It was a pattern they’d evolved. Alex was really good at cooking; he could roast fancy, too when he had time for it. Fess up, Kerri thought, glancing behind her at her living room with its messy couch, strewn papers and pillows. He’s really the more domestic one. Good-looking too, with his large gray eyes under a strong brow, his brown hair pushed back and curling. How’d I get this guy? she thought, looking back to him and cupping her chin.
He met her eyes. “Penny for ’em?”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Stop.” He smiled crookedly; gave a strip of bacon to Gummy who jumped to the floor with it. Her warm place on Kerri’s lap suddenly cooled, and for some reason that was depressing.
Alex saw her eyes fill.
“You’re tired,” he soothed. “Is it coming-apart crying time?”
“Yup.”
God, he knew her so well. But that plus the eats smelling wonderful lifted her back up enough to reopen her laptop. Something, even in falling-down fatigue, had been nagging…
She’d added some links to a file she had on Jed Stefan. She clicked them, and stared at some of his tweets. “Nice scenery,” she murmured.
“Huh?” Alex lay her steaming plate before her.
“Stefan’s made himself a cause to get people to his opening. Attached photos of their stage with impressive painted scenery.”
“Painted?” Alex yanked out silverware and napkins, poured some Chardonnay they’d started two nights ago, and sat next to Kerri. “Let’s see.” He angled her laptop and stared at stage scenery of barren, clawing trees and a scaffold.
Then he looked at her.
She started to eat. “Narrow brushes and acrylics, maybe? Look at the red of that setting sun.”
Frowning, he shoveled eggs and clicked on another link showing painted female figures hanging by their necks but somehow managing to bleed, soak red their long brown smocks. Before the lurid backdrop, grinning student actors practiced their line of bows.
“Acrylic paint is everywhere,” he muttered. “Still…wonder what kind of brushes.”
“Narrow nylon bristles?” Kerri mused. “Necessary for the blood dripping down those smocks?”
Alex’s phone dinged. Ricky, texting, Nothing. Frank just went home.
He texted back, Thx, go home. sleep. Then he pressed his lips together, thinking.
“So the depressed Frank just dragged home, nothing else. Do we still like him as a killer?”
Kerri shrugged her shoulders. “He’s dropped further down the list. Come to think of it, Gina even gave him an alibi for the time of the murder…he was up on the roof in the rain…and Gina doesn’t even like him.”
Alex nodded.
“Oh the other hand,” Kerri corrected herself. “Fixing the roof he was up, down, up, down - and in that fourth floor tenant’s apartment. He could have been all over the place, and it would have taken just minutes for the attack.”
“How far down your list has Wheat dropped?”
“Lots. But the second I admit that, I’m not sure. You?”
“Same,” Alex grunted.
Kerri went back to reading tweets.
“Oh this is rich. Jed Stefan’s re-written The Crucible. Claims it’s updated, better than Miller.”
The play, written in the 1950s by Arthur Miller about the Salem Witch trials, was intended as an allegory for McCarthyism, repressive government. It was a favorite of leftist students. Just last year a protest bunch in California had dressed in Crucible type costumes, hollered about police brutality, then assaulted the cops.
“Thinks he’s better than Miller.” Alex kept a straight face.
“Big, big ego.”
They finished eating, threw the plates in the dishwasher, and showered together. Kerri pulled on one of Alex’s too-big T-shirts, then something pulled her back to the kitchen where she grabbed a folder.
She got into bed with it, and pulled out Charlie’s drawing: a copy of the original Alex had made at the hospital. She brought it close, trying to study it.
“What?” Alex had already turned off his light, so he rolled closer to see.
Squinting in the light of her lamp, Kerri held up the black-scrawled masked figure of the wrestler toy. “There’s something about this that bothers me,” she murmured. “It’s like Charlie put something in this drawing, I just can’t see it.”
Alex took the paper and stared at it. “All I see are frantic scratches, especially the face.”
“Ditto, but I can’t…argh, I’m seeing double. Can’t think.”
“Think tomorrow. Sleep.”
Alex reached the drawing past Kerri, put it on her bedside table, then stretched and reached across her to turn off her light.
In the dark, he kissed her. “Re-charge the batteries,” he whispered. “If there’s something there, it will come.”
Her arms went around his neck and she kissed him back, long and lovingly. They made love, falling into each other, falling into exhaustion.
Minutes later, he was heavy breathing. Kerri took longer, staring up at the shadowy ceiling, seeing bleeding women hanging before a blood-red sunset, and a child’s black-scrawled drawing of a masked figure.
Sleep finally came…until four, when papers flying at her face in a storm awoke her. “Oh!” she whimpered, trembling.
“Mph?” Alex came awake, pulling her to him. “Hey…”
“Dream,” she whispered.
He held her. “Calm…We’ll get the SOB.”
Her body’s tightness eased. His arm felt strong, and the bed was warm.
He fell back to sleep, and eventually, she did too.
37
So strange, not to see a light up there.
Across from the apartment house, a man in a hooded rain poncho hunched staring up at Rachel’s window. The room beyond it was dark, and that made him feel empty, impatient. He had waited here so many nights, stalked her so carefully, and he missed the fun.
Missed her, too, but she’d be back. He was sure of it. She was like a nesting bird; she would want to come back, and he couldn’t wait. So for now, reminisce…
He chewed his burrito and saw her again, passing the window. He caught his breath just remembering. She had a favorite blue robe, would sometimes be wearing it when she looked out. Sometimes the two of them would look out, little Shithead too. He liked to snap the shade up and down, and she’d laugh, only half try to be stern as he’d jump up and down and point, probably insist on knowing how shades worked. So smart…it must be exhausting with the constant questions, but how to say no? Once she even climbed up, took the shade down, and right there before the window explained the spring tab on the edge of the cylinder.
Oh, went his clever little face…
…and that’s when fury boiled. Pure hatred and jealousy…painfully obsessive.
It was cruel of her to torment him like that. He was right in hating her for it, she was really a cold, cruel bitch who deserved every bit of pain he’d inflicted – and I’m not done yet, he thought.
His teeth gnashed and his heart sprang alive, planning what next…
Whoops, careful.
Police car coming. Big ass headlights coming closer so – quick – he ducked back into the shadows, under the awning. The cop was going slow, had a flash sweeping the sidewalk, first one side, then the other. Mustn’t see me here at three in the morning.
He held his breath until the car passed. The flash and the red brake lights disappeared into the damp drizzle, and out he came, safe and unseen.
It was cold, so just another minute of this. Last visit for now down memory lane, looking up, seeing her bend and stoop to pick up toys, armloads of books…and oh my, wasn’t that floor a mess? Kid crap covering everything, no wonder he hadn’t seen that purple cord, didn’t know he was being watched. He’d just finished slapping his miserable little house on the wall when the kid came running out and he lost it, didn’t know which way to turn.
They had both outwitted him, but not for long.
So I didn’t get you, he thought, balling his burrito in the wrapper and tossing it in the trash can. Rest and recuperate for another day.
You’ll be back, and so will I.
38
The hand grabbed his jammies and his neck snapped back. “Run!” Mommy was crying. She was bleeding so bad and he tried to run but his feet couldn’t move and horrid hands were snatching him up. His heart was exploding and he tore at the mask, kicked and tore, tried to twist away but couldn’t. He and Mommy were going to die. The blood from Lauren…oh Mommy, I can’t, I can’t…
He woke, shaking with his heart still crashing in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Heaved his shoulders trying to gasp, grabbed the edge of the mattress to hang on. The cot was shaking. Because he was shaking? He squeezed the mattress edge so tight his fingers hurt. Cold sweat drenched him.
Hang on, hang on…
His gasps slowed. His vision wasn’t jumping any more. He could see the little night light, see Mommy alive and sleeping in her bed. He saw her profile, her hand drooped over the bed’s side as if reaching to him.
“A nightmare? Oh, poor baby,” she’d say, and hug him, make it go away. He wanted her to hug him now because this dream wasn’t going away - nooo, he could still see it! The fierce hands tearing at him, the mask…
He wanted to run. His whole body wanted to do something…
Still shaking, he slid off the cot. Stood in the space between it and Mommy and looked around.
Footsteps outside. His hands curled into fists. He dropped to the floor.
Better.
From the cot he couldn’t see who was coming because Mommy’s bed was in the way, but down here he could see under the bed to the door. It was half open, and that bothered him. The footsteps came closer, sneaky squeaky sounds. Were they going to come in? Were feet going to come through the door? He held his breath.
“You’re looking sleepy,” he heard from outside. A man’s voice.
“Nah, I’m hanging in.” Another man’s voice.
“Guarding’s a hard job.”
“Done it before. Thanks, I’m okay.”
But the policeman sounded sleepy. Who was talking to him? Could the bad person hurt him too?
The footsteps left, pushing something that sounded like wheels. Minutes passed. Then came more footsteps. Someone else stopped just outside the door and stood there, not speaking. Charlie was sure he heard breathing.
The door pushed open.
Just a few inches, but the door pushed open! A new person was there, just standing. Who?
He’d seen doctors and nurses do that, stop near the door and read stuff, make notes. But what if it was some bad person and the policeman was asleep?
Charlie jumped to his feet.
He stared at his cot, then at Mommy, then back to his cot.
You’re in the hospital, they kept telling him, you’re safe. But the light was too dim out there in the hall, and his heart was back to racing.
It wasn’t safe, unless he stayed on the floor. From there he could keep watch, see feet coming in, jump up and tell Mommy if the feet looked sneaky or scary, and then he could yell and scream and call for help. He could be like the sentry in that toy soldiers set someone had given him. Why hadn’t he played with it in ages? He missed that sentry, the tall guy with the long gun and fierce gaze…
He got busy. Pulled his pillow off the cot, then tugged at the blanket.
He struggled. In the space between the cot and Mommy he yanked and tugged…
39
Coffee smelled extra strong the next morning and there was an atmosphere of excitement.
“They found something,” Jo told Kerri.
She and Buck Dillon were standing with the others before the monitor. Ray Zienuc was just starting a tape, griping to Alex about nearly going blind watching CCTVs. “Had a brain storm, came back down at six and spliced the good parts. Got the guy on tape three times. Connor’s found two more, same guy.”
Who? Kerri stared at the monitor. Could it be over, case solved this early this fast? Clearly, tired souls in the room wanted it to be. Tom Mackey was almost smiling. He leaned on Connor’s desk muttering, “Nice job. This’ll get the press off our backs.”
Alex handed Kerri a coffee. Driving in, they’d been texted with news of a breakthrough.
The monitor fast-flicked till Zienuc stopped it and pointed. “First time,” he said, pausing.
The image was muddled from the night of the shootings but there he was, Mitch Gilbey, the super from the building next door who’d claimed to brush shoulders with the attacker. Yesterday for ten minutes he’d come in to talk to Alex; swore he remembered nothing else. Now, on the tape, he was standing in the crowd just feet from Kerri as she rushed into Rachel’s building. His mouth was open, his receding jaw slack with excitement, his head craning as he watched the action. He also snapped pictures - though others did too - but for his second taped appearance…Zienuc fast-forwarded…no sign of his phone.
Surveillance had caught him yesterday again, sauntering past the Mullin crime scene. On the other side of the street he stopped to watch, trying not to seem thrilled but it showed. His body was tense, his gaze riveted, and he spoke to no one. Others around him murmured to each other like strangers do seeing a crime scene; then they moved on…and he did too.
“He’ll be back,” Zienuc said, scrubbing a tired eye.
Gilbey must have just circled the block, because surveillance showed him again, minutes later, in the same spot watching in a twitchy way, wiping his mouth.
“That makes three,” Jo said.
“Keep counting,” from Connor.
He’d found two daytime tapes from buildings across the street from Rachel’s. Both times, there was Gilbey eyeing Rachel, then following her till they left the frame. The second time, he tried to talk to her but she was rushing; seemed not to have heard.
Alex asked if Gilbey had a sheet.
“Yeah, he does,” Buck said, reading from notes. “One drug charge he skated on a faulty warrant, and one complaint of stalking and harassment that was dismissed. He said-she said; the female complainant had fingered others.”
The creepy surveillances and Gilbey’s sheet were enough for Mackey. “Arrest him,” he told Alex, waving a paper. “I got a warrant fast. Judge likes it and he owes me a favor.”
Then Mackey caught Kerri’s expression. “What?”
She said nothing, just looked dubious.
“You don’t agree?” The lieutenant hoisted his bulk off Connor’s desk. “You having vibes that say we should hold off? Wait till this creep kills again?”
“Did I say that?” She was annoyed.
“Your face did, and your hunches aren’t right all the time, not even half the time.” He was wrong and he knew it. “You getting extra ESP waves or something?”
Kerri ignored the sarcasm; caught Alex’s look that was also dubious. She stepped closer to the monitor and peered at Gilbey. “Enlarge his face?” she asked Zienuc. “Both sides?”
Zienuc found two frames – one of him pursuing Rachel - and put them side by side. Mitch Gilbey’s sloping brow, overbite, and receding jaw were clearly visible but…
Kerri turned back, looked to Alex pacing unhappily, and then to Mackey. “His face, jaw and neck on both sides are clear - of scratches. I really checked him out yesterday. Rachel said Charlie scratched the attacker’s face.”
“She thinks Charlie scratched him,” Alex amended thoughtfully, clearly torn, trying to weigh this. “She saw him trying, but she’d been shot, was barely conscious.”
“Okay, point taken…but something else.” Kerri’s frown swept the others. She realized she was setting herself up for ridicule. “I think the killer’s a lot smarter. Gilbey has stupid eyes…and he slouches! Do killers slouch?”
“Oh Christ.” Mackey paced three steps and gave the others a look: Do you believe this? “One drug charge, another of stalking and harassment?”
“Both dismissed,
” Kerri retorted.
“On tape watching Rachel twice like she was cake? And what was he doing at Mullin’s crime scene? Circled that block and came back? Couldn’t tear himself away like the murder was his.”
Kerri held her palms up to Mackey.
“He’d brushed shoulders with the killer, maybe felt shook. And if he had the hots for Rachel does that make him the killer? Mullin’s crime scene attracted crowds of lookies. I’m just saying you’ve got way less than an airtight case…”
She frowned back to the stilled monitor. “What about surveillance of Gilbey entering Rachel’s building at the time of the attack?”
Zienuc and Connor both shook their heads. “Nothing,” Connor admitted. “In the hour leading up to the attack, two women and two men entered the building, all separately. One of the males could have had his hoody hidden under his jacket.”
“Tapes didn’t get their faces?”
“No. They had their backs turned going in, and Rachel’s building’s one lousy camera was on the fritz. What we got was from surveillance across the street.”
Kerri gestured in exasperation. “What a pile of circumstantial.” She felt Mackey’s glower but asked Zienuc, “Run that second time Gilbey tried to talk to Rachel? Start it a minute before that.”
Zienuc did. The picture was fairly clear. Gilbey had been talking to Frank Wheat in front of Gilbey’s building. They’d been gesturing emotionally, standing close as if not wanting to be heard. Then Rachel came out of her building and Gilbey left Wheat to try to talk to her.
“Gilbey and Frank Wheat are pals?” Buck asked.
“In league with each other against the landlord who owns both their buildings,” Connor said. “We asked around. The landlord’s been cited for building violations he blames on Gilbey, is trying to fire him despite a crappy contract, and Wheat has similar concerns. That would give them common cause. We have surveillance of Wheat going into Gilbey’s building, probably to bitch together-”
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