Free Night Mask by William W. Johnstone Page A

home, probably. And whoever had done the skinning had used very sharp knives, and knew something about the human anatomy. Might have had some medical training.
    â€œI’m going home to get reacquainted with my wife,” Leo said. “Providing she hasn’t changed the locks on the doors.”
    â€œI’ll see you in the morning, Leo.”
    Instead of going home, Lani went back to the station, got the key from the personal effects room, and drove out to Cal Denning’s place. She carefully tossed the den first and found nothing. She went into the master bedroom and looked at the small pile of personal effects on the bed. A money clip containing twenty-eight dollars. A wallet filled with the usual stuff. Some change, a key ring, and a folded slip of paper.
    She unfolded the paper and felt the blood rush from her face. Printed on the page were the words: Tammy Larson.
    * * *
    Since Cal was still in the hospital in a coma and sure as hell wasn’t going anyplace, Lani waited until the next morning to drop it in Leo’s lap.
    â€œNo way,” her partner said. “Not Cal.”
    â€œYou can’t be sure of that.”
    â€œYeah, I can. When Ruthie Potter was killed, Cal was attending an engineers’ convention in Las Vegas. When the third girl was killed, Cal was in San Diego on a three-day weekend. He was shacked up with George Benson’s wife.”
    Lani’s mouth dropped open. “The Episcopal priest’s wife!”
    â€œYeah. She and Cal have been a quiet item for several years.” He grinned. “See? There are goings-on around here you don’t know about.”
    â€œSmart-ass,” she muttered.
    â€œCal may have been bumpin’ uglies with Tammy, too. Cal likes the ladies.”
    Lani grimaced. “You have such a quaint way of describing the sex act, Leo.”
    â€œThat’s what Virginia said last night. Twice.”
    â€œNow you’re bragging. It isn’t becoming,” she chided him. “Come on. Let’s go talk to Tammy’s friends.”
    * * *
    The lounge door was locked, but they could see people moving about, cleaning up. The door was opened at Lani’s knocking.
    The waitress shook her head at Leo’s question. “No. I don’t think Tammy even knew Cal Denning. He wasn’t a customer that I know of. And I’ve been here ever since Tammy opened for business.”
    They drove over to Tammy’s apartment. Cal’s name was not in Tammy’s address book. Leo sighed as only a cop can. “Well, we check out every name listed here.”
    Lani thumbed through the pages. “Ho-ho,” she said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDick Hale and William Jarry. Look here.”
    Leo looked. “Dick Hale couldn’t be Jim or Jack Longwood. He’s too old, and he’s lived here all his life.”
    â€œBJ the DJ hasn’t.”
    â€œTrue. Jesus, I can’t believe Tammy was humpin’ Dick Hale. Talk about a jerk-off. That’s the most obnoxious prick in the county.”
    â€œHe came on to me one time,” Lani said, making a terrible face at the memory.
    â€œYou should have shot him!”
    â€œI thought about it.”
    They ran a check on William Jarry. In 1990 he’d been working in Phoenix. But nothing else about him fit what they knew of the Ripper. William was thirty-eight years old, and a native of Texas. They couldn’t find that he’d ever been east of the Mississippi River.
    â€œOh, sure,” William said to the cops. “Tammy and I dated lots of times. We stopped seeing each other about six months ago. We were still good friends and all that, but strictly on a social basis. She was dating some guy from Morro Bay.”
    â€œHenry Sparks?” Lani prompted.
    â€œYeah. I think that’s the guy.” William smiled. “You don’t think I’m the Ripper, do you?”
    â€œTammy was killed between the hours of 6:00 and 10:00