Free Good to the Last Kiss by Ronald Tierney Page A

want to move way up here? Christ, a woman alone in a cabin in the boonies, she’s asking for trouble.’
    ‘Un bel di’ was irretrievable. Fitting for Julia Bateman, Gratelli thought. The aria from Madama Butterfly was the song of innocence and the prelude to the grim, ironic realities of life and death. And Gratelli’s quiet afternoon escape was over. They neared the cabin.
    As Inspector Mickey McClellan went with cops from Santa Rosa and Gurneville inside Julia Bateman’s cabin, Gratelli wandered the outside perimeter of her property. There wasn’t much of it. The cabin itself was set into the hill, the front jutting out, leaving only a modest yard in front before it was cut off by the gravel road.
    Even so, the cabin was almost invisible from the road, hidden by pines of various heights which canopied a wilderness of ferns and other greenery below he couldn’t identify. If the lights were on inside, then perhaps someone could detect human existence. Otherwise it was doubtful, especially doubtful in the dark. The drive might give it away, though it was narrow and was slightly overgrown from disuse.
    An automobile parked in the drive might call attention to itself by reflecting a headlight. However, Julia Bateman’s blue Miata was parked around the curve and in a space under the house. Had it been moved since the crime?
    The doors and windows to the cabin had not been jimmied. There were no footprints, no broken twigs or squashed plants. No sign anyone had tried to peek in the windows. If the brush had been beaten down, it wouldn’t have surprised him. In fact, he was surprised that the local police hadn’t tromped around the grounds.
    How did the rapist get in? Not likely through the windows and not likely through either door unless they were left unlocked or Julia Bateman had let him or them in herself. Possible. She hadn’t yet spoken a word on the subject. What was also possible was a climb up the hill to the roof. Stones had been embedded along one side of the incline toward the back of the cabin to inhibit erosion.
    It was possible to climb that way and return by that route without leaving much if any imprint.
    Gratelli took a deep breath and went inside the cabin. The question of the rapist’s access was immediately answered once Gratelli got beyond the living room and headed toward the bedrooms where the police officers who had agreed to meet the two big city cops were engaged in a heated discussion, punctuated by nervous laughter.
    Consciousness seemed more accessible to Julia Bateman, though not necessarily more desirable. She was now able to mentally separate the two worlds, the one lit inside her mind, the other outside. And to some extent, now, she was able to choose which one to inhabit.
    Earlier, she had heard the nurses talk about a reduction in morphine and was able to conclude that was what accounted for her rise into the real world. She had also heard them tell the doctor that ‘the patient’s heart beat and blood pressure were nearly normal and continuing to improve.’ Julia was, however, indifferent to the news.
    At the moment she was being given a sponge bath. They’d begun by gently dabbing her face with warm water sending periodic needle pricks of pain that spread like tentacles into her brain. It was less painful when they gently swathed the warmth on her chest and belly. Then the warmth disappeared as the moisture evaporated and she would chill in one spot and become warm in another.
    She chose not to open her eyes, but merely to feel the not altogether unpleasant sensation. Whoever it was worked in silence. And when the bath was completed, Julia felt the cool sheet again cover her. Then another layer – a cotton blanket – was tucked up under her chin.
    Julia could feel herself drift again, her body tingling against the cool sheets. She was sure she could hang on to consciousness, but allowed herself to drift, feeling a comfortable warming of her body.
    As a child, in the early