it. She had undressed and was in her bathrobe. He must have attacked her before she got into the tub.”
“So he could have been in her apartment for some time before she arrived? But how did he get in?”
“There was no forced entry. And if she wasn’t home to let him in, then he had to have a key. I just wonder where he got it.” She looked at the card reader on the rear door. “Maybe the same place he got that.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Blum.
“If you’re thinking the killer used the key and key card he took from Hanna Rebane, then yes, we’re on the same page.”
“And the motive was to silence her, because she might tell us something damaging to someone?”
“But there’s one problem with that. We already talked to her. You’d think the person would have struck before we did that.”
Blum shook her head. “But now that Layne Gillespie has been murdered? Maybe that made a difference.”
“Meaning she could have had some info about him and his connection to Hanna Rebane?”
“Yes. The killer knew we would come back and talk to her about this second murder.”
“It’s certainly possible. But then again, anything seems to be possible with this case.”
“Do you think this makes it more likely that there was a connection between Gillespie and Rebane?”
“Well, it certainly doesn’t make it less likely,” replied Pine.
“With her gone, how will we find that out?”
“She wasn’t the only one to work in porn films. There’s always someone else to ask.”
“Well, let’s hope we get to them before this guy does.”
Chapter 40
MY WHOLE PAST is a lie. Well, that’s a lie. Most of my past is a lie.
It wasn’t much consolation.
It was the next day and Pine was sitting on her bed at the Cottage.
She took out the magazine that Myron had given her. She opened it to the page where her mother appeared. Pine sat there and stared at the image for a long time. She ran her finger along the piles of hair on the head of the woman who had brought Pine into the world. She eyed the writing below. London. Karl Lagerfeld. The runway. Amanda something. She looked beautiful, but maybe too made up with makeup and wearing something too revealing, as models on fashion show runways often did.
From London to Andersonville. What a strange journey. She could make neither heads nor tails of it.
Pine laid the magazine aside, opened her spare suitcase, and picked up her old doll, fingering its hair as the rain started up again outside. They had driven back to Columbus in the rain, which had stopped when they got back to Andersonville. However, the clouds were now increasing and the winds were picking up. More inclemency was just about to hit.
On the drive back she had phoned Wallis and told him what had happened to Beth Clemmons. He, in turn, had filled her in on the developments with Layne Gillespie’s autopsy. There had been no surprises there. Death by gunshot. No trace. No defensive wounds. The tux, hat, and corsage had led nowhere. The corpse had given no answers; his killer was no closer to being caught.
She had informed the local police in Columbus about Gene Martin’s recollection of the workman heading to the freight elevator. They were following that up, but so far there had been nothing to come from it. There had been a camera outside the parking lot entrance, but it had been out of order. They had determined that it was Hanna Rebane’s key card that had been used to access the building from the garage. The killer undoubtedly had come and gone that way. And Pine was certain that in addition to the key card, he’d had a key to the apartment, and had used that to access the place and lie in wait for Beth Clemmons.
Three people were dead, all of them connected. Rebane to Clemmons, as roommates and friends, and the two women and Layne Gillespie to the adult film world.
She looked down at the other items on her bed as she set the doll aside.
Barry Vincent. Why had this guy gotten into an argument with her father about what had happened? She couldn’t even remember a Barry Vincent. But Myron Pringle did. He’d broken up the fight. Pine wondered what had happened to Vincent. No one had mentioned him. There had been nothing on him in the police investigative file.
Well, maybe she could do something about that.
She walked downstairs and