Exposing a Killer

by Laurie Alice Eakes

“I’m not much of a cook,” she said, “but I can manage a sandwich.”

  “That would be good of you.” He didn’t look directly at her. “Let’s look at things first.”

  They looked. Doors and windows were locked. None of the bottles, brushes or other containers on tables and dressers were moved. Not so much as a toothbrush had shifted a centimeter out of the bathroom holder. The only thing moving in the apartment were drifts of the ever-present golden retriever fur. Megan and Amber ran an automatic vacuum, and Amber brushed Tess every day, but still the hair managed to infiltrate every nook and cranny. Megan felt the dog’s absence. She could have used something warm to hug.

  She would not let her gaze drift to Jack.

  She hastened to put together sandwiches. She thought about but did not make coffee. She was on edge enough without more caffeine in her system. And coffee encouraged lingering. She didn’t want to linger across a table from Jack.

  Didn’t want was the wrong sentiment. She dared not want.

  They chatted about inconsequential things as they ate. The weather was a safe topic.

  “Pretty cold for the middle of October,” Megan said.

  “Could end up a rough winter.”

  Snow and the polar vortex of winters past took up half a sandwich each. The World Series took up the next half. Megan could talk baseball through a three-course meal—and had. She spent much time listening to games on the radio while on a stakeout.

  A stakeout. Her car.

  She sighed. “I want my car back.”

  “Won’t your insurance pay for a rental?” Jack asked.

  “They will, but I have so much paperwork to do for that to happen, then getting the car and all. I just haven’t had time.”

  “Maybe you can do some of it online today.” Jack glanced around the kitchen. “Are you sure you’re comfortable alone here?”

  “As comfortable as I can be anywhere.” She stood, removing their empty plates from the table. “Face it—breaking in here is pretty hard. I’m on the third floor beyond a locked door, then another locked door. A thousand people live within a hundred feet. Someone would hear me scream. And no one else will get hurt here on my account.”

  At least she hoped the tenants of the other two apartments in the building wouldn’t come to harm because of her. They shouldn’t unless the Cahill connection decided to bomb the building or burn it down. Fire was always a concern. The building was over 100 years old and mostly wood.

  Her stomach knotted around the smoked turkey she had just consumed. “Right now, I want a good book and a good nap.”

  Jack smiled. “Hint taken.” He slipped on his jacket and headed for the door. “Lock up behind me and don’t open the door to strangers.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Jack left without another word or backward glance.

  Megan locked the door—all three locks—the handle lock, a dead bolt with a keyhole on the outside, and a dead bolt without a keyhole outside. Then she changed into dry sweats, put some soft music on her iPad and curled up on the sofa with the sort of detective novel that made her cringe yet still enjoy.

  She was half-asleep when she heard the yowl. The rain had stopped, the traffic diminished, or she wouldn’t have been able to hear anything on the ground. But it had grown quiet enough the yowling sounded like an ambulance siren. An animal was frightened or hurt.

  Megan sprang to her feet, letting her book thud to the floor, and sprinted for the balcony doors. She doubted she would see anything from her floor but she might get the attention of a passerby to check out the cat calling for help—or maybe just expressing her displeasure with life and the state of the world.

  She flipped the locks on the doors and crossed the planks to lean over the railing.

  And the railing bowed beneath her weight. The crack of splintering wood ricocheted off the building like a gunshot. Megan sprawled as though she’d been shot. She gripped the spindles, felt the tilt. The downward tilt. She kicked, trying to find the balcony floor with her feet. No good. Each movement sent the rail pointing more and more toward the ground. The more the railing bent, the more Megan slid. The more she slid, the worse grew the slant in the wrong direction. In moments, her feet would dangle above the sidewalk forty feet below.

  If the railing didn’t break free first.

  * * *

  Jack heard Megan’s scream from the alley where he had gone to look for the crying cat. Unable to leave Megan alone in her apartment, he had chosen to remain on her street, patrolling, circling, watching her building for anything suspicious. He wanted to keep her safe.

  And he had failed. Someone had gotten to her, and she was in danger...or worse.

  He raced around the building, dialing 911 as his feet pounded the pavement. He glanced toward her apartment and found her faster than he thought he could. Faster than he wanted to. She hung above him like some new gymnastics trick of swinging through parallel bars forty feet above the ground.

  “Hang on,” he shouted.

  “Thanks. I thought I’d let go.”

  Somehow her good Midwest sarcasm comforted him. She still possessed her sense of humor.

  “I called 911.” He positioned himself beneath her.

  He could probably catch her if she fell. She was pretty small. He could bear her weight. They both might fall to the sidewalk, but at least she would not be a smashed heap of broken bones.

  But if the railing crashed down, as well, they were in trouble. Ten or twelve feet long and four feet high, it must weigh hundreds of pounds. Hundreds of pounds of solid wood, not wimpy plywood.

  And if it wasn’t made of flimsy boards, how had it come loose?

  Later. Later he would examine how the railing had been tampered with. He considered no ifs in this situation. Someone had sabotaged that railing figuring Megan would lean against it at some point. Megan or one of her friends.

  Jack’s insides felt as though someone were using them for shoelaces. Pulled taut. Knotted.

  “I’ll catch you if you fall,” he called to Megan.

  “And end up a human pancake on the sidewalk?” Her vibrant curls bobbed. “I think—”

  Above, the railing groaned.

  “Stand back,” someone yelled.

  Jack glanced around to find a crowd forming on the sidewalk. Cars had stopped in the middle of the street, drivers and passengers emerging to watch the show.

  “Clear the street,” Jack called to the stopped vehicles. “Emergency vehicles can’t get through.”

  The drivers ignored him.

  “That railing’s going to go.” An old man dressed in a flannel shirt and overalls, as though he’d just left his downstate farm, plucked at Jack’s arm. “You’d better move back, son.”

  “I need to stay here so I can catch her.”

  He wanted the old man to leave. He might be able to catch Megan and run if the railing began to break away from the balcony. The elderly gentleman would never survive.

  “I’ll be fine,” Jack said.

  “I don’t think so.” The man’s grip on Jack’s arm tightened. “Get yourself out of the way.”

  “Speaking of getting out of the way.” Jack tried to be casual, while his heart pounded hard enough to shake a stadium. “Someone with authority needs to get those cars moving out of the street.”

  The wail of a siren rang across the city.

  “Do you think you can talk the drivers into moving along?”

  Or the rest of the crowd.

  He’d done some crowd control once. Day after Thanksgiving sales with stressed and excited shoppers pushing and shoving one another away from the store doors. This wasn’t the same. These people were quiet, faces filled with the horror Jack felt. A woman was about to plunge to her death, and they wanted to be witnesses before the evening news.

  And here came the media.
A photographer talking into a mic arrived before the firetruck. Filming, filming, filming what might be Megan’s last moments.

  The killer’s victory moments.

  An ominous crack reverberated from above. The railing had broken away from one end and begun to swing both down and to the side.

  Megan screamed.

  The emergency personnel were still too far away. Only a block, but that was too far.

  Jack positioned himself beneath Megan and held up his arms. “Let go.”

  “I can’t. My fingers... Stuck.”

  Cramped from holding on so hard.

  “Just try one at a time,” Jack encouraged her. “You can do it. We can do it.”

  Megan said something, but the cameraman interrupted. “Do you know her, sir?”

  “Yes.” Jack didn’t look at him. He kept his focus on Megan. “Come on, sweetheart. First finger, go. Second.”

  “I—” The railing broke away at the next spindle, and Megan’s cry must have been heard all the way to Indiana.

  The rumble of the firetruck blocked her words this time. Men in heavy geared leaped out and grabbed for a ladder. That would work.

  If they got it in place soon enough.

  They wouldn’t be soon enough. Already Megan’s hands were giving way. Cramped or not, fingers could only hold a person’s weight for so long. That long had passed for her. With a shriek from Megan and a gasp from the crowd, she began to fall.

  THIRTEEN

  Jack sprang. Megan struck him as though the entire balcony had fallen. His arms closed around her. Together they crashed to the ground, Jack twisting to ensure he landed on the bottom, cushioning her fall. Wind left his lungs in a whoosh.

  Around them, cheers and applause broke out. Cameras flashed.

  “Just what I want,” Megan murmured in Jack’s ear. “Another fifteen minutes of fame.”

  Though he lay on his back on concrete, still unable to wholly catch his breath, Jack felt as though he soared. Megan was a remarkable woman. So resilient. So strong. He felt privileged to know her even for these few days.

  “I crushed you.” She started to rise.

  “Don’t move, miss.” A paramedic hustled forward. “You might have broken something. We need to put you on a backboard and have you x-rayed.”

  “I’m not the one who probably broke something.” She shifted onto the pavement and sat up. “It’s him.”

  “All right.” Jack managed to get the two words out on wheezing breaths. “Just wind knocked out.”

  “Amazing catch, sir.” The cameraman crowded in. “Will you tell us what you know about what happened?”

  “You saw most of what I saw.” Jack pushed himself to a sitting position.

  “Sir,” the paramedic protested.

  “Whose apartment is that?” a fireman asked.

  “Mine.” Megan raised one hand, revealing a palm full of splinters.

  “I can tend to those.” Happy to have something he could do, the paramedic guided Megan off to the ambulance to have the splinters removed and disinfected.

  “We need to inspect that railing,” the fireman said. “Do you know how we can get up there?”

  “I doubt she had her keys with her. Maybe the landlord.”

  The emergency over, the crowd began to disburse, but one tenant came forward. “The landlord’s on his way. I called him as soon as I saw what was happening.” He shook his head and hunched his shoulders to his ears as though trying to draw into a protective shell. “I lean on my balcony railing all the time.”

  “So does Megan.” Jack didn’t know that for sure. He couldn’t. He didn’t know enough about her to know those little details of her life, yet he saw so clearly her leaning on that railing, talking about her glimpse of the lake, and he was sure he was right.

  “Thanks for your help,” Jack said.

  Ignoring questions from the original cameraman and other reporters who had shown up, Jack made his way to the ambulance. Megan sat on the bumper, one paramedic holding her hand, palm up, the other using fine tweezers to pull out splinters and dab ointment on the wounds, along with tending to several scrapes on her palms and wrists. Her face was white, and Jack didn’t think the tremble of her lips had anything to do with him.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You saved my life.”

  “Someone would have caught you.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You were the only one close enough.”

  “I think there were...” Jack began.

  Then an old song, one recorded before he was born, ran through his head. Something about only having eyes for one person. If she only had eyes for him, they were in trouble. They were caring too much for one another for two people without a future together.

  As he had known when he kissed her.

  His knees wobbled. He wished he had somewhere to sit.

  He settled for crouching on the sidewalk in front of Megan. “Can you tell me what happened yet, or do you need a break first?”

  “I can tell you.” She swallowed. “The cops are going to want a report anyway. Ugh.” She pressed her forearm over her eyes. “Another police report.”

  “Either you’re a wanted woman or accident-prone,” one paramedic joked.

  “I am a wanted woman, but not like you mean. Someone wants to kill me.”

  The paramedics stared at her.

  “She’s not paranoid,” Jack said. “It’s the truth. So don’t think she has something wrong with her when she tells you she thinks that balcony railing was tampered with.”

  “I think it was,” Megan said. “That railing has been as solid as—as something solid since I’ve lived here. It didn’t just go bad in a day.”

  “And you were leaning on it yesterday, and I checked it to see how sturdy it was,” Jack added.

  The mouths of the paramedics were sagging open. But they didn’t have time for questions. A police detective strolled up and began firing questions at Megan like bullets at a range. Halfway through the questioning, he received a phone call. He walked away and turned his back on them. When he returned, he fixed them with cold, nearly black eyes. “I understand you two are in the middle of a murder investigation.”

  “We’re not suspects,” Megan said.

  “This isn’t the first attempt on our lives,” Jack added.

  The detective handed each of them his card. “I need a full report. Come to the station at your earliest convenience.”

  “One more trip to a police station is never convenient,” Megan grumbled.

  Jack grinned at her and squeezed her shoulder. “You should be an expert at making reports by now.”

  “Apparently useless ones.” Suddenly, she jerked away from him and held his gaze with two green spears. “How did you get here so fast anyway?”

  “I, um, never left.” Jack broke their gazes. “I didn’t want you here alone.”

  “Because I need a protector.” Her lips quivered in a way that shook Jack’s resolve to not get involved.

  Not too involved.

  “Looks like you’re fortunate he decided to stick around,” one of the paramedics put in. “Not sure anyone else would have been here quick enough to catch you.”

  “Or been strong enough,” the other added. He rubbed his slim arms. “You fell before the firemen could decide how to get you down.”

  This time when Megan looked into his eyes, hers had softened from pointed emeralds to soft spring grass. “I haven’t thanked you. If the fall hadn’t killed me, it would have seriously injured me.”

  “Seriously.” Jack’s voice sounded like he spoke over gravel even to himself.

  “Both legs broken at least,” the older and brawnier of the two paramedics said.

  Megan emitted a shaky laugh. “Thanks for that vision. I mean, no thanks.”

  “Hap
py to oblige.” The paramedic held out his hands to help her rise. “You should go to a doctor to have your hands checked out. Especially if you get any swelling.”

  “You might have broken a couple of metacarpal bones,” the other medic said.

  Megan paled.

  Jack shot a glare at the two emergency workers. “I think that’s enough.”

  “Tetanus shot,” the older medic said. “When did you last have one?”

  “A year ago.” Megan glanced from her bandaged hands to Jack. “And what about the cat? Did you hear the cat?”

  “I did.” Jack nodded toward the alley. “I heard one yowling back there and went to see if I could find him. Otherwise, I would have been here when the railing broke.”

  “Like Romeo calling under my balcony?” Megan clamped her hand over her mouth as though wishing she could push the words back.

  Jack experienced a need to go for another run on the beach path.

  “Let’s hope our ending is better than theirs.”

  It would be because they wouldn’t have entered into a doomed relationship.

  “Do you want to go back upstairs?” Jack asked her.

  “No. I want to look for the cat. It was crying so badly I was sure it was injured.” She blinked hard. “I think someone made it meow so I’d go onto the balcony. And if they hurt an animal to get to me...” She flashed a fierce scowl in Jack’s direction as though he was responsible for a possibly injured cat. “They’ll be sorry.” She sighed. “That was kind of weak, wasn’t it?”

  “I hope I never make you angry.” Jack touched her elbow, wanting only to make her happy. “Let’s go look for Mittens.”

  Megan rolled her eyes in Jack’s direction. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than Mittens?”

  “Muffin?”

  “Worse.”

  “Xena?”

  “Let’s find her first.” Instead of thinking about the unnamed cat, Jack found himself thanking God for Megan still being alive, for Megan being alive at all and coming into his life.

  * * *

  Megan headed in the direction opposite from where the balcony had come down. She couldn’t so much as get a glimpse of that pile of splintered wood she’d once thought sturdy, unbreakable.