"Right."
"But will we have him for Jackson's murder?"
Keough tossed a quick look at Steinbach, who raised his eyebrows.
"Well have to wait and see, Cap," Keough said.
"Because as much as I want him for the murders of these women, I want the man who killed one of my men. You said it was gonna be the same guy."
"I still think it is, Cap," Keough said. "Once we grab him, we can go into his house and look around, then we can interrogate him. Maybe he'll confess."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Well, maybe we'll find something in his house. We're just going to have to take it one step at a time-that is, with your permission."
McGwire finished his coffee, crumpled the cup, and dropped it in a nearby waste basket.
"I gave you the lead, Keough," he said, finally. He got to his feet. "We'll play it your way. Be here early in the morning and we'll talk to the FBI together."
"Yes, sir."
He started for the door, then turned and looked back at his two men.
"You did good work," he said, and left.
Keough took the top off his coffee and sipped it. It was lukewarm, but tasted good.
"Donut?" Steinbach asked.
"Sure."
Donuts were cliche where cops were concerned, but the truth of the matter was that they were quick to buy and quick to consume. They often satisfied the hunger gnawing at a cop's belly when he didn't have time to stop to eat, or when he was on stakeout.
Steinbach tossed the bag over to Keough, who deftly caught it with one hand. There was one donut left, a plain one, which suited him fine. He took a bite, then sipped the coffee. That was the other thing about donuts. They improved the taste of coffee-even brought good coffee up another level.
They drank their coffee and ate their donuts for a few moments before Steinbach broke the silence.
"So, what do we do next?"
Keough swallowed the last of his donut with the last of his coffee, then dropped the cup into the trash and rubbed crumbs from his hands.
"Go home, Al," he said. "Go home to your wife and kids. Starting tomorrow we'll be on a stakeout that might last a long time. Have your wife cook dinner for you, too, because we might be eating a lot more donuts."
"Fortunately," Steinbach said, standing up, "I like donuts. I'll see you in the morning."
"Early," Keough said, "around nine. The FBI should be here by then."
"Okay." He started for the door. "You comin'?"
"I'm going to sit here for a few minutes," Keough said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Joe," Steinbach said, "uh, the way you put this together, it was really, uh…"
"I know," Keough said. "Thanks, Al. See ya."
"Uh, yeah, okay."
Steinbach left, pulling the door shut behind him. Keough didn't want any congratulations, yet. Once this all worked out, then he'd take any accolades that came his way. For now he just hoped they'd find that Eric Pautz resembled the sketches, and that he'd make a move soon so they could pick him up. He wanted to verify that Pautz had done those women, killed the baby-albeit accidently-and then killed Jackson. When they put all of that on him, and it stuck… then what? Would he go back to being… complacent about his life here in St. Louis? He had to admit that this was the only time he had really come alive during his time here. And it would go on for the next few days-or weeks-of staking Pautz out, trying to put their case together and seeing it stick. Also, he still had the Sanders case to look into. Little Brady Sanders, at some time in his life, was going to want to know what happened to his parents, so there was still that matter to be put to rest.
But what then? What happened after that?
He passed a hand over his face and realized he was tired, and hungry. The donut had only served to show him how hungry he was. He decided to pick up takeout on the way home-maybe Chinese-and see if he could get some sleep. Tomorrow he'd have to try to get the FBI to agree with his assessment of the case-of the cases. From what he had seen of Agent Connors so far, he thought he'd be able to do that, but he wanted to be well rested when he tried.
As far as the other stuff, the personal things, he could put them aside until everything else was settled.
57
"Why didn't you tell us any of this before?" Agent Connors asked.
There were five of them in the Major Case office; Keough, Steinbach, Captain McGwire, and the two FBI agents, Connors and Hannibal. Spread out on the two desks were paper bags of bagels, donuts, and containers of coffee.
Keough had just finished explaining his theories to the FBI agents, who had listened intently, with less-than-happy looks on their faces.
"I had to move on my information fast," Keough said. "Besides, you were busy with your mall stakeouts." They had extended them for two days.
"Yeah," Hannibal said, derisively, "that was a waste of time."
Keough looked the younger man in the eyes and said, "It wasn't my idea."
"Hey, the mall business-"
"Can it, Tom," Connors said, and the younger agent closed his mouth.
"I'm spinning a theory here, Tom," Keough said, as if he was speaking to a dense child. "Nobody says you have to buy it." He looked at Connors again. "What would you have said if I told you I found some newspaper ads in Jackson's desk?"
"I don't honestly know what I'd have said," Connors replied.
"You sure as hell wouldn't have abandoned your mall stakeout, would you?" Keough asked. "Not on the basis of that."
"Probably not."
"So I had to come up with something more," Keough said, "and I have."
There were a few moments of silence while everyone took a bite or a sip of something.
"And now you've laid it all out for us?" Connors asked him.
"I have."
"And we're supposed to go along?" Hannibal asked.
"Or come up with a better idea, Agent Hannibal," Captain McGwire said, before Keough could answer. "Do you have a better alternative?"
"Well…" Hannibal said, slowly, "we could just go in and grab him."
"Bad idea," Steinbach said.
"I agree," Connors said. She looked at McGwire. "We'll go along with Detective Keough's plan, Captain." That drew her a look from her partner that she pointedly ignored. Keough had an idea there was trouble in paradise. Over the mall situation? Or this? Or something else, entirely?
"Here's what I suggest," Keough said. "We send somebody in to positively ID our perp. Once we know that Eric Pautz is the man in the sketches we can start to watch him and run a computer check."
"And how long do we watch him?" Hannibal asked.
"Until he makes a move."
"That could take months."
"It probably still wouldn't use as much manpower as yesterday's little exercise did, would it?" Keough asked him.
"Look-" Hannibal started, but Connors cut him off.
"Here's what I suggest," she said.
"Go ahead," Keough said.
"Once he's ID'd, we break into teams of two," she said. "I'll work with you, Keough, and Agent Hannibal can work with Detective Steinbach." She looked around and her eyes stopped on her partner. "Any objections?"
"No," McGwire said, immediately. "I like the idea of mixing and matching partners. Keough?"
"I don't have a problem, Cap."
Hannibal and Steinbach both looked unhappy that no one had consulted them.
"Okay," McGwire said, "then our next step is who should go in and ID our man?"
"I'll go," Keough said. "I want a good, long, close look at him."
"Any objections?" McGwire asked. There were none.
"Let's do it, then," Keough said, and the meeting was adjourned.
***
It was decided that Keough should disguise himself as a UPS man. They went so far as to contact UPS and get one of their uniforms and trucks.
"What do we send him?" Steinbach asked.
"I've got an idea about that, too," Keough said.
; "What do you have in mind?" Connors asked.
"You'll see."
***
The street Eric Pautz lived on, Klemm, dead ended against Tower Grove Park. For that reason Keough decided that they should stake him out with a car just off his block.
"If we stay on Botanical," he reasoned, "he has to drive past us to get out, either on Klemm, or a block to the west on Tower Grove Avenue, which runs right along the back of the botanical garden. Eventually he'll get to Shaw Boulevard, at which time he'll have to turn left or right. We can have a secondary car there, but I think we should stay on Botanical."
He was showing Connors, Hannibal, Steinbach, and McGwire a map to illustrate his point.
"Why don't we just take over a house on his block?"
"Because this is an old neighborhood with old residents," Keough said. "We've already found out that Pautz inherited the house from his mother. His family has lived there for years. The community is too tightly knit. Word will get around."
"I'll go along with this," Connors said.
"Do you need to okay this with anyone?" McGwire said.
"No, sir," she said. "I have complete autonomy where this case is concerned."
"That's impressive," McGwire said.
"Because I'm a woman, sir?"
This was the first hint Keough had that Connors might have some sort of chip on her shoulder.
"No," McGwire said, "I didn't mean that at all."
Connors seemed to believe him.
"Then we're ready to go?" Keough asked.
"UPS is on the way," Steinbach said.
"Let's do it, then," McGwire said.
58
Keough drove the UPS truck right up to the front of Eric Pautz's Klemm Street residence, put the brake on, and stepped out, carrying an 10x13 padded envelope. In the envelope was all of the pornographic material they could find, mostly catalogues for videos and toys to enhance someone's sex life. Me figured Pautz, with his taste in videos, would never question this sort of a gift horse.
He walked up to the door and rang the bell; his heart started to pound immediately. In a matter of seconds he could be face-to-face with the killer of two or more women, an infant, and a cop. He wondered if he'd be able to keep from going for the man's throat.
He only had to ring the bell once, and the door was opened moments later. He was face-to-face with a man who very strongly resembled the two sketches they had.
"Eric Pautz?" he asked.
"That's right."
"This is for you."
Pautz appeared to be in his twenties, tall but very slender, almost skinny. Keough thought he would have trouble overpowering women like Kate Fouquet and Debra Morgan if it wasn't for the threats against their children. He seemed capable of sucker-punching Marie Tobin. He was wearing a soiled white T-shirt, and his hair was long and filthy.
"What is it?"
"I just deliver 'em," Keough said. He extended the new digital board that UPS was using and said, "Sign here." He'd gotten a quick lesson in how to use the device.
Pautz signed his name, still frowning.
"Have a nice day," Keough said, and forced himself to walk away from the man without putting a bullet between his eyes. Behind him he heard the door close.
He got into the UPS truck and drove it to Botanical Avenue, making a left and stopping halfway between Klemm and Tower Grove. There was a real UPS man waiting there to take the truck, and they made the exchange of positions smoothly. Keough immediately joined Agent Connors in the car which had been supplied by the FBI, getting into the back seat. Once inside he stripped off the UPS uniform.
"Is he our man?"
"He's our man."
She nodded and used her radio to quietly notify her other men that they had the right perp.
As an afterthought they had not only placed a secondary car on Shaw Boulevard, between Klemm and Tower Grove, but a third car on Arsenal Street, on the other side of Tower Grove Park, just in case Pautz decided to leave his car, scale some fences, and run through the park to Arsenal.
They were all in position.
***
Pautz did not come out of his house that first day, but on the second, during Keough and Connors' watch, he drove his car along Klemm to Shaw and made a left. They followed, Connors behind the wheel, doing a good job of tailing, never getting too close.
Pautz did not search for a victim that day, however. He did some grocery shopping, stopped at a chain bookstore, and then returned home for the day.
On the third day Connors and Keough sat in the car, looking over the file which had now been prepared on Eric Pautz.
"He's too clean," Connors said, as she and Keough passed some pages back and forth.
"He's on lots of mailing lists," Keough said, "which is why our UPS trick worked."
"No record," she said. "How can that be? Usually these types move up the ladder from petty crimes to major ones. This guy looks like he went right to kidnapping, rape, and murder first shot out of the box."
Keough was going over Pautz's vitals statistics. He was six one, weighed in at 140, was twenty-nine, had only a high school education, and barely that. He seemed to have been left enough money so that he only worked when he had to, and that at odd jobs.
"He's been fired a lot," Connors said, reading to him from the sheet she had.
"I saw that."
"Personality conflicts," she said. "That follows the pattern."
The psychobabble pattern, Keough thought.
"He has a younger brother," she said.
"Uh-huh."
Abruptly, Connors put down the sheets she was reading and looked at Keough.
"If I remember correctly from your book," she said, and he didn't bother to correct her, "you don't believe in the psychological aspect of catching the serial killer."
"I just don't like giving these scumbags excuses," he said.
He was aware, for the third time, of the scent of Connors's perfume. It was hard not to be in the close confines of a car on stakeout. He'd been on stakeouts with women before, and he usually splashed on some extra cologne, as he had done this morning. Her scent, however, was sweet-sweeter than he would have imagined from her appearance. It was almost what Steinbach had called "stripper smell" the other night, but not quite. He couldn't remember having smelled it on her in the office. Had she, too, splashed on some extra?
"It works, you know," she said, "the psychological profiling."
"It has worked," he said. "I know, but not every time."
"Nothing works every time," she said.
"Exactly."
"Especially hunches."
He looked at her. She was staring straight ahead. Her profile was strongly cut, as if out of a mountain. She had a straight nose, a square jaw, and thin lips, but her mouth was far from unattractive. He had the feeling that with some makeup and a different hairdo she'd be a handsome woman.
"Don't tell me you've never worked a hunch," he asked, looking behind them.
They alternated looking front and back, at Klemm and Tower Grove, although the first time Pautz had come out he'd used Klemm.
"No," she said, "I haven't."
"You go by the book, huh?"
"I do," she said. "I believe in it."
"Bullshit."
"What?" She looked at him quickly, then away.
"You're working my hunch right now."
"The way you explained it was logical," she said. "I wasn't aware that we were playing a hunch."
"Well, we are."
"Well… it makes sense, that's all."
He looked back at the file in his lap and said, "It's still a hunch."
"Fine," she said.
"Fine," he said.
59
On the third day Connors had shown up with Mike O'Donnell's book on the Kopykat case.
"I thought you read that" Keough asked.
"I'm reading it again."
"Why?"
"Because now I know you," she said, "and I'll re
ad it with different eyes."
"It's not going to change."
She put the book down in her lap. Keough was looking toward Klemm Street, casting an occasional eye toward Tower Grove. By this time they were spending most of their time watching Klemm. If Pautz happened to get past them, the secondary car would alert them. By playing it this way, both of them didn't have to be so alert all the time. They were able to spell each other and take breaks, and during her breaks Connors was re-reading the book.
"I'd think you would be proud of what you did," she said.
"Proud?" he asked. "I ended up without a job."
"You could have stayed in New York."
"Not and still be a cop."
"You could have done something else."
"Like what?"
"Gone private?"
"I'm not a private eye, Connors," he said, "I'm a cop."
"In St. Louis."
"St. Louis is all right," he said.
"I didn't say it wasn't."
"It's fine," he said. "It's got a lot going for it."
"Except for one thing," she said.
"What's that?"
"It ain't New York."
She turned her attention back to the book.
***
On the fourth day he found himself telling her all about the Sanders case.
"Sounds like you reconstructed it right," she said, when he was done. "All you have to do is wait for the woman's body to show up."
"Like the third woman in this case."
"Right," she said. "Eventually the bodies turn up. Almost always."
"Uh-huh."
"Are you worried about the boy?"
"Brady? Sure, I'm worried about him. At some point the kid is going to want to know what happened to his family-if he ends up being adopted permanently. Don't all adopted kids end up looking for their real parents?"
"No."
Keough stayed quiet.
"I never did."
"You were adopted?"
She nodded. "I was about five."
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