He frowned deeper, not sure if she was kidding him or giving him a dig. She wasn’t sure herself.
“I just made detective.” He swallowed, flicked a smile, then his expression turned sober. “Jordan, I became a cop because of what happened to your family.”
Jordan tried to find words to respond to that, but couldn’t.
“So this meeting up with you today,” he said, “is more about me wanting to help than doing some kind of favor for Grant, who I barely know, frankly.” He had a gulp of the pop. “I’m just a newbie nobody to him. If it wasn’t for the coincidence that you and I knew each other in high school, I would never have been on his radar.”
“But you did come to see me to talk about the case.”
“Yes. But I’d also like to reconnect, get to know you as an adult. Not to pick up where we left off, no, but—”
“Not going to happen,” she said.
“… Why?”
“Not right now, anyway. I’m just trying to get to know myself. I’m still in therapy. It’s a day-at-a-time thing for me. After what happened, I don’t have any desire to have any man in my life. Even my old high school crush.”
The latter had put a small smile in the midst of a largely sad expression. “And you’re not going to talk to me about what happened to your family, either, are you?”
“I’m not,” she said. “I don’t talk to anybody about that. Not even my shrink.”
He nodded slowly. “I can understand that. But like you said: ‘right now.’ Things will change for you, Jordan. They are changing. I’d like to be a part of that, even a small part.”
She just shrugged. She began to rise, saying, “Thank you for the apple juice.”
He took her gently by the arm and this time she did jerk away, and glare at him. Then he motioned calmly, with both hands, for her to sit back down.
For some reason, she did.
Glancing around, not wanting to be overheard, he almost whispered, “Jordan, I think what happened to your family was just one of a number of terrible crimes committed by the same monster.”
“You do.”
“I do. It sounds like something from TV or the movies, I know, but serial killers are real, from Jack the Ripper to Ted Bundy. I believe a serial killer took your family from you, and I think he’s still out there… worse, I think he’s taking other families and leaving a single family member behind. To suffer, maybe. Or to keep his horror alive somehow.… I’m sorry. I know this must be disturbing to you.…”
She was sitting there frozen. Had he read her mind? How much did he know? Did he somehow know her intentions? Nothing she’d said could have tipped him.
“I studied the case all through high school and college,” he said. “The deeper I dug, the more crimes I found that were similar to what you and your family suffered.”
“You studied us?”
“Not in any kind of… clinical way. I care about you and your family. From the start, I was just trying to understand something that seemed incomprehensible.”
“Go on.”
“The deeper I dug, especially once I was on the force, the more I became convinced a serial killer was responsible for what happened to your family—one that had not yet been identified by the FBI, who are in charge of such things.”
She cocked her head, as if hearing that were difficult. “So the Cleveland PD is looking into it, until the FBI can be convinced—is that right?”
“Not exactly. As I said, Sergeant Grant is helping out on the Strongsville homicides, and there are enough similarities with your case to attract his attention.”
“Then who is looking into the possibility of a serial killer being responsible?”
A sheepish look crossed Mark’s face. “Uh… right now?”
“Well, of course right now.”
“… Me.”
“You.”
He leaned forward. “I’ve shared my views with my partner, who’s a veteran detective, and he sees merit in my theory.”
“Theory?”
“That’s all it is right now, and I’ve also told my captain about it, and he’s authorized me to work on the case, too.”
“Full-time?”
“No. Very much part-time. Actually… on my own time.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
He raised his palms to her as if in surrender, but that wasn’t what he was doing. “Jordan, it’s a start. And with your cooperation, I can put enough together to get the Cleveland PD onboard, and then the FBI.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted that. All she knew for certain was she wanted the intruder for herself. For her own justice.
Nor did she feel like telling Mark about the serial killer offshoot of group, though if he was working on a similar theory, maybe he’d have information they could use. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Okay. Can’t ask any more than that.”
She rose. “You have a card or something?”
He fished out his wallet, removed a card, then got up and handed it to her, their fingers brushing. The thought of any man touching her had been revolting to her, for a very long time. This was… all right.
“If I decide to do this,” she said, “I’ll call you.”
“That would be great.”
She raised an eyebrow and lifted a lecturing finger. “You don’t call me. Bother me about it, your chances of getting any cooperation out of me are nil. One thing I don’t need is a stalker.”
“Understood,” Mark said. “If I haven’t heard from you in, say, a week…?”
“Then you won’t be.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll respect that.”
“That would be wise.”
She started to move away, and he said, “You were interested, then, back in high school? I thought you had a thing for our quarterback.”
She looked back at him. “Pete Harris? Just another dumb jock. I was into smart boys. Guys who used their heads for something besides sticking a helmet on.”
He looked so disappointed, hearing that, and his face was the high school kid’s. She felt a rush of warmth for him, not love and certainly nothing sexual. More sympathy.
So she made herself smile and said, “Kickers are kind of the intellectuals of the gridiron, don’t you think?”
And she turned her back on him and walked away, after getting just a glimpse of his grin. Oddly enough, her smile lingered all the way to the checkout lane.
But it was long gone by the parking lot, by which time she was annoyed with herself again.
Okay, so he was sweet in his way. But there was no way she could ever call him. Jesus Fuckin’ Christ on a goddamn crutch, she had almost flirted with him at the end there. Her mouth had spoken without benefit of her brain. She would toss his card in the bin outside the automatic door. That’s exactly what she would do.
But she didn’t.
Instead it went into a jeans pocket.
Jordan sat on the couch with Kara in the St. Dimpna’s sunroom, having just finished telling the slender, punky blonde about the grocery-store encounter with Mark Pryor.
“You are such a slut,” Kara squealed, exploding with laughter as she gave Jordan a big shove, nearly knocking her over.
The two women laughed.
“Touching a guy’s fingers makes me a slut, does it?”
“Honey, with your issues, that’s like getting to third base on the first frickin’ date.”
They both laughed again. Neither did that very often, and seldom apart. But it felt good to Jordan, and to Kara, too, obviously.
“So,” Kara asked, “are you going to talk to him? Sounds like he wants to help.”
Jordan mulled that for a moment, then said, “Maybe.”
“Good. Opening up might be good for you.”
“Never mind that shit. What I need is to find out what he knows, if anything.”
“That’s the only reason? To get more information for your own… vendetta?”
; “Yes,” Jordan said, no hesitation.
“This Mark is definitely nutty enough about you to rate a bunk in here.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. He’s a cop because of you. Because he wants to find the ‘monster’ who did all that bad shit to you and yours. He may be cute, and I get the distinct impression he is… but he’s a whack job, too, honey.”
“So I should avoid him then?”
“Hell no! He sounds like just your type.”
They laughed again, not as hard. Too much truth in it.
Finally Jordan said, “There won’t be anything between us. Mark is cute, and nice and sweet and everything. But there’s only room for one man in my life.”
“The one you’re gonna kill, you mean?”
“That’s right. Mr. Wrong.”
“Damn straight,” Kara said, with a grin that even Jordan knew reflected her friend’s mental illness. They bumped fists.
Jordan spoke little at the support group meeting, her mind on other things. She did her best to seem attentive, but she was thinking ahead about sharing her encounter with Mark Pryor with the smaller spin-off group. Finally she decided it was best to keep that to herself, for now anyway. If she decided to talk to him, then she would share the result with the subgroup.
The coffee shop was becoming a popular place after support group meetings. In addition to their little investigative team, Jordan noticed an increasing number of other members relaxing there after every meeting. Little interaction, though—some sat as couples, others alone, none in a group as big as theirs. Postgroup, everybody went out of their way not to call attention to anyone else, as if they were members of a secret society, determined not to be discovered by the world at large.
To everyone’s surprise (including herself), Jordan called the meeting to order.
“I’ve been thinking about Levi’s geography theory,” she said to the little circle gathered at its regular table, “as it applies to the two-year time frame.”
“And the gap in that time frame,” David said.
“Yes.”
Levi said, “That could be the key. If we’re able to fill in that gap, we’ll have something to take to the authorities.”
There were murmurs of agreement, and she felt oddly guilty withholding that she had turned away one representative of the authorities already, and had another on the string—Grant and Mark respectively.
“Problem is,” Levi said glumly, “I’ve been digging into this for some time now and can’t find a damn thing for those two years.”
“Nothing?” Jordan asked.
David said, “Do I have to remind everybody that the lack of murder victims is a good thing?”
“Not in this case,” the skater boy said.
Kay said, “Now, Levi has come up with a few possibilities, don’t forget.”
“But nothing that seems concrete,” David said.
Jordan turned to Kay and asked, “What about your case?”
“My case?” Kay asked. “I don’t have a case. Not in the sense that—”
“You never know,” Jordan said. “In police terms, our killer has an MO that’s all over the map. And what happened to your family fits into our time gap.”
Taken aback, Kay glanced at David, who gave her a small supportive smile and nod.
The plump, attractive redhead sighed. “My case is… my brother-in-law shot my sister, then turned the gun on himself.”
“What if he didn’t?” Jordan asked.
“The police seemed so sure,” Kay said, frowning, yet with something like hope in her eyes.
How sad to think that this nice woman might find solace in knowing that a loved one had not been a suicide, but a murder victim.
“The police can always be wrong,” Jordan said. “Look at Levi’s family and the care the killer took to stage it. Levi was their best suspect for a while, because of that.”
No one said anything, though they were all clearly thinking that through.
Jordan pressed: “Isn’t that why we’re here, because we think the cops missed something, and that all our cases might be one great big case?”
Again, no one spoke, but eyes were moving with thought.
“David and I,” she went on, nodding to him, “and now the Sullys, all suffered home invasions of one kind or another. But Levi’s case was different, and other crimes we’re looking for might not necessarily follow that pattern, either.”
Nods.
Jordan pounded her fist on the high-top table just hard enough to make coffee cups jump. “What if we’re looking for a monster who preyed on all of us, including Kay? If we’re right, the cops haven’t tripped to this bastard in at least ten years… and there’s every possibility my family wasn’t his first.”
Jordan was getting wide-eyed looks around the table.
David, with an admiring half smile, said, “Jordan, for a woman who didn’t speak for ten years, you are doing just fine. Very well said.”
But Kay was shaking her head, obviously shocked. “I didn’t even live with Kathy and Walt. All of the rest of you shared a home with the loved ones you lost.”
“Brittany Sully’s brother didn’t live with his family,” Jordan said. “He was in fucking Afghanistan, and still is.”
Kay blinked at the harsh language, but she and the rest again lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
Finally Levi turned to David. “She could be right.”
“She makes a good case,” the writer said. “She’s just what we’ve needed—a fresh pair of eyes, and a sharp damn mind.”
Levi ran the fingers of one hand through his long hair, taking in and then letting out a deep breath. “Now I know what to do, anyway—go over every family-related homicide for the four years between David’s family and the Sullys.”
Jordan glared at him. “You haven’t done that already?”
“Stay cool, Catwoman. We’re all feeling our way in the dark here. Sure, I checked any case that fit our profile even a little bit… but not the ones marked solved by the cops. Those I threw out, like Kay’s.”
“Whether Kay’s case is our man’s work or not,” David said, “you raise a valid point, Jordan. We never considered that a crime the police had marked as ‘solved’ might have been wrongly attributed.”
Elated, Jordan asked, “How many cases are we talking about?”
Levi said, “I’d have to go over my research, but maybe… a dozen?”
“That sounds manageable enough.”
Levi smirked humorlessly, then ticked off on his fingers as he spoke. “We have a dozen homicide cases usually involving at least two murders. We’re looking for clues the police missed in what are now closed cases, which means no access, and maybe even false information in the papers and on the Net, because the police likely used the explanation most readily presenting itself.”
Elation left Jordan like air from a punctured tire.
“Take Kay’s case,” Levi was saying. “The cops presented a perfectly reasonable solution based on facts available at the crime scene. But if you’re right, Jordan, they overlooked or outright missed evidence.”
David said, “It’s a notorious flaw in too much police work—ignore any evidence that doesn’t fit your theory of the crime. A theory often formed very early on.”
Levi said, “A dozen cases could take years to look at properly, particularly considering we’re working off the grid, with no PD support.”
“I can pitch in,” Jordan said. “No problem.”
Levi gave her a wan smile. “No offense, but you’ve been off the street for, what? Ten years? How are your computer skills?”
“I’m amazing at Google,” she said, then immediately realized how lame that sounded. Maybe she should tell them about Mark, after all. Putting Levi together with the detective might add up to something.
Only that might lead the police to the intruder before she got to him.…
But that was a risk she would have to take, a contingency she wo
uld finesse when the time came.
Levi was saying, “The Freedom of Information Act gives us access to certain records in these closed cases. Northwestern Law’s Center on Wrongful Convictions has been using that kind of info to get innocent people out of prison.”
Kay said, “But we’re trying to put somebody in prison.”
“That door swings both ways,” Levi assured her.
“With that much information,” David said, “we’re going to need help to sift through it all.”
Levi said, “I’m the only one here with the computer skills to get that done… meaning no offense to Jordan.”
“Excuse me.” The male voice came from the table behind Jordan. “But, uh… I’m pretty good with computers.”
They all turned. Phillip, from group, was sitting at the next table, something approximating a smile on his lipless, alabaster face. He sat alone, a saucer under his coffee cup, a napkin neatly in his lap, his outfit brown and tan today. He wore a too-white shirt, tie brown with tan diagonal stripes, jacket a medium brown, slacks crisp and tan, loafers brown and buffed to a high sheen.
“You don’t even know what we’re talking about,” Jordan said, nastiness creeping into her voice unbidden.
“I’ve heard enough to have a pretty good idea,” Phillip said, the breathing through his noseless nostrils as loud as if he were deep asleep.
But he wasn’t.
“What,” Jordan demanded, “you think eavesdropping is cool?”
David raised a hand to intercede, but Phillip ignored him, his eyes on Jordan. “No. But you weren’t exactly whispering—any of you.”
He had a point.
“You’re lucky I’m a fellow group member,” he said. “A civilian might report you to the police.… May I join you?”
He pulled his chair around and sat between Jordan and Elkins. Any irritation or even anger she felt was trumped by curiosity.
“Okay, man,” Levi said, and grunted a laugh. “What do you know about computers?”
“I’ve always taken an interest in technology,” Phillip said. “I was on the Internet years before it was widely in use.” Then, looking around to make sure no one else was listening, he added in a whisper, “But since my attack, I’ve learned to hack security video, and your odd state and local police system.”
What Doesn’t Kill Her Page 12