“That explains the fingers,” Dane said to Trammell, who nodded.
“Fingers?”
“Did Mrs. Vinick scratch him at any time?” Dane asked, ignoring her puzzled question.
Her eyes went blank again as she turned inward. “I’m not certain. She tried to fight, clawing at him. It’s possible, but I don’t think he noticed if she did.”
Until afterward, Dane thought. That was why Marlie didn’t know anything about Mrs. Vinick’s fingers. The killer had been very calm and deliberate when he’d done it, because he hadn’t noticed the scratches until his killing frenzy had cooled. That her fingers had been cut off was one of the details that hadn’t been released to the press, and he didn’t intend to tell Marlie about it. She had enough to bear, enough gory details to fill a thousand nightmares; he wasn’t going to add to it.
“You said that you picked up a hint of him the other night.”
“It wasn’t a clear image; it wasn’t an image at all. It was just a feeling of evil, a sense of threat. He was probably stalking her,” she said, her voice trailing away as she realized that was exactly what he’d been doing. He had controlled the rage, but the hatred and contempt had leaked through, and she had felt it.
She was becoming very tired again, and her eyelids drooped. She wanted to curl up and sleep. She wanted him to leave her alone. She wanted to lose herself in the sanctuary of his arms. She wanted everything and nothing, and she was too tired to make up her mind.
But then Dane’s hands were on her, strong and sure, turning her so that she was lying down, and the light blanket was arranged over her again. “Sleep,” he said, his deep voice immensely reassuring. “I’ll be here.”
She took one slow, deep breath, and settled into oblivion.
Trammell’s lean, dark face was somber as he watched her. “She’s helpless,” he said. “Is it like this every time?”
“Yeah. She’s recovered some now. It was a lot worse last night, and earlier today.”
“Then I hope the killer never finds out about her; she’s completely vulnerable to him. If his mental energy is so strong it can block hers even from a distance, think what it would do to her if she were the one he was after. He’d be right on her, and she wouldn’t be able to protect herself in any way.”
“He won’t get the chance to get to her,” Dane said, and in the grimness of his voice there was a promise. No matter what, he’d keep Marlie safe. “Have you talked to Bonness?”
“He wasn’t thrilled with the possibility that there could be a serial killer, so he said to play it close to the vest and not mention it to anyone else until, and if, we find out there really was another murder. But he was also as thrilled as a kid at the idea of working with Marlie, because after all, it was his idea. I swear to God, sometimes I wonder if there isn’t some weirdo juice in the water in California.”
“Don’t laugh,” Dane advised. “Right now we’re pretty involved in it ourselves.”
“Yeah, but we aren’t jumping up and down with joy over it.”
“Bonness is a good guy; a little weird, but okay. I’ve seen worse.”
“Haven’t we all.” It was a statement, not a question.
Dane’s gaze wandered over Marlie’s sleeping face, and his brows drew together in a frown. “Cypress,” he said.
Trammell read him immediately. “You’ve thought of something.”
“Maybe. That’s all she said. Cypress. Not cypress tree. That was just an association I made.”
“Cypress. Cypress,” Trammell muttered. They looked at each other, two minds racing madly down the same track. “Maybe it’s the—”
“Address,” Dane finished, already on his feet. “I’ll get the map.” Like all cops, he had a city map in his car.
A minute later they were both bent over the map, open on the kitchen table. Dane ran down the alphabetical list of streets. “Shit! Don’t developers ever think of any other word to use? Cypress Avenue, Cypress Drive, Cypress Lane, Cypress Row, Cypress Terrace, Cypress Trail—”
“It’s worse than that,” Trammell said, scanning the other listings. “Look at this. Old Cypress Boulevard. Bent Cypress Road. And isn’t there an apartment complex called Cypress Hills?”
“Yeah.” Dane folded the map in disgust. “There’s no telling how many streets have cypress in the name. That’s a dead end. We can’t go door to door on every one of them, checking for bodies. What would we do if no one answered the door? Break in?”
Trammell shrugged. “You’ve done it twice in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah, well, there were extenuating circumstances.”
“You’re right, though. We’re stuck. We may be fairly certain Marlie’s for real, but Bonness wouldn’t authorize that kind of search. People would be calling the mayor at home, screaming that Orlando wasn’t a police state and we had no right to come into their homes like that. And they’d be right. We can’t do that.”
“So we’re back to waiting.”
“Looks like it.”
There was no point in fretting over something they couldn’t change. Dane allowed himself a moment of frustration, then changed the subject. “Would you mind going over to my place and getting some clothes for me? And my shaving kit. I had to use Marlie’s razor this morning.”
“I noticed,” Trammell said, eyeing the nick on Dane’s jaw. “Sure, no problem.” He checked his watch. “I have time. I have a date tonight, but I’ll be close to a phone.”