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

Everyone looked at Hillary. “No. No one special.”

“No one stands out? She lived there for a while. She didn’t keep up with anyone after she left?”

“I seem to remember her saying she still went down there every once in a while,” her father said. “On business.”

“Old habits are hard to crack.” Hillary smirked, with a tightening of her lips.

There had to be some connection. Some contact from the years she had spent there. Someone came all the way here to see her dead.

“What about anyone from San Francisco invited to the wedding?” I asked.

“There was one girlfriend,” her father said.

“Merrill,” said her mother. “Merrill Cole. Shortley, now. I think she’s at the Hilton, if she’s still here.”

I pulled out the artist’s sketch we had of the killer’s possible appearance. “I know it’s rough, but do you know this man? Someone who knew Kathy? Did you see anyone like this at the wedding?”

One by one, the Koguts shook their heads.

I got up to go. I told them if anything came to mind, regardless of how small or insignificant, to get in touch with me. Hillary walked me to the door.

“There is one more thing,” I said. I knew it was a long shot. “By any chance, did Kathy buy her wedding dress in San Francisco?”

Hillary looked at me blankly and shook her head. “No, from a vintage shop. In Seattle.”

At first, the answer deflated me. But then, in a flash, I saw that this was really a connection I was looking for. The first two murders had been committed by someone stalking his victims from afar. That’s why he found them in the way he did. Tracked them.

But this one, Kathy, she had been chosen in a different way.

I was certain that whoever had done this had known her.

Chapter 57

I DROVE STRAIGHT TO THE HILTON on Lake Shore Boulevard and was able to catch Merrill Shortley just as she was about to depart for the airport. She turned out to be stylish, maybe twenty-seven, with shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair tied back in a bun.

“A group of us were up all night,” she said, apologizing for the swollen lines around her face. “I’d like to stay on, but who knows when they’ll finally release the body. I have a one-year-old.”

“The Koguts told me you live in San Francisco.”

She sat on the edge of the bed across from me. “Los Altos. I moved down two years ago, when I got married.”

“I need to know about Kathy Kogut in San Francisco,” I explained. “Lovers. Breakups. Someone who might have a cause to do this.”

“You think she knew this madman?” Her face was clenched.

“Maybe, Merrill. You can help us decide. Will you help?”

“Kathy hooked up with guys,” Merrill said after a pause. “She was always free about things in that way.”

“Are you saying she was promiscuous?”

“If you want to see it that way. Men liked her. There was a lot of energy going on back then. Music, film. Alternative stuff. Whatever made her feel alive.”

I was getting the picture. “Does that include drugs?”

“Like I said, whatever made her feel alive. Yes, Kathy did recreational drugs.”

Merrill, though pretty, had the hard-edged face of a street survivor who had remade herself as a soccer mom.