Tell Me Your Dreams by Sidney Sheldon Page A

murder here that’s the same M.O. as the case you had in Cupertino—multiple stab wounds and castration.”
    “My God!”
    “I just had a talk with the FBI. Their computer shows that there have been three previous castration killings very similar to this one. The first one happened in Bedford, Pennsylvania, about ten years ago, the next one was a man named DennisTibbie—that was your case—then there was the same M.O. in Quebec City, and now this one.”
    “It doesn’t make sense. Pennsylvania…Cupertino…Quebec City…San Francisco…Is there any link?”
    “We’re trying to find one. Quebec requires passports. The FBI is doing a cross-check to see if anyone who was in Quebec City around Christmas was in any of the other cities at the times of the murders.…”
    When the media got wind of what was happening, their stories were splashed across the front pages across the world:
    SERIAL KILLER LOOSE…
    QUATRES HOMMES BRUTALEMENT TUÉS ET CASTRÉS…
    WIR SUCHEN FOR EIN MANN DER CASTRIERT SEINE HOPFER…
    MANIAC DI HOMICIDAL SULLO SPREE CRESPO DI UCCISIÓNE.
    On the networks, self-important psychologists analyzed the killings.
    “…and all the victims were men. Because of the way they were stabbed and castrated, it is undoubtedly the work of a homosexual who…”
    “…so if the police can find a connection between the victims, they will probably discover that it was the work of a lover the men had all scorned…”
    “…but I would say they were random killings committed by someone who had a dominating mother…”
    Saturday morning, Detective Whittier called Deputy Blake from San Francisco.
    “Deputy, I have an update for you.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “I just got a call from the FBI. Cupertino is listed as the residence of an American who was in Quebec on the date of the Parent murder.”
    “That’s interesting. What’s his name?”
    “Her. Patterson. Ashley Patterson.”
    At six o’clock that evening, Deputy Sam Blake rang the bell at Ashley Patterson’s apartment. Through the closed door he heard her call out cautiously, “Who is it?”
    “Deputy Blake. I’d like to talk to you, Miss Patterson.”
    There was a long silence, then the door opened. Ashley was standing there, looking wary.
    “May I come in?”
    “Yes, of course.” Is this about Father? I must be careful. Ashley led the deputy to a couch. “What can I do for you, Deputy?”
    “Would you mind answering a few questions?”
    Ashley shifted uncomfortably. “I—I don’t know. Am I under suspicion for something?”
    He smiled reassuringly. “Nothing like that, Miss Patterson. This is just routine. We’re investigating some murders.”
    “I don’t know anything about any murders,” she said quickly. Too quickly?
    “You were in Quebec City recently, weren’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you acquainted with Jean Claude Parent?”
    “Jean Claude Parent?” She thought for a moment. “No. I’ve never heard of him. Who is he?”
    “He owns a jewelry store in Quebec City.”
    Ashley shook her head. “I didn’t do any jewelry shopping in Quebec.”
    “You worked with Dennis Tibbie.”
    Ashley felt the fear beginning to rise again. This was about her father. She said cautiously, “I didn’t work with him. He worked for the same company.”
    “Of course. You go into San Francisco occasionally, don’t you, Miss Patterson?”
    Ashley wondered where this was leading. Careful. “From time to time, yes.”
    “Did you ever meet an artist there named Richard Melton?”
    “No. I don’t know anyone by that name.”
    Deputy Blake sat there studying Ashley, frustrated. “Miss Patterson, would you mind coming down to headquarters and taking a polygraph test? If you want to, you can call your lawyer and—”
    “I don’t need a lawyer. I’ll be glad to take a test.”
    The polygraph expert was a man named Keith Rosson, and he was one of the best. He had had to cancel a dinner date, but he was happy to oblige Sam Blake.
    Ashley was