Fires Of Solstice Part 6

"Where's your photographer?"

She snorted. "Somebody should show up pretty soon. I just like my own stuff on top of what they can give me. Different angles and perspectives can give me clues. And if you'd have told me how Stockard was murdered..."

"You know I couldn't do that. Not revealing how the victim died is what caught the murderer."

"I'd have waited."

Turning to face Meredythe, Kim c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "Bulls.h.i.+t."

She grinned back and slid her camera back into her bag. "Anything you can tell me about the case?"

With a good-natured groan, Kim turned back to the body. Meredythe s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot as he used tweezers to lift something she couldn't see from the ground.

"Hey, Doc," the homicide detective yelled. "Where'd Poole go? I need to ask him some more questions about hooker."

Meredythe's ears p.r.i.c.ked. "Hooker? There was a witness?"

Kim sighed. "A prost.i.tute. Someone beat her up. She's at the hospital now."

A tablet and pen appeared in her hands as if by magic. "How bad was she hurt? Is she a suspect? Which hospital and what's her name?"

He shrugged. "Sorry, Meredythe, can't tell you. She's a witness in an ongoing homicide investigation."

"I bet they took her to the closest one," she mumbled. The tablet and pen disappeared in her purse. "Thanks, Kim. I owe you one."

"You owe me five, but who's counting?" he answered with a grin as he rose. "Why don't you get out of here before someone smarter than Hooper shows up and tosses you out on your a.s.s?"

Chuckling, Merry blew him a kiss. Then she hurried across the gra.s.s and disappeared down the path.

Muttering curses under her breath, Meredythe stalked from one end of the counter to the other. "Listen, all I want to do is talk to the woman who was brought in from Central Park this morning."

"You're not a doctor and you're not family. Go sit over there. You can talk to her later-if she comes out," answered the formidable nurse, hands on her ample hips.

"Nurse should have been a drill sergeant," Meredythe muttered as she flopped down in a chair. Flipping through one magazine after another, her gaze jerked from the slow-moving clock hands to the emergency room exit and back to the clock again. Patience. A good reporter had patience. Everything comes to those who wait.

Finally, after an hour and a half of fidgeting and flipping through every dog-eared magazine in the waiting room, Meredythe heard the inner door swoosh open. A battered young woman walked out, followed closely by a frowning police officer. Fis.h.i.+ng in her bag for a couple sticks of gum, Meredythe quickly shoved both of them in her mouth and began chewing furiously until she had them at the perfect consistency for snapping. Loosening her hair from its ponytail, she shook the fiery curls over her back and shoulders, slipped out of her blazer and threw it over her arm.

Rising, she fixed a brazen expression on her face. Adding an exaggerated sway to her hips, she sauntered toward them.

"It would be best if you came to the station with me," the young officer demanded as he grabbed the battered woman's arm.

She wrenched her arm free. "No. I already told you what I saw. I wanna go home."

"Hey, whaddaya think you're doin'?" Meredythe demanded with a loud crack of her gum. "She don't hafta go nowhere with you unless you arrest her. Did you arrest her?"

"Who are you?" the officer snapped, his gaze immediately dropping to nipples pebbled against her t-s.h.i.+rt.

"I'm her friend, that's who. An' she can go home if she wants to." Meredythe's unbound b.r.e.a.s.t.s swayed as she locked arms with the other woman and guided her toward the exit.

The officer's eyes were now locked on her swaying a.s.s. "We need her at the station."

Meredythe pushed the door open. "Then you hafta arrest her. She ain't done nothing wrong."

The door slid shut behind them.

"Thanks," the battered woman said after they were half a block away.

"You're welcome."

"Who are you?"

Meredythe pulled her companion into a coffee shop. "Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

After hesitating, she slid into a seat at the small table. "You ain't a working girl, are you?"

Meredythe smiled. "Not the same kind you are, no. I'm a reporter." Holding out her hand she said, "Meredythe Welsh."

The young prost.i.tute stared at Meredythe's hand a moment then gingerly clasped it. "Sally Forbes. Why'd you help me, Ms. Welsh?"

"Call me Meredythe," she said as they sat at a table and she signaled the waiter. "Coffee, black, and some Danish. What would you like, Sally?"

"Uh, the same," she mumbled self-consciously. The entire right side of her face was bruised and both eyes were black. Her lip was split and she was still dressed in her "working clothes"-a too-short orange skirt and low-cut black blouse. The garters holding her black fishnet stockings in place were plainly visible.

The waiter leered.

"Wipe that smirk off your face and get our coffee," Meredythe snapped after she glanced up.

"Why should I? My boss don't want prost.i.tutes here, especially beat-up prost.i.tutes."

She slapped her ID onto the table. "Then your boss is going to have a feature story about just how bad the service is."

After the waiter flushed, mumbled an apology and hurried away, she turned back to her companion and said, "I'd like to know what happened in the park."

Paling under her bruises, Sally started to rise.

Meredythe slid a twenty-dollar bill on the table. "All I want is a little information, and I promise you'll never see me again."

Swallowing nervously, Sally grabbed the bill and glanced around. Settling back into her seat, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

Meredythe waited until after the waiter set their coffee and a plate of pastries before them. Another icy glare from her had him hurrying away.

"How old are you, Sally?" she asked, setting her small tape recorder on the table.

"Nineteen," the other woman answered nervously. "What's that for?"

"I want to make sure my story's accurate."

Sally s.h.i.+fted uneasily in her seat. "What kind of reporter are you? Is this gonna be on television?"

"No, I work for a newspaper. Can you tell me what happened? Please?" she coaxed gently, selecting a pastry from the plate and taking a bite. Sugar powdered her lips.

Sally's stomach growled. "Oh. Well, I was in the park, you know, working," she answered, licking her lips as she eyed the pastries. "Reggie said there'd be a lot of h.o.r.n.y guys there an' they'd get inta doin' it in the woods, what with it bein' Halloween and all."

Meredythe licked the sugar from her fingers. "Go ahead, have one. Who's Reggie?"

Sally grabbed a pastry and bit into it. "He's, ah, was my cousin," she mumbled as she chewed. "He brung me here to work for him."

"Is he the one who died?"

"Yeah, that big, black dog kilt him."

Meredythe sipped her coffee as Sally finished her first pastry and grabbed another.

A big, black dog. Interesting. For an instant, the wolf from Meredythe's dream appeared in her mind. Ruthlessly, she ripped the memory apart and returned her attention to her companion. "Do you remember anything else about the dog? Was it wearing a collar? Did it have any distinguis.h.i.+ng marks?"

She sucked sugar off her fingers. "Distinguis.h.i.+ng marks?"

Meredythe rested her elbows on the table and cupped her coffee cup in both hands. "You know, white patches."

Sally shook her head. "Naw. It was all black and I didn't see no collar, but it was pretty dark." Then her face brightened. "I could see that it had really thick fur. It didn't look like any of the huntin' dogs my dad used ta raise. It kinda looked like one of them sled dogs. Yeah, that's it, a sled dog."

"What about the guy who hit you? Was he the dog's owner?"

She shook her head. "No, Reggie hit me on accounta I was gonna give a freebie to a john."

Meredythe c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. The dog was protecting Sally? No way. "What exactly happened last night?"

The young prost.i.tute licked the last of the sugar from her fingers and locked gazes with Meredythe. "Well, first this guy walks outta the bushes naked, an', well-he looked so good I told him I'd do him for free. That's when Reggie jumps outta the bushes and starts slappin' me around for givin' it away. Then that black dog came outta nowhere an' kilt Reggie. He jus' tore his throat out. I thought I was gonna be next. That's when I fainted."

Her pimp watched! Meredythe shuddered mentally. "Did you see the dog's owner?"

"I didn't see n.o.body 'cept that naked guy. An' he was gone before the dog came. Do you think there's wild dogs runnin' around the park?"

Setting her now-empty cup on the table, Meredythe frowned and nibbled her fingernail. A dog appearing out of nowhere and rescuing a prost.i.tute from a beating by her pimp? It didn't add up. "What did the man look like?"

"What man?"

"The one who came out of the bushes?"

"Oh, him." After a gulp of coffee, Sally smiled whimsically. "Well, he was kinda tall but not real tall-six feet maybe. An' what a body, all muscle! Wide shoulders, nice chest, great abs. An' his d.i.c.k-"

"Er, what about his facial features?"

"He was handsome, I think. It was kinda dark so I couldn't see him too good. An' he had lotsa dark hair. It was real long and curly. An' his chest was covered with hair too. An' his eyes were gray. I remember 'cause the moon came out, an' they looked like silver."

Unbidden, the picture of a dark-haired, gray-eyed man leaped into Meredythe's mind. She slapped it away. What a ridiculous thought! Thousands of dark-haired, gray-eyed men lived in New York.

"Do you remember anything else? Did he have any tattoos or anything?"

Sally shook her head and eyed the last pastry.

Meredythe smiled warmly. "Go ahead. You can have it. Who found you?"

Sally grabbed the Danish. "Some homeless guy tripped over me."

"Do you remember what he looked like? Was he the same man as earlier?'

"No way. The john smelled...woodsy. Yeah, like at home in the pine trees after it rained. The guy who tripped over me was old and stank worse than rotten eggs. The smell's what woke me up 'cause he was bendin' over me. Then he saw Reggie lyin' there with blood all over him and kinda screamed a little and then he ran away quicker 'en you can say jack s.h.i.+t. I started screamin' all over again an' a cop heard me. He's the one who called the ambulance. He was a nice guy, for a cop."

Woodsy? Again a pair of silvery-gray eyes appeared in her mind. Cursing mentally, Meredythe pulled her attention back to the young prost.i.tute. "What was the homeless man wearing? What did he look like?"

Sally shrugged. "I don't know. He was dirty an' he stank. He made me gag so I closed my eyes. But I think he was wearin' a long brown coat."

Frowning, Meredythe scrutinized the young woman who was now licking the last crumbs from her fingers, puzzling over all she had learned. A naked man comes out of the bushes and they agree to have s.e.x for free. Then her pimp appears and starts beating Sally because she's giving out freebees. A big black dog appears out of nowhere and rips the pimp's throat out. Sally faints but comes to when a smelly homeless man bends over her. What's going on? Is this the serial killer's work? Does he or she use a dog to murder his victims?

Meredythe grabbed a pencil and tablet. She had to check if there were dog prints at the other murder sites. Or was this some Halloween thing? Or was there a rabid dog loose in the park?

As Meredythe scribbled away, lost in her thoughts, Sally rose. "Thanks for the coffee, but I gotta get home now."

Meredythe shook free of her musings. "What? Hey, come back here. I have more questions." She shoved her tape recorder, tablet and pencil into her pocket and rose to follow Sally, but the waiter grabbed her arm.

"Wait a minute, lady. You gotta pay the bill."

"s.h.i.+t!" she snapped, digging into her backpack for her wallet. Shoving a couple of bills into his hand, she muttered, "Keep the change." She slipped past him and hurried out the door. Craning her neck, she pushed past pedestrians. When she reached the corner, the light changed and traffic surged. Across the street, a woman in a short orange skirt hurried down to the subway.

"d.a.m.n it!"

A well-dressed, silver-haired woman hmphed and stared down her nose at Meredythe as she hurried by.

Defeated, Meredythe turned and walked back the way she had come. The other pedestrians ignored her as she talked to herself. "I probably got everything she knows anyway. I need to see Kim again. He knows more-if I can get him to tell me about it."

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. "Alice? I'll be late getting to the office today. I'm chasing a lead on the story Mr. King gave me. If you need me for anything, page me. I'll check in later and let you know what I'm doing." Severing the connection, she dropped the phone back in her backpack and hailed a cab.

As the black limousine glided quietly through New York City's morning traffic in the direction of Columbia University, Dr. Bleddyn Glyndwr sat comfortably ensconced in the plush seat silently perusing the marked columns in the small stack of newspapers piled next to him. His lips twitched every now and then at unexpected wit. When he finished, he looked up into his companion's amused stare. "I never knew Meredythe had a sense of humor."

"You never had the chance to know her at all. This time..."

With a weary sigh, Bleddyn laid his head back and closed his eyes. "Don't start lecturing me again, Rhys. I've agreed. I need to get to know her first-and let her get to know me."

"Then make sure you control that d.a.m.nable temper."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Bleddyn's lips as he remembered a stinging slap.

"Who's going to tell Meredythe to control hers?"