The Night Killer

and wished it were whiskey.
    Both Ben and Frank were in suits—probably the suits they went to work in. Frank looked good in suits. He looked good in everything. He smiled at her as she sipped the wine, and waited for her answer. Frank was rational, kind, and handsome, and she loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Looking at him, she wondered if her friend Laura was right. This sudden explosion of fear was because she was coming out of the numb state she’d been in since Ariel had died.
    She sat in a stuffed chair by the fireplace now covered with a wrought-iron grate ornamented with a sculpted metal branch of cherry blossoms.
    Since Ben was here, they must have news for her, but now they both waited for her news. Diane calmly related the last few miles of her trip home.
    “Here? Just down the road?” said Ben. He looked out the window as if he could see the stretch of road where it occurred.
    Ben’s gray suit was slightly wrinkled and slightly small. He looked like an old-fashioned door-to-door salesman. He was a few years older than Frank. Frank always said Ben could blend in well. He had an ordinary face and his graying hair was thinning and receding.
    “Yes, just a couple miles down the road,” she said.
    “We need to call the police,” Frank said.
    Diane took a deep breath. “I suppose.” The last thing she felt like doing was talking to the police all night. “I’ll call Chief Garnett and give him a rundown over the phone.”
    Douglas Garnett was her boss on things concerning the crime lab. After a rocky start, she had developed a good working relationship with him. She punched in his number and, after apologizing for calling him so late, she explained what had happened.
    “I really don’t want to spend the rest of the evening talking with policemen. I’d like to report it to you this evening and go in and make a statement tomorrow morning.”
    “Do you have any idea who it was?” he asked.
    “I have ideas, but no proof of anything. There are a lot of things going on.”
    “I’ve been reading about that murdered couple you found. Does this have anything to do with that?” he asked.
    “Either that or the skeleton in the tree,” she said.
    “Skeleton in the tree?” he said.
    “It’s a very long story. I’ll tell it to you tomorrow,” she said.
    “It sounds like it would have to be a long story. Can you give me any kind of description of the vehicle?”
    “It was a truck. Something big enough to shine its lights in the rear window of my Explorer. It was a dark color, but I couldn’t tell what color. It will have red paint from my Explorer streaked down its right side, and probably on its front bumper. That’s about the best I can do.”
    “Okay, that’s pretty good. Could you see if the driver was a man or a woman?”
    “No, I couldn’t tell. Whoever it was, was pretty skilled at doing what they did.”
    “This is enough to start with. I’ll put out a BOLO. You get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said.
    Diane sat back down with her glass of wine and gave the two of them what she hoped might pass for a winning smile.
    “Tell me about your day,” she said to them. “I’ve been anxious to hear about it.”

Chapter 30
    Frank brought in more coffee and Ben laid a top-bound spiral notebook on the walnut coffee table. The tan grid pages of the notebook contained small, neat handwriting Diane couldn’t read upside down. Like Frank, Ben had his own shorthand. Frank placed an empty cup and saucer in front of Diane and put a tray with a fresh pot of coffee, sugar, and cream on the table.
    Diane sipped her wine and curled up in the chair.
    As if that were his cue, Ben began a description of their inquiries that day into the past activities and associations of Tammy Taylor. He and Frank had spent most of the day showing Tammy’s picture to people at shelters and clinics in the Atlanta area. In relating their investigation, Ben was using the same monotone voice that Diane guessed he used in court—straightforward and unemotional.
    “Tammy Taylor was a nurse’s aide for five years before she hooked up with Slick Massey,” Ben said. “She volunteered at a number of places in and around Atlanta. We didn’t go too far out from the city. Not enough time.”
    “There was plenty of information to be had where we did go,” said Frank. “I’m not sure we have ever been this lucky, have we, Ben?”
    “No, I don’t believe so,” he