Tell Me Your Dreams Part 7

Deputy Blake stood there a moment, trying to hide his disappointment. "Well, if any of you remembers anything that might be helpful, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a call. Mr. Miller has my number. Thank you."

They watched as he moved toward the exit with Shane.

Ashley felt faint with relief.

Deputy Blake turned to Shane. "Was there anyone here he was particularly close to?"

"No, not really," Shane said. "I don't think Dennis was close to anybody. He was very attracted to one of our computer operators, but he never got anywhere with her."

Deputy Blake stopped. "Is she here now?"

"Yes, but-"

"I'd like to talk to her."

"All right. You can use my office." They walked back into the room, and Ashley saw them coming. They were headed straight for her cubicle. She could feel her face redden.

"Ashley, Deputy Blake would like to talk to you."

So he knew! He was going to ask her about her visit to Tibbie's apartment. I've got to be careful, I've got to be careful, Ashley thought. Ashley thought.

The deputy was looking at her. "Do you mind, Miss Patterson?"

She found her voice. "No, not at all." She followed him into Shane Miller's office.

"Sit down." They both took chairs. "I understand that Dennis Tibbie was fond of you?"

"I-I suppose..." Careful. Careful. "Yes." "Yes."

"Did you go out with him?"

Going to his apartment would not be the same as going out with him. "No." "No."

"Did he talk to you about this woman he wanted to marry?"

She was getting in deeper and deeper. Could he be taping this? Maybe he already knew she had been in Tibbie's apartment. They could have found her fingerprints. Now was the time to tell the deputy what Tibbie had done to her. But if I do, But if I do, Ashley thought in despair, Ashley thought in despair, it will lead to my father, and they'll connect that to Jim Cleary's murder. it will lead to my father, and they'll connect that to Jim Cleary's murder. Did they know about that, too? But the police department in Bedford would have no reason to notify the police department in Cupertino. Or would they? Did they know about that, too? But the police department in Bedford would have no reason to notify the police department in Cupertino. Or would they?

Deputy Blake was watching her, waiting for an answer. "Miss Patterson?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry. This has got me so upset..."

"I understand. Did Tibbie ever mention this woman he wanted to marry?"

"Yes...but he never told me her name." That, at least, was true.

"Have you ever been to Tibbie's apartment?"

Ashley took a deep breath. If she said no, the questioning would probably end. But if they had found her fingerprints..."Yes."

"You have been to his apartment?"

"Yes."

He was looking at her more closely now. "You said you'd never been out with him."

Ashley's mind was racing now. "That's right. Not on a date, no. I went to bring him some papers he had forgotten."

"When was this?"

She felt trapped. "It was...it was about a week ago."

"And that's the only time you've been to his place?"

"That's right."

Now if they had her fingerprints, she would be in the clear.

Deputy Blake sat there, studying her, and she felt guilty. She wanted to tell him the truth. Maybe some burglar had broken in and killed him-the same burglar who had killed Jim Cleary ten years earlier and three thousand miles away. If you believed in coincidences. If you believed in Santa Claus. If you believed in the tooth fairy.

d.a.m.n you, Father.

Deputy Blake said, "This is a terrible crime. There doesn't seem to be any motive. But you know, in all the years I've been on the force, I've never seen a crime without a motive." There was no response. "Do you you know if Dennis Tibbie was into drugs?" know if Dennis Tibbie was into drugs?"

"I'm sure he wasn't."

"So what do we have? It wasn't drugs. He wasn't robbed. He didn't owe anybody money. That kind of leaves a romantic situation, doesn't it? Someone who was jealous of him."

Or a father who wanted to protect his daughter.

"I'm as puzzled as you are, Deputy."

He stared at her for a moment and his eyes seemed to say, "I don't believe you, lady."

Deputy Blake got to his feet. He took out a card and handed it to Ashley. "If there's anything you can think of, I'd appreciate your giving me a call."

"I'll be happy to."

"Good day."

She watched him leave. It's over. Father's in the clear. It's over. Father's in the clear.

When Ashley returned to her apartment that evening, there was a message on the answering machine: "You got me real hot last night, baby. I'm talking blue b.a.l.l.s. But you'll take care of me tonight, though, the way you promised. Same time, same place."

Ashley stood there, listening in disbelief. I'm going crazy, I'm going crazy, she thought. she thought. This has nothing to do with Father. Someone else must he behind all this. But who? And why? This has nothing to do with Father. Someone else must he behind all this. But who? And why?

Five days later, Ashley received a statement from the credit card company. Three items caught her attention: A bill from the Mod Dress Shop for $450.

A bill from the Circus Club for $300.

A bill from Louie's Restaurant for $250.

She had never heard of the dress shop, the club or the restaurant.

Chapter Seven.

ASHLEY Patterson followed the investigation of Dennis Tibbie's murder in the newspapers and on television every day. The police appeared to have reached a dead end. Patterson followed the investigation of Dennis Tibbie's murder in the newspapers and on television every day. The police appeared to have reached a dead end.

It's over, Ashley thought. Ashley thought. There's nothing more to worry about. There's nothing more to worry about.

That evening, Deputy Sam Blake appeared at her apartment. Ashley looked at him, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I hope I'm not bothering you," Deputy Blake said. "I was on my way home, and I just thought I'd drop in for a minute."

Ashley swallowed. "No. Come in."

Deputy Blake walked into the apartment. "Nice place you have here."

"Thank you."

"I'll bet Dennis Tibbie didn't like this kind of furniture."

Ashley's heart began to pound. "I don't know. He's never been in this apartment."

"Oh. I thought he might have, you know."

"No, I don't know, Deputy. I told you, I never dated him."

"Right. May I sit down?"

"Please."

"You see, I'm having a big problem with this case, Miss Patterson. It doesn't fit into any pattern. Like I said, there's always a motive. I've talked to some of the people over at Global Computer Graphics, and no one seems to have known Tibbie very well. He kept pretty much to himself."

Ashley listened, waiting for the blow to fall.

"In fact, from what they tell me, you're the only one he was really interested in."

Had he found out something, or was he on a fis.h.i.+ng expedition?

Ashley said carefully, "He was interested in me, Deputy, but I was not interested in him. I made that quite clear to him."

He nodded. "Well, I think it was nice of you to deliver those papers to his apartment."

Ashley almost said, "What papers?" and then suddenly remembered. "It-it was no trouble. It was on my way."

"Right. Someone must have hated Tibbie a lot to do what they did."

Ashley sat there tense, saying nothing.

"Do you know what I hate?" Deputy Blake said. "Unsolved murders. They always leave me frustrated. Because when a murder goes unsolved, I don't think it means that the criminals were that smart. I think it means that the police weren't smart enough. Well, so far, I've been lucky. I've solved all the crimes that have come my way." He got to his feet. "I don't intend to give up on this one. If you can think of anything that will be helpful, you'll call me, won't you, Miss Patterson?"

"Yes, of course."

Ashley watched him leave, and she thought, Did he come here as a warning? Does he know more than he's telling me? Did he come here as a warning? Does he know more than he's telling me?

Toni was more absorbed than ever in the Internet. She enjoyed her chats with Jean Claude the most, but that did not stop her from having other chat-room correspondents. At every chance, she sat in front of her computer, and the typed messages flew back and forth, spilling onto the computer screen.

"Toni? Where have you been? I've been in the chat room waiting for you."

"I'm worth waiting for, luv. Tell me about yourself. What do you do?"

"I work at a pharmacy. I can be good to you. Do you do drugs?"

"Sod off."

"Is that you, Toni?"

"The answer to your dreams. Is it Mark?"

"Yes."

"You haven't been on the Internet lately."

"I've been busy. I'd like to meet you, Toni."

"Tell me, Mark, what do you do?"

"I'm a librarian."

"Isn't that exciting! All those books and everything...."

"When can we meet?"

"Why don't you ask Nostradamus?"

"h.e.l.lo, Toni. My name is Wendy."

"h.e.l.lo, Wendy."

"You sound like fun."

"I enjoy life."