The Last Victim by Karen Robards Page B

he’d seen in her face. His gaze shifted to Kaminsky, and he gave an upward jerk of his head, which Charlie translated as Go .
    “Yeah, okay, I got this.” Sounding slightly more resigned to her fate, Kaminsky started walking back up the stairs, then glanced over her shoulder to tell Charlie, “I’ll be sleeping right across the hall from you, and Bartoli and Crane are crashing in bedrooms on the first floor. You can go to bed and sleep like a baby and not worry about a thing.”
    “Good to know.” Charlie followed Kaminsky up the stairs.
    “Eight a.m. good for you to get started on this again?” Bartoli called after them. Charlie knew he was speaking to her.
    It wasn’t a lot of decompression time—but then, the situation was beyond dire. “Yes, that’s fine.”
    “Come downstairs. One of us will be waiting.”
    As she reached the top of the stairs, Charlie glanced down at him. “Okay.”
    “You’re in here.” Kaminsky opened a door to the right of the landing as, from the corner of her eye, Charlie saw Bartoli head back out the door. Presumably he was not yet ready to call it a night.
    Charlie caught herself wondering if the team that had searched for Holly had been as dedicated, then forced the thought from her mind.
    “By the way, a two-hundred-fifty-mile radius is too large.” Charlie walked past Kaminsky into what, from her first glance around, appeared to be a decent-sized apartment that took up the entire left side of the second floor. “The killer should be living—or working—within a thirty-mile radius of the crime scene at the most. Say, a half hour’s drive. Since there are three separate crime scenes, that would apply to each of them. If anyone on your list is staying in RV parks or campgrounds within that circle, I’d start there.”
    “Thanks for the tip.” Kaminsky’s voice was dry. Charlie once again got the impression that Kaminsky wasn’t a fan, but at the moment she was too tired to care. “If you need anything, I’m right across the hall.” She nodded toward an open door just across the landing. Charlie glimpsed a bedroom through it. “Give a shout.”
    Charlie nodded. Then Kaminsky left, closing the door behind her. Locking the door, beyond thankful to finally be alone, Charlie glanced around her new living quarters. She was standing in a small sitting room furnished with a yellow chintz couch, a deep green recliner, and a bentwood rocker, plus the appropriate tables and lamps. A large flat-screen TV on a bamboo console took up a corner, and on the opposite side of the room a round, glass-topped table complete with four bentwood chairs composed an eating area. A half wall to the left of the eating area provided separation from a small but modern kitchen, complete with white-painted cabinets and stainless steel appliances, including the promised refrigerator and a gas range. Beige wall-to-wall carpet covered the floor. Three of the walls were celadon green, and the same chintz that was on the couch had been made into drapes that covered the entire fourth wall. Since that was the wall facing the ocean, Charlie presumed there was a spectacular view behind the yards of gaily-patterned floral pleats, but she was too exhausted to even think about checking it out.
    Lit by the round white ceramic lamps on either side of the couch, the sitting area was warmly welcoming. Charlie turned her back on it and walked through the small hallway that bypassed the kitchen, to the bedroom. It held a queen-sized bed with a quilted spread madefrom that same yellow chintz, and a bamboo headboard, plus the usual nightstands and a bamboo dresser with a mirror over it. Her suitcase was on the floor beside the dresser. Swooping down on it, she extracted her toiletry kit, her white terry cloth robe, and the first nightgown that came to hand. The bottle of Tums was tucked in beside her running shoes. Opening it, she popped two chalky, mint-flavored tablets into her mouth, shook two extra-strength