James Patterson - WMC - First to Die

AS CLAIRE SAID, we were piecing our killer together, step by step. His height, his face, his fetishes. The way he murdered. Now I had to figure out how he was tracking his victims. Raleigh and I were going full force on the travel and wedding-planner thing. We had fifteen detectives out there following up leads. Now that we had a facial characteristic, we went back to the guests, combing them for a guy in a beard who might have been seen trolling around. I felt confident that some aspect of this widening search would yield results. One of the guests would have noticed someone. We would discover a travel agent in common, a leak somewhere. Or one of Jacobi's searches would come up with a match. The following morning, Hartwig called in. "Sparrow Ridge Vineyards… it's owned by a group here known as E Black Hawk Partners. A local guy, Ed Lester, an attorney, puts together real-estate partnerships." "You know where he was over the weekend?" "Yeah, I checked. Portland. He ran in a marathon there. I caught up with him when he got back to the office. He was definitely in Portland." I still felt certain that whoever had dumped the bodies there hadn't stumbled on the remote vineyard by accident. It meant something to the killer. "He owns this place outright?" "Uh-uh. Black Hawk puts together deals. They bring in outside money from well-heeled guys down your way. People who want to break into the wine game. Lester acts as the managing partner." "So who's he partnered with on this one?" "I don't know. Investors." I sucked in my breath, trying to remain patient. "Which investors?" "Generally, investors who want to remain private. Listen, Inspector, I know where you're heading, but this guy only deals with pretty established people. Believe me, anyone could've found that dump site. Real-estate agents, someone who'd checked it out, anyone local. I have to deal with these people long after you're gone." I cradled the phone in my neck and spun around in my seat toward the window. "This is a multiple-murder investigation, Lieutenant, the worst I've ever seen. The dump site is three miles up a deserted dirt road. Anyone riding around in the dark with two bodies could've safely dumped them anytime before. Whoever did this had to know the vineyard was there. And I don't think it's a local. I don't think he would draw attention so close to where he lives. "Come back to me when you know who Lester's partners are." I hung up on Hartwig. Some of my optimism began to unravel. Raleigh turned up nothing on the travel agents. The Brandts had booked through Travel Ventures, a society agent that catered to a high-end crowd. The De Georges had used Journeytime, out of Los Altos. We had people scour through the personnel records of both firms. There was no connection between the two: no cooperative arrangements, not a single travel agent who had worked for both of them. It was possible someone had tapped into their systems, said the manager of Journeytime. But finding such a person was next to impossible. My end was equally disappointing. I had the files from both wedding planners. Engravers, bands, photographers, caterers, florists. Nothing matched up. The Brandts and the De Georges had lived in two separate worlds. However the killer was identifying the victims, I hadn't found a clue.

I CALLED CLAIRE AND CINDY TOGETHER for a second meeting of the girls. This time, the mood was decidedly different. There was no laughter or high fives. No festive margaritas. Two more people were dead. We had no suspects, only a widening case. Clues that were rapidly leading nowhere. Intense pressure coming down on all of us. Claire was first to arrive. She hugged me and asked how I was feeling. "I don't know," I admitted. I had gone through three treatments. Sometimes I felt strong. At other times, especially in the afternoon, I felt like a ghost of myself. "Medved said he'd review my red cell count next week." Cindy arrived next. She was wearing a halter top under a man's plaid shirt, a pair of embroidered jeans. She was very pretty, and city cool. I hadn't spoken to her since Monday, when I had let her run with the story of the second killings. Even holding her story back for a day, she had still scooped the city. "I guess I'm buying," she announced. She tossed us a new business card with the bright red logo of the Chronicle on it. I read the card, Cindy Thomas, Reporter, Metro Crime Desk. We toasted her with warm congratulations, then we roasted her a little, just to keep her ego in check. What else were friends for? I told them that the travel agents and wedding planners had led nowhere. "A couple of things really bother me," I said. "The gun… Sexual killers don't usually change methods. The methods are part of the sexual thrill." "It's a strange combination," agreed Claire. "He's so in control when he plans his strikes. He seems to know everything. Where they're married, room numbers, what their honeymoon itinerary is. How to get away. Yet, when he kills, he's close to rage. It's not enough to merely kill them. He has to defile." I nodded. "That's the key. He's striking at weddings, something about them is intolerable to him. But I think his obsession's with the brides. Both of the grooms were dispatched quickly. It's as if they didn't even matter to him. But the brides… that's his real fascination. "So where would this guy go," I asked aloud, "to scout potential victims? If you wanted to kill brides, where would you check them out?" "They had to choose a ring," suggested Claire. "A jeweler." "Or City Hall," said Cindy. "They'd need a license." I looked at her and chuckled. "It would sure fit if a government employee was behind this." "Postal employee." Claire and Cindy spoke simultaneously. "Photographers," said Claire. I could see a twisted bastard hiding behind the lens. They were all good possibilities. It only required time and manpower to check them out before the killer struck again. "This bride business isn't exactly my expertise," I said to Claire. "That's why you're here." "What happened to all that three sharp cookies crap?"" She laughed. "And the part about my being a top-notch M.E.?" There was a ripple of frustrated laughter around the table. We all took another sip of beer. The Women's Murder Club. This was good. No men allowed. "Where's the goddamn link?" I asked. "He wants us to find it. That's why he's leaving clues. He wants us to uncover the link." Everyone was silent, lost in thought. "I can feel it," I went on. "In the ceremony, the celebration, he finds something that drives him into psychopathic rage. Something he needs to stamp out. Hope, innocence? The husbands he kills right away. But the brides? How does he fifid the brides?" "If he's living in this twisted dream world," said Cindy, thinking aloud, "he would go to where the fantasy was the strongest, the most vivid. He might want to build up his anger by observing them in an unsuspecting state." Then Claire looked at us with a spark in her eye. "I was thinking, I'd go where they bought their wedding dresses. That's where I would pick the victims out."

WHEN I GOT TO WORK the following morning, there was a fax from Hartwig listing the partners at Sparrow Ridge. I gave them to Jacobi to check. Then I called my contacts at both wedding planners, White Lace and Miriam Campbell. I wasn't expecting much. So far, everything had come back empty. To my shock, both planners confirmed it. Melanie Brandt and Becky De George had bought their dresses at the same place. The Bridal Boutique at Saks. It was the first tangible link between the two cases. It could lead to nothing, but I felt in my bones it had the real, promising sensation of something good. I was at Saks by the time the store opened at ten. The Bridal Boutique was on the third floor, tucked away in a corner next to Gifts and Fine China. I caught Maryanne Perkins as she was arriving for the day, a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. The department man158 ager was a stylish, affable woman of about fifty, just the type who would work with brides for twenty years. She had someone cover for her and sat down with me in a cluttered back room filled with magazine photos of brides. "I was devastated when I heard it," she said. She shook her head, ashen faced. "Melanie was just here, two weeks ago." She stared at me glassily. "She was so beautiful… My brides are like my children, Inspector. I feel as if I've lost one of my own." "One?" I fixed on her eyes. "You haven't heard?" "Heard what?" I told Maryanne Perkins about Becky De George Shock and horror swept over her face. Her green eyes bulged, welled with a rush of tears. She stared through me as if she were looking into the wall. "Oh, my God…" She took in a heart-jolting breath. "My husband and I were at our cabin in Modesto for a few days. She was just in… Oh, my God… What's going on here, Inspector?" An immediate flood of questions tumbled out. Who would know about their customers? Other salespeople? Managers? The killer had been pegged as a male. Did any men work in the department? Each of these questions elicited a disbelieving negative response from Maryanne Perkins. The staff had all been together for a minimum of eight years. No males. Just like our murder club. She leaned back in her chair, scrolling her memory for any details that she could muster. "We were admiring her. Becky… she was stunning. It was as if she had never thought of herself in quite that way, but seeing herself in her dress, it suddenly became clear. Her mother had given her this brooch- pearls, diamonds- and I ran back to the office for flowers. That's when I noticed someone. Standing over there." She pointed. "He was staring in Becky's direction. I remember thinking, "See, even he thinks you're beautiful." I remember now." Frantically, I took down a description: late forties, maybe younger. "I didn't get a really good look," the bridal manager said. "He had a beard." I was sure it was him! It confirmed that Claire was right. Saks had to be where he found his victims, where he tracked them. I pressed her hard. "How would anyone find out details about someone's wedding? Dates? Locations? Where they would honeymoon?" "We keep that information," Maryanne Perkins said, "when the girls choose a gown. Some of it we need to know to help us, like dates, deadlines. And it just helps us get a feel for the bride. Most of them register with us as well." A feel for the bride. "Who has access to this information?" She shook her head. "Just us… my assistants. It's a small department. Sometimes we share it with Fine China and Gifts." I felt I was finally close. My heart was slamming inside my chest. "I need to see a copy of anything you have on Melanie Brandt and Becky De George and every customer you're currently working with." He was spotting his potential victims here, wasn't he? There was a good chance he would come back. Someone on the store's list could be next in line. I saw Ms. Perkins's jaw drop. She appeared to be focusing on a horrible sight. "There's something else you'll want to know." "What?" "About a month ago, after inventory, we noticed that our folder on the brides was missing."