"McGwire gave me the lead in this investigation, Al, and I think the cases have to be connected. I mean, what else was he working on?"
"That's just it," Steinbach said. "No one ever knew."
"Well, we know for sure he was working on the dead blondes, and the baby, so I think we've got to make a decision whether to go that way or not."
"Hey," Steinbach said, "I'm glad McGwire gave you the lead. I'll follow it."
They both followed it, over to the Illinois side of the Mississippi River.
***
The first place they tried was called the Emerald Club, in Sauget. Immediately they heard the music playing, although it wasn't loud enough to assail their ears. They were stopped just inside the door by a well-dressed bouncer type who asked them for five bucks each.
"Will this do?" Keough asked, showing the man his badge.
"Aw, what's this about?" the man asked. "I thought we had this taken care-"
"We just need to ask a few questions," Keough said, stopping the man before he said something he'd regret. "We're looking for a man."
"Nothing but ladies here, gents," the man said, spreading his hands.
Keough took out the sketch they had of the killer.
"This guy look familiar?"
"He looks like a lot of guys who come in here," the man said. "Could I pick him out of a crowd? No."
"Look again."
The man obliged, but said, "Officer-"
"Detective," Steinbach said.
"Sorry," the man said. "Detectives, unless the guy's like a regular, I wouldn't know him."
"What about the girls? The bartender?"
"Same thing," he said, "but feel free to ask. Just don't scare the customers, okay?"
Keough looked around. There were three stages, two of which were being used by girls at the moment. At each stage there was maybe one or two guys sitting, and there was a guy at the bar.
"Doesn't look like you've got too many customers," Keough said.
"It's early," the man said. "In a few hours we'll be packed. We got the best-looking women around here."
"Uh-huh," Keough said, and he and Steinbach walked deeper into the place. They were immediately accosted by a waitress wearing fishnet stockings, black bikini bottoms and a lowcut top. She was about five four and very well endowed.
"Drinks, gentlemen?" she asked, brightly.
"Not tonight, sweetie," Steinbach said.
"Didn't he explain to ya that there's a drink limit?" she asked. "You can have-"
"Talk to him about it, darlin'," Steinbach said. "He'll explain."
She frowned at them, then walked over to the guy at the door, who talked to her very animatedly for a few seconds.
"Gotta give the guy credit," Steinbach said.
"For what?"
"Look at those two girls. They're not bad."
His partner was right. One of the girls was a tall redhead who had already stripped down to a G-string. She had beautiful skin and small, well-shaped breasts. The other girl was shorter, blond, her breasts large and firm looking. She was holding them both in her hands, at the moment, flicking her nipples with her thumbs.
As the two detectives watched the waitress went to both girls and told them something that caused them to straighten up and look over at them.
"Uh-oh," Steinbach said. "Busted. There goes our chance of seeing them go bottomless."
"Not what we're here for, anyway, partner."
"Hey," Steinbach said, "I don't mind a bonus or two during my work day."
"As long as your wife doesn't find out?"
"You got it."
"Let's show the sketch and get moving," Keough said, "before one of us falls in love."
***
They decided to lay off the customers. Word could spread like wildfire that a couple of cops were haunting the clubs, and it might get back to the wrong person.
They talked to the bartender, a tall, full-breasted gal who looked like she belonged up on stage-maybe she took her turn, who knew?-and showed her the sketch. She claimed not to know who it was. They tried the waitress, then a couple of girls who were not on stage at the moment.
"How long before they finish up?" Keough asked one of the girls, indicating the blonde and the redhead.
"Coupla minutes," she said. She was a brunette, too thin for Keough's taste. He wondered how the customers would react when she got up there after those two. "I got a set comin' up. Why don't ya stay?"
"Some other time, maybe," Keough said.
"What about you?" she asked Steinbach. "Want a lap dance?"
"Not tonight, thanks."
"Suit yourself," she said. "You don't know what you're missin'."
A minute later they watched her swish her way to the stage where the blonde was finishing up and change places with her.
The blonde approached them, carrying part of her outfit in her hands, but not bothering to cover her breasts which, Keough noticed, were quite extraordinary in spite of the fact that he doubted they were natural.
"Can I help you fellas?" she asked.
Up close she was beautiful, and Keough noticed that Steinbach was having a problem concentrating on the task at hand. Hell, so was he, and she knew it.
They showed her the sketch and asked if she's ever seen the man?
"Don't you have a picture?"
"Sorry," Keough said, "just the sketch."
She took it from him to take a closer look. He noticed the sweet smell of whatever body lotion she was wearing. He wondered if they all wore the same scent.
"No," she said, handing it back, "I don't know him. Maybe Candy does."
"Candy?"
"The redhead. She's a slut. Maybe she went to his car with him, or something."
"What's your name?" Keough asked.
"Blondie."
"Sure."
"Sorry I couldn't help you."
As she walked away Steinbach said, "Who says she didn't help us? I feel a lot better than I did when I came in."
"Come on," Keough said, as the redhead came off her stage, "let's talk to the slut."
***
The redhead also claimed not to know the man in the sketch, so they went on to another club, and then another, with the same results. The only thing that changed was the music, and the fact that the clubs were starting to fill up.
"They all wear the same scent," Steinbach said. "Did you notice that?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Stripper smell."
Keough figured that was as good a name as any.
At one of the clubs Keough had been surprised to find the girls hopping into the laps of the men who were sitting at the stage. They'd gyrate for a while, some of them getting pretty gymnastic about it, then stand and encourage the men to stuff some money into their G-strings.
"You know," Steinbach said, "we should come back to these places some night when we're off duty. You know, like a guy's night out?"
"It's a thought," Keough said.
They were sitting in the car in the parking lot of the fourth club they had hit.
"What's next?" Steinbach asked.
"I think it's time to check out what Brooklyn, Illinois, looks like."
"I'm with you," Steinbach said. "You haven't steered me wrong, yet."
55
For the next two days they hit the stores during the day and the clubs at night.
Brooklyn was filled with adult bookstores, video shops, and toy stores that sold every sexual device imaginable. They were right along Route 3, which Steinbach told Keough was also called the River Road, and then deeper into town. Brooklyn, Illinois, was certainly nothing like the Brooklyn Keough had left behind. It was a small town whose primary industry seemed to be geared toward adults-although Keough was certainly willing to admit that there could have been much more beyond what he was seeing today.
They stopped in front of one place and looked in the window.
"The laws sure are different on this side of the river," Steinbach
said. "I can see three or four things in this window that would save my marriage."
"Does your marriage need saving?"
"Naw," Steinbach said, "just maybe some livening up."
This place seemed to carry everything, while some of the others they'd been to specialized only in books and videos. It also promised live action in the back booths.
As they entered Steinbach said, "There's more rubber and vinyl in here than I've seen in my whole life."
"Maybe you've led a sheltered life."
Steinbach ducked away from a dildo hanging from the ceiling and said, "Maybe I have."
"Welcome to the Hot Box, gentlemen," a man behind the counter said. "What's your pleasure? Books, movies, tasty playthings, or we've got some hot flesh in the back.
The man was in his forties, with long, lank black hair, a safety pin in his nose, several gold studs in each ear, and a Metallica T-shirt. His chin was covered with dark stubble that didn't quite hide a big red pimple.
"Don't make a scene," Keough said, as he showed the man his badge and ID.
"About what?" He barely seemed to have looked, but his next words assured them that he had seen all he needed to see. "That's a Missouri ID, pal. You got no jurisdiction here."
"I could call for some Illinois cops with no problem, friend," Keough said, "but we're only here to ask a question or two, not to make any trouble."
"I can handle the local cops," the man said, "but you know what? I'm feeling good tonight. Go ahead and ask."
"We appreciate it. What's your name?"
"They call me Father Bill."
"Why do they call you that?" Steinbach asked.
"I was gonna be a priest once," Father Bill said. "Even did some time in the seminary."
"Quite a career change," Steinbach said.
"That's what makes life interesting."
Keough took out the sketch and passed it to the man.
"This scumbag?" the man said. "There was one of you guys in here last week askin' about him."
"One of us?" Keough asked. He and Steinbach exchanged a glance. "You mean, a Missouri cop?"
"A Mizzou detective," Father Bill said.
"And you told him who this was?"
"Told him," the man said, "and gave him an address."
"How do you happen to have his address?" Steinbach asked.
"We got it on file. We got addresses for all our members."
"Members?"
"Of the video club," the man said. "We don't just give our videos away, ya know."
"So this man in this sketch is one of your clients?"
"Was," Father Bill said. "If he ever comes in here again I'll wring his neck."
"Why's that?" Keough asked.
"He owes me," the man said. "He took out a video and never brought it back. We been sending him bills, but…"
"What was the video?" Keough asked.
"His favorite," the man said. "He used to rent it all the time. I guess he finally decided to keep it."
"What was it?" Steinbach asked.
"Strolling Blondes," the man said. "Not one of our better numbers, but he likes it for some reason."
"What was it about?"
"Beats me," the man said with a shrug of his bony shoulders, "but I could probably guess."
"Yeah," Keough said, exchanging a glance with Stein-back, "so could we."
"Were going to need his address," Steinbach said.
"Why can't you get it from the other cop?"
Keough described Ken Jackson to the man who nodded and said, "That's him. Boy, did he have an attitude. Threatened to tear off my head and shit down my neck if I didn't cooperate, so I did. Can't you get it from him?"
"No," Steinbach said.
"Why not?"
"He's dead," Keough said.
"No shit!"
"Can you get it for us?" Steinbach asked.
"Sure, sure," the man said, "no problem."
While they waited Steinbach asked, "Now how do we play this?"
"Not the way Jackson said," Keough said.
"Jesus," Steinbach said, "he walked in there alone, with no backup, and this guy got the drop on him. That arrogant son of a bitch. You know, the moment he got stabbed must have been a shocker to him."
"I'd guess so."
"No," Steinbach said, "I mean to his ego, man. Jackson's arrogance went way beyond normal. To be taken out that way must have been a helluva shock."
Father Bill came back with the name and address written down on an index card.
"Eric Pautz," Steinbach said.
"Where's that address?" Keough asked. "Klemm Street?"
Steinbach thought a moment and then said, "That's Shaw, I think."
"Where's that?"
"Behind the botanical gardens," Steinbach said, "not that far from the West End."
Keough looked at Father Bill.
"Thanks for the information."
"Is somebody else gonna come lookin'?" Father Bill asked. "I mean, I can have some cards made up, ya know?"
"Nobody else," Keough said. "We're going to close this son of a bitch out."
"Good luck."
As they were heading for the door Father Bill called out, "Hey, if you get him, do I get my video back?"
56
They discussed their course of action on the way back to St. Louis. Driving over the bridge Keough couldn't help but admire the way the Arch looked in the moonlight. St. Louis had a pretty skyline. The Arch was impressive, day or night. Sometimes he wondered what held it up. He half expected it to just tip over.
"So what do we do?" Steinbach asked. "Head for this guy's house? Call for backup?"
"Let's think this through, Al," Keough said. "If we go and get him, what do we get him for?"
"Murder."
"Whose? The women? The baby? Jackson's?"
"All of 'em."
"How do we prove it?"
"We… I don't know. What about the Fouquet girl?"
"We can get him for simple assault. That's not going to do anybody any good, expect him. A good lawyer and he's out."
"So what do you suggest?"
"I think we've got to watch this son of a bitch," Keough said. "Keep an eye on him and wait for him to make his next move."
"What about the FBI?" Steinbach asked. "Are they going to cooperate?"
"They've got to," Keough said. "What could they get him for? No, I think when we explain this to Agent Connors she'll see the sense in it."
"We'll have to explain it to McGwire first," Steinbach said. "He wants this guy's ass bad."
"We'll talk to him first," Keough said. "He won't be in the office now. Do you know where he lives?"
"No," Steinbach said, "but we can find out. Just drive to the office."
***
When they got to the Major Case office, Steinbach found McGwire's home phone number and called him. It was nearly ten, but there was a good chance he'd be awake, depending on what kind of lifestyle he had.
He wasn't.
"Sorry to wake you, Cap," Keough said, "but we got him."
"You got who?"
"The killer."
"You've got him?"
"Well, we don't physically have him," Keough said, "but we know who he is… maybe."
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.
"Where are you?"
"The office."
"Stay there," McGwire said, "and get some coffee. I'm on my way."
Keough hung up.
"He's on his way," he said, "and he wants coffee."
"So do I," Steinbach said. "I'll be right back."
***
By the time Steinbach returned Keough had found something in their in box.
"What is it?"
"The other sketch," Keough said. "The one from Marie Tobin. Look." He laid the two sketches side by side, the one from Marie Tobin and the one from Kate Fouquet. "See?"
"It's the same man," Steinbach said, putting bags of coffee and donuts on the desk. "
It's him."
"Now all we need to do," Keough said, "is make sure that this is Eric Pautz."
"It's him," Steinbach said. "It's got to be."
"Got to be who?" McGwire asked, entering at that moment. He had obviously dressed haphazardly, his topcoat buttoned to his neck, his hair probably combed back with his fingers, a pair of old loafers on his feet.
"Hello, Cap," Steinbach said. "Sorry to get you down here at this time."
"Is that coffee?"
"Yes, sir." Steinbach took out a container and handed it to his superior. McGwire removed the plastic top and took a grateful sip. "Is this our man?"
"Yes, sir," Keough said, pushing the sketches closer together. "These are the two sketches our witnesses came up with."
"Hmm," McGwire said, "subtle differences, but I'd say it's the same guy."
"I agree."
McGwire looked at Steinbach. "You were saying a name when I came in?"
"Yes, sir," Steinbach said. "Pautz, Eric Pautz."
"Pautz?" He looked at Keough. "Is this on the level?"
"Yes, sir," Keough said.
"How did you get a name at all?"
"Maybe we better sit down."
They all took seats and Keough ended up behind Ken Jackson's desk. McGwire listened while Keough told him what they had found out. Steinbach quietly devoured a donut and watched.
"How did Jackson get to that store?" he asked when Keough finished.
"I don't know, Cap," Keough said. "Maybe he played a hunch."
"You know about hunches, huh?"
"I know something about them, yeah," Keough said.
"What's your next move, then? Pick him up?"
"No. We can't get him on anything but simple assault," Keough said. "What we've got to do now is make sure that Eric Pautz matches these sketches, and if he does, watch and wait for him to make his next move."
"What about the FBI? Gonna let them in on it?"
"Sure," Keough said. "Why not? The more the merrier. They can watch with us."
"And when he makes his next move on a woman, we'll have him."
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