Victim

by Gayle Wilson

  The silence stretched long enough that despite the clarity of the choice Mac had presented, Sarah wasn't sure the captain was going to come down on the side of doing his job.

  After a moment Morel said, "We discovered only tonight that Tate is still our problem. That's why I asked you to come down here, Mac. You say he's engaged in some very aberrant behavior since his arrest. What's your explanation for that?"

  "I think he's playing to Sarah."

  A strange turn of phrase, Sarah thought, for what had gone on. Maybe in cop-speak, it had a meaning she wasn't aware of.

  "Trying to impress her?" Morel asked. "Like an adolescent with a crush?"

  "I don't think that characterization is very far off the mark," Mac agreed.

  "Exactly why would he do that? He's not sexually attracted to women. We have ample evidence of that."

  Mac shrugged. "I think what he meant by 'what he'd done for her' was not killing Dwight Ingersoll. He killed the other boy instead and dumped him in a place Dwight and Sarah had frequented. Right across the street from the building where she lives. His victims are normally well hidden in out-of-the-way locations. Sonny said it when we were in the park. He said that body was like a gift. He meant a gift to the forensics guys, but I think it was also Tate's gift to Sarah. 'Look. I didn't kill the boy you care about. I killed another one in his place.'"

  "A substitute sacrifice," Morel said. "That's almost biblical in its implications."

  "I don't know what that means," Sarah said, drawing the captain's eyes back to her, "but I have to think the way he lured Dwight outside, making us all think something had happened to him... I have to think I was supposed to believe Tate had taken him. And I did."

  "Then he shows up unharmed, with a message for Sarah," Mac added. '"Did you like what I did for you?' If that's not obsession of some kind. I don't know what is."

  "I think he was out there tonight," Sarah said. "Watching the body. Maybe waiting for me to find it."

  "You... felt him there?" Morel's question was dubious.

  "I saw someone. Something," she amended, trying to be fair. "It was dark enough that I couldn't be certain, but.. .if Mac's right about him being obsessed..."

  Neither of them said anything for a few long heartbeats. Then Morel straightened in his chair, tenting his fingers so that they touched his chin.

  "An interesting theory," he said. "I suppose we could debate the pros and cons of it. Or we could figure out how to use whatever connection Tate feels to Mrs. Patterson to our advantage."

  "What exactly does that mean? Use the connection?"

  Sarah could feel the distrust in Mac's questions. He had told her that he and the captain seldom saw eye-to-eye. Now she knew why. Mac was straightforward, perhaps to a fault, but you always knew where you stood with him. Morel, on the other hand, apparently liked to pontificate, to obscure his motives with double-talk.

  "Tate continues to make contact, either directly or through a third party, with Mrs. Patterson. I'm suggesting that the next time he attempts to do that, we're waiting for him."

  There was a moment of silence as both she and Mac absorbed what the captain had just said. Mac was the one who broke it, although she'd reached the same conclusion he had.

  "You want to use Sarah to try and catch Tate."

  "Since he seems to keep coming back to her..." Morel lifted his hands, palms tilted upward and to the side. A gesture of acquiescence.

  "In other words, you want to set a trap for Tate," Sarah said, "and I'm to be the bait."

  "I didn't think you'd agree to our using the Ingersoll child. He's the only other person in this city Tate has shown any interest in."

  "You've lost your mind," Mac said.

  "It's your theory, Mac. That he's obsessed with Mrs. Patterson. Given the situation, we'd be fools not to take advantage of that."

  "Never mind that you'd put her at risk in order to do so."

  “Right now every boy in New Orleans between the ages of five and fifteen is at risk. And we have no idea which of them he might choose next. Mrs. Patterson, on the other hand—“

  "Trap him how?" Sarah interrupted.

  Some emotion appeared in the captain's cold, mud-colored eyes and was then quickly veiled by the downward sweep of his lashes. Satisfaction? Or elation? she wondered. Not that it really mattered.

  "I understand you aren't currently staying in your own apartment."

  "That's right."

  "We'd want you to go back there."

  "You've lost your collective minds," Mac said.

  "Go back there and then what?" Sarah asked.

  "The next move would be up to Tate. If Mac's right, he'll make it. When he does, we'll be waiting."

  "In my apartment?" she clarified.

  "I think that might be too obvious. He's going to have to believe that you've gone back to your normal routine. Back home. Back to work. Back to the way you were living before your... What did you call it? Your 'confrontation' on the courthouse steps."

  "If I do this—"

  "You've lost your mind, too;' Mac said to her. "You couldn't even walk into the place. Now you're proposing to move back in there and wait for Tate to do to you what he did to your ex-husband."

  "If I agree to do this," Sarah went on, ignoring him to speak directly to Morel, "I have conditions."

  "Which are?"

  "You get Dwight Ingersoll and his family out of that building. Get them into an apartment in a safer neighborhood. One that's bigger and cleaner and near a better school."

  She tried to think if there was anything else she could reasonably add, but she figured she shouldn't push her luck. Morel didn't strike her as someone who enjoyed having demands made of him.

  "We don't have the authority—"

  "You want to lure a serial killer who has been responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen young boys to a building where another young boy lives—a child Tate has already involved in a dangerous situation—and you're telling me you can't arrange to get him out of that apartment? I'm willing to act as bait in whatever trap you want to set. I'm not willing to do that until that family has been moved out of harm's way."

  "I assure you, Mrs. Patterson—"

  "Doing this is to your advantage, too. Captain Morel. If anything went wrong with your plan and something happened to that little boy, I think you would have a very hard time explaining things to the press.

  "Or maybe that isn't a concern in the department?" she continued, knowing that she'd hit on something Morel would have to react to. "How well it's protecting the most vulnerable in our society? Believe me, Dwight Ingersoll would fit that description. But maybe you guys think that if he got hurt in this operation, you could explain to everybody why you didn't think to get him out of there before you lured a serial killer into the building?" She looked from Morel to Mac's partner as she asked the last question. "And I want to make it very clear that I will see to it that if the Ingersolls aren't moved, you will all have to explain why to every reporter in this country."

  Twenty-Two

  Neither of them had said a word on the way back to Mac's apartment. Every argument, pro and con, had been made downtown.

  Of course, the ultimate decision had been hers. She couldn't do much about the fact Mac didn't like the choice she'd made.

  He unlocked the door, holding it open for her to go through. Toby looked up from his place on the couch, and then lowered his head as he prepared to go back to sleep.

  Sarah walked on into the living room, but Mac stopped at the front closet to hang up his jacket, continuing to avoid her eyes as he had since they'd left Morel's office.

  "Say whatever you want to say before you explode."

  He put the jacket and hanger on the rod and then closed the closet door. Finally he turned, looking at her.

  "I don't have anything else to say. You've heard how I feel. Probably ad nauseum."

  "It's the right thing to do. Mac:'

  "Okay." He crossed the room and headed
to the kitchen.

  As she took off her own coat and laid it on the end of the couch, she listened to the water being turned on and then off. After a couple of seconds that noise was followed by the sound of a glass being set down in the porcelain sink. He was getting a drink, something he always did on the way to bed.

  As he reentered the room, Mac was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. "Mind if I grab a quick shower?"

  "It is your shower."

  "And it's your bedroom." Although the phrase "for the time being" hadn't been a part of that sentence, it hung in the air between them.

  "What they want me to do gets Dwight out of harm's way," she said, unwilling to believe she couldn't make him see reason. "And it gives law enforcement the chance to remove a sadistic killer of children from the streets. How could I not agree?"

  "Easy. You could say to them all the things I said tonight. They can use a ringer. They've done it before in this kind of situation."

  Mac had kept arguing for that. All they needed, he'd said, was the illusion that Sarah was back at work and back in her apartment. They could easily use a policewoman to give Tate that impression. Someone of her general size and build who would wear her clothes.

  "He's not that stupid. Mac. He wouldn't fall for it."

  "He's obsessed with you. He'd bite."

  "Yes, he will, /fit's me. And when he does, someone will be there to take him down. And to protect me in the process."

  "Things go wrong in operations like this all the time. No matter what they tell you, nothing comes with a guarantee."

  "If there's anyone who understands that principle, Mac, it's me."

  "Then don't let them put you in that position. They can do something else. Go in some other direction and get the same result."

  "I want him, Mac. I want that bastard finally brought to justice. I wanted that enough to try to do it myself when the system failed. Why wouldn't I be willing to help them accomplish this?"

  "Because you've sacrificed enough on the altar of Samuel Tate."

  "I didn't make those offerings, Mac. He took them from me. And I couldn't do a thing about it. This time..." She stopped, fighting the emotion generated by the thought of finally getting payback. "Even if I didn't want this for myself, what kind of person would deny their help in getting that maniac off the streets? If I can protect Dwight or other boys like him and Danny, it would be criminal not to agree."

  "Except it's not your job, Sarah. It's their job. They're just trying to make it easier by taking what is essentially a very dangerous shortcut."

  "I'm not opposed to them making it easier, as long as they catch him. I don't understand why you are."

  "Because I don't want anything to happen to you."

  The words caught at her heart, but she couldn't let them influence her. She couldn't let him influence her.

  "Then see to it that nothing does," she said. "Be there. Be there when he comes."

  "That would make me party to what they're doing," he said stubbornly

  That had been Mac's last word in his boss's office. That he wanted no part of what they proposed. Although she hadn't expressed her dismay at the time, that was the one argument that had caused her to have second thoughts.

  "They're going to do it with you or without you."

  "Are you?" he asked.

  "I don't want to. But.. .1 don't think I have any option."

  "And that's where we won't ever agree."

  He moved past her to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He had intended that gesture to make her feel shut out. Closed off from the support he'd provided since she'd been here. Understanding his intent didn't keep it from working.

  She blew out a breath, too tired and too frustrated by his obstinacy to argue anymore. All she wanted was her own shower and some place to sleep. If she ended up sharing the couch with Toby, so be it.

  She was right, and Mac was wrong. And she wasn't going to give in to his blackmail. If that meant she had to do this without him. then so be that, too. In the meantime...

  She glanced at her watch and discovered it was only a little after ten. With everything that had gone on tonight, it felt much later.

  Although it was early for bed, it was very much past dinner time. Maybe it was crass or unfeeling or something else emotionally unhealthy to think about food right now, but since she couldn't go to bed until Mac finished in the bathroom, so be it.

  "Smells good."

  It had. The smell of whatever Sarah was warming in the microwave had drifted back to the bedroom. He had intended to pull on the pair of sweatpants he 'd slept in last night and roll Toby for the couch. Instead he found himself putting on a clean pair of jeans to join her in the kitchen.

  She was sitting at the table, the takeout containers she'd stuck in the refrigerator earlier lined up in front of her. Across from her place was an empty plate and another set of silverware.

  "I thought you might be hungry, too," she said.

  "I didn't realize how much, until I smelled this."

  He sat down, laying the paper towel she'd put beside his plate over his lap. When he looked up, she was watching him.

  "I'm sorry." He hadn't intended to apologize. He still thought he was right, and she and Morel and the rest of them were wrong. That didn't mean they couldn't be civil to one another. After all, she was his guest.

  And a hell of a lot wore.

  "I know you're just saying what you believe," she responded. "I can't fault you for that, but...I'm truly too tired to think about it any more tonight."

  "Fair enough," he agreed, reaching over to grab one of the cartons.

  As he spooned the contents, which looked like Mongolian beef, onto his plate, the aroma made his mouth water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. And he couldn't remember many times in his life when he'd been hungrier.

  They ate in silence. Since she'd gotten a head start while he'd showered she seemed content after she was done to watch him finish off everything left on the table between them.

  "Better?" she asked as he pushed his chair back a little.

  "I may live."

  It was the wrong choice of words. Despite the ease that seemed to have returned while they'd eaten, the phrase brought back all the issues they'd discussed endlessly for the last few hours. The ones that had created the barrier that now existed between them.

  "Look—" he began.

  "Don't. Let it go, Mac. At least let it go for tonight."

  He shrugged agreement. What choice did he have?

  "If I don't clear this stuff away, we'll be smelling Chinese for days." She rose, picking up as many of the empty cartons as she could carry over to the garbage can.

  When she turned back to the table after depositing them, she said, "Why don't you let me take the couch tonight? It hardly seems fair that you don't get to sleep in your own bed anymore."

  "Toby and I have an understanding. He sleeps on the floor, and he knows I'm not interested in any display of affection until after daylight." He pushed up from the table. "Go take your shower. I'll finish up in here. We'll both feel better after a good night's sleep."

  She looked as if she didn't believe him. but she did allow him to take the remainder of the cartons out of her hands. Then she hovered beside his chair, watching as he disposed of the rest of the trash.

  "Go," he ordered, when he'd finished. "You'll sleep better."

  She nodded and then obeyed, finally leaving him alone. He thought about calling Sonny to see what he'd say without Morel listening to every word, but Sarah was right. He needed to let this go for tonight. Maybe if he slept on it, he could come up with some alternative solution that the powers-that-be would buy. One that didn't involve using Sarah as bait.

  It seemed ironic that he'd been the one who'd pointed out to them that she was the only connection to Tate they had. At the time, he hadn't thought stating that obvious fact would work out like this.

  He took a last look around the kitchen. It was better than h
e would normally leave it. He could load the few utensils they'd used into the dishwasher in the morning.

  He turned off the light and went into the living room. By now, Toby was used to the routine. As soon as Mac appeared, he jumped down from the couch, ambling over to stretch out between it and the front door.

  Mac checked the locks and then took the quilt he'd been using from the top shelf of the front closet, where Sarah stored it every morning after she'd folded it up. Normally that would have been a bit too much domestic tranquility for him. but having her pick up after him hadn't been too bad. Actually—

  He shut down that line of thought. Whether he liked having Sarah around or not was beside the point. She'd come here because neither of them felt it was safe for her to remain in her apartment. And now, if Morel had his way. she would be going back there.

  He realized he was still standing beside the front door, the forgotten quilt in his hands. He carried it with him, laying his nighttime covering down on the couch as he walked past it and over to the bedroom door.

  He hesitated a moment before he tapped on its hollow core with the back of his knuckles. There was no answer, which probably meant Sarah was still in the shower.

  He released the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and began to turn away. Midway through the motion, he changed his mind and his direction.

  This time he didn't knock. Nor did he hesitate. He opened the door, stepped inside the darkened bedroom, and then closed it behind him.

  The light in the bathroom was on, and he could hear water running. The mental images that sound produced were so clear he could almost see the beads of moisture on that alabaster skin.

  She would have put her hair up, but tendrils, dampened by the steam, would cling to the slim column of her neck. When she raised her arm to reach for the soap in the corner rack, her breasts would lift into the spray.

  He closed his eyes against the force of those pictures, only to have them replaced by others. Just as powerful. Just as provocative.

  The last time he'd opened the door of the shower, he'd found Sarah broken by grief and remorse. In need of his comfort.

  Tonight, despite everything she'd been through, she was once more the woman he'd first seen pointing a gun at her son's murderer. A woman willing to lay her life on the line for what she believed was right. Willing to do what had to be done, even if it wasn't her responsibility.