THE

NIGHT CALLER

JOHN LUTZ

PINNACLE BOOKS Kensington Publishing Corp. www.kensingtonbooks.com

CHAPTER ONE

ue Coppolino was young, pretty, and nervous. Her painted nails drummed on the steering wheel as she drove her red Sebring convertible toward the Siesta Key drawbridge in Sarasota. It was a hot and humid Florida night so she had the cars top down, and the wind caressing her face felt like warm liquid. The convertibles tires thrummed over the steel mesh of the bridge, and within seconds she was off the mainland and on the key. She turned north on Midnight Pass Road, then veered to the right instead of going straight toward the public beach. Wealthy estates and condominium complexes lay out of sight beyond thick foliage and palm trees on her right, overlooking calm, moonlit water. Because the night was bright, she could see the brilliant oranges and reds of the hibiscus and bougainvillea blooms. It was almost midnight and there was no other trafc, and with the top down the racheting scream of cicadas was sometimes deafening when the car glided past densely wooded areas. To the cicadas the desperate continual

John Lutz

scream was a mating call. Right now, Sue heard it the same way. She was up to no good. At least. some people would see it that way. Not that she was going to commit a burglary or anything. In fact, she made more than enough money in her job with a surveying company. It was just that The angular white buildings of Bay Vista condominium with their red tile roofs werent visible from the road, but there was an ornate wrought-iron steel gate painted bone white just up ahead. Sue slowed the car but drove past the gate. The security guard wasnt on duty in the small air-conditioned booth, but anyone entering needed a residents plastic card to insert in a slot that would trigger the gate to open. No card for Sue. And she didnt need one. A few hundred feet down the road, she turned the car onto an unmarked and unpaved side road that ran parallel to Bay Vistas manicured grounds. Then she killed the headlights, letting the light from the bright crescent moon guide her. She parked where she usually did, off the side of the road behind a tight grouping of date palms. As she turned off the idling engine, her heart seemed to take up its fast and rhythmic beat. Sue didnt like sneaking around this way. Or did she? On a certain level it was exciting. Like being in a movie. She checked herself in the rearview mirror, then put on fresh lipstick and smoothed back her windmussed dark hair with her hand. Excitement aside, she did wish Marlee wouldnt force her to go through these subterfuges every time they met. It wasnt as if this was the love still afraid to say its name.

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But she knew Marlee was right; it would be foolish for Sue to use the main gate. Marlee could easily obtain an extra card that would permit Sues entering and leaving, but a video camera would capture her image and record times and dates of arrival and departure. That would never do. Marlee Clarklong-legged, lithe, tanned, and muscledhad been a teenage tennis phenom only a few years ago. The experts made her the choice to within a short time be the top-seeded woman player in the world. Marlee had come close, winning major U.S. tournaments, making the seminals at Wimbledon. But the pressure of high-level competition and glaring publicity had gotten to her. Drugs, rst taken at the urging of her coach to ease the pain of injuries, then taken by Marlee despite the coachs warnings, had led to sloppy play on the court, then sloppy play off, with the media. A public shouting match at the U.S. Open, followed by a drugs-and-drink binge and an auto accident that had put her in the hospital for a month, started her real and undeniable decline. Burned-out, she retired early and used some of her winnings to buy a luxury condo on the key, complete with private boat dock and her own cabin cruiser. Marlee still needed income, and because of her pretty face and long red hair worn in her trademark braid, she was in demand as a television sports commentator and commercial pitch-woman. But if the public found out about her romantic life, she would lose many of her endorsement contracts. It didnt seem to hurt her popularity that shed once been into drugs. Shed been through a very public rehab, even told Barbara Walters how sorry she was.

John Lutz

But if word got out that the pristine Barbie doll of tennis was a lesbian, and an unrepentant one, it would destroy the image that was worth big money to her. Sue argued that Marlee was simply acting paranoid; they were, after all, in the twenty-rst century. But Marlee wouldnt budge, quoting her agents gures on how much other women sports celebs had lost in dollars when they came out of the closet. So Sue sneaked. Once on the grounds of Bay Vista, she walked along the powdery white sand beach. There was no one in sight other than a couple strolling along the mystical border of the glittering surf line a hundred yards away. They seemed interested only in each other, but Sue turned her face away anyway as she crossed a narrow expanse of closely mown grass, then walked along a crushed shell path toward the rear of Marlees building. Careful not to brush against any of the aluminumframed loungers that might scrape metal on concrete, she skirted the swimming pool, then approached the sliding glass doors to the ground-oor condo. The drapes were open, and Sue stood for a moment looking in at the luxurious interior with its plank oors and thick area rugs, cream colored walls, and soft beige leather furniture. On the wall behind the sofa was a grouping of museum-quality oil paintings, all still lifes of fruit or owers. It was an expensive world so unlike Sues, and one that Marlee allowed her to share. Nothing in the room suggested its occupant had ever played tennis. The sliding door was unlocked, as Sue knew it would be. That was part of the arrangement. The soft

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rumble of the door sliding in its track was barely audible over the collective shrill scream of the cicadas. It was much cooler inside the condo. As soon as Sue slid the door shut to keep the conditioned air in and the mosquitoes out, she spotted Marlee where shed fallen asleep in the leather recliner. Her head was canted back and her braid was undone, allowing her long red hair to fan out gracefully on the chair back. She looked so beautiful, doll-like, and peaceful. What were her dreams? Sue wondered. She approached the chair softly so she wouldnt awaken her, then reached out gently to touch her lovers shoulder. Her hand came away wet. Crusted scarlet. Stunned, Sue ran her ngers over Marlees pale face, her mind still unable to compute what was going on here. Was Marlee drugged? Asleep? Unconscious? Still rejecting the dark and terrible fact before her, she gently cupped Marlees cool, lovely face in her hands and slowly lifted her head. Sue gagged and backed away, absently oating her red hand up to her mouth. Marlee was dead. The back of her neck had been viciously hacked. Sue couldnt bear to look at the gaping wound, but she couldnt look away even as she began to scream.