Programmed for Peril

what had been her Acura. They were using a machine with dinosaur-sized jaws. The road roller had been backed off down the street. A paramedic invited Trish into her ambulance for a quick quiz and once-over. When finished she smiled and said, “Not a scratch!”
    “At least on the outside,” Trish muttered numbly. “How did this army of help find me?”
    “You’re just a lucky lady. Cruiser on patrol notified us.” The paramedic gave her two capsules and a small cup of water. “Something for your nerves—if you have any left.” Outside the ambulance she found Detective Jerry Morris waiting. He wore a seersucker jacket, dark slacks, and mirrored sunglasses. “Some people stop at nothing to get attention,” he said.
    “What does one expensive car mean if I could draw a crowd?” Trish was aware her knees shook. She was a long way from being calmed down.
    “Want a beer or Coke?”
    “A ride would be nice, too.”
    “Yeah, I guess you won’t be driving the Acura again.”
    In the unmarked sedan Trish said, “Carson did this. I saw
    him.”
    “Congratulations. Nobody else has seen him here. Nobody’s seen him in California, either, for quite a while. I’ve been talking to the PDs there about the Doctor and Daughter Destroyer.”
    “What did you find out?”
    “Bunch of things. The most interesting was that when he mutilated the women they’re sure he used heavy shears. The garden kind.”
    Trish gasped. Yes! She remembered Carson working on her clothing with such a tool. Clipping and snipping. Prelude to love and domination. She groaned softly. “Then I’m absolutely sure Carson killed them, Jerry.”
    He slid his sunglasses down his nose and glanced at her. “Funny thing about that. Investigators turned up a witness. Lady said she saw somebody leaving the second murder scene. She didn’t get a great make. They showed her the photo I faxed of your buddy Carson.”
    “And she said it was he,” Trish muttered.
    “Whoever it was, it wasn’t your man,” Jerry said.
    “What?”
    “She didn’t get too good a look, okay? They’re working with her doing an artist’s composite.”
    “But it wasn’t Carson?”
    He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Nope.”
    “Do the police still suspect him, then?”
    “They seem to.”
    “Why?”
    “I haven’t found that out yet.”
    Trish remembered Eileen, who had impersonated her while she made her escape from Carson, telling her she hadn’t been told that detail either. She was supposed to be working on it through her reporter boyfriend. Trish ought to give her a call. There had been too much on her mind—and still was.
    Jerry insisted on buying her dinner—half a calzone and three Lites, as it turned out. She told him the details of her Acura’s adventures with the road roller. Midway through the second beer she brought him up to date on Nicholas and Dino’s adventures in search of Carson’s hideout. She became aware that the words spilled from her lips in a wild rush. Having been nearly frightened to death had left her nerves in tatters.
    Jerry shook his head. “All this to stop you from getting married?”
    She nodded.
    Jerry leaned forward. “A suggestion? Friend to friend?” She nodded. “Sure.”
    “Why don’t you marry Foster Palmer right away? Like... tomorrow?”
    Thoughts of Portugal rushed forward. Abruptly she was leaking tears. “Remember? I told you he... asked me to do that!” she wailed. “I said no. I wanted to wait till Sep-tem-ber.”
    He began to make man noises of sympathy. She shook her head, tears dribbling. “I told you I wanted time to... test the relationship. And Foster’s not passing the test!” She was bawling like a babe now. Jerry slid his chair over beside hers. He enfolded her in a gentle hug. “Hey, it’s okay to cry.”
    “It’s so—public!” she blubbered.
    “So we’ll go to my place.”
    He owned a condo with a deck. On the ride there she managed to regain some of her composure. She had surprised herself by confessing her emotional turmoil. Before, she had been very much a private person. Too much so, really. Now, with Jerry, she had no wish to hold her tongue. She didn’t understand why. Sitting with him on the darkened deck, she didn’t care why. He had made coffee. She clutched her mug as cool breezes stirred.
    “You see what’s happening, Jerry? Carson is getting his way again. For me he’s the devil. Do you understand?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “I thought he was out of my