Some of these men ejaculate automatically at the moment they kill."
"Jesus," Grimsbo muttered. "And you say these guys aren't crazy."
"I said they weren't crazy, but I didn't say they were human.
Personally, I see the man you're looking for as less than human.
Somewhere along the way, some of the things that make us human were lost, either because of genetics or environment or… Well," Klien shrugged,
"it really doesn't matter, does it, because he's beyond hope and must be stopped. otherwise he'll go on and on and on, as long as there are women out there for him to feed on."
Nancy Gordon, Wayne Turner, Frank Grimsbo and Glen Michaels were waiting in O'Malley's office when he returned from dropping Dr. Klien at the airport.
"I sort of expected this," he said, when he saw them.
"Then please explain to us what the fuck is going on," Turner demanded.
"There's no way to sugarcoat it," O'Malley said. "I argued with the mayor and lost, period. We're stuck with Lake.
"You're shitting me," Grimsbo said.
"No, Frank, I'm not shitting you. I'm telling you the facts of political life."
"The guy's a potential suspect," Grimsbo said.
"Let's get this on the table, boys and girls, because I might be able to dump him, if it's true."
"I don't think it is, John," Nancy said. "I've met with him a few times and He's pretty broken up about losing his wife and kid."
"Yeah," Turner countered, "but he says he didn't see anyone coming from the house. Where did the killer go?
There's only one road out of that development from the cul-de-sac."
"The neighbors didn't see anyone either," Nancy said.
"No one saw anyone at the scene of any of the disappearances, Wayne," said Glen Michaels.
"What I want to know is what a civilian is doing on a police investigation," Grimsbo said.
O'Malley sighed. "Lake's fixed politically. He's known as a criminal lawyer because he won that insanity defense for that fruitcake Daley.
But the guy's specialty is real estate law and he's made a few million at it, some of which he has contributed to the mayor's campaign chest.
He's — also a major contributor to the governor and he serves on some land use planning council in Albany. The bottom line is, the governor called the mayor yesterday, who then called me to explain how Lake's experience as a criminal lawyer will be invaluable in the investigation and how lucky we are to have him on our team. The press is already on the mayor's ass for keeping the disappearances quiet until the Lake murders forced his hand. He's desperate for results and he's not going to buck a request from the governor or a major campaign contributor."
"I don't trust him," Turner said. "I had a case with Lake a few years back. We served a warrant on this guy and found a kilo of coke in his room. There was a pregnant woman at the house with no record. She swore the coke was hers and the guy was doing her a favor by letting her stay in his room while she was expecting. The defendant beat the case and the d.a. didn't even bother to indict the chick. I could never prove it, but I heard rumors that Lake paid the woman to perjure herself."
"Anyone else heard anything like that?" O'Malley asked.
Michaels shook his head. "He's cross-examined me two or three times. My impression is that he's very bright. He did an excellent job in a case involving blood spatter evidence. Really had me going up there."
"I've heard he's a smart guy," Grimsbo said, "but I've heard those rumors about the fix too, and a few of the lawyers I know don't like Lake's ethics. He's still a suspect, even if he's a long shot, and I just don't like the idea of a citizen working on something this sensitive."
"Look, I agree with you, Frank," O'Malley said. "It stinks. But it doesn't matter. Until I can convince the mayor otherwise, Lake stays. just try to keep him out from under our feet. Give him lots of busy work, make him read all the reports. if something comes up you don't want him to see, or there's trouble, come to me. Any questions?"
Turner muttered something about the mayor and Grimsbo shook his head in disgust. O'Malley ignored them.
"Okay, get outta here and back to work. You — all heard Klien. We have to stop this psycho fast."
Nancy Gordon's stomach growled. She guessed it was a little after six.
Her watch said it was almost seven. She had been writing reports and lost track of time. On the way out of the station, she walked by the task force office and noticed the lights were still on. Peter Lake was in shirtsleeves, his feet up on the corner of the desk. Near his elbow were a large stack of reports and a yellow pad.
He was making notes as he read.
"You're not going to solve this case in one night," Nancy said quietly.
Lake looked around, startled. Then he grinned sheepishly.
"I always work this hard. I'm compulsive."
Nancy walked over to Lake's desk. "What are you doing'?"
"Reading about the Reardon and Escalante disappearances. I had an idea.
Do you have time?"
"I was going to eat. Want to join me? Nothing special. There's an all-night coffee shop over on oak."
Lake looked at the stack of reports and the clock.
"Sure," he said, swinging his legs off the desk and grabbing his jacket.
"I didn't realize how late it was."
"I was caught up in something too. If my stomach hadn't yelled at me, I'd still be at my desk."
"You must like your work."
"Sometimes."
"How did you get into it?"
"You mean, what's a nice girl like me doing in a job like this?"
"That never occurred to me."
"That I was a nice girl?"
Lake laughed. "No. That you're not suited for police work."
Nancy checked out at the front desk and followed Lake outside. After sundown Hunter's Point was a ghost town, except for a few spots that catered to the college crowd. Nancy could see the marquee of the Hunter's Point Cinema and the neon signs outside a couple of bars.
Most of the stores were shuttered for the night. The coffee shop was only a block and a half from the station. An oasis of light in a desert of darkness.
"Here we are," Nancy said, holding open the door of Chang's Cafe. There was a counter, but Nancy led Lake to a booth. Chang's wife brought them menus and water.
"The soup and the pies are good and the rest of the menu is edible.
Don't look for anything resembling Chinese. Mr. Chang cooks Italian, Greek and whatever else strikes his fancy."
"You're not from Hunter's Point originally, are you?" Lake asked, after they ordered.
"How could you tell?"
"You don't have the accent. I'm a transplanted westerner myself Let's see. I'd guess Montana."
"Idaho," Nancy said. "My parents still live there.
They're farmers. My brother is a high school teacher in Boise. Me, I didn't love Idaho and I wanted to see the world. Fortunately I run a mean eight hundred meters and the U. offered the best scholarship. So I ended up in Hunter's Point."
"Not exactly Paris," Lake commented.
"Not exactly," Nancy said with a smile. "But it was New York, and without the scholarship there was no way I could afford college. By the time I realized New York City and Hunter's Point, New York, were worlds apart I was enjoying myself too much to care."
"And the police work?"
"My major was Criminal justice. When I graduated, the Hunter's Point P.D. needed a woman to fill its affirmative action quota."
Nancy shrugged and looked at Lake, as if expecting a challenge.
"I bet you made detective on merit," he said.
"Damn straight," Nancy answered proudly, just as Mrs. Chang arrived with their soup.
"How did you end up here?" Nancy asked, as she waited for her minestrone to cool.
"I'm from Colorado," Lake said, smiling. "I went to Colorado State undergraduate, then I served a hitch in the Marines. There was a
guy in the judge advocate's corps who went to law school here and suggested I apply.
I met Sandy at the U."
Lake paused and his smile disappeared. He looked down at his plate. The action had an unnatural quality to it, as if he suddenly realized that a smile would be inappropriate when he was discussing his dead wife. Nancy looked at Lake oddly.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I keep thinking about her."
"That's okay. There's nothing wrong with remembering."
"I don't like myself when I'm maudlin. I've — always been a person in control. The murders have made me realize that nothing is predictable or permanent."
"If it's taken you this long to figure that out, you're lucky."
"Yeah. A successful career, a great wife and kid.
They blind you to the way the world really is, don't they?
Then someone takes that away from you in a second and and you see…"
"You see how lucky you were to have what you had, while it lasted, Peter. Most people never have in their lifetime what you and I had for a little while.
Lake looked down at the tabletop.
"At the station you said you had an idea," Nancy said, to break his mood.
"It's probably just playing detective," he answered,
"but something struck me when I was going through the reports. The day Gloria Escalante disappeared, a florist's truck was delivering in the area. A woman would open the door to a man delivering flowers. She would be excited and wouldn't be thinking. He could take the woman away in the back of his truck. And there's the rose. Someone who works in a florist's would have access to roses."
"Not bad, Peter," Nancy said, unable to hide her admiration. "You might make a good detective after all. The deliveryman was Henry Waters. He's got a minor record for indecent exposure and he's one of our suspects.
You probably haven't gotten to Wayne's report yet. He's been doing a background check on Waters." Lake flushed. "I guess you were way ahead of me."
"Peter, did Sandy have any connection with Evergreen Florists?"
"Is that where Waters works?'."
Nancy nodded.
"I don't think so. But I can look at our receipts and the checkbook to see if she ever ordered anything from them. I'm pretty certain I never did."
Their dinner arrived and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Nancy's spaghetti was delicious, but she noted that Lake just picked at his food.
"Do you feel like talking about Sandy?" Nancy asked. "We're trying to cross-reference the activities of the victims. See if they belonged to the same clubs, subscribed to the same magazines. Anything that gives us a common denominator."
"Frank asked me to do that the night of the murder.
I've been working on it. We were members of the Delmar Country Club, the Hunter's Point Athletic Club, the Racquet Club. I've got a list of our credit cards, subscriptions, everything I can think of. I'll complete it by the end of the week. Is Waters your only suspect?"
"There are others, but nothing solid. I'm talking about known sex offenders, not anyone we've linked to any of the crimes." Nancy paused.
"I had an ulterior motive for asking you to eat with me. I'm going to be totally honest with you. You shouldn't be involved in this investigation. You have pull with the mayor, so you're here, but everyone on the task force resents the way you forced yourself on us."
"Including you?"
"No. But that's only because I understand what's driving you. What you don't understand is how selfdestructive your behavior is. You're obsessed with this case because you think immersing yourself in detective work will help you escape from reality. But you're stuck in the real world. Eventually you'll have to come to terms with it, and the sooner you do that the better. You've got a good practice. You can build a new life. Don't put off coming to grips with what's happened by continuing to work on the murders."
Nancy was watching lake as she spoke. He never took his eyes off her.
When she was finished speaking he leaned forward.
Thank you for your honesty. I know my intrusion into the task force is resented and I'm glad you told me how everyone feels. I'm not worried about my practice.
My associates will keep it going without me and I've made so much money that I could live nicely without it.
What matters to me is catching this killer before he hurts someone else."
Lake reached across the table and covered Nancy's hand with his.
"It also matters to me that you're concerned. I appreciate that."
Lake stroked Nancy's hand as he spoke. It was a sensual touch, clearly a come-on, and Nancy was struck by the inappropriateness of his action, even if Lake was not.
"I'm concerned for you as a person who is the victim of a horrible crime," Nancy said firmly, as she slid her hand out from under Lake's.
"I am also concerned that you might do something that would jeopardize our investigation. Please think about what I've said, Peter."
"I will," Lake assured her.
Nancy started to open her purse but Lake stopped her.
"Dinner's on me," he smiled.
"I always pay my own way," Nancy answered, laying the exact amount of her dinner on top of the check and putting a dollar tip under her coffee cup. She slipped out of the booth and started toward the door.
Peter placed his money next to hers and followed her outside.
"Can I give you a lift home?" he asked.
"My car's in the lot."
"Mine too. I'll walk you back."
They walked in silence until they reached the police station. The lot was dimly lit. Patches were in shadow.
Nancy's car was toward the back of the station where the windows were dark.
"it could have happened someplace like this," lake mused as they walked.
"What?"
"The women," Lake said. "Walking alone at night in a deserted parking lot. It would be so easy to approach them. Didn't Bundy do that? Wear a false cast to elicit sympathy. They would be in the killer's trunk in a minute and it would all be over for them."
Nancy felt a chill. There was no one in the lot but the two of them.
They entered an unlit area. She turned her head so she could see Lake.
He was watching her, thoughtfully. Nancy stopped at her car.
"That's why I wanted to walk with you," Lake continued. "No woman is safe until he's caught."
"Think about what I said, Peter."
"Good night, Nancy. I think we work well together.
Thanks again for your concern."
Nancy backed her Ford out of its space and drove off. She could see Lake watching her in the rearview mirror.
Nancy stood in the dark and pumped iron, following the routine she and Ed had worked out. Now she was doing curls, with the maximum weight she could manage. Her forearm arced toward her shoulder, slowly, steadily, as she muscled up the right dumbbell, then the left. Sweat stained her tank top. The veins stood out on her neck.
Something was definitely wrong. Lake had been coming on to her. When Ed died, she had lost — all interest in sex for months. It had hurt just to see couples walking hand in hand. But when Lake held her hand, he had stroked it, the way you would caress a lover's hand.
When he said he thought they worked well together, it was definitely a proposition.
Nancy finished her curls. She lowered the weights to the floor and took a few deep breaths. It was almost six.
She had been up since four-thirty, because a nightmare woke her and she couldn't get back to sleep.
Frank had considered Lake a suspect and she had disagreed. Now she was beginning to wonder. She remembered what Dr. Klien said. Lake was bright and personable. It would have been easy for him to gain the confidence of the victims. They were the type of women he met every day at his clubs, and he was the type of man the victims encountered at theirs.
The organized nonsocial was a psychopath who could not feel pity or care for others. The type of person who would have
to fake emotions. Had Lake been caught off guard in the coffee shop between remembering his first meeting with Sandra Lake and making the appropriate reaction to that memory? There had been a brief moment when Lake's features had been devoid of emotion.
Klien also said that these killers were interested in police work. Lake, an experienced criminal defense attorney, would know all about police procedure. Nancy dropped to the floor and did fifty push-ups. What was normally an easy set was difficult. She couldn't focus. Her head filled with a vision of Lake, alone in the shadows of the parking lot, waiting.
How did he know about Bundy's fake cast? Dr. Klien had not mentioned it.
After the weights, she and Ed would run a six-mile loop through the neighborhood. Ed was stronger than Nancy, but she was the faster runner.
On Sundays, they raced the loop. The loser cooked breakfast. The winner decided when and bow they made love. Nancy could not touch the weights or run the loop for two months after the shooting.
One hundred crunches. Up, down, up, down. Her stomach tight as a drumhead. Her thoughts in the dark, in the parking lot with Lake. Should she tell Frank and Wayne? Was she just imagining it? Would her suspicions sidetrack the investigation and let the real killer escape?
It was six-fifteen. The weights were in a small room next to the bedroom. The sun was starting its ascent over the wealthy suburbs to the east. Nancy stripped off her panties and top and dropped them in the hamper. She had put on weight — after Ed died. Except for a month when she was recovering from a hamstring pull in her sophomore year, it was the first time since junior high that she had not worked out regularly.
The weight was off now and she could see the ridged muscles of her stomach and the cords that twisted along her legs. Hot water loosened her up. She shampooed her hair. All the time, she was thinking about Peter Lake.
Why were there no bodies found before? Why were the Lake murders different from the others? Sandra Lake had apparently been killed quickly, suddenly. Why? And why would Peter have killed her? Had she discovered something that would link him to the other murders and confronted him with the evidence? And that still left the hardest question of all, was Lake such a monster that he would kill his own daughter to cover his crimes?
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