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Catherine could think of no plausible explanation for Luke to have a copy of the Lady in Red’s costume, so it seemed likely those were the murderer’s actual clothes. That they were stashed in Luke’s desk was damning evidence against him.
Dave shifted his position slightly. “Luke was lucky the detectives didn’t arrive with a search warrant this afternoon. When he gets back, we’ve got to convince him to get rid of his disguise.”
“How can you focus on the clothing?” Catherine cried.
“It’s incriminating evidence. You want Luke to get caught?”
“No, of course not. I want him to get help.”
“What kind of psychiatric help do you imagine he’d receive in prison?”
“Stop it!” Catherine begged.
Dave softened his tone. “It’s Luke we need to stop. Stay here with me, and as soon as he gets back, let’s confront him.”
“Confront him with this horror? How?” Catherine wanted to scream and then run, but she was shaking so badly, her legs would never hold her.
“He’s bound to have something to say about the detectives’ interrogation. Let’s let him talk first, and then tell him what we’ve found. Or, we have another choice. We could call the detectives right now and let them know they’ve got their man.”
“No, I want to hear Luke’s side of this.”
“I think you heard it this morning when he dismissed Felix and Bobby Clyde as men who pimped underage girls and Ford as abusive. If he didn’t actually cheer for the Lady in Red then, he came awfully close.”
With a sudden eerie chill, Catherine recalled the day Ford had accosted her in the parking lot. Luke had sworn he could kill him that day. Could he have carried out his threat?
Felix had been killed around the time she’d met Luke. Dear God, had she fallen in love with a murderer? Luke definitely had a dark side; indeed, it was that stormy part of his nature that had overwhelmed him when Nick had died. But was he a cold-blooded killer who stalked his victims and then sauntered away eating their fried chicken?
She looked up at Dave. “The chicken bothers me.”
Dave frowned in dismay. “What chicken?”
“The part of Ford’s dinner that the Lady in Red supposedly helped herself to, or I guess, himself.”
“I thought it rather bizarre myself. You’d think he’d just want to get the hell out of there, but if he was out stabbing people, his thinking couldn’t have been all that rational. Obviously, an insanity defense makes perfect sense. Then again, Luke has already made plans to move back east, so maybe he fears the detectives are getting too close.”
“Do you think he can just get out of town and leave behind a string of unsolved murders?”
“With the fine record the LAPD has going, he’s got a fifty-fifty chance.”
Those seemed like excellent odds to Catherine, but she hated to think of Luke as a murderer no matter how despicable his victims might have been. It was a horrible legacy to give a child, and that frightened her all the more.
It was after eight o’clock when Luke got a ride back to Lost Angel. He was surprised to find Catherine’s Volvo still in the lot and hastily read the note left on his windshield. With the afternoon he’d had, he was in no mood to talk with her, but it appeared unavoidable.
He hadn’t expected to find Dave sitting on his desk, however, and that changed everything. “I got your note,” he told Catherine. “We’ll have to talk another time. Go on home.”
Catherine didn’t budge. “First tell us how things went with Garcia and Salzman.”
“Tomorrow will be soon enough. Go home.”
His tone had become more emphatic, but Catherine still refused to leave. “Just tell us how much the police know,” she asked.
“We’re dying to hear,” Dave added.
Clearly displeased, Luke drew in a deep breath. “All right, since you insist. The police didn’t check out Ford’s truck before it reached the impound lot. He was the victim, remember, and not suspected of any crime, but when they opened his toolbox to take an inventory, they found a gun.
“Ballistics tests prove it was the one used to kill Nick.”
When Catherine found her voice, it was strained and hoarse. “You thought Ford would come after you, but instead he shot up the mural? Violet begged me not to let Rafael paint her. If I’d just convinced him not to, then none of this would have happened, and Nick would still be alive.”
