Page 118 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Did the killing make any sense?

Why risk springing her from prison if the intent was to kill her? What had been the motive? Had Marla’s death been an accident?

A fight?

Premeditated?

A bullet to the back of the head screamed intent to kill.

But there was more to it than murder. Why not dump the body in the woods outside the city or the bay or anywhere and get the hell away? Why go to all the trouble of renting a house, hiding the corpse, and, for God’s sake, dressing it and combing its damned hair? And what about bringing a baby here?

What kind of sicko would do that?

And why?

Sickos don’t need reasons.

Marla had been dead for weeks from the looks of her. Why expose a child to the horror of a decaying body? The kid’s own grandmother, for God’s sake.

Maybe that’s the point. Get the baby. But then why kill Eugenia, Rory, and Cherise? Why not Cissy?

Who was this person?

He shoved his hair from his eyes and noticed an old woman standing in the window of the house across the street. She was staring at the place while holding a big cat with a long tail.

Scratching his jaw, Paterno followed the cop across a patch of lawn and thought about the murder weapon. A gun. He figured the slug retrieved from Marla’s rotting body would match the bullets found in Cherise Favier and Tanya Watson, all victims of the same demented killer. All from a .38, but not matching any other bullets found in any other crimes in the Bay Area.

Until now.

Paterno had little doubt what ballistics would turn up.

“This is Detective Lee’s vehicle,” the policeman said, but there was no one inside. Instead, a woman with blunt-cut, sleek dark hair, her cream suit stained orange and smelling like vomit, leaned against the hood, sucking vigorously on a cigarette as if the nicotine could obliterate the nightmare she’d so recently witnessed. The officer introduced them. “Ms. Tomini, this is Detective Paterno.”

“About time!” Sybil took a long drag. “Did you see that…that thing inside the house?” Smoke streamed from her nostrils. “Awful…just awful. Can I go now?”

“In a few minutes. I just want to ask a few questions.”

“I’ve answered dozens of them already. All I know is that the neighbor, Mrs. Owens, Tilda Owens, she’s a widow and lives right across the street…” Sybil waved her cigarette toward the house with the older woman and the cat. “She complained to me about my tenant nearly running over her cat, so I decided to talk to Elyse.”

“Elyse?” he repeated.

“Yes, Elyse Hammersly. She’s my tenant, has been since the first of the year.”

“You’ve met her? Talked with her?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s not the woman downstairs.”

“That dead thing? No…oh, no, I’m sure not.” But she didn’t sound convinced. She took another drag of smoke and glanced down at her soiled suit, wincing a bit. “I mean, it’s hard to tell.” Shuddering, she shook her head, disbelieving that the moldering corpse could be anyone she’d actually seen or talked to.

“You’ve seen pictures of Marla Cahill, the escapee. Was she the woman who rented this place?”

“No. I rented it before she escaped, I’m sure. And I’ve met Elyse, and she’s not Marla Cahill.”

“I’d like to see the lease. You have a copy?”

“At the office, yes.”

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