He chuckled to himself at the thought, pausing to examine his gaunt reflection in the mirrored wall as he left the restaurant. You could see the bulge left by breakfast if you looked close. He’d have to find some good, calorie-burning exercise to take care of that. What to do, what to do?
He grinned at the reflection. Oh, I bet I can think of something entertaining.
For now, he was bone-tired after his night’s exertions. The thought of stretching out on his board-thin mattress, with its paper sheet and threadbare blanket was heavenly to him as he trudged the last half mile to the hotel.
He wasn’t so tired he didn’t scan the area for police as he got closer to the door. The place had been crawling with them yesterday, looking around Candy’s room. Between that and the need to avoid Wanda, he’d been stuck in his room most of the day.
As far as Wanda’s tardiness—it probably wouldn’t have been noticed yet. For now, the coast was clear.
He hurried into the building and scuttled down the hallway to his room. Perhaps it was time to upgrade his living conditions, he thought, as he fit his key into the door. After all, he’d recently come into some money…a two-room walkup would look like a palace after this shithole.
But I can’t do it immediately, he reasoned.
That would be like saying “Look at me, I just robbed my landlady, come arrest me.” People who lived at Wanda’s Five and Dump didn’t suddenly have the wherewithal to rent an apartment somewhere else—not even a shitty one.
He opened the door and stepped into the room. Ah, home sweet home, he grimaced to himself as he shut and locked the door. Peeling off his clothes, he let them fall where they might and flung himself onto the bed.
He was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow. Those chumps who declaimed “No rest for the wicked” had obviously never been bad in their lives.
He slept like the dead.
It was an insistent knocking on the door that finally penetrated his slumber. Momentarily disoriented, he shook his head to clear it.
“Who’s there?” he growled.
“Police, Mr. Brown. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
For an instant, his heart stopped. They can’t know. I was careful. Extremely careful.
Then common sense kicked in.
They didn’t know. It was probably a routine sweep of the building, questioning all the tenants about Candy, looking for answers. They might not even have found Wanda and Drew yet.
“Just a sec,” he called. “Let me throw on some clothes.”
He glanced at the cracked face of the alarm clock as he grabbed clean clothes from the cardboard dresser, kicking those he’d worn the night before under the bed.
It was relatively early. Not terribly unusual to find a man still asleep.
Particularly if he’d been on a binge the night before. He picked up the bottle of whiskey he kept for ‘medicinal purposes,’ and swished some in his mouth like mouthwash. He swallowed it, and then dribbled a bit more of the liquor down his dark shirt. Taking another gulp, he replaced the bottle.
Snatching up a grimy handkerchief, he tied it around his head like an old-fashioned toothache remedy. He adjusted the cloth to partially obscure one eye, and jammed his watch cap on top of it. With a glance at the shadowed mirror, he stumbled loudly to the door.
Fumbling it open a few inches, he leaned against the jamb, as if in need of its support. He was careful to make sure no one could see into the room.
“Yeah?” He rubbed his jaw with one hand, as if to relieve the pain of an imaginary toothache—and incidentally masking the lower half of his face.
Phillip Sanchez stood in the hallway with another cop, a look of distaste creeping over his face at the sight of the skellyman and the bit of disordered room visible behind him. Luckily, the Spic didn’t seem to equate Tom Brown with whatever description he might have been given of the Bitch’s intruder. And two days stubble in bad light further blurred the contours of the skellyman’s face…he might get away with it.
Of course, I might not.
He felt a thrill flash through him. This was more interesting than he’d expected. There was so much risk…what an incredible rush!
What fun, he thought—they’ve sent me the Spic to play with. But that made it even more vital they didn’t get a good look at the room.
He blinked up at the pair of policemen. “What is it?” he mumbled around his hand.
“Mr. Brown,” Sanchez murmured, “were you here on the premises last night?”
“Nah. Went out.” He put a slur into his speech, swaying a bit on his feet. “I had an appointment with a lady friend.”
“Can you give us her name for verification purposes?” Sanchez had removed a small notebook from the pocket of his uniform, and was jotting something down. He looked up at the skellyman inquisitively.
The skellyman shook his head. “Sorry. She stood me up. Was a blind date. Met her online at the library. Can’t trust anyone these days.”
“I see. And what did you do after she failed to make the appointment?”
“Lessee…” He pretended to ponder the question. “Oh, yeah. I got drunk!”
He grinned up at the policemen. “Was feeling a little sorry for myself. And I’ve been having a bit of a toothache, as you can see. I self-medicated.” He hiccupped and blinked owlishly.
Sanchez glanced over his shoulder into the room behind him. “May we come in?”
A surge of panic flashed through the skellyman. If the Spic comes into the room, he will see the pictures of Brenda and Daisy. That won’t do. No, that won’t do at all.
“You got a warrant?” he asked belligerently.
“Do we need one?”
Heart pounding with the sudden in-rush of adrenaline, the skellyman nodded emphatically.
“You betcha do, mister. I know my rights. Why you want to come in for anyway?”
“Just routine. We’re asking the same of every tenant in the building.”
“Why?”
“You may’ve heard there was a murder involving one of your fellow residents two days ago?”
The skellyman pretended to think the matter over.
“Some whore down the hall, wan’t it?”
Sanchez’s jaw tightened.
“The young lady lived two doors down from you, yes.”
“Well, I didn’t see nothing, so goodbye.”
The skellyman made as if to close the door.
The other cop, who until now had been letting Sanchez do all the talking, placed a hand on the jamb. “It would be in your best interest to cooperate, Mr. Brown. If we come back with a warrant, we won’t be so polite.”
What is this, good cop/bad cop?
“Fine,” answered the skellyman. “Neither will I. You get a warrant, and we’ll all be bastards together.” He slammed the door, grinning to himself as the cop jerked his hand back just in time.
He threw the bolt and whirled away from the door. It wouldn’t take long to get a warrant, particularly if they already knew about Wanda and Drew too. His behavior would definitely raise suspicion, but he couldn’t help it. If either of them had seen the wall of photos he would have ruined everything.
The skellyman yanked down the photos in question, too rattled to care if he tore them. Corners were ripped, photos were crinkled, but they were down in nothing flat. He glanced around the room in a panic.
What can I do with the damn things? Flush them down the john? Might work, but what if I clog the line? Finding them in the drain will be even more suspicious.
Besides, he needed the pictures. They helped keep him focused on the bigger picture…kept his eyes on the prize…but he needed his freedom to complete that picture, so they couldn’t be found.
He couldn’t just toss them away however…
His careening gaze lit on a stack of bills, and he got an idea. He grinned. Wonder if Sanchez is a Poe lover?
He quickly stuffed the photos into a plain manila envelope—and added the bon
ds he’d taken from Wanda for good measure. He scrawled fictitious addresses on the envelope and sealed it, slipping it into the stack of bills and unopened junk mail.
Panic subsiding somewhat, he searched the rest of the room for incriminating evidence. He slipped Drew’s MP3 player out the window into the shrubs outside, along with the clothes he had worn last night—just in case. He downed the rest of the whiskey and tossed the bottle at the trash can. It missed, but he let it remain on the floor, the dregs puddling about the mouth. It added verisimilitude to his story.
The wad of cash, he stuffed under his mattress. It was a logical place for a paranoid man to stash his money. Satisfied the room would pass a casual inspection—and all but the most thorough of searches—he lay back down on the bed and went back to sleep.
It was a habit learned early, the ability to drop, tuck, and sleep anywhere at any time. It had gotten him through many an unhappy hour as a child. And been his salvation through long hours of study when he once thought he wanted to be a doctor—a goal discarded when he found out he couldn’t play with his patients as much as he would like.
Medical school…it had been fun—and useful in honing many of his techniques—but in the end, just not enough for him. Who wanted to alleviate people’s suffering? Boring!
When the next knock came, he took his time answering the door. He was both disappointed and relieved Sanchez hadn’t returned with the warrant. He skimmed the document handed him then threw wide the door with a low, mocking bow.
“It’s all yours,” he murmured to the cops.
The search was cursory at best.
The skellyman was a bit let down as he slumped at the desk, taking care to keep his face partially obscured. If he had known how little attention they were going to give the business, he would have let them in the first time—but no, there was still the matter of the photos…now securely resting in plain sight…but not something the cops would have taken lightly had they seen them on the wall.
“Okay, sir. Thank you and have a nice day. Sorry to disturb you,” murmured one of the cops as he ushered his partner out the door. They hadn’t been five minutes searching.
The skellyman almost wanted to call them back and say “Look, morons! See the photo corner over there on the floor? Wonder where the rest is, and why it was torn? What about the squares on the wall there. Want to know what was there? Don’t you care what I took down? See that blood spatter there on my shoe? Don’t you want to test it? What are you guys, blind?”
But he didn’t.
That would ruin my fun too. I can’t play doctor behind bars. Or, at least, not the same version.
Chapter 55
Brenda was just washing up her breakfast dishes—it felt like the least she could do—when the doorbell rang. She started to ignore it, and then hesitated. It might be important.
She wondered who would be calling on a teacher in the middle of the day. It was probably a salesman of some kind. Or perhaps it’s a potential guest. I can’t turn one away…
Maybe Penny had received a package. Whoever it was, she should answer it.
Drying her hands on a dish towel, she hurried through the house to the front door. There wasn’t any peephole in the panel, and the sidelights were too opaque to make out more than a vague figure.
“Who is it?” she called, not knowing for sure how to tell if it were someone Penny would want to open it to or not.
“Brenda? It’s me, Phillip.”
The sound of his voice sent a thrill through her, and she quickly unlocked the door and let him in.
“Phillip! I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“This isn’t exactly a social call,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.
“What is it? Has something else happened?” Her heart skipped a beat.
“Not really anything new—but I needed to ask you a question.”
“Ask away,” she said with a shrug, leading him into the living room. He had gotten her curiosity up now.
Phillip sank down onto the comfortable couch like he wished he was anywhere else, but when he looked at her—it was clear that wherever that might be, he wanted it to be with her.
“Does the name Tom Brown mean anything to you?”
“Wasn’t that an old book or something? Ethan told me about it once, I think.”
“I mean, have you ever met anyone by that name? Perhaps just in passing?”
She frowned, thinking hard.
“No…not that I can recall. Is it someone I should know?”
Phillip leaned forward on the couch, hands clasped on his knees.
“I spoke to a man by that name today. And he looked a lot like the sketch Christa drew. My partner thinks I’m crazy, but I’m pretty sure. I wanted to take him down to the station, but Jerry thought we should investigate a bit more first. See if you could think of any connection, for one thing.”
She gasped. “You think he might be the skellyman?”
“I don’t know for sure, but he might be. He sure looked like it to me. He really is extremely thin—gaunt even. He lives at a residence hotel about two miles from your house. Right now, he’s a person of interest in a murder investigation—”
“Murder?” Brenda’s blood ran cold. “My God…and this man may be the one who has been stalking my baby?” Her voice was still raw and ragged, and she could hear it rising hysterically.
“We don’t know anything for sure, sweetheart,” he said soothingly, reaching over and taking her hands in his. “It’s probably just a false alarm. He lives down the hall from the victim, that’s all. No one knows if he had anything to do with it at all, but when I saw him open the door…”
“This murder…was it the hooker they found dead in my house?”
Phillip’s hesitation told her all she needed to know.
“So, this man is a possible suspect in the murder involving my house, and he looks a lot like the sketch of the maniac that appears to have been stalking my child. Am I right so far?”
“Brenda, it’s not that simple—” Phillip began.
She held up a hand to stop him.
“I don’t want to hear about the law, and ‘innocent until proven guilty’ and all that. I want to know what’ll be done to protect my four-year-old daughter. Can you tell me that?” Her ruined voice was shrill, but she couldn’t help it.
Phillip rose and closed the gap between them. He took her in his arms, and she lost the last shred of control she had on her emotions. She began to sob.
He soothed her as Penny had done when she woke from the nightmare. But this wasn’t a dream. This time, the danger was real, and the skellyman might have been given a name.
“Why didn’t I ask for police protection?” she sobbed. “My baby, she’s so trusting. You know how she is…”
“Don’t worry. I’m confident Penny will protect Daisy during school today. Why don’t you and I go and pick her up when class is over?”
Brenda shook her head.
“Now. I want—I need—to see my baby.”
“Sure, sure,” Phillip murmured. “We can go right now if you want. I’ll radio the station on the way to let them know where I’m going to be.”
Brenda jumped to her feet and started for the front door. “My purse…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But my ID—”
“I’ll vouch for you if you need it.”
With a nod, she jerked open the front door then paused in confusion. She didn’t have a key—and leaving Penny’s beautiful house unsecured wasn’t fair…
Phillip pulled out his key ring and locked the door.
He shrugged. “It pays to be family.”
“Then why did you knock?”
“Wasn’t sure you’d be home, and if you were, I didn’t want to scare you by having some unknown person suddenly letting themselves into the house. Now, get in the car,” he ordered. “I’ll take you straight to the school.”
Brenda obeyed without furthe
r hesitation. She slipped into the front passenger seat, fumbling with the seatbelt clumsily.
Phillip slid into the driver’s seat and clicked it closed for her.
“Hang on. We’ll be right there.”
The trip to the school seemed to take forever. It was the longest five minutes of her life. Now that the skellyman had a potential identity, it made him so much more real to her—she’d still been half convinced he was all in their imagination…
When Phillip pulled into the visitors’ parking lot, she managed to release the seatbelt before the car even came to a full stop. She threw open the door, but Phillip stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Just a second, Brenda—don’t go rushing into the classroom. You’ll scare everyone to death. Let’s just take it slow. We’ll tell Penny what’s going on, quietly.”
Brenda scowled at him, but realized he was right. Panicking the children would do no one any good. Taking a deep breath, she fought down her terror with difficulty.
They got out of the car, and Phillip slipped a supporting arm around her waist. They hurried into the school building, but not at the break-neck speed Brenda would have allowed herself alone.
Phillip opened the classroom door and gestured to Penny, who was across the room, supervising the children as they worked on an art project.
Brenda could see the teacher’s puzzled frown, but with an exhortation to the children to continue their classwork, Penny crossed the room to the door.
“What’s going on, Phil?” she whispered anxiously. “Has something else happened?”
She glanced at Brenda. “Has there been more trouble?”
Brenda murmured, “I’m sorry about this, Penny. I just…I need to see Daisy.”
“Right now?” Penny’s voice took on an edge of incredulity. “We’re in the middle of art class—”
Phillip bent close to his sister’s ear. “We may have identified the skellyman.”
Penny’s eyes widened, and she laid a hand on Brenda’s arm.
“Oh! Oh, honey—sure. In that case…I fully understand. Let me get her for you.”
Brenda turned to Phillip as Penny stepped inside. “Thank you,” she told him sincerely.
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