BloodWalk Lee Killough(1)

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"She's a friend of yours then?" Girimonte asked.
Holle considered. "More a friend of a friend, but she needed someone who
could be expected to stay in one place so I ended up with the job."
"That's a bit unusual, isn't it?" Girimonte said. "Asking a near stranger
to look after your place?"
Hone frowned. "Not among my circle. What is this about?"
"How long has it been since you've seen her?" Harry asked.
The frown deepened. "I'm not sure. About a year and a half I suppose.
Sergeant-"
"She's been gone that long and you've never worried? Or is that common in
your circle, too?"
"It is with Lane. She's a singer and a footloo-"
"Lane?"
Holle rolled his eyes. "That is her name . . . Lane Barber."
"Then how do you explain the name on the mailbox?"
"Oh for god's sake! Names are a game with her. She's always changing the
ones on her mailbox. Sometimes there are groups of them, all outrageous.
Surely that can't be what this is about. As far as I know, using different
names is no crime if there's no intent to defraud."
"What this is about, Mr. Holle," Girimonte said with a thin smile, "is
murder."
Holle stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"
Harry leaned forward. "On August 30, 1983, a visiting businessman named
Gerald Mossman was dumped in the bay with his throat cut and neck broken. We
have evidence linking Lane Barber to the death."
"Lane?" Holle's jaw dropped. "That's impossible."
"Before he was killed," Garreth said, "someone drained him of blood. The
autopsy found two punctures in his neck that the pathologist said could have
been made by large-gauge hypodermic needles."
Holle stared hard at Garreth. "And you think a charming young woman like
Lane
would do such a . . . barbaric thing? Ridiculous! You should be looking for
some demented cultist."
"On September 7th she attacked and attempted to kill Officer Mikaelian
here, who was a member of the San Francisco Police Department at the time,"
Harry said. "She bit him savagely on the throat."
"I can hardly be mistaken about who attacked me. How could you not be aware
that we were looking for your friend? The papers were full of news of the case
at the time, complete with pictures of Miss Barbar as a suspect."
"I-" Holle swallowed. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. The acid smell of it
cut through the spicy sweetness of his cologne. "I was in Europe from the
middle of August to the middle of September. I never heard anything about the
case, I swear. When I came home, there was an envelope with keys and a letter
from Lane saying she was leaving and would I look after her new apartment. I
had no reason to think it was any different from the other times."
"Did she say where she was going?" Harry asked.
Holle shook his head. "I doubt she knew. I gather she just travels where
the urge, or some man she's attached herself to, takes her."
"Suddenly you're visiting the apartment more frequently according to her
neighbors. Have you received word that she's due back soon?"
"No." Holle shook his head emphatically. "I haven't heard anything from
her."
"Then why the increase in visits?"
For a moment Garreth wondered if he were going to answer. Holle's eyes
flickered behind his glasses, as though his mind was racing frantically. His
gaze slid back toward Garreth. "A friend of hers came to town and wanted to
reach her. So I kept going over hoping Lane would have come back."
"What's the friend's name?" Girimonte asked.
Garreth held his breath. Holle had not contradicted him at the mention of
hypodermic needles, though he must know that Garreth knew what made those
punctures, and he was being evasive about the reason for checking Lane's
apartment so often. Still, there was always a chance he might mention the name
Irina.
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know," Holle said.
In relief, Garreth resumed breathing.
Harry frowned. "How the hell can you not know? You talked to this person,
didn't you?"
To Garreth's astonishment, the panic in Holle evaporated. His face smoothed
and his voice steadied. "I never met her before. Mutual friends in Europe had
told her that I might know where to reach Lane."
"Exactly what is this circle of people you run with, Mr. Holle?" Girimonte
asked.
Holle sighed. "Before my parents died and left me this house, I worked for
one of the airlines as a ticket agent. There is a subculture among airline
employees. Since we had free flight privileges, we often flew different places
for weekends, to a jazz festival or the Mardi Gras or the opening of a new
opera. Just about anything. We stayed with friends when we got there. Except
very often the friend wasn't someone we knew directly. Sometimes the friend's
friend wasn't even home. It isn't uncommon to be given a key, stay in the
house, and leave without ever meeting the people who live there. By the same
token, friends and friends of friends of friends stay here with me while
they're in San Francisco. I've stopped working for a living but I've kept my
friends."
Harry's almond eyes narrowed. "And Lane's friend came by one of these
indirect connections?"
"Exactly."
Garreth glanced around the darkened library. All those friends of friends
could not just be airline employees.
"Yet she never told you her name?" Girimonte asked.
Holle sighed again, this time in exasperation. "Of course she told me, but
I have a terrible memory that way. I don't know it would help you anyway,
since if she had had any idea where Lane is, she wouldn't have come to me. If [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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