Death Notice

by Lolli Powell

  “You two should be ashamed,” Jen said. “I think you’ve conspired against me from the beginning.”

  “Not against, but for.” Lonnie looked serious. “You two look good together.”

  “It’s not all appearances.” Jen smiled at Lonnie. “Okay, boss, I’ll go so far as to say you might have known best after all.”

  “Did you ever doubt it?”

  Al came in, looking like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary.

  “I think we’ve got something, thanks to you.” He handed Jen copies of the newspaper’s divorce announcements. “Check it out. The divorce notices of all four were in the same edition. And all four initiated the divorces.”

  There had been two printings since the one listing the victims, the latest being two days ago. Each contained approximately thirty notices. She laid the last two aside and looked at the list containing the names of Judy, Carla, Vicki, and Trish. As she stared at it, she wondered if she was looking at the killer’s to-do list.

  She pointed to the names. “We need to find out how many of these women live alone.”

  Lonnie rummaged in a drawer and came out with a copy of the contact numbers for all the officers on the department. He handed it to Al.

  “See if you can get about half a dozen task force members in here as soon as possible. Then call the rest and get them on standby to come in tonight for surveillance. I’ll call Hardesty and get him to contact his people.”

  Al took the sheet and went out into the detective section to use the phone at his desk.

  “We’ll canvass names on the first list,” Lonnie said, “then start on the next one. Beginning tonight, I want surveillance on any women off that first list who live alone.”

  “That’s going to take a lot of coverage,” Jen said. “We can’t even be sure that it’s anything more than a coincidence that the names were printed at the same time.”

  “What else have we got? It’s as good a lead as any.”

  “Something about it feels right,” Will said.

  Jen thought for a moment.

  “Does going after divorced women sound like something Arthur Kelty might do?”

  “I don’t know.” Will shrugged. “I heard from social services that he always seemed angry when the subject of his mother was brought up, like he’d never forgiven her for leaving him.”

  “But you said you think Wayne killed her.”

  “I do, but chances are the boy didn’t know that.” He thought for a moment. “Remember, I told you Wayne considered killing a game, a sport. The hunt, he called it. Hunters generally have a plan or system that they think works for finding game. Could be that this is the system Artie devised. If it is Artie, that is.”

  “Okay.” Lonnie picked up the first list. “Let’s divide this up, starting with the women who initiated divorce proceedings. We’ll do as many as we can by phone.”

  “How do you want to do this?” Will asked. “I assume you don’t want to spook the women.”

  “We could pretend to be doing a phone survey,” Jen said. “You know, the kind that says the computer called you at random. Then we ask demographic questions, like how many children reside in the household, how many adults, that sort of thing.”

  “Good, good!” Lonnie nodded excitedly. “The ones we can’t get hold of or the ones who hang up on us, we’ll do in person.”

  Jen felt a surge of excitement. Will was right—it did feel right. Maybe they did have a chance of catching Arthur Kelty after all. Somehow she was sure it was him—that felt right, too. Unexpectedly, a chill ran up her back, and she shivered.

  “You okay?” Will said.

  She nodded, perplexed. She had never thought of herself as a superstitious person, but for the second time that week, she felt as if someone had just stepped on her grave.

  ***

  By four that afternoon they had covered the list containing the names of the victims, as well as the one following it. They hadn’t started on the list printed two days before, since it seemed doubtful the killer would take a victim from it while he still had the others to choose from.

  Since each list contained approximately thirty names, they were pleasantly surprised to find that only four more women from the first list lived alone and only ten from the second list.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Don said. Will had given the agent a call, and he had joined them before noon. “Chances are the women who filed for divorce already had somebody else in mind to live with—a roommate, someone they were involved with, or maybe just moving back in with parents.”

  “And don’t forget,” Jen said, “women usually get custody of any children.”

  Lonnie had called Buchan with the theory, and the chief had okayed the surveillance. Mike Hardesty had accomplished the same with the sheriff. The other task force members had been notified. A few were scheduled to work that evening, but their departments all agreed to relieve them from normal duty.

  Lonnie and Mike insisted that two officers be assigned to each of the fourteen women gleaned from the first two lists. The two FBI agents, along with Lonnie and Mike, would rove to be available for extra coverage should something go down. Since there were not enough task force members to cover the surveillance, additional off-duty officers were asked to participate. All agreed without hesitation, willingly canceling social and family engagements. Jen knew Trish’s death motivated them all.

  The officers all arrived at the building by 4:30. The next hour was spent going over Jen’s theory and the details of the surveillance. Everyone agreed it would be in their best interests to be in position early. It was Saturday, and the women were now single. Odds were that some of them would be going out, and the officers could follow.

  Jen was relieved to find herself teamed with Hank Jackson. Since Will and Don would be roving, she had been afraid that she and Al would revert to their old partnership. After their conversation at lunch earlier in the week, she had no desire to tempt fate by being paired with him.

  “Isn’t it a little too soon to expect him to try again?” Jamie asked after the assignments had been given out. “It’s only been a couple of days since Trish.”

  Her voice shook as she said her friend’s name. Several of the officers coughed and shuffled their feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the memory of how close to them the monster had gotten. The faces of others grew angry and hard.

  “It may be,” Lonnie admitted, “but the interval between killings has gotten shorter. There were four weeks between the first two, but only two weeks between the second and third. That dropped to four days between Vicki Kaufmann and Trish. I don’t think we can count on him waiting too long before he kills again.”

  “How long can we keep this up?” asked a deputy whose name Jen didn’t know. “We all know the county and city are both operating understaffed, and there’s never enough money budgeted for overtime.”

  “We’ll keep it up as long as we have to,” Hardesty answered his officer. “Or until something indicates we’re barking up the wrong tree. Chief Buchan and the sheriff are both prepared to go to their respective councils and ask for more funds if it appears they’re needed.”

  Jen caught the cynical looks passed between the assembled officers. Mike’s words sounded good, but they all knew it just didn’t work that way. If they didn’t find the killer fast, the politicians would soon decide that the money was being wasted, and the funds would dry up. But she suspected that as long as her theory still looked good, the city’s officers would volunteer to do the surveillance whether they were paid or not. He’d killed one of their own, and they were determined to do whatever was necessary to get him.

  CHAPTER 38

  The man who used to be Arthur Kelty had tried to rest all day, but the sense of urgency he felt would not let him find peace. He had lain awake most of the night, thinking and planning how and when he would get Dillon and the man who had trapped his father. His plan was nearly complete. He would be ready to move soon, but he neede
d to hunt before then.

  It was Saturday night. The sluts would be out in force, dressed in their short skirts and tight pants, their breasts either braless and bouncing or exploding out of pushup bras—bait to entrap any man they came near. They were like dogs in heat, the way they left their hot, wet scent smeared all over every person and thing they touched.

  He went to the closet and took out the shoebox. He hadn’t intended to act so soon after killing the cop, but he would have to leave town after he’d disposed of the FBI agent and Dillon. He would never be able to do the others on his list, but he could pick one—just one—to pass the time with this weekend.

  He looked at the clippings and photos in the unfinished section of the box and tried to decide which of them would be the night’s kill. Tonight any of them would do. He wasn’t particular like he’d been on Thursday. The cop had been an important choice, not just for her own sake but also because of the psychological effect he knew it had had on the FBI agent and his tramp.

  Finally, he decided he’d take the next one in order. He pulled a small bundle of papers from the box and looked at the photograph, at the smiling lips and the tight body. He’d snapped the photo with his cell phone as she’d exited a coffee shop. He’d seen the men watching her, enticed by her snug dress that showed off her shapely legs. Come and get me, her dress and manner said, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

  He hummed a tune as he dressed. When he was ready to leave, he picked up his cell and dialed her number. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hello,” she said, sounding excited. He didn’t answer. She said “hello” a couple of times, then, “Jack?”

  He hung up. She was home, but what if she was waiting for someone or going out with someone she might let stay over later? His plans would be ruined. He passed his hand over his eyes, trying to press away the faint throbbing of an impending headache. Who was Jack? What if Jack was there when he arrived?

  He sat for a moment on the arm of the couch, trying to calm his nerves. Now that he’d decided to hunt, he knew he had to make a kill or the pressure would grow so great as to threaten his chances for success with the man who had trapped his father. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Suddenly he knew what to do. It was so simple he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before. He returned to his bedroom and pulled his shoebox from its hiding place. It only took a couple of minutes to make a decision.

  His second choice didn’t live far from the first, which would simplify matters if the first didn’t work out. This was proof of the truth of Father’s lesson about always being prepared. Father had taught him to think ahead, to collect all the information he could on his prey, and to always have more than one kill planned ahead. Like a good hunter who set up trail cams in the woods and observed the routines of deer or turkey, he had followed his prey and learned their routines. He’d taken pictures with his cell without the prey being aware she was being stalked, and in his mind, he made a list. He preferred following that list most of the time, taking them in order, but life wasn’t always orderly. He smiled at himself in the dresser mirror and smoothed a stray hair. It promised to be an interesting night.

  CHAPTER 39

  “I hear you’ve been working real close with a certain fed,” Hank said, mock sternness in his voice. They were in her unmarked car on their way to their target’s house.

  “Word travels fast, doesn’t it?”

  She glanced over at Hank as she slowed for a light. He smiled.

  “It sure does. As long as you’re happy, sugar, that’s what counts.”

  “Well…so far, so good.”

  Hank nodded, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. He fiddled with the radio as she drove to Terri Randall’s house. She was one of the four women whose divorce notices had been published in the same edition as those of the victims.

  Randall lived in a small white frame house across from a neighborhood park complete with tennis and basketball courts. The park was filled with people using the courts or watching the games. Jen pulled the unmarked into an open space in the parking lot, and the two of them settled back, ostensibly just another couple watching the players.

  “Think we’ll have any luck tonight?” Hank said, stretching his long legs.

  “I hope so. We both know that speech about covering these women indefinitely is a load of crap.”

  Hank grunted his agreement. He pressed a button on the passenger door to lower his window and lit a cigarette.

  “Don’t you know those things are bad for your health?” Jen waved at the smoke.

  “What isn’t?” He inhaled deeply before blowing smoke rings out the window. “This could get boring if nothing goes down.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I got nothing against your company, babe, I never have liked stakeouts. Now, if Randall goes honky-tonking, that might make a difference. Maybe you and me could burn up a few dance floors. All in the line of duty, of course.”

  “Why, Hank! I never would have guessed you for a dancer!”

  “I may not look like John Travolta, but I promise you, I can out-dance the boy.”

  Jen laughed, trying to picture Hank in the lead role in Saturday Night Fever. She couldn’t quite make the mental leap required and hoped Randall did go out dancing. It would be interesting to see if Hank could make good on his boasts.

  From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the front of the house. A Bureau of Motor Vehicles check had revealed that Randall owned a blue Focus. The car was parked in the drive. They would be able to see if she left the house in her car or if someone picked her up.

  They didn’t have long to wait. At seven, the front door opened. A petite and curvaceous girl with short, curly, black hair and a bounce in her walk came out and headed for the Focus. She was dressed in a red, short-sleeved dress that ended several inches above her knees. Based on the girl’s attire, Jen guessed Hank was going to get his wish about going dancing.

  The surveillance teams were using Channel 3 for radio communications, and now Jen advised the others that Randall was on the move. She was the first to have left home for the evening. Jen hung back for a bit, and they watched for any sign that someone else was tailing the Focus. Everything looked okay. She eased into traffic a half block behind the car, keeping it in sight, but giving anyone who might want it a chance.

  Their target’s destination turned out to be Jilly’s at the Holiday Inn. Jilly’s drew a slightly older crowd than The Factory and had a more intimate atmosphere. Jen had been there a few times with friends, and the small dance floor had always been elbow-to-elbow with couples dancing to the tunes spun by the DJ.

  They waited until Randall left her car and entered the club before making any move to follow. They appeared to be her only tail. Just as Jen started to shut off the car, Vic Hensley’s voice came over the radio, advising them that Sue Carpenter, the girl he and one of the deputies were watching, had just left her house alone and dressed for an evening out.

  It was Saturday night, and the women were on the move. The question was whether or not the killer was on the move, too.

  ***

  He had been lucky again. He’d spotted her two blocks from her home, just as he’d turned onto her street. It had been so close, it had almost taken his breath away. He turned into an alley and backed out, following her at a safe distance.

  She’d been alone in the car. Of that, he was certain. Whoever Jack was, he hadn’t picked her up at her house. Maybe there had been no date after all, or maybe Jack had stood her up. He hoped that was the case. He hoped that Jack had finally seen her for the slut that she was and decided to leave her alone, all alone, for him. He would be her “date” tonight. Her last date.

  As he’d expected, she headed for one of the clubs where her kind gathered to trap men. He watched as she got out of her car and preened herself in her reflection in the car window. She was hot tonight, and he imagined he could smell her scent across the lot. He prayed that
she wouldn’t find anyone to suit her animal tastes. He needed her to go home alone to wait for him.

  He clenched and unclenched his hands as he watched her wiggle her way across the parking lot, his fingers itching to drag the slut from the public lot and take her where he could teach her a lesson. He forced himself to take a deep breath and relax, knowing it was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER 40

  Jilly’s was crowded, but Jen and Hank found a small table on a raised platform that overlooked the dance floor. Randall was at the bar. She seemed to know the bartender and several customers, both male and female. Jen watched her talking animatedly with a couple on her left. She seemed outgoing, but not driven—friendly, but not desperate. A man approached the couple, they exchanged a few words with him and seemed to introduce him to Terri. He and Terri shook hands, and a few seconds later, they moved to the dance floor.

  “How about a dance, partner?”

  “Why not?” Jen stood. “Let’s just hope there isn’t anyone in here who knows your wife.”

  “Nothing to worry about. Myra knows dancing is all I do with other women.”

  They found a spot not far from Terri and her partner and danced three in a row. Hank had not been kidding about his dancing ability. It was fascinating to watch the staid, gray-haired cop walk onto the dance floor and morph into a modern version of Fred Astaire. Jen noted several appreciative glances directed their way as he moved to the music. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the third dance that it occurred to Jen that it might have been a stupid move to draw attention this way. The killer might very well know what she looked like, and if he had followed Terri inside, he might guess they were tailing her.

  At the end of the third piece, Jen was relieved to see Terri walking off the floor with her dancing partner. Jen guided Hank to their table.