1st to Die (Women's Murder Club 1)

Sharp wheeled around in his chair, pointing to a blowup of the museum layout. “Either the main entrance, here, where you came in, or one we left open off the back verandah. It leads down to the Lake Walk. There’s a café there during the summer. Mostly it’s blocked off, but the families wanted it open.”

“Two shots fired,” I said. “No one heard anything?”

“It was supposed to be a high-class crowd. You think they want my guards milling around? We keep two, three guys to make sure overzealous guests don’t wander into restricted areas. I should have guards patrolling the corridors down by the rest rooms? What ya gonna take, toilet paper?”

“Security cameras?” Raleigh asked.

Sharp sighed. “We’ve got the exhibition halls covered, of course. The main exits…a remote sweep of the Main Hall. But nothing on the corridor where the shooting took place. Nothing in the crapper. Anyway, the police are scanning tape with members of each family as we speak. It would make it a helluva lot easier if we knew who the hell we’re looking for.”

I reached into my briefcase and took out a copy of a bare-bones artist’s sketch. It showed a thin face with a jutting chin, hair combed back, and a lightly shaded goatee.

“Why don’t we start with him.”

Chapter 56

MCBRIDE HAD TO BE BACK in the office for a press briefing on the investigation. I needed to figure out why the killer had come to Cleveland, and what, if any, connections there were to our murders back in San Francisco. The next step was to talk to the parents of the bride.

Shaker Heights was a posh, upper-end suburb in the height of midsummer bloom. On every street, green lawns led up to graceful, tree-sheltered homes. One of McBride’s men drove me out while Raleigh went back to the Lakefront Hilton to meet with the family of the groom.

The Koguts’ home was a warm redbrick Normandy under a canopy of tall oaks. I was met at the door by the older sister of the bride, who introduced herself as Hillary Bloom. She sat me down in a comfy, picture-filled den: books, large-screen TV, pictures of the two of them as kids, weddings. “Kathy was always the rebellious one,” Hillary explained. “A free spirit. It took her a while to find herself, but she was just settling down. She had a good job — a publicist for a firm in Seattle. Where she met James. She was just coming around.”

“Coming around from what?” I asked.

“Like I said — she was a free spirit. That was Kathy.”

Her parents, Hugh and Christine Kogut, came into the room. I witnessed the glazed, bewildered shock of people whose lives had been shattered.

“She was always in and out of relationships,” her mother eventually admitted. “But she also had a passion for life.”

“She was just young,” her father said. “Maybe we spoiled her too much. She always had an urge to experience things.”

In her pictures — the wispy red hair and dare-me eyes — I could see the same joy for life the killer had obviously seen in his first two victims. It made me feel sad, weary.

“Do you know why I’m here?” I finally asked.

The father nodded. “To determine if there was any connection to those other horrible crimes out west.”

“So, can you tell me, did Kathy have any connection to San Francisco?”

I could see a cast of grim recognition creep its way onto their faces.

“After college, for a few years, she did live there,” her mother said.

“She went to UCLA,” her father said. “For a year or so she stayed in Los Angeles. Tried to catch on with one of the studios. She started out with a temp job at Fox. Then she got this publicity job in San Francisco, covering music. It was a very fast life. Parties, promotions, no doubt a lot worse. We weren’t happy, but for Kathy, she thought it was her big break.”

She lived in San Francisco. I asked if they had ever heard of Melanie Weil or Rebecca Passeneau.

They shook their heads.

“What about any relat

ionships that might’ve ended badly? Someone, who out of jealousy or obsession, might’ve wanted to do her harm?”

“Recklessness always seemed like a basis for Kathy’s relationships,” Hillary said with an edge.

“I did warn her.” Her mother shook her head. “She always wanted to do things on her terms.”

“Did she ever mention anyone special from the time she lived in San Francisco?”