Cassidy and the Princess. Patricia Potter

don’t think I would recognize him.”

      Cassidy’s heart was beating faster. At least she’d seen something, and she probably knew far more than she realized.

      “I could have a police artist here later today.”

      “I don’t think I saw that much.”

      “Will you try?”

      She nodded, despite a protestation from her mother who had moved to her side.

      Cassidy’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Height? Weight? Race?”

      “He was tall. Perhaps Paul’s height, which is six feet,” she said, then smiled again. “Everyone looks tall to me. Bulky build.” She looked at Manny. “And he was white.” She hesitated. “He was wearing gloves like the nurses wear here.”

      White. Tall. The first building blocks.

      “Clothes?”

      “Dark.” She closed her eyes as if trying to remember. “Track clothes. Like mine. Something else,” she said. “An odor. Almost sweet.”

      “Could it have been medicinal?” Cassidy asked.

      “I don’t know…it wasn’t familiar.”

      She moved, and he saw her grimace.

      “She needs rest,” her mother said, reaching out to push the call button.

      Her daughter stopped her. “No,” she said. “If I can help…”

      But Cassidy realized she was in pain. For a moment, he regretted that he had to do his job, but he pressed ahead. “Could you tell me anything else? Even impressions?”

      “I don’t think so.” She moved again, and this time pain was evident in her face. “I wish I could help you more.”

      “Do you think you might have seen him before? Could he have been following you?”

      Her body seemed to shudder. “No. I…don’t think so.”

      “Why were you outside—alone?”

      She hesitated. For the first time Cassidy saw something secretive in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “Just fresh air,” she said.

      “We’ll have the police artist over here,” he said. “Try to remember everything you can.”

      Her eyes closed for a moment, then fluttered back open, and he saw exhaustion in them. He had more questions but they could wait a few hours. After she had some rest.

      “You won’t be leaving?” he asked.

      Cara Merrick started to say something, but the woman in the bed stopped her. “No,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want. I want him caught.” There was sudden strength in her voice. Determination.

      “How did you get away?” he asked.

      “I kicked him in the crotch,” she said. She grinned. Weakly, but it was a grin.

      He was momentarily stunned. It was the last thing he had expected to hear.

      “I have strong legs,” she added, as if unsure whether he believed her.

      “I imagine you do,” he said.

      “Did you find the knife?” she asked.

      “Knife?”

      “He dropped it when I kicked him. But maybe he picked it up when he left,” she said.

      Cassidy turned to Manny. “I didn’t see anything about a knife in the report.”

      “He had it…at my neck,” she added.

      Which could be why the other women hadn’t appeared to have fought back. But they had been strangled. There had never been anything indicating a knife. He looked at Manny. “I think we had better ask for a second search. Just in case.”

      Manny nodded.

      Cassidy turned his attention back to Marise Merrick. “How did you…”

      “I waited for my chance. He couldn’t untie the knot in my track pants. He lowered the knife to cut it.”

      “That was very smart,” he said.

      “Not really,” she said. “I knew the alternative.”

      And she had. He saw the knowledge in her eyes.

      “Thank you for cooperating,” he said, forcing a curtness into a voice that felt suddenly brittle.

      She looked at her mother as if guessing exactly how little cooperation he and Manny had received from her. “I’ll be here when you return,” she said. “And if we have to stay a few days we—I will.”

      Cassidy glanced at her mother and saw the set lips. The boyfriend—or partner—was frowning. Marise Merrick was going to have another fight on her hands.

      Cassidy nodded and stepped toward the door.

      Her voice stopped him. “Good afternoon, Detective… MacKay.”

      He was oddly pleased that she had remembered his name. And angry at himself for feeling that way. He nodded to Mrs. Merrick, then abruptly turned around and headed out of the room.

      Chapter 2

      “You look like you’ve been struck by lightning,” Manny said.

      Cassidy readjusted his face into his usual expressionless facade. “I was just surprised,” he said.

      “Me too,” Manny said equably. “I don’t think princesses usually go around kicking people in their—”

      “Don’t go crazy with this princess stuff,” Cassidy warned. “She’s a figure skater. Not a princess. She’s just another athlete.”

      “Not exactly,” Manny said. “And I liked her. She’s got guts.”

      Cassidy had liked her, too. That fierce determination, the way she’d stood up to her mother and fiancé. But how long would it last? Why had she allowed them to dominate her as they seemed to do?

      He still didn’t know why she had gone outside the auditorium last evening. He instinctively knew that he would have to get her alone to draw the reason from her. Although he was ninety-percent sure the attacker was the one he’d been hunting, there was a ten-percent chance that someone just knew the serial killer’s M.O. Maybe it was a stalker. Or someone she knew. He had to eliminate that possibility.

      Cassidy didn’t like loose ends.

      “Let’s get an artist from the department,” he said.

      “Do you really think she will stay?” Manny asked. “That mother of hers…”

      “Anyone who can cold-cock a killer should be able to make her own decisions.”

      “I wonder why…”

      “It’s none of our business.” Cassidy said, cutting him short. Hoping to cut short his own thoughts.

      The police artist was unavailable until the next morning. He and his computer program had been loaned out to another jurisdiction. Instead, Cassidy and Manny went to the crime scene and scoured the place for a knife. Nothing.

      The rose and ribbon had produced no leads so far. At least, though, they had gotten help now that a “celebrity” was involved. Detectives had checked the hospital florist and all the other florists in the area, but no one had purchased red roses. Cassidy had expected as much. After the first killing, they’d conducted an extensive search of florists, only to be told haughtily that it was of a type sold to grocery stores.

      The ribbon, too, was a brand found in every drug and grocery store.

      So they hadn’t expected to find a knife. Their killer didn’t make mistakes.