The first five seconds of the report showed Haskins puking over the railing. The picture went back to a frowning Haskins. He looked off camera. “I told you to edit that!” he yelled.
The picture returned to the report, showing Haskins standing in front of the MacGreggor house.
“Citizens of Wichita, beware! Roaming our streets is a giant, killer Great Dane that could be, at this very moment, stalking your neighborhood for its next victims. The demonic animal is as black as a hell bound night, has two-inch, razor-sharp, flesh-ripping fangs, and is nearly big enough to look a man eye to eye while standing on all fours. This animal, reportedly named Jezebel, is extremely dangerous and will likely kill at random with no provocation. After three gory deaths, it is apparent that the dog goes for its victims’ throats with tremendous jaws capable of popping a man’s head off, effortlessly.”
The picture went back to Haskins and the aghast anchorwoman behind their desk.
The reported continued, live, “Details are sketchy at present, but it appears there were two Great Danes that did the killing. One of them, the largest, is still at large. The officers killed were Sergeant James Morowsky, a nineteen-year veteran of the Wichita Police Department, and Officer Farley Cox, who had just began his career in law enforcement, ironically enough, this morning. The name of the other victim, who was also the owner of the dogs, is being withheld, pending notification of next of kin.
“And, Sally, this real life monster is still on the loose. It’s quite possibly rabid, and the Sedgwick County Animal Control office seems to be relatively impotent in this type of emergency, unable to turn up even the slightest clue as to the whereabouts of the animal. We are still very vulnerable and unprotected. It is strongly recommended that Wichita citizens, especially those living near the eleven-hundred block on Whiteside, stay in their homes, doors and windows closed.”
Sally the anchorwoman faced Haskins for a long moment with her eyes clenched and mouth open.
By now Julie had worked her way down to Tony’s stomach. She looked up to his face as she toyed with the hair on his chest with her forefinger.
“Twenty years with the same man,” Julie said, still smiling, seemingly oblivious to the television.
“Except for the little fling with that asshole!” Tony said without thinking, still looking around Julie.
Julie frowned and pushed off of Tony. She stood to the side of the bed and looked at the TV.
“You’re the asshole!” she said, walking over to her closet and getting out a long, pink, terry-cloth robe. She walked to the bed and yanked the pillow out from underneath Tony’s head.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. He just rubbed me the wrong way today. Come back to bed.”
“Well don’t expect me to rub you the right way after that!” she said, as she stormed out of the room. “Go screw yourself!”
The door slammed shut.
Ten seconds later it swung open as quickly. Parker could see by the look on his wife’s face there wasn’t going to be a second-thought apology.
“No—no, I’m not going to let you off that easy!” she said in as loud a whisper as she could get away with, obviously trying not to wake the kids.
She stared for a moment with her knuckles on her hips. Her glare punished like a switch on an unprotected backside. He knew what was coming.
“You have the—the.…”
If she says balls, she’s really pissed.
“ . . . nerve to talk about something that happened over sixteen years ago and was completely innocent. He was the only one. You hadn’t asked me to marry you, or even to wait for you, while you were in the service. Remember? You said it would be better if we were free to see others. You said it, not me.”
“And you agreed and did it, didn’t you?” Why did I say that?
“Yes, I did. He was nice to me, and I was lonely. I don’t suppose that ever happened to you in Vietnam, or Japan, or anywhere else you were, did it?”
Parker didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to lie, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell the truth. Julie wouldn’t really want to know.
“Now…,” Julie began.
Oh boy, here it comes!
“…you actually have the—balls.…”
That’s it, she’s really pissed.
“…to bring something like that up when you and darling little Sarah are out playing grab ass all day, every day?”
“Oh, come on, Julie. You know that isn’t true. We work together, that’s all. Yeah, I like her. She’s a nice girl. Hell, she’s just a kid.”
“Don’t give me that, Tony Parker. I’ve seen the way you look at her. And I don’t mind that. I’ll admit she is something for a man to look at. But it’s the way she looks at you that bothers me. I know the way you are to a cute face and a little smile. You’re a marshmallow. She’ll take you to bed, and before you even know it, it’ll be too late if it isn’t already.”
This wasn’t a statement. It was a question, and by her expression, she was expecting an answer.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Well what? Have we been to bed together? No. Hell no. We haven’t been to bed, the kitchen sink, or the hood of the truck!” That was a mistake!
Julie looked at him. Tony could tell she was wondering why he would say something like “the hood of the truck.”
“Come on, Julie, get real.”
“All I can say to you, Tony, is that I trust you as much as a man can be trusted. I’ve seen girls like Sarah before, and I’ve seen what they can do to marriages.”
“And what do you suggest I do, fire her?”
“I don’t care. Fire her, transfer her, or at the least, give her the idea you’re not interested!”
“I have, and you have nothing to worry about, believe me.”
“You’re the one that had better be worried. Sarah Hill is the type that doesn’t give up until she gets what she wants. And guess what, you’ll end up with nothing—nothing Tony. We’ve been together too long for me to just give you up, and I won’t, as long as I know you’re mine and only mine. But as soon as you cross the line, you can count on me not sticking around. I’ll be gone so fast it’ll leave your head spinning, and the only thing you’ll have is Sarah for as long as she doesn’t get bored of you.
“I shouldn’t have to compete for my husband at this stage in our lives. I’ve stuck by you through thick and thin, and there’s been a lot of thin. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. It’s just that I’ve got a lot of time and tears invested in you, in us. I’ve dreamed your dreams, cried your tears when you were hurt and too dumb to admit it, and I’ve given birth to your children. In twenty-five years I know where I want to be—it’s my one and only dream, now. I want to be with you, not rich but out of debt, and enjoying grandchildren. Sarah threatens that dream, and it’s not right. I’m entitled to that one dream in my life, Tony, and the only way that little bitch is going to steal it away from me is if you let her. You think about that!”
Julie walked out and closed the door, this time a little softer.
This thing with Sarah wasn’t just a fun little game. It was serious. The wrong move and he could lose everything. His wife, his family, everything.
Parker blew out, frustrated. He turned the TV off with the remote and rolled to his side. He finally slipped off to sleep after tossing and turning for nearly an hour. He slept just as restlessly. His mind was fuzzy and blurred, and he dreamed of fog—a wispy, yet thick, fog, hanging low on a street. A light mist gave haloes to the streetlights, and small pools of water spotted the pavement. He heard no sound in this dream, but the stillness was loud and tangible.
In the grayish soup, a dark vision appeared. Floating down the middle of the street, it slowly formed into a recognizable shape.
An animal. A large black animal. A huge Great Dane. It walked with confidence. Long, thin legs. Mouth closed, head and eyes fixed straight ahead. Occasionally, its feet splashed one of the pools. Light from the streetl
ights caused a sparkle from underneath its neck with every step of its left forefoot. A large diamond, set on a gold tag, captured the light and shot it out like a laser. The dog maintained its pace for what seemed like minutes.
Finally, it stopped. With its body still pointing down the street, it slowly turned its head to the right and looked up a sidewalk leading to the front door of a house. It stared, still emotionless, at the door. At Tony Parker’s door.
CHAPTER 11
Parker woke with sweat covering his face in beads. Morning light invaded the room. He felt next to him on the bed. Alone. And then, he remembered the volleys of sharp words the night before. Julie had spent the night in the guest bedroom. He heard the master bath shower and hoped when she came out he could somehow smooth things over.
He called in to the animal control office first thing. There had still been no sign of Jezebel. If she was rabid, she was probably dying somewhere if not already dead—If she was rabid. As he hung up, Julie walked swiftly through the room in her bathrobe and out the door. There were no words exchanged. Parker really hadn’t had the chance. Julie obviously didn’t have the inclination. She would be going to get the kids up and ready.
There would be church to go to this morning—the little Lutheran Church down by the river. Tony had promised he’d go. He’d take his pager. After that, there was the picnic at one o’clock in the park five miles away. A picnic when people were being killed. It wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense. But it was important to Julie, real important. She wouldn’t care if he had to work twenty-four hours a day until they found this incredible beast, as long as he went to church and the picnic. That is, until next weekend when their vacation started and they were to go to Missouri to visit Julie’s folks. Surely they’d find Jezebel by then.
At a quarter till nine, Parker stepped out of the shower and the phone rang. Jack Simpson was calling from the Friendship Lutheran Church, down by the river.
“You’d better get down here, right away. But don’t dress for church and don’t bring the family,” was all Simpson had said.
When Parker arrived, the ambulance was already leaving. It pulled away from the front of the church quickly with red lights and siren. A crowd had gathered. Most of them were church members that had arrived early, unaware, until then, of the terrible thing that had happened. He looked at their faces, all familiar, some friends. They all knew Tony Parker—what he was. They knew about the monster he searched for—that huge murderous beast he was responsible for finding.
A commotion of loud voices, prayerful words and crying came from the crowd. It quieted to whispers, and the group parted as Parker came up the walk. He saw Simpson kneeling just on the other side of the yellow crime scene tape. White chalk made an outline on the bottom of the door. Large letters had been painted on the door in some kind of a dark paint, almost black—reddish black.
Parker heard the crowd’s sibilant whispers and saw their accusing faces as he stepped through. “He’s the one . . . ,” “He’s supposed to . . . ,” “. . . not doing his job,” “It’s up to him to.…”
As he stepped closer, he could read some of the letters on the entryway from between the people. Z—E—B.
A few steps closer and he could read it all. The letters spelled out a frightening thing. A terrible meaning of horrendous proportions. JEZEBEL T P, it spelled. It wasn’t written in paint. No, this was blood. More, much more, stained the sidewalk. It was a lake of blood, all around and inside the white chalk outline of a man lying against the door.
Simpson turned to look at him as he approached. A serious, strained look covered his face. There would be no service this morning.
“Pastor Santini,” Simpson confirmed Parker’s suspicion. “The janitor found him this morning when he came down to open the church and get it ready for morning services. Looks like he was attacked late last night as he locked up after a council meeting. Judging by the blood’s coagulation, probably ten to twelve hours ago.”
Parker stared at the outline. “He’s dead?”
“Not yet. The old guy surprised us. We couldn’t feel a pulse. His body was cold. We chalked him and waited for the ambulance. Turned out he was still, by some miracle, alive. Can’t see how he’s gonna make it, though.” Simpson glanced at the blood around him. “He lost so much blood.”
Parker gritted his teeth and looked at the door. “Jezebel?”
“That’s what it says.” Jack lowered his voice, glancing around at the people standing against the yellow tape. “And there’s that TP again. He was really torn up, hardly recognizable. Looks like the old man wrote this during the final seconds of consciousness as the blood pumped from his body—that’s what it looks like.”
A deep voice came from the crowd. “So what are you doing about it, Parker?”
He didn’t acknowledge it. “Any other clues, Jack?”
“No, not really,” Simpson said, coming to his feet. “I’ve got men inside looking through all the Bibles to see if any have a page missing that would match up to the one we found at MacGreggor’s. We don’t really have anything else to go on.”
Another voice came from the crowd. “Hey, Parker, when are you going to catch this dog from Hell?”
Parker ignored it.
“It’s quite a coincidence,” Jack said. “I mean the Bible page and the TP and all. They both must have known what TP was, and it looks like they both knew Jezebel, one way or the other. Did old man MacGreggor ever come to this church?”
“No,” Tony answered, “I don’t think so. I don’t have perfect attendance here, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”
“Well, they have some other connection, then. And it has to do with this TP,” Simpson said, looking at the letters on the door.
Parker stared also.
“You sure you aren’t the connection?” Jack asked, still looking expressionless at the door.
“Damn it, Jack!” Parker roared. He glared at the side of Simpson’s face briefly, turned and ducked back under the yellow tape and stormed through the crowd. Their sneers and jeers followed him like a gauntlet. These people usually greeted him with smiles and good words. None now.
“You sure you aren’t the connection?” Jack says. Of course he wasn’t connected. How could he be? Parker knew that Jack didn’t mean any offense by the question. He didn’t mean he thought Parker had anything to do with the two men’s deaths. Parker knew that. He knew what Simpson asked and why. There might be some connection he’d overlooked. TP could be Tony Parker, for some strange, unknown reason. Somehow, there could be some kind of connection, but how? TP could mean anything; toilet paper, top priority, they could be books of the Bible: Thessalonians, Psalms, disciples: Thomas, Peter. TP could mean anything.
He’d seen something else in Simpson’s eyes that the detective had not verbalized. He could tell Simpson was skeptical about the pastor writing with his own blood. He’d said it “looks” like the pastor had written the name of his attacker. There was, somehow, something much more to this thing than was apparent. Parker knew that. Simpson probably didn’t want to cause any undue alarm or suspicion, but Parker could tell that his friend was now convinced also.
Nearly twelve hours had passed since Pastor Carl had been attacked. Jezebel’s trail was cold. Parker checked in with the shelter by radio. His people still searched diligently, working double shifts. The police searched. There didn’t seem to be much more to do. Jezebel had attacked two nights in a row. If she still lived, she might not come out to be found until tonight.
He would wear his pager and take two hours off for the picnic, max. Afterward, he’d rejoin the search. A damn silly picnic, but he dared not cancel. He needed Julie. He needed her on his side as an ally. He knew the news of Pastor Carl’s attack would affect her. If the pastor should die, she would be devastated. But at the same time, this attack might bring this terrible mess more to home so she could better understand what he was having to deal with. She would have her picnic, even if he had to talk her into
it. After all, several of the invited came from out of town. It would be too late to stop them.
CHAPTER 12
“There they are!” Julie called out, waving as Jack Simpson pulled into the parking lot in his old brown Chevy. His wife, Sadie, and family pulled in behind in their new green Olds Bravada. “Tony, whistle to the kids, and we’ll start eating.”
Parker was glad Julie had taken Pastor Santini’s attack so well. They had called the hospital before they had left for the park. He was still in surgery in critical condition, just hanging on. They would check on his condition after the picnic.
The park overflowed with people enjoying the bright Sunday afternoon. The Parkers were lucky enough to find a couple of empty picnic tables sparsely surrounded by evergreen trees. Two tables weren’t nearly enough for all twenty-four adults and sixteen kids that had come, But in anticipation, most had brought blankets or lawn chairs or both.
The tables were laden with food: covered dishes, pies, and even a couple of buckets of the Colonel’s fried chicken. The women gathered around the picnic tables, chitchatting and sorting out the food, mostly chitchatting, while the men, some sitting in lawn chairs, some standing, shot the breeze.
The clear afternoon was a little cooler than it had been but was still in the upper nineties. The wind, inescapable as the typical Kansas wind was, came steady and light. Instead of blowing like a blast furnace and adding to the tormenting temperature, it contained a hint of the cool front promised and rumored for days.
The majority of the children played touch football in a clearing nearby. Yankee watched the children longingly as he lay beneath a large pine he was tied to. Occasionally, his head rose as a breeze brought the smell of fried chicken or roast beef or ham to his sensitive nose, and he licked his snout in anticipation of the half-eaten sandwiches and wasted helpings of roast beef from the children’s plates. Parker’s shrill whistle made Yankee sit up and pay attention. He anxiously watched as the children ran by laughing and giggling. The dog snapped his head, apparently picking up a familiar scent as Nick sprinted past. Yankee’s tongue slipped around his muzzle like a writhing snake. The boy was sure to sneak an extra slice of ham for his best friend.
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