In the Shadow of the Arch

by Robert J. Randisi

  At one point the automatic doors opened and a young blond mother came in pushing her child in a stroller. She was wearing high-waisted jeans, a white 'I-shirt, and black suspenders. She also had a pair of dark glasses on. She looked a step or two higher on the income scale than Debra Morgan and Marie Tobin. He wondered if she would make a likely target for the doer.

  He realized then that he was already convinced that his theory was correct. He wondered if that was a manifestation of his New York attitude-which he didn't think he had. In any case, he was already thinking of this perp as his doer. He watched the woman advance into the mall and tried to think like the man he was trying to catch. He'd see her, determine that she was alone, and then probably follow her. Would he stay with her the whole time she was there? How many of them had he spotted right away like this, and how many when they were already in the mall a while, perhaps preparing to leave? He probably then followed the woman to her car and… and made his move.

  What about witnesses? Hadn't anyone ever seen this guy when he grabbed the woman and her child? In order for that not to happen he had to move awfully quick. After a few minutes Keough decided he knew how. The guy probably watched and waited until the woman had put her child in the car. Maybe he even waited until she walked around to the driver's side. From there it would be easy simply to push her in, and make his threat against the child to insure her cooperation.

  Now the question was, why pick women with children? Was it only to use the child as a hostage? When did he get rid of the child? Certainly not along the way. He probably waited until he had the woman secured, possibly even tied up. At that point he wouldn't need the child anymore.

  Why didn't he kill the children? Why just put them in a Dumpster, where there was a good chance they would be found? Of course, there was no need to fear the children as witnesses. They were much too small for that. But if this was the kind of man who raped and killed women, what kept him from killing the children?

  Keough was sure there was some kind of psychobabble to account for this, but as long as there was no one else working on this angle, as long as there was no task force, there would be no psychologists, and no FBI. Just him and Detective Steinbach.

  He was about to get up for a second refill when his radio squawked and a voice called his number. Every member of the Richmond Heights department had their own number, even the patrol force.

  "One seventy-three," Keough replied into his radio.

  "Uh, this is one twenty-four, Officer Hartley. I, uh, I'm in the mall security office. I understand you wanted to see me?"

  "That's right."

  "Uh, who are you?"

  "Detective Keough. Are you going to be there for a few minutes?"

  "If you want me to."

  "I'll be right up, Hartley. I've got something I need to talk to you about."

  "I'll be here."

  Keough clicked off, then looked around and saw that some of the mall walkers were standing with their lattes and fancy water watching him.

  "Have a healthy day," he said, and walked out.

  31

  Officer Hartley turned out to be a man in his thirties, tall and slender, with hair as black as shoe polish and a mustache to match. The black of his hair made his face look extremely pale. The two men shook hands and Keough told Hartley what he wanted.

  "Come in the back with me."

  Hartley led him down a hall to a small room with a desk and a filing cabinet.

  "I have to be on patrol, but you're free to look through the files. You have to remember there's three of us working here, and we all, uh, have sort of different filing systems."

  "In other words," Keough said, "I'll need all the luck I can get, right?"

  "Right."

  "That's okay," he said, "I'm used to relying on luck."

  "I've got to get going," Hartley said. "I'm supposed to stay on patrol."

  "Okay, thanks for your help."

  Hartley started out, then turned and said, "Oh, there's one more thing you should know."

  "What's that?"

  "There's another man assigned to the Galleria besides the three of us who share this room."

  "Who is he?"

  "He's Narcotics, undercover. A place as big as this is perfect for drug deals to go down. I know your investigation doesn't concern drugs, but maybe he saw something while he was working."

  "What's his name?"

  "Taylor," Hartley said. "You can probably get ahold of him at the station. That'd be easier than trying to find him here."

  "Okay," Keough said, "thanks again for your help."

  "Sure."

  Hartley left and Keough looked at the three-drawer file cabinet, wondering how long it would take to find what he wanted-if he found it at all.

  He did, but it took an hour.

  ***

  The report had been taken in July. Mall security had been called first, and then the Richmond Heights department was called in. The woman's name, address, and telephone number were listed. The case had been referred to Detective Merchant, who Keough knew was one of the three existing detectives in the department before he came on.

  According to the report a man had approached a young woman named Katherine Fouquet in the south parking lot of the Galleria as she was getting into her car. He threatened to hurt her child if she gave him any trouble. The child-and here was the difference-was six years old, and when her mother called out to her to run away, she did, screaming. The woman then began to shout as well, and the man ran away.

  "Son of a bitch," Keough said, out loud. "This was his trial run, his first try." Aware that he was talking to himself, he looked around and continued to work it out silently. Apparently, after this first try the doer had decided to approach only women who had children in strollers. That way, the children couldn't run away.

  Keough called Detective Steinbach at Major Case and was told that he was out on a call. Keough left a message. "Tell him to look for cases involving children up to… uh, about six or seven years old-unsuccessful cases. He'll know what it means."

  The woman sounded confused, but took down the message and promised to give it to Detective Steinbach.

  Keough wrote down the woman's name, address, and phone number from the report on a piece of paper, and replaced the report in the files. Although the files were a mess, as it turned out if they had all been put together they would have filled one drawer of the cabinet completely.

  As he was leaving the security guard he'd spoken to earlier asked, "Did you find what you wanted?"

  "Yes, thanks."

  "Do you still want our clerical to look in our files?"

  Keough paused and thought, Why not.

  "Yes," he said, and repeated to the man essentially the same message he'd left for Steinbach. Maybe the doer had made some other preliminary tries before he finally got it right. Who knew? And there were still other malls to check out. At least he could question this woman, in the meantime.

  ***

  Katherine Fouquet had an apartment in a four-family building on Hanley Road in Clayton. Keough knocked and when the door was opened he blinked a few times. The woman was blond, well built, medium height. She could have almost been the twin of the other blond women he'd run into during the case, except for her face. If all the women were lined up side by side with their hair covering their face, or viewed from behind, they would have been considered identical.

  "Mrs. Fouquet?"

  "Yes," she said. "Detective Keough?"

  "That's right."

  "Would you mind showing me some identification?" she asked.

  "Of course," he said, with a disarming smile.

  He took out his shield and ID and showed them to her. She took the time to read the ID carefully. Keough had called ahead and asked if she would see him, and had gone to her apartment directly from the station.

  "All right," she said. "You can come in."

  She backed away so he could enter, then closed the door.

  "Is your d
aughter here?" he asked, looking around.

  "She's in school."

  "Of course."

  "Would you like to sit down?"

  "Thanks."

  She led him to the living room, and while she sat on the sofa he sat across from her in an armchair.

  "You said on the phone you wanted to ask me about being attacked in the Galleria parking lot?"

  "That's right."

  "That happened a while ago," she said. "Why do you want to know about it now?"

  "It might be related to something I'm working on."

  "Has he attacked other women?"

  "It's possible," he said. "Mrs. Fouquet-"

  "Please," she said, "just call me Kate. It'll be easier."

  "All right, then Kate," he said, "I am working on other cases involving attacks on other women, but they were women with infants, or toddlers, in strollers."

  "My daughter is six," she said. "She ran when I told her to, screaming her head off, and I think he panicked. How could that be connected?"

  "I think," Keough said, slowly, "that you might have been his first intended victim. I think after your daughter ran off and panicked him he decided to attack women with children who couldn't run away."

  "Children in strollers."

  "Yes."

  "Why not attack women without children?" She frowned.

  "I don't know that," he said. "Maybe when I catch him I'll find out that he has a mother fixation, I don't know. As it stands now he seems interested in beautiful, blond young mothers."

  "Should I be flattered?"

  "I don't think so," he said.

  "Well, what can I do?"

  "There are a couple of things. First, I need a description of the man, as precise as you can give it to me. Second, I'd like you to work with a police sketch artist to try and work up a likeness of him."

  "Will I have to see him when you catch him?"

  "You can identify him without him seeing you."

  "I don't mind describing him," she said, "but can I talk to my husband about the rest?"

  "Sure," he said, "no problem."

  Keough took out his notebook and wrote down everything she could remember about the man.

  "You seem to have a good eye for detail," he said, putting the notebook away.

  "I just hope I've remembered correctly."

  He stood up and she walked him to the door.

  "I hope you catch him," she said. "I have to tell you I… I haven't been to a mall since that happened, and I'm very nervous in any parking lot."

  "I don't blame you," he said. "With your help I think I can catch him, and maybe that will make you feel safer.

  Here's my number." He gave her one of his cards. "Call me after you talk it over with your husband."

  "I will," she said. "I promise."

  "Thank you, Kate."

  They shook hands and Keough left and walked to his car.

  ***

  In the car Keough decided to try the other malls-Crestwood and West County, which he had come to think of as the bird mall-before going back to the station. When he arrived at their security offices he discovered they did not have offices there for the local police, nor did they have officers permanently assigned, probably because they were smaller than the Galleria-in the case of the bird mall, a lot smaller. Neither did they have many files, and he was able to skim through them fairly quickly-especially since he skimmed.

  He did not come across any attacks similar to what he was looking for, just some purse snatches and pockets that had been picked. Both security departments offered all kinds of cooperation, and they agreed to have someone go over the records more thoroughly and call if they came across anything.

  Keough returned to the Richmond Heights station too late to sign himself out at his regular time. It wouldn't do to look like he was trying to get overtime.

  When he entered the squad room the two detectives looked up from their desks.

  "Working late?"

  By this time Keough had crossed paths with all of the other detectives. These two were Stine and De Noux. Stine was in his thirties, a native St. Louisan, while De Noux was apparently from New Orleans originally but had grown up and lived here most of his life.

  "Getting back late," Keough replied to Stine.

  "Hot case?" De Noux asked.

  "Same old same old," Keough said. "Do you know if there are any messages for me?"

  "If there are they'd be on the board."

  There was a bulletin board on the wall, and the squad had taken to pinning messages up on it. Keough saw an envelope with his name on it. It wasn't sealed, so he took a peek inside and saw a greeting card of some sort. He put it in his pocket to open later and wondered if Steinbach had gotten around to checking his malls, yet. As an afterthought he left a message on the board for Detective Merchant and included his home phone number.

  "Waiting for something important?" De Noux asked.

  "No," Keough said, "just checking. You boys have a good tour."

  De Noux was one of the detectives who had been in Richmond Heights when Keough got there, while Stine was one of the recently promoted detectives. Keough was getting along fine with Stine and Haywood, but the three detectives who had been in place when he got there-De Noux, Merchant, and Leslie-were still treating him with some reservations. When he worked in New York Keough would customarily discuss his cases with his partner, and no one else. Here the detectives weren't partnered up the same way. Two of them worked each tour, but they caught their own cases, often at the whim of Sergeant Bilcheck. For this reason Keough rarely talked about his cases with anyone except Haywood, with whom he worked most of the time, and even then only infrequently, if it was absolutely necessary.

  "Playin' it close to the vest, huh?" De Noux asked.

  Keough knew he could have taken the time to explain to De Noux that he didn't like to talk about his cases but he decided not to invest the time.

  "Goodnight, fellas," he said, and left the squad room to go home.

  ***

  He had bought a telephone answering machine a week earlier, and as he entered the red light was flashing four times. He pressed the Play button and listened to the messages.

  Beep.

  "Keough, it's O'Donnell. Did you read the book? Give me a call, man. I might be coming to St. Louis for a signing. We'll have to get together."

  Beep.

  "Detective Keough, this is Detective Steinbach. I checked with some of the malls and came up empty. Give me a call and let me know what you've been able to find out."

  Beep.

  "Detective Keough, this is Valerie Speck. I know this is short notice but I have tickets for the theater tomorrow night and I was wondering if you would, uh, like to go with me. You see, I'm terribly forward and I've grown tired of waiting for you to call me. You have my number. 'Bye. Oh, I hate talking to these machines! 'Bye."

  Beep.

  "Detective Keough, this is Detective Merchant, answering your message." Merchant went on to give Keough his home number. Keough returned this call immediately, but Merchant couldn't tell him any more than Katherine Fouquet herself had. He thanked the man for his information, though.

  He didn't save any of the other messages. Tomorrow was Friday, and he didn't have anything planned. He wondered if he would be able to explain to Valerie why he hadn't called her yet. He wasn't sure he would, because he wasn't sure he even knew himself.

  He called O'Donnell's number in Florida and got his message machine. Like Valerie Speck he hated talking to them, so he didn't leave a message. He knew this annoyed some people, but he figured he had the option to leave a message or not, and he chose not to.

  When he called Steinbach's home number he didn't get an answer. He hung up, then picked up the phone to dial Valerie Speck's number, then put it down. He decided to have something to eat first, and during the meal he could decide what he was going to say to her.

  Besides "Yes," of course.

  32

  The
play was A Chorus Line, with a no-name cast that did a fine job. It was, however, not the show that impressed Keough, but the Fox Theater. It was very old, but had been renovated not long ago and returned to its former splendor. Its marquee dominated its share of Grand Avenue.

  The lobby of the Fox Theater was spectacular. The floor inclined slightly toward the back, where an elaborate staircase led to a private club. Flanking the staircase were two large lions painted gold with ruby eyes. The ceiling was at least fifty feet high, and a stained glass window rose above the front doors. On either side of the oblong room bars were set up, manned by tuxedoed bartenders.

  Because Valerie had to work late they had arranged to meet at Duke's, a restaurant near the Fox that catered to the theater crowd.

  "I'm sorry I haven't called," he said when they were seated and had ordered.

  "I'm more interested in why," she said, frankly, then added, "at least to inquire about Brady."

  Keough made a face. "I was taken off that case."

  "I know. I talked to the new detective, a very unpleasant man named Jackson."

  "Then you know why I haven't called."

  "That explains why you didn't call about Brady, not why you haven't called me."

  The question was a good one-even better considering how wonderful she looked in her blue silk suit. A single strand of pearls caught in her cleavage as she spoke and he tried to concentrate on her clear eyes as he said, "I'm stupid?"

  "I don't accept that," she said. "Do I scare or intimidate you?"

  "No."

  "I didn't think so. Do you like me?"

  "Very much."

  "I like you, too, but I hate stupid men."

  "You're right," Keough said, "I'm not stupid. I picked up the phone to call you a dozen times."