Victim

by Gayle Wilson

  Mrs. Ingersoll wore a coral-colored chenille bathrobe, belted at the waist. She was barefoot, and her hair was disarrayed enough that Sarah wondered if she'd been sleeping.

  "Okay, what exactly are you so concerned about?'

  "May we come in?" Sarah asked again.

  "Sorry. The place is a wreck. I didn't have time to clean today."

  "We don't mind. Inside would be in ore... private."

  "You need privacy to talk about my son? Maybe I'm missing something, but—"

  "You saw the police here yesterday." Mac interrupted.

  "Yeah?"

  "The incident that brought them is part of what we're concerned about."

  "He do something wrong?" Dwight's mother lifted her chin in the child's direction.

  "No, ma'am. We just wanted to make sure that you knew the building isn't as safe as perhaps it once was."

  "Drug dealers. I know. But we don't have anything to do with that. Have you been messing with those people, Dwight? I told you about that."

  "No, ma'am." The excitement of bringing Toby downstairs had faded from the boy's eyes. "I don't have anything to do with them."

  "Dwight's done nothing wrong," Sarah said. "We just wanted to make you aware of an increased danger in the area. Especially for children."

  "What kind of danger?"

  Sarah looked pointedly down at the child, still holding Toby's leash, and then back up at his mother. "I'd rather not talk about this in front of him."

  Mrs. Ingersoll's lips pursed slightly before she opened them again. "Go check on your Nana. See if she needs anything."

  Obediently. Dwight held the leash out to Mac, who smiled at the boy as he took it. "You can say goodbye to him if you want."

  The child bent, putting his arms around the dog. "You be good while you're gone, you hear? I'll save your ball for you. I'll put it in my special place, and we'll play with it when you get home."

  "Go on," Mrs. Ingersoll urged.

  Dwight released the animal and slipped through the door past his mother. She waited until they could no longer hear his footsteps before she asked again, speaking directly to Mac, "What danger?"

  "I'm sure you're aware that a serial killer of little boys has been operating in this area for the last few years. We have reason to believe he may have been here yesterday."

  "Here? In the building? Is that who killed that man they carried out?"

  "It's possible."

  "And you think he may be interested in Dwight?" She sounded slightly surprised that anyone could be.

  "We don't know that he's even aware of Dwight. But your son's the right age. And the right size. We thought we should warn you so you can keep a closer eye on him. Keep him inside."

  "He's gotta go to school. I've been through all that. Him missing too many days. I mean."

  Sarah suspected that in this neighborhood it would take a lot of absences before the authorities got involved. "Maybe you could walk him to school. Just for while."

  "I got my mother here. I can't leave her alone. She's... She's not right in the head."

  "You don't ever go out?"

  "For groceries." Mrs. Ingersoll's tone was defensive again. "Necessities. If I do, then Dwight's here. We take turns. Nobody can take this twenty-four hours a day. Wait a minute. I know you. I seen you on TV, you're the woman—" She stopped, obviously putting together the news stories on Sarah with the warning they'd just issued.

  "Maybe you can just be more watchful of Dwight," Mac interjected. "Now that you know the situation. If you see anything suspicious..." He held out one of his business cards, "Anything at all, you can reach me at that number."

  Dwight's mother nodded as she reached out to take the card, slipping it into the pocket of her robe. Her still-fascinated eyes considered Sarah again, as if she were a rock star or some other celebrity, before she asked Mac, "Is that all?"

  "Unless you have any questions."

  "Are you leaving?" she asked Sarah.

  "For a few days."

  "Must be nice to be able to get away from this place." Mrs. Ingersoll's eyes lifted to Mac's face, and her smile widened.

  "It was good to have met you." Sarah said briskly. "You have a fine, sweet little boy. You're a very lucky woman."

  The woman laughed again, but by that time Sarah had already turned away. She knew if she didn't, she wouldn't be able to hide what she was thinking.

  A sweet little boy you don’t deserve. A little boy who is alive, and if you aren't very careful—

  "Take care," Mac said behind her. "And take care of Dwight. If he were mine, I wouldn't let him out of my sight. At least not for the time being."

  "I won't. And thanks. I'll be sure to call you if I see anything out of the ordinary. Oh. and my name is Beverly. Bev to my friends."

  As the flirtation played out behind her. Sarah pushed the foyer door open, inhaling a long draught of cold air as soon as she stepped outside. She was trying to banish the stale closeness emanating from inside the Ingersoll apartment.

  She wasn't sure she'd accomplished anything with her warning to Dwight's mother. If not, at least she'd tried.

  "Well, that explained a lot." Mac had stopped beside her on the stoop.

  "Like Dwight's hunger for some attention?"

  "Among other things. Poor little guy."

  "You think she'll watch him?"

  "I doubt she knows he's there half the time."

  "Why not? Obviously she doesn't work. Did you wonder what those 'necessities' she mentioned might encompass? Maybe that's how she supports them."

  "Probably on welfare. Her mother would get Social Security. She could even be collecting child support from Dwight's father. Of course, none of that rules out her involvement in something less legal."

  Like prostitution? Or dealing drugs herself? Sarah wasn't sure which of those Mac had meant by that remark, but she didn't pursue it.

  She had learned more about Dwight Ingersoll's situation than she wanted to know. And far, far more than she had ever intended to find out.

  Thirteen

  Sarah had suggested they stop somewhere on the way back to his apartment to let the dog run. As a result, Mac was sitting on one of the benches overlooking the river, watching Toby tear from one bush to the next, and apparently looking for squirrels or birds.

  Sarah trailed him, his leash in her hand. The breeze touched her hair, so that she occasionally reached up to push a strand off her face. Despite the fleece jacket she wore, its collar turned up against the cold, she looked slim and athletic. Hardly old enough to have had an eleven-year-old son. Much less to have lost one.

  She hadn't invited him to join the romp. In all honesty, he'd gotten the feeling that she'd rather he didn't, but despite that, he'd been thinking about it. Before he could, his cell rang.

  He fished it out of his inside pocket, glancing at the caller ID before he flipped the case open. "Hey."

  "Hey, yourself" Sonny said. "So how's the man of leisure?"

  "At leisure."

  "How's the lady with the mouth."

  "Walking her dog."

  "She's still with you?"

  The disapproval that had been in his partner's voice yesterday was there again. Mac didn't like it any more now than he had then.

  "Until I figure out what's going on."

  "Probably not a bad idea," Sonny said.

  "That's a switch."

  "You remember the key she asked us to look for?"

  The spare Sarah said she'd given her ex-husband. And now Mac knew where this was going.

  "I remember."

  "We didn't find it. That don't mean whoever killed the guy took it, but..."

  "But you wouldn't sleep in that apartment tonight."

  "Not without changing the locks," Sonny admitted.

  "Can you get somebody to do that? Say the scene needs to be protected or something?"

  "Why don't you all just get it done?"

  "I doubt she's got the money. And I doubt she'd let
me pay. Besides, if that was Tate who did her ex, it seems to me the department owes her at least the cost of a locksmith."

  "Speaking of which..."

  Mac could tell he wasn't going to like this one, either. "Yeah?"

  "Nobody here is thinking it was Tate."

  Mac laughed. "Then who do they think it was?"

  "Whoever left that message maybe. That ain't to say he's not dangerous, of course. We just don't think it's Tate."

  "That's a stretch, even for the department."

  "Dan Patterson's murder was nothing like Tate's MO. Nothing. Patterson was an adult. He was killed relatively swiftly. And it was not done on neutral territory."

  Tate had never, as far as they knew, entered the homes of his victims. He always picked them up somewhere else. Their bodies were always found in some secluded rural area, usually by accident, and usually long after the crime.

  The one victim they'd discovered before the predators and insects made much headway had told them all any of them wanted to know about his methodology. Sonny was right about that, too. What he did wasn't designed to be quick.

  "That's because he didn't intend to kill Patterson." Mac wasn't sure why he was bothering to make these arguments again. Sonny was simply repeating the party line. "He was forced into doing that by the ex's unexpected presence in Sarah's apartment. Then, when I called and said I was coming over, he knew he had to get out of there. None of your arguments guarantee this wasn't Tate."

  "None of yours guarantees it was. It ain't gonna fly, Mac. They aren't even giving this one to the task force."

  "How the hell can they make that decision? He called her, for God's sake."

  Sonny said nothing because they both knew the answer to that, too. The department didn't believe the phone call had been made by Tate. And if not, there was no reason to tie the serial killer to the murder of Dan Patterson. It would become just one more unsolved homicide in a city that had a lot of those.

  "I'll try to get her locks changed," his partner said finally. "Other than that..."

  "Other than that, you can all kiss my ass." Mac closed the cell with a snap, more furious than he had any right to be.

  He shut his eyes, trying to block the image of Dwight Ingersoll and that ridiculous pink ball. When he was unsuccessful at that, he opened the phone again, punched up Sonny's name, and hit Send.

  "Cochran."

  "No matter what they tell you about Patterson's murder. Sonny, I'm telling you that you need to put somebody on the building. Full time."

  "You know we don't have enough manpower to—"

  "He may not know she's gone. If he doesn't, he'll be back."

  "There's no reason for him—"

  "He wasn't there for Patterson. He was there for her. And once he's made up his mind, our boy doesn't like being denied."

  "Our boy, according to the Bureau, is probably a thousand miles away from here right now."

  "Or he's watching that apartment. Waiting for her to come back. I get that you can't admit to the possibility that Tate did Dan Patterson, but what are you gonna do when the next kid goes missing? And by the way, there's one living right there. Bottom apartment, to the right as you face the entry. Nine years old. Perfect age, wouldn't you say? Something happens to him, and you aren't going to be able to keep the public from making the connection between Tate and the murder that took place in that building yesterday. One in which the victim's name was the same as the woman who a few days ago tried to shoot Samuel Tate."

  There was a long silence, which Mac waited through.

  "I'll see what I can do." his partner said grudgingly.

  "Thanks."

  "I ain't making you no promises, you understand, but I'll do my best."

  "And the locks?"

  "I'll tell them we've got a crime scene to protect. It should be done in a couple of days."

  "Thanks."

  "She being civil to you?"

  At the reminder Mac glanced up, eyes searching the area where Sarah and Toby had been when he'd begun this conversation. She was coming toward him, maybe ten feet away from the bench where he was sitting.

  Toby was back on his leash. His tongue hung out, but he seemed to be getting back to normal after yesterday's trauma. Tail wagging, he literally dragged his mistress toward Mac.

  Her cheeks held a touch of color from the cold or from her exertions in recapturing the dog. Her hair, which he'd thought was brown, was touched with red and gold highlights. Windblown, it tangled around the clear, pale oval of her face. Without makeup to hide them, a spatter of freckles was visible across the high-bridged nose.

  Not for the first time, Mac acknowledged the validity of Sonny's doubts about his motives. Sarah Patterson was a beautiful woman.

  "Yeah," he said into the phone. "Not a problem. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

  "She there? I get it. Don*t do nothing I wouldn't do. good buddy."

  "Don't worry." Mac closed the phone, pushing it back into his pocket. By that time the dog was leaning against his leg, once more attempting to lick his face. He stood, reaching down to scratch behind the mutt's ears. "Have a good run?"

  "Toby did. I had a good drag. Who were you talking to?"

  "Cochran. My partner. Ex-partner right now, I guess."

  "What did he want?"

  Mac hesitated, wondering if there were any good way to break the news. If he didn't tell her though, she'd eventually ask. Just as soon as she was ready to go back home.

  "They didn't find your spare key."

  Her face changed, the lines of tension that had marred it until the last half hour there again. "That means he has it."

  "Not necessarily," Mac began and then knew he couldn't lie to her about this. "But yeah, that's what we're thinking."

  "Then they do believe it was Tate."

  "That isn't the official version, but I suspect most of them wonder."

  "The official version?"

  "That's not the story that will be given to the press. If they're interested enough to pursue it."

  "Why wouldn't they be? They were pretty damn interested in pursuing me. You, too, for that matter."

  "Which might be the only reason they'd be interested in what the department is going to classify as another unsolved murder in a part of town that sees a lot of them."

  "And the fact that he was my ex-husband...?"

  Mac shrugged.

  "God. And yet they don't think this has anything to do with Tate." She shook her head. "Maybe somebody should clue the papers in to the connection."

  Mac could imagine Morel's reaction if someone did. And if his boss had any idea Sarah Patterson was staying at his apartment... "You aren't thinking about doing that, are you?"

  "Why not? Why not let the city know that murdering son of a bitch is still out there. Only now, it's not just little boys he's after. Now no one is safe. I wonder how the police would like that."

  Not worth a damn. And as much as Mac would like to see Morel try to talk his way out of that reality when the press confronted him, going to the media wasn't a good idea. Not in his situation.

  "The public knows we let Tate go. The papers have certainly been willing to play that up. And in actuality, the department's right. Nothing about the particulars of your ex-husband's murder ties Tate to it."

  "Nothing but me," Sarah said. "You don't think the press would be interested in that?"

  "About as interested as they were when you tried to shoot Tate."

  Some of the media frenzy from that was dying down. As soon as the connection between her ex-husband's death and Tate was made—and there was no doubt in Mac's mind that eventually it would be—Sarah would be right back in the spotlight.

  If the press also discovered that she was living with him, then so would he. And that was something that was bound to get Morel's back up even more than it was now.

  "Why don't you give it a couple of days?" he suggested. "Some of the evidence they took from the apartment may definitively put Tate ther
e. After all, with his arrest we've now got his prints and DNA."

  Even if Tate had been unwilling to give the department a sample, they would have obtained one from something he'd used during those few days before his hearing.

  "Why wait?" she asked. "Why shouldn't the cops have to explain that convoluted reasoning to the public?"

  "Because for one thing, it will turn your ex-husband's funeral into a media circus. It seems to me it would be easier for your mother-in-law if that didn't happen."

  And easier for you if her accusations aren't spread out on the front page of every newspaper in the state.

  He didn't bother to express that thought. If he read Sarah Patterson right, she wouldn't take any shortcuts in what she saw as the right thing to do. If she thought

  what she was doing would help Patterson's mother cope with his death, then maybe she'd be willing to wait a couple of days before going public with her accusation.

  "I need to find out when that will be. Do you know how long they'll hold his body?" She brushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

  "An autopsy usually takes a couple of days. The body will be released to the family as soon as that's done."

  "In this case, released to Louise."

  "Yeah."

  "I don't know whether she's capable of handling the arrangements."

  "She the only family he's got?"

  "Pauline, who's in her seventies. I think there are some cousins, but not here. Do you think they'd let me do that? I mean would they release the body to me?"

  "Officially, his mother's the next of kin."

  "And I'm the ex-wife."

  "That's about it."

  "Danny was buried in their family plot. I imagine Dan will be, too."

  "In Madisonville."

  She nodded.

  That might make it easier to keep a lid on the connection, which is what the department would prefer. For right now, that was what would be best for him as well.

  If the cemetery was in keeping with the size of the town, it would also make it easier to identify the mourners. Not that he expected Tate to show up for the funeral.

  Still, checking out who did was something the cops did as a matter of course.

  All Mac knew was that no matter who made the arrangements for Dan Patterson's funeral, he would be in attendance.