Damien grasped her finger and took another look at the small cut, only a ti ny drop of blood remained. He reached out his long tongue and licked away t he remains. "Until then," he sneered. Dressed in a long sleeve T-shirt and black baggy jean shorts, he walked out of the back room and onto the stage.

Chapter 17.

By the looks of it, Cole thought, it was going to be another late night. But what the h.e.l.l did he care, he had no one waiting for him at home, and he inte nded on keeping it that way. After spending the last few months of his marria ge constantly badgered for his late hours, he had no intention of allowing hi story to repeat itself.

Armed with a picture of Nicholas Darby, Cole entered the Cleveland Motel.

Surely someone would have seen Nick at the motel one time or another. Cole wanted to back up the man's story that he had not visited Mary Stine sinc e his daughter's funeral, unwilling to take him for his word.

Something about Nicholas's actions and story rang false to him and Cole in tended on finding out exactly what it was. Nicholas Darby had carefully co ncocted a story. But why?

Cole took the stairs two at a time. The quicker he finished here, the better. The first person he wanted to check with was Miss Johnson, the woman who had found Mary Stine. Her door was directly across from the victim's. If a nyone had the opportunity to see him there, it would have been her.

Cole rapped on the wooden door. The sound of a chair sc.r.a.ping across the fl oor, then the soft pad of feet approaching the door could be heard over the quiet murmurs of voices drifting into the hall. As it opened a crack, a ti ny dark face peered through. Her eyes held recognition and Cole knew she re membered him from a few days before.

"Officer...," she paused, opening the door further.

"Kincaid," Cole supplied, shaking her hand.

"Officer Kincaid," she repeated as she stepped back and allowed him entranc e.

Cole walked into the tiny, neat kept apartment, though a musty smell hung he avy in the air. A scarred wooden table sat beside a bed covered by a threadb are quilt.

"I gots some tea if you'd like," she offered as she indicated for him to have a seat.

Cole shook his head, declining the offer. "No, thank you, ma'am. I won't be staying long. I need you to look at a picture for me."

Miss Johnson walked over to him, her slippers shuffling along the thin carpe t. She glanced at the snapshot in his hand, studied it for long moments, the n shook her head sadly.

"Don't recognize him none. Should I?" she asked as she looked at Cole. He knew she was not near as old as the yellowing of her eyes would indicate.

This woman had led a hard life. "This the man who took poor Mary's life?"

"We don't have any suspects yet, Miss Johnson. I'm just trying to clarify a few things and check up on some facts." Cole released a heavy sigh-anoth er dead end. "You're sure you have never seen this man before?"

Nicholas wore an award-winning smile, his teeth as white as a snow-capped mountain, and the sweater he wore in the picture spoke of money. Certain ly Miss Johnson would be wondering why a man of his stature would be hang ing around the Cleveland Motel. h.e.l.l, Cole had asked himself the same que stion a thousand times.

"Nope, sorry. Ain't never seen that man before and I'm sure if'n he was in here, I'd a noticed him. You thinkin' he was keepin' company with Mary?"

"We know so. I'm just trying to establish when the last time was he paid her a visit."

"Ol' Skinny down the hall, I'd ask him. He's always a comin' and a goin'.

Maybe he can tell you what you wants to know."

"Maybe I will," Cole said as he walked to the door and allowed Miss Johnson to see him out. She pointed a thin bony finger down the hallway. "Third door on the left."

"Again, thank you," Cole said as he exited the room. Bare bulbs dimly illumi nated the dark hallway. Cole could only imagine the critters that ran up and down the corridor in the dead of night.

He heard Miss Johnson's door close behind him as he approached the room s he had indicated. Cole knocked on the door. Silence greeted him. No indic ation that anyone was at home. Just as he was about to turn away, the doo r swung open.

A tall thin man with blond dreadlocks stared at him from the other side of the door. He appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties. The man's eyes da rted nervously down the hall and back to Cole; his pupils no more than pinp oints. "Something I can do for you?"

Cole stuck out his hand, which the thin man ignored, then flipped open the leather wallet and exposed his badge. The man's eyes widened like saucers . "I'm Lieutenant Cole Kincaid with the Fairview Police. I'm investigating the murder of Mary Stine. You are aware of this?"

"Murdered three days ago. Didn't know her though, only in pa.s.sing."

"I have a few questions I would like to ask you. May I come in?"

"Suit yourself." The man grinned falsely, showing a smile of decayed teeth , then turned and walked away from the door.

Cole followed him into a room where bugs were sure to manifest. Cole winced as he was offered a seat on the chair, unsure of what marred its filthy su rface. "This won't take long," Cole said as he took out his paper and penci l. "Your name is?"

"Joseph Philip. Everyone calls me Skinny." He sat on the chair opposite th e one Cole declined to take, one bony leg c.o.c.ked up over the arm. Cole won dered when his last decent meal had been.

"How well did you know the deceased?" Cole asked.

Skinny ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, attempting to somewhat str aighten the mess atop his head. At any given second, Cole feared something might crawl from beneath the dreadlocks. "Told you, I didn't. Knew who sh e was-that's it."

"So you never talked to her?"

"Nope."

"Not even in pa.s.sing in the hallway?"

"Nope. Keep to my own business."

"So when did you first hear about the murder?"

Skinny laughed, ending it with a snort. "News of that kind doesn't take lo ng-know what I mean?"

"Of course," Cole said, somewhat impatiently. "How long did you say?"

His bony shoulders shrugged. "Couple of hours. h.e.l.l, they wouldn't let me i n the building." "So you weren't home at the time of the murder?"

He ran his shirtsleeve beneath his nose, leaving a wet streak on the materia l. "Don't think I hardly could have been-she was alive when I left anyways."

Cole's gaze snapped up, looking Skinny in the eyes.

"What time was that?"

"Don't know, somewhere around four in the morning."

The beat of Cole's heart picked up with the sudden rush of adrenaline. If Sk inny's statement rang true... "Was she alone?"

Skinny snickered, making Cole feel as though he had somehow missed out on t he joke. "Mary Stine wasn't alone-she was with one of her...uh... clients .

"Were they going to or from her apartment?"

"Don't know. They were standing by her door. Don't suppose they were leav ing 'cause neither of them looked happy."

"Could you identify the man again if you saw him?"

"Probably. Didn't look like he belonged 'round here. Otherwise, probably wo uldn't 'a noticed."

Cole pulled Nicholas's picture out of his pocket and gave it to Skinny. "Is t his the man?"

"Yep," he chuckled. "What's a man like that doing 'round here anyways? Lo oks like he's got enough money to pay for some high-priced p.u.s.s.y, not wha t you get 'round here."

"So you would be willing to testify that on the morning of August twelfth at approximately four in the morning, you saw this man, Nicholas Darby, an d Mary Stine outside the door of her apartment?"

"Hey, I don't want to get involved, man," he said, wiping the back of his ha nd beneath his nose.

"And you don't want me hauling your a.s.s in for possession," Cole said, usin g the toe of his black boot to move a small box from beneath the chair. He flipped open the lid, displaying needles and tiny bags of a white powdery s ubstance. Heroine, Cole would bet.

"You don't have a search warrant, man," Skinny said, jumping up from his chair, his gaze once again nervously darting about as though he thought t he DEA might bust down his door at any given moment.

"I didn't need one. You invited me in and this was laying in plain sight," Cole stated in a flat tone, daring the little p.r.i.c.k to argue with him.

He held his hands out in front of him. "Don't want any trouble, man."

"So you would be willing to testify?"

"I seen him, all right. I'll say what I saw."

Cole kicked the lid shut to the box and shoved it back to its resting place with his boot. "Good enough." Cole replaced the picture and note pad into his pocket. Handing Skinny his business card, he said, "You think of anything else that might help, you call."

"No problem, man," Skinny said as he walked Cole to the door.

Cole shook his head as he made his way back down the hallway and out into the street. Daylight waned but his adrenaline flowed. d.a.m.n, he had Nicho las Darby good this time.

The door to his apartment clicked quietly closed, awakening Cole with a sta rt. Sometime around eleven he must have fallen asleep because the book he h ad been reading still lay open across his bare chest, his hand resting on t he binding. He had only managed to get through the first chapter when his e yes became heavy and he thought to let them close for just a second. Cole s quinted through the dimness at the clock hanging on the wall. The only ligh t came from the small lamp beside his chair. Two-thirty in the morning .

d.a.m.n. Cole ran a hand through his hair. Seven o'clock would come mighty e arly.

Giggles came from the small entranceway as a drunken Damien and Cindy Van Warren made their way to the living room. Not realizing Cole was awake, C indy's hands were already deftly working the top b.u.t.ton of Damien's jean shorts. Cole cleared his throat and slammed down the footrest of his recl iner, alerting them to his presence.

Cindy's eyes widened as Damien chuckled. In a deep voice, he sneered, "Wh at's keeping you up so late?"

Cole held out his copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula . "A little late night reading .".

"Since when did you become interested in the undead, man?" Damien grinned as he sat heavily onto the sofa, laying a long arm across the back. Cindy sat beside him, snuggling securely beneath his arm.

"Just recently."

"You finally got some taste."

Cole raised a brow. "Why? Read the book?" Cole asked, not knowing if Damie n liked to read at all.

"Watched the movie. Several times." Damien looked down at the tiny blonde b eside him and kissed her lightly on the nose. Giving Cole his attention aga in, he said, "Hey, man, maybe after you finish it-I'll rent the movie and w e can watch it together."

"Yeah." Cole grinned. "Maybe."

"You see Laurie today?" Cindy asked, narrowing her gaze as she spoke up for the first time since arriving.

Cole shifted uneasily at the change of topics, not liking the direction of the new one. "At the station," he replied shortly, hoping she got the message that this topic was off limits. "You don't want to talk about her?"

No such luck , Cole grumbled to himself. Then, "Not really."

"I just think that maybe-"

"You ought to keep your mouth shut," Damien growled. His eyes flashed in anger as he shifted his weight away from the small woman.

"Why?" she squealed. "Cole treated-"

"I said b.u.t.ton it, Cindy," Damien warned, his face taut with his rising ire.

Cole had never seen this side of the man before. Damien was in control at a ll times. He jerked his arm from the back of the sofa. "I think maybe you've said enough-my room is that way." A jabbed finger indicated the closed door .

Cole and Damien sat in silence as they watched Cindy stomp her foot and hea d for the room. Neither said a word until the door closed securely behind h er.

"Sorry, man," Damien apologized, the anger now masked. His face returned to its calm state.

Cole eyed him carefully. "You going to be all right?"

"Women should all be trained when to speak. She had no right."

"It's fine, really. Don't take it out on her-she's a friend of Laurie's. It's onl y natural she would ask."

"But the subject was obviously closed to you. What's between you and the M ichaels chick is your business."

Cole shrugged as he grasped his empty water gla.s.s and headed for the kitche n. "There's nothing there to talk about," he said, looking back at Damien.

Damien's brow rose. Cole knew without a doubt, Damien had a personal inte rest in how his relationship with Laurie went. Though Cole was not exactl y keen on the idea of Damien seeing Laurie, who was he to stand in the wa y when he himself had nothing to offer her?