.'

'That's not what I asked you, Matt.'

'Then the answer's no. I don't think they're going to lead to anything.'

'But you still think it's worth doing.'

'I'd have gone through the cards myself at the Galaxy Downtowner,' I reminded him. 'On my own time, if the guy would have let me.'

'I suppose we could run the cards.'

'Thanks, Joe.'

'I suppose we can run the other check, too. First-cla.s.s commercial hotels in the area, their Jones registrations for the past six months or whatever. That what you wanted?'

'That's right.'

'The autopsy showed s.e.m.e.n in her throat and esophagus. You happen to notice that?'

'I saw it in the file last night.'

'First he had her blow him, then he chopped her up with his boy scout hatchet. And you figure it was a boyfriend.'

'The s.e.m.e.n could have been from an earlier contact. She was a hooker, she had a lot of contacts.'

'I suppose,' he said. 'You know, they can type s.e.m.e.n now. It's not like a fingerprint, more like a blood type. Makes useful circ.u.mstantial evidence. But you're right, with her lifestyle it doesn't rule a guy out if the s.e.m.e.n type's not a match.'

'And it doesn't rule him in if it is.'

'No, but it'd f.u.c.king well give him a headache. I wish she'd scratched him, got some skin under her nails. That always helps.'

'You can't have everything.'

'For sure. If she blew him, you'd think she could have wound up with a hair or two between her teeth. Whole trouble is she's too ladylike.'

'That's the trouble, all right.'

'And my trouble is I'm starting to believe there's a case here, with a killer at the end of a rainbow. I got a desk full of s.h.i.+t I haven't got time for and you've got me pulling my chain with this one.'

'Think how good you'll look if it breaks.'

'I get the glory, huh?'

'Somebody might as well.'

I had three more hookers to call, Sunny and Ruby and Mary Lou. Their numbers were in my notebook. But I'd talked to enough wh.o.r.es for one day. I called Chance's service, left word for him to call me. It was Friday night. Maybe he was at the Garden, watching a couple of boys. .h.i.t each other. Or did he just go when Kid Bas...o...b..was fighting?

I took out Donna Campion's poem and read it. In my mind's eye all the poem's colors were overlaid with blood, bright arterial blood that faded from scarlet to rust. I reminded myself that Kim had been alive when the poem was written. Why, then, did I sense a note of doom in Donna's lines? Had she picked up on something? Or was I seeing things that weren't really there?

She'd left out the gold of Kim's hair. Unless the sun was supposed to cover that base. I saw those gold braids wrapped around her head and thought of Jan Keane's Medusa. Without giving it too much thought I picked up the phone and placed a call. I hadn't dialed the number in a long time but memory supplied it, pus.h.i.+ng it at me as a magician forces a card on one.

It rang four times. I was going to hang up when I heard her voice, low pitched, out of breath.

I said, 'Jan, it's Matt Scuddder.'

'Matt! I was just thinking of you not an hour ago. Give me a minute, I just walked in the door, let me get my coat off... There. How've you been? It's so good to hear from you.'

'I've been all right. And you?'

'Oh, things are going well. A day at a time.'

The little catchphrases. 'Still going to those meetings?'

'Uh-huh. I just came from one, as a matter of fact. How are you doing?'

'Not so bad.'

'That's good.'

What was it, Friday? Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. 'I've got three days,' I said.

'Matt, that's wonderful!'

What was so wonderful about it? 'I suppose,' I said.

'Have you been going to meetings?'

'Sort of. I'm not sure I'm ready for all that.'