Mark shifted in his chair. “I can’t officially confirm that without risking getting myself in dutch with my captain. But… let’s say, hypothetically… yes.”
Levi smiled a little, then the smile disappeared as he said, “I have the names of three staff members, other than Havoc, who were in both cities with him.”
Mark held up a hand, got out a notepad and pen, then nodded, poised to write.
Levi said, “Bradley Slavens, Stuart Carlyle, and Patti Roland.”
“Could you spell those?”
Levi did.
“Good,” Mark said, writing. “Good.”
“Roland and Carlyle are still working at Havoc’s school,” Levi went on. “Slavens left about two years ago, and as far as the Net is concerned, fell off the map.”
Mark asked, “How did you get stuff on his employees?”
Phillip cleared his throat and all eyes were on him as he said, “The government may have repealed ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell,’ Detective. But we haven’t. Any information you get from us, you need to consider confidential, like something you might get from a, uh… what’s the television word? Snitch.”
Mark grinned at the teacher. “Fair enough.” Then he glanced around at everyone. “I just uncovered a case that might fit the loose profile. Near St. Louis, where the finals were in 2012. A family in the Hill neighborhood.”
Phillip asked, “What makes you think they’re victims of our killer?”
“The homicides were around the time of the finals. But I can’t share anything beyond that—I’m sorry.”
“We can be your snitch, but you can’t be ours?”
“It’s a matter of degree, Mr. Traynor, but… that’s about the size of it.”
“Levi,” David asked, turning to the skater boy, “how does this fit in with the Havoc staff members?”
“Carlyle and Roland would have been there,” Levi said, “along with Havoc, of course. Slavens was gone by then.”
Phillip asked, “Is there some reason it couldn’t be any other gym coaches that travel to these events? Or even a parent? Havoc’s isn’t the only school with a similar schedule—possibly not even in Cleveland.”
David said, “These crimes started a decade ago. If it was a parent, his child would be long since off that circuit. Most kids have tossed in the towel, ten years down the road, or are in training for Olympic-caliber events.”
Levi picked up: “The parent would have to follow the competitions after his child left the sport. Doubtful.”
“I agree,” Mark said. “Odds are better it’s another coach. Serial killers are predators. They hunt, they kill. They start close to home, then branch out as their supply dwindles or they feel threatened. These crimes started here, they predominate around here. Remember, looking at Havoc’s school began with Jordan and David’s daughter both being students there. I believe this killer is local.”
“Makes sense,” Phillip said, and there were nods all around.
Mark turned back to Levi. “You seem to have narrowed it to two staff members at the school. How hard have you looked at them?”
Levi grinned, shook his head. “Detective, if I went beyond their Facebook pages, I’d be invading their privacy. You wouldn’t want me to break the law, now… would you?”
Even Jordan and Kay smiled at that.
Mark said to Levi, “So, if I Google them, will I come up with all the information you have?”
There was a slyness to Levi’s half smile. “Not completely.”
“Care to let me in on what I won’t find on Google?”
“As long as you don’t ask me where I got it.”
Mark’s half smile was equally sly. “I never push a snitch for his source.”
“Ha,” Levi said. “Okay, for one thing, Patti Roland was accused by a parent of being a sexual predator.”
Mark frowned and his pen was again poised to write. “When was this?”
“About three years ago. A mom claimed that Roland molested her seven-year-old daughter. She filed a civil suit against Havoc and his business.”
“So this is in the public record,” Mark said. “I can track this.”
“Yes,” Levi said, shrugging, “but the suit was dropped, possibly settled out of court. Mom and child left Havoc’s center for another gymnastics training site.”
David asked, “Money grab?”
“Maybe,” Levi said. “That’s not on the record, anywhere. Strictly closed-doors lawyer stuff.”
Mark said, “But Roland stayed on staff with Havoc? He didn’t fire her?”
“She’s worked for him since the gym opened,” Levi said. “Maybe she and Havoc are tight. Or maybe firing her would’ve given credence to that lawsuit. Anyway, Havoc has driven off plenty of trainers… but not her or Carlyle.”
“What about Carlyle?”
“No criminal record. He did report a gun stolen about six years ago. But that’s it.”
“Nothing else?”
“Carlyle seems clean from the outside.”
Jordan said, “Why are you even considering this Patti Roland? I saw the intruder—it’s a man.”
Briefly David explained that serial killers sometimes worked in teams, including male-female duos.
“Well, then,” Jordan said, “she must have been waiting in the car or something. Because we were hit by one bastard.”
Around them, the lunchtime cacophony had trailed off and the shop, which had been fairly crowded, was slowly emptying.
“The one thing,” Levi said thoughtfully, “that still has me completely stymied is—”
“Motive,” Jordan said.
“Exactly,” Levi said. “I understand with this type of criminal we aren’t looking at something as rational as wanting or needing money. Or killing somebody you hate, like an unfaithful wife or a mean-ass employer.”
Phillip said, “These are senseless crimes. They can’t be analyzed for motive.”
“No,” Mark said. “There is, as the old saying goes, method to his madness. We just haven’t figured it out yet.”
Kay cocked her head. “I thought serial killers killed just to… kill.”
Mark shook his head. “No, there’s something behind this… but I grant you it’s not apparent on the surface. Serial killers don’t jump ethnic groups, as a rule—this one does. They usually have particular ‘tastes,’ for lack of a better word—this one doesn’t. Men, women, young, old, even children, black, white, Hispanic. This guy is all over the place. Income-wise, too. Rich or poor, middle class, it just doesn’t matter to him. Right now the family aspect is all we have.”
David said, “Something is driving him.”
“Or them,” Phillip reminded.
“A killing duo doesn’t seem likely to me,” Mark said. “But we can’t rule out anything, and knowing the killer’s motive would be a big step in figuring out what he’s up to. Figuring out why these crimes are dissimilar enough to not attract FBI attention. It might even tell us when he’s going to strike next.”
David said, “And there will be a next.”
Silence.
Jordan broke it: “That’s why I knew it was time to get the hell out of St. Dimpna’s—the news coverage of the Sully family. I knew he was never going to stop killing unless someone stopped him.”
Phillip said, “Surely you weren’t planning to try to do that by yourself?”
“If need be, you bet your ass. I knew how I suffered, and now I know how all of you suffered. Someone has to stop the son of a bitch… and, all due respect to our guest, if the police won’t, we have to.”
Levi said, “Fine speech, kid, but we’re still stuck at motive.”
“Something Jordan mentioned,” Mark said.
“Me?”
“Yeah. You. What you told me he said to you. Can I share that?”
“If you think it will help.”
Mark told them the killer had recited a Bible verse after his killing spree at the Riveras’: “ ‘Thou shalt not wear a garm
ent of different sorts, as of woolen and linen together.’ ”
“Deuteronomy,” Phillip said.
“22:11,” Mark said.
Levi said, “Phillip teaches religion online. What’s the meaning of that verse, anyway?”
Phillip frowning was not a pleasant sight. “I don’t see that it is apropos of anything much. It may mean that one shouldn’t give into the vain fashions of the world, and save their respect for the Lord. It might mean to maintain purity of heart and deed. I can give it some thought, and research it, if you like.”
“Please,” Mark said.
Then the detective pushed back his chair and stood, smiling in a businesslike way and nodding at them, one at a time. “Afraid I’ve got to get back to work. Keep digging for the motive. Meantime, I’ll check up on those two employees of Havoc’s.”
Jordan walked Mark out.
“We have figured one thing out,” Mark said. “Or anyway, my partner Pence did.”
“What?”
“The cop uniform your intruder wore. Your memory is probably right. It was ‘Funkytown.’ ”
“That’s crazy!”
“No. Remember the badge number?”
“Sure. Sixty-nine.”
“A crude sexual reference. That was a costume, a cop costume used by male strippers.”
She frowned. “So your latest lead is male strippers?”
“No, I’m glad to say. That kind of thing is readily accessible on the Net or for cash at any number of sleazy sources, from adult bookstores to pawnshops. But that’s helpful information.”
“How so?”
“We can rule out real cops.”
They were at his Equinox.
“Listen,” she began, “I, uh… I want to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For taking our little team seriously. I don’t think you’ll be sorry you did.”
“I’m sure I won’t. They’re doing good work. This is the kind of support I wish the department was giving me.”
“That’s a relief to hear.”
“Oh, no, this is fine. This is great. We keep this up, it won’t be long till we’ll have enough so that my captain will have to listen.”
Mark grinned at her, gave her a little squeeze of the shoulder (she didn’t mind), and got into his Equinox and drove off, obviously feeling he’d given her good news.
But if Mark was right, it wouldn’t be long before the cops and the FBI would be tracking the intruder, and what she wanted was to beat them to the bastard. She didn’t want him to spend the rest of his life in prison, or living out decades on death row, with appeal after appeal. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to watch him die.
Was that so wrong?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For four hours at his kitchen table, hunkered over his laptop, Levi had been figuratively banging his head against the wall and was at the point where doing that literally seemed like a viable option. Every time he had hold of something, it evaporated, as if he were chasing a ghost. He was starting to think that’s what Bradley Slavens was—somebody who’d fallen off the grid and died and nobody noticed.
At least nobody on the Net.
An unnoticed death, however, was not as likely as somebody’s concerted effort to disappear—if so, Havoc’s gymnastics coach/assistant had done a hell of a job of it.
Up and vanishing was no easy task, in this world of forms and security cameras and voter ID. So much out there could give you away—an ATM card hung onto a little too long, a cell phone not thrown away, credit cards, car registrations, a forwarded check for a damage deposit… so many ways to slip up. To accidentally exist.
That meant Levi had to painstakingly track each such lead as best he could, and every time he hit a dead end, he recalled how frustrating it was to be a kid in an arcade who got killed on his last quarter.
Still, he had diligence on his side, and odds were Slavens had missed something somewhere—most everybody did. Chasing each lead down, Levi could only think, We don’t even know if this is the guy—I may be wasting my time, looking for somebody who isn’t really even a suspect yet… just a potential one.
He was about ready to hang it up for the night. Kick back with a Blu-ray and a Blue Moon. Then he tumbled onto it—chasing one of those many, many ways to look for somebody in today’s America.…
Seemed right before he’d fallen off the planet, Bradley Slavens had sold his car. That little tidbit had come from the county clerk’s office. Suddenly Levi had a date to work with, the dealership where Slavens sold the vehicle, and the figure Slavens had been paid.
Using that as a jumping-off point, Levi found four sales of cars that same day at various dealers where men had spent cash of about the amount Slavens had received for his car. Three of the buyers had been easy to track, through previous sales, and sales that occurred in the years since—all very simple to follow… and to rule out.
The fourth and final one, Kenneth Simon, seemed to have acquired no past before showing up at A-1 Used Cars the same day Slavens sold his vehicle across town at Forest City Motors. Mr. Simon paid cash for a late-model Dodge van.
Then a year later he sold it, right before he seemed to cease to exist… just as Slavens had.
One way a predator could avoid detection was to constantly change identities, a snake shedding skins. Since their man seemed to stay in the Cleveland area, that might seem less likely, although an area this size could possibly accommodate a shift or two in identities, maybe more. At any rate, this was a solid clue, well worth pursuing.
But all this digging had also opened the door on a lot more digging to do. On his cell, he got Phillip right away.
“You home, Phillip?”
“Yes, just sitting here reading,” he said, his distinctive breathing echoing over the phone. “You sound excited.”
“As excited as I can be,” Levi said, “this exhausted.”
Levi filled him in, then said, “I could use your help to dig into this ‘Kenneth Simon.’ Can you come over?”
“I can do that, but my home rig is more powerful than my laptop—can you come to me?”
“Be there in less than an hour.”
“See you then,” Phillip said, and they ended the call.
Rushing to pack all his gear, Levi felt his exhaustion disappear as his mind raced with the possibilities of what he was onto. If they could trace Kenneth Simon, they might be able to pinpoint where he resided now, and if Simon was really Slavens, then maybe, just maybe he was their man.…
Carrying his backpack with his laptop in it, Levi headed downstairs, tossed his gear into the car, then got behind the wheel. He put the key in the ignition and turned it.
Nothing.
Not even a whir. He pounded the steering wheel with a fist, though if he said he was surprised, he’d be lying. The only thing he could depend on with this car was that it was undependable. He could feel his exhaustion reasserting itself.…
Nothing a little Red Bull couldn’t cure, and he had some upstairs.
He was about to call and see if Phillip could come to him, or if not, possibly come pick him up, when a low rumbling in the far distance made him look up. The Green Line train. He hurriedly got his stuff from the car, not bothering to lock it—if some thief could figure out how to start the damned thing, he could have it—and started hoofing it over to the train station.
Backpack over his shoulder, Levi trotted across the two westbound lanes of Shaker Boulevard. Not a lot of traffic this time of night, and he had heard the train from a good ways away, so when he hit the sidewalk on the RTA side of the street, he slowed to a brisk walk.
Though he was in pretty decent shape, running while carrying all that gear had left him a little winded. He was still a good twenty-five yards or so from the station, coming up even with a half-dozen trees intended to pretty up the station area. He could see the train’s lights now.
Picking up the pace, he started to reach for his wallet, to be ready to buy a ticket. The
n he smiled to himself—even in a hurry, he wouldn’t do that, especially not near that shadowy area in and around those trees, which had long been a boon to muggers.
He was just past the trees and had only the barest sense of movement to his right as somebody grabbed him by the backpack and yanked him to a stop, an arm looping around his waist to drag him into the darkness of the trees. A hand gripping his head by his hair jerked back sharply, his chin rising, as if to provide a better access to the white flesh of his throat. Arms flailing, he caught a gleam of metal and then a burning sensation started just behind his left ear, moving swiftly across his throat and stopping just below his right ear.
His flailing slowed to a slow swimming motion as he saw the scarlet spray and felt hot wetness spilling down the front of him. He sagged to his knees. Tried to scream, but the only sound he produced was a raspy inhuman cough. Fucking throat’s been cut! he told himself, as if some part of him should do something about it.
He knew he was going into shock, but he still remained aware, his hands clawing toward his neck, trying to keep the blood in; but it ribboned through his fingers. Already he could feel his extremities going cold.
His damp red fingers dropped. There was no fighting it now. Although he hadn’t seen his attacker, someone had been waiting in the shadows, and not just a mugger. It was their man. They had found him! Or he had found them… These thoughts gave him an odd satisfaction as his strength and consciousness ebbed. Even as the killer hovered over him, Levi couldn’t make out more than a distorted silhouette. The figure bent toward him and Levi, just for a second, thought he recognized something about the attacker, but the thought cut off as something sharp dug into his abdomen, and his insides began spilling out.
No pain now, just his parents calling to him from the end of a bright tunnel. Was his mind providing that fabled tunnel of light? Was he soothing himself in his last moments, or were his parents really waiting for him, in another, better place? Levi hadn’t seen them in so very long. They were smiling, arms extended to hug him, looking just as they had the last time he saw them, before a fire and a fiend had taken them from him.
What Doesn’t Kill Her Page 19