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He responded with a good-natured chuckle. “Mabel knows I like them, and she’ll save me a couple. All I need is a minute.”
“A minute it is, then,” she accepted, and they left the hall, crossed the broad courtyard and entered the office. Pam was just going out the other door for her lunch break and waved good-bye.
Luke led the way into his office and then gestured toward a chair. “I have a few thoughts I’d like to share. Make yourself comfortable.”
Catherine slid into the closest chair and crossed her legs. “The mural project appears to be going well. The kids are excited, and some of the artwork is actually good.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but I didn’t invite you in here to make a progress report.”
She glanced down at her sandals. She wore
a fine gold anklet, and it sparkled as she bounced her foot. “No, I didn’t really think so.”
He leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “There are certain predictable patterns in relationships,” he began. “Couples get together, and while they might each be happy, one or the other might pull away to create distance. It’s almost a dance that expands and contracts. I want to take you out this weekend, but if you’d rather be by yourself for a while, I’ll understand.”
Catherine hoped he was attempting to be considerate of her feelings, which was what she’d asked of him, but his observation on the dynamics of romantic relationships sounded as though it had come from one of his university lectures rather than his heart.
“I’m not the one who staged the retreat,” she reminded him.
“True, but I’m just saying it’s natural for people to be drawn together and then become wary, and I won’t fault you for it.”
“Thank you, I’ll attempt to be equally generous.” She reached for the LATEXTRA section of the Los Angeles Times laying open on his desk. The murder was above the fold. She scanned the article briefly and looked up. “Have you read this?”
“Just enough to know the Candyman won’t be missed any more than Felix Mendoza.”
She slid her nail rapidly down the printed column. “It appears this Bobby Clyde Flowers, aka the Candyman, was hosting a party attended by approximately a dozen men and one underage female runaway. I sure hope she wasn’t one of ours.”
“So do I,” Luke agreed.
“One of the few men who didn’t flee before the police arrived said he answered the doorbell and found Bobby Clyde dying on the front steps. He reported seeing a woman with long blonde hair walking away, but was too horrified to pursue her. Who do you suppose rang the bell, Bobby Clyde, or the blonde?”
“Bobby would have had a key, wouldn’t he?”
“Probably, but if he’d already been stabbed, he must have been in too much pain to press the bell. I can think of only one reason why the murderer would have rung it.”
“Which is?” he asked.
“She wants to be seen.”
“Why?” Luke prompted.
She paused a moment to consider her answer. “She could be taunting the police, or she could be deliberately misleading them. With such a flamboyant appearance, I can’t help but wonder if the dress and hair aren’t part of an elaborate disguise.”
Luke appeared incredulous. “You think someone is disguising herself as a hooker to off pimps? I think legitimate hookers, if they can even be described as such, would have excellent reasons of their own.”
“They undoubtedly do, but let’s think about this a minute.” She hoped she wouldn’t sound as intrigued by the gruesome murders as Nick and took a breath to slow down. “Felix Mendoza preyed on runaways, and if Bobby Clyde’s idea of a good time was watching one underage girl entertain a dozen men, then he was no better. That means a runaway might have felt justified in killing both men, and it could just as easily have been a boy as a girl. In fact, a boy would have greater need of a convincing costume.”
“A guy in drag?” Luke scoffed. He glanced toward the philodendron which was doing nicely atop the file cabinet. “I don’t even want to go there. Besides, my job is to protect the kids who come here, not conduct witch hunts.”
“I’m aware of that, but Nick appears to be fascinated by the crimes, and he has a slim build.”
“Oh Christ,” Luke swore. “Why stop there? Three quarters of the boys who come through here are painfully thin. There’s no fat on me either, and I’m sick to death of the bastards who prey on vulnerable teens. Maybe I ought to be the prime suspect in the murders.”
There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, and for one terrible instant, she believed him fully capable of murder. His daughter’s tragic death had filled him with a seething fury. Could he have unleashed it upon the despicable creatures who used homeless teens as sex toys? she agonized. Unable to meet his accusing gaze, she glanced away.
“Catherine, look at me,” Luke ordered, his tone harsh.
It took her a moment too long to comply. “Yes?”
