Shoeless Child

by J. A. Schneider

  “I love your hair down.”

  “Gets in my face. Can’t see.”

  He patted her cheek, and surrendered the elastic band. She pulled her hair back into it as he started the ignition and nosed the Jeep out. The wet streets of lower Manhattan slipped by. Kerri watched the dark storefronts, late night silhouettes hunched into their slickers. With light traffic and the way Alex drove, she’d have a few minutes to think.

  “I’m trying to figure the killer,” she said after moments. “His personality.”

  Alex exhaled. “He’s a blank.”

  “So far…” She was silent again as he drove up Sixth. Then, as he hooked east onto Tenth: “Nobody’s a blank. This was daring, carefully planned. Would he have turned back if there hadn’t been a loud party below?”

  “Maybe not.” Headlights and streetlights strobed the Jeep’s interior. The wipers swished.

  “That foyer.” They had seen a hundred buildings like tonight’s. “Drunks and people high come and go, hold the door open for each other. No doormen, downtown politesse.”

  “He must’ve stalked, watched it before.”

  “Right. A planner.” Kerri frowned out as they turned into the brighter lights of Third Avenue. “So? He did it, shot both women…mission accomplished. Doesn’t someone like that like to reward himself? Take a trophy or leave something to taunt us?”

  “Not always. Try not to run ahead at this point.” Alex’s dimly lit profile looked the way Kerri felt: we’re just beginning.

  She lay her head back again as images collided. The happy child from those pictures, now piteous. His brave mom who’d struggled through depression, suddenly almost killed, just getting out of surgery. Lauren Huff dead, her eyes still helplessly terrified. Fury built in Kerri’s heart, so bad.

  Good thing she was done with her required six shrink visits.

  Another night came back to her. A face still crazed in her nightmares, still hurling her down seconds from killing her. Had that only been five weeks ago?

  She had shot in self-defense, but there’d still been the IA investigation, the required visits to Doctor Lina Klein, and desk duty so “safe” it could drive you berserk. Three nights ago there’d been a drive-by shooting in a municipal garage, and Kerri had spent the last two days running plates of five hundred cars that had gone through the garage that night. That did it; she had hollered. And finally, after too damned much time making sure you’re okay, Alex and their fretful, by-the-book lieutenant, Tom Mackey, had relented.

  Tonight was her first night back in the field.

  Some detectives, including Alex, were good – really terrific with the work of slogging through phone logs and credit card statements on blinding, blue-and-white-lined, scrolling digital reports. Kerri hated it, lacked the patience, but her forte was reading people; her hunches and mind leaps had gained a good amount of grudging acceptance.

  “Just stay with Alex, you hear me?” Tom Mackey had hollered, his plump, florid face getting redder. “No running off alone again under any circumstances - my blood pressure!”

  Right Tom, but you were thrilled with the headlines, weren’t you? How a monstrous serial killer had been caught by one of your own squad?

  Tonight’s first murder on West Nineteenth was easy. A dealer with a long, nasty sheet, witness neighbors, his own prints on the gun. Most murders came fairly close to that kind of easy. Gang murders were the easiest; someone always itching to rat on a rival.

  But oh God, this child and his mom…

  A high siren startled Kerri, and for a second she thought it was the Jeep. Then another siren shrilled, and she realized Alex was following two EMS trucks into Bellevue’s ambulance bay. Both trucks did practiced U-turns and backed up to Emergency’s docks. Alex piloted carefully around them and parked further down.

  He’d been on his speaker phone, widening the neighborhood canvass, getting updates from Zienuc and Connor. They’d just finished interviewing someone, and were frustrated.

  “The super from the building next door,” Connor growled. “Says some guy in a dark hoody ran past him. Average height, no details.”

  “None at all?”

  “No. We took his name. He said he’d come in if he remembered more.”

  “He’s going to come in. I want to talk to him. Why did some guy in a hoody catch his attention?”

  “Slammed into him, no apology. He minded.”

  Alex disconnected and exhaled. He looked up to the hospital’s galaxy of lit windows, and talked next to a doctor named Wu.

  “We’ve upped her meds and she’s still fighting them,” said the female voice. “And yes, she wants to talk to the police.”

  “Be there in a minute,” Alex said.

  Kerri looked at him. “Rachel Sparkes sounds like a fighter.”

  He nodded; touched her arm. “You were so quiet. Did you sleep?”

  “No. Just thought.”

  “Sleep would have been better. It’s going to be a long night.”

  8

  Frenzy. The ER was in its usual chaos, with gurney gridlock and scrubs running and yelling. They crossed the wide, busy ER hall, and took one of the elevators up to the sixth floor. Trauma surgery. They’d been there before, too many times. Outside the surgical suite, a young doctor saw their badges and hurried to them. Her name tag read Ronnie Wu. They introduced themselves.

  “She’s crying for her little boy,” Ronnie said, giving Alex a transparent plastic bag. Inside it, a woman’s shoulder bag and a cell phone. EMTs always brought personal effects of the injured.

  “How’s Charlie doing?” Kerri asked.

  “Just called down there, no change. Reacts to light and that’s all. Even that’s a struggle, he squeezes his eyes shut and won’t open them.”

  She gave both detectives sterile gowns, and went into the recovery room with them. Monitors beeped, an IV pole hovered, and from the other side of the thin curtain sounded the whoosh of another patient’s ventilator.

  Rachel Sparkes was fighting her medication, weeping.

  “Charlie?” she said weakly, seeing Kerri and Alex. Her curling, light brown hair was sweaty and her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed. “Charlie?”

  “He’s okay,” Ronnie Wu told her, squeezing her hand. “He’s here in the hospital, just emotionally shook.”

  She was young. Emotionally shook didn’t come close to saying it, but she wanted to comfort.

  Rachel became agitated, turned her head to Kerri and Alex on the other side of the bed.

  “He…grabbed Charlie,” she cried as if still there in that terrible room, still seeing it happen. Her eyes darted frantically between them, and she tried to thrash. “I saw him pick Charlie up…”

  “He got away,” Kerri tried to comfort, leaning closer. This was so terrible. “Your brave little boy ran for help.”

  Rachel’s moving had tugged at the IV threaded into the back of her wrist. Ronnie Wu gently caught her hand, re-stabilized it on its plastic board, and adjusted her adhesive tape. Bandages swathing Rachel’s shoulder were visible beneath the loose neck of her hospital gown.

  Alex asked, low and urgently, “Rachel, did you see the man’s face?”

  Back and forth no, her head moved on the pillow. Her pretty features frowned painfully. “Ski mask,” she breathed. “Crashed in, shot Lauren…me.” She started to sob.

  Ski mask? Kerri’s heart clenched.

  To the right of the bed, Rachel’s monitor started beeping faster. Ronnie Wu frowned and looked back from it. “Blood pressure’s rising, gotta keep this short,” she whispered regretfully, calling over a recovery room nurse.

  They had just seconds.

  Rachel was trying to speak. “Charlie fought…scratched at him.”

  The detectives traded looks.

  “Scratched?” Another surge ran through Kerri. “You think Charlie might have seen his face?”

  “Yes… Mask grabbed him, Charlie fought…”

  A nurse came and Ronnie asked her to give Rache
l Valium stat, two milligrams. “Keep the dose low, she’s on pain meds.”

  Then Ronnie held her palms up, gave Alex and Kerri a that’s all for now shrug, indicating the door. “Too much stress.”

  They followed her out.

  “Tomorrow,” she said in the hall. “She’ll still be on pain meds, but she’ll probably be clearer. I wish this were more helpful.”

  “Maybe it was,” Alex frowned. He was gripping Rachel’s evidence bag almost white-knuckled.

  Kerri knew what he meant. Rachel Sparkes hadn’t seen her attacker because of his ski mask.

  Charlie may have pulled it away. Scratched meant he went for the creep’s face.

  He was their only witness.

  They thanked Ronnie. Left her shaking her head, saying something long and emotional of which only the words “bastard” and “find him” were understandable.

  9

  The killer tugged at his Corona and went back to Metal Evil. His favorite game, and he was a warrior.

  Pow…pow, pow…

  He squinted as hooded, cartoony figures crept through darkened chambers. His finger entered the code and terrorists exploded in balls of red flame. A dark-uniformed leader gave a silent thumbs up, then kicked away a Kalashnikov.

  Another tug at the Corona.

  Now for the best part.

  His fingers moved his controller, and the anti-terrorist leader still in dimness…smiled at the others. Took off helmet and face mask, let her long blond hair fall and bounce loose.

  “Thank you for letting me lead,” her electronic voice sexy-breathed. “Did I pass the test? Let me show you how grateful I am.” She stripped to a big-boobed, no-skirt waitress outfit and lay down for them.

  The killer smirked. That’s how they should be.

  He had other favorite games. Women stripping down from business suits and space warrior outfits to jiggly-breasted maids, cheerleaders and cowgirls in barely there garter belts, offering grateful sex as a reward for a game well played.

  The killer’s eyes flashed as he watched the woman kiss the real hero leader…but his mind kept yanking back, replaying the scene in that little living room, seeing her face again. How shocked she had looked. How terrified.

  Why had the other one been there? And…

  The kid. Lousy mother should have had him in bed. Screaming and scratching, slippery as an eel with that blood on him.

  Good thing he’d spotted that bunch coming out of the bar, took off the other way for the subway where he used the men’s room to wash, make sure he looked okay.

  Now he stood at the machine in the Playtime Bar on West Fortieth, thirty blocks away, flicking the trigger long after the game ended. There were no women in here. They hated the games, hated what real men needed, and after tonight’s daring achievement – an inside kill - he wanted to feel manly. Lose the fear, prove to himself that he could do it.

  This place was the best. It had done the trick. There were other bars like this, lots of them…

  Suddenly, the three big TVs overhead were blaring the news, showing both women’s faces – oh sorrow, one dead, one severely injured. It made him furious. Her face looked so angelic, positively sweet. A few guys looked up; couldn’t care less, went back to their beers and their games…but he watched the blond news bitch emotionally describe the “seemingly motiveless attack that has left a quiet neighborhood in shock.”

  The next picture showed the surviving young woman with her little boy, both offensively happy before some playground swings.

  The killer glared at them, feeling his jaw clench. The kid had pulled at his mask, kicking and scratching. How much had he seen of his face? How much would he remember?

  “…both mother and son recuperating at Bellevue hospital,” the news blonde concluded, before the picture switched to a cat food commercial.

  Bellevue, huh? Huge place, must stretch for twenty blocks with a million exits, and they only did security checks at main doors. Easy to get into, he’d heard; the place was like a sieve.

  He spat. Touched his face smarting from where the kid had scratched. Good thing it was low on his jaw. The mirror down in that shithole subway told him it didn’t show.

  Still, the kid was a danger. It made him furious, just sick to his stomach that they were both still alive.

  There was work to do. Too late for it now. He was tired and had to think.

  He pulled his slouch hat tighter around his face, adjusted the fake, wire-rimmed glasses he’d donned before entering, and went out to the night.

  10

  Alex called Nunez, who said he’d come in his van.

  “Come in a squad car, it’s faster.”

  “Okay,” Nunez sighed. “Get me the fastest car with the loudest siren. I love sirens, whee.”

  “You sound tired.”

  “Yeah. Have been for twenty years.”

  Alex gave the floor and room number in Pediatrics, and disconnected.

  They hurried through halls to another building, and took an elevator to the ninth floor. As the car rose Alex pulled Rachel Sparkes’s phone from the evidence bag and started scrolling through it.

  “Lots of numbers,” he grunted. “Then there’s Lauren Huff’s phone to go through and hell, the killer could have been a stalker.”

  “That narrows it down,” Kerri grimaced, watching the lit numbers ding above them. She was still hearing Rachel Sparkes cry, He…grabbed Charlie. Charlie fought…scratched. The child had to have gone for the creep’s face.

  He was their only witness.

  Kerri felt a knot in her chest. They were going to see Charlie. In a piteous state…

  Alex finished calling for someone in patrol to come for Rachel’s phone. Night crew would go through her logs, and Lauren’s. He exhaled hard, blew air out his cheeks. “Which woman was the target, do you think?”

  “Rachel. It was her apartment the killer went to.”

  “Why not Huff?”

  “If he followed Lauren, why did so much time elapse to play with the walkie-talkie?”

  “Maybe he was waiting for her to come out, got impatient.”

  “My guess? I don’t think he would have wanted to attack in the street. That loud party below Rachel’s overlooks the street too. He may have heard the racket, and that clinched it.” Kerri licked dry lips. “How’s the canvassing going?”

  “Badly. Neighbors not home before are home now but won’t come to their doors. Friends Lauren Huff called the most haven’t answered their voice mails.”

  “They’re asleep. It’s twelve-forty.”

  What more could they do at this early stage? Not much, except for this bouncing ideas off each other. Alex glared at the floor and Kerri glared up at the dinging lights. Neither spoke again till the elevator stopped.

  A young pediatrician named Jake Benton met them and led them down a quiet hall.

  “We can’t calm Charlie,” he said, introducing himself, looking as if he’d slept in his scrubs. Tall and kind-faced with brownish-red, flopping hair, he was last year’s chief resident in pediatric psychiatry, now a full time staff Attending.

  “You’ve washed him, no doubt,” Alex muttered, clearly knowing the answer.

  “Oh yeah. It took two nurses. He fought and screamed, they got him into fresh pajamas and that’s when he really shut down.” Jake Benton shook his head. “More strangers assaulting him, it must have felt like, but we had to. He was freezing in blood stuck to him. Okay, here he is.”

  11

  Elmo and Mickey Mouse waved from a cubicle curtain. A nightlight showed Charlie under a blue blanket, his little body hunched into a fetal position, his eyes squeezed shut, his fist tight to his face. The rails of his bed were pulled up; a small teddy bear shared his pillow.

  “Skin’s hot, not quite a fever,” Jake said sadly, touching the child’s brow. Charlie flinched; his body jerked into a tighter ball and he jammed his thumb into his mouth. “What a trauma he’s been through.” Jake gently touched Charlie’s light brown hair, s
pikey with sweat.

  “He won’t communicate?” Kerri asked softly.

  “No. Tell him you’re policemen. The guys who rescued him said he went wild when the squad cars pulled up. Squirmed away and ran to them.”

  Hard to picture. Now Charlie looked so tiny, so terrified.

  With her heart aching, Kerri pulled up a chair. Reached across the blanket to stroke the back of Charlie’s fist. He flinched away. She moved her hand; her fingertips touched his shoulder.

  “Charlie?” she said gently. “My name is Kerri. I’m a cop. My friend here is Alex. He’s a cop, too. We protect little kids.”

  “We heard how brave you were,” Alex said in the same soft voice, gripping the rail.

  The eyes stayed squeezed tight, but the lower lip quivered around the thumb. Kerri remembered Charlie’s books and drawings, his busy-looking, plowed-through Little Wizard Science Kit. Now he was back to sucking his thumb. Where are you, Charlie? We understand. It’s safer in there, in your head under the blanket with your eyes squeezed shut.

  “You saved your mommy,” Kerri continued in the same soft tone. Her eyes stung with tears. “The doctors are making her well again. She’s sleeping, but soon she’ll hug you, tell you how proud she is of you.”

  He sucked harder on his thumb, his little face pinched with his eyes still refusing to open. Behind Kerri, Alex was quietly asking Jake how well they had washed Charlie. Just enough to get the blood off, Jake said; get him warm and into jammies. Had they scrubbed the child’s nails? Yes, there’d been blood under them. His mother’s, the nurses figured. Can’t have him seeing her blood under his nails.

  Kerri heard Alex let out a long breath.

  The curtains swished, and there was tired Al Nunez, carrying his case and wearing a cowboy hat. Kids liked the hat. There had been cases where some poor child who’d seen his parent murdered was still wary of police, but they responded to the hat.