CATCH ME (EMBRYO: A Raney & Levine Thriller, Book 4)

by J. A. Schneider

  Jill looked out the window, continued in a somber whisper. “The horrible irony. That one of the killer’s victims wound up here, he saw us on TV, got excited and killed Ashley for her phone.”

  Her heart was thudding. Jesse seemed to sense it and looked up at her. “He told David that killing the other couples was getting boring, that connecting to him increased his fun.” She looked back at Gary. “He dared David to catch him.”

  “Catch him?” Gary blinked. “When? Between delivering babies and GYN surgery and teaching house staff-”

  “He’s cra-zy,” Jill said slowly, reaching to Jesse’s little hand he had laid over her heart. He peered up at her again as she glanced over to David, who’d moved to a desk in a corner of the room, was on one phone as his hands worked on another phone. Coordinating with the hospital office and the police, probably.

  Gary had just said something. She looked back at him.

  “What?”

  “If he got Ashley’s phone he must have all our numbers. Do the others know?”

  “You make five we’ve told so far. We’ll tell the others.” Jill’s heart thudded harder. Just talking about this was terrible. “Obviously if he calls you, call the cops immediately and tell us. He sounds mainly after David.”

  “And maybe after Beth Willis? She survived. May have seen him.” The obvious hit. “Oh jeez, and her little boy…”

  “A guard’s outside their room.” Despite her dread Jill managed a smile. “You’re like us, Gary. You worry about others.”

  He shrugged and paced a few steps. “I saw the guard. Friendly, middle-aged and kinda overweight,” he said gloomily – and then frowned. “Hey, if this creep’s gonna be calling from,…uh, how do the cops trace burn phones?”

  He’d struck a nerve. Jill had been fretting about the same thing.

  “I don’t know,” she said a bit too loudly, and one of the childcare workers looked up. “They just do.” More quietly this time, but her heart thudded and her mind replayed the killer watching her from the shadows. “I mean, they can narrow it down,” she said, hugging Jesse harder.

  David was suddenly there, handing a shiny silver phone to Jill. “Different color,” he said. “Cops and hospital have our new numbers.” He looked at Gary Phipps. “All filled in?”

  Gary nodded nervously. “This is scary.”

  “Yep.” David took Jesse from Jill, held him in one arm and patted his fat little cheek. “We gotta go, little guy,” he said sweetly.

  Jesse looked worried. “Scawee,” he said.

  18

  It was dark in the movie theater. Nice that NYC still had some theaters that go all day.

  Out front they’d told him the movie had already started. He’d said he didn’t care, he’d just sit through till the end, that was the exciting part anyway, right? Fine. The theater wasn’t crowded.

  He found the best seat ever. Near the rear and the aisle, behind two twenty-somethings making out like mad. Don’t these jerks have jobs? She was all over him. Maybe this was their first date, and by five o’clock they’d be in the sack.

  Or thought they’d be.

  He smirked, watching them. Then sank down, put his bulging Gap bag at his feet, and started to watch the show. Blend in with the other darkened backs of heads looking like strewn bowling balls. The movie was in a talky part. Yada, yada, right, Wolverine must be sent to the past in a desperate fight to save history.

  He waited. It didn’t take long. The soundtrack got louder, and the pair in front of him got engrossed in the story. They’d scrunched way down in their seats, had their feet up on the empty seat backs in front of them and their heads leaning together. How sweet. Convenient.

  Oh, here we go. Soundtrack cue people screaming and explosions.

  Cue real adrenalin. His hands shook. His heart and the wild pulse in his head throbbed. Not looking away from the screen, he pulled on his gloves, then eased out his gun with its silencer screwed on. From his lap, he aimed up at the back of the two heads in front of him, and pulled the trigger twice. Pop, pop! The sounds of the silenced little .22s were lost in the explosions. Both heads jerked forward. Glancing furtively around, he made sure no one was looking and pulled them back by the hair, avoiding their blood. Now they were as they had been, two lovers leaning their heads together.

  It was done. Oh the thrill of it! His hands still shook and his heart kept whamming with wild excitement. Morons, he thought, scanning the darkened deadheads in the theater. You think a noisy movie’s going to make you feel alive?

  His shoulders relaxed. Finally, he could breathe. The tension, the hatred, the desire to kill had built up to such explosive proportions that when he finally pulled the trigger, it all just vanished.

  But only for a short time, he knew. He had discovered this drug and he loved it. It was so addictive. Pity it had to be fed more frequently.

  He tossed his bunched “Catch Me” note over the seats before him, pulled his gloves off, and watched the movie to the end. Mustn’t attract attention by coming and going too soon.

  Besides, the explosions lulled him. He even napped for a while.

  When he finally left, it was overcast outside, the sidewalk cast in shadow. He pushed through the glass doors and caught a glimpse of himself. Just a big, tall woman with tinted glasses, heavy makeup, and long, curly blond hair. He had dolled up before coming.

  And now headed back. Minced past a uniformed cop who didn’t even glance at him. Crossed Fourteenth Street, then started to move faster. He’d make a brief stop in a subway bathroom to get this gunk off, get his man clothes out of his Gap bag and get back into them.

  Then hurry. He had work to do tonight.

  Lots of work to catch up on, and then an important phone call…

  19

  Jesse’s worried look and his little voice saying “Scawee” drummed in Jill’s head for the rest of the day.

  It was a new word for him. He’d heard Gary say it and repeated it. He had sensed Jill’s fear. She remembered his little hand going to her heart as she held him; remembered him looking up at her with rounded, worried eyes.

  They had calmed him. Gary had to run off, but Jill and David stayed minutes longer, playing with him, distracting him. It was easy. He was an amazingly empathic, curious child who understood the plight of a toy turtle flipped onto its back and unable to swim.

  He’d turned the turtle upright, gotten onto his tummy and peered into its eyes, babbling, making swimming motions.

  Too cute to miss, but they’d been late for the clinic.

  As the afternoon wore down they were taking a coffee break when David’s phone rang. The new silver one.

  “Cops,” he told Jill, answering. She paled. They had the small break room to themselves.

  Alex Brand on the other end sounded tense. “Bad news and bad news,” he said in a rush. David turned up the sound for Jill. “First, that Guinness bottle yielded nothing. Our pal’s too damn smart, he wiped it clean.”

  A sharp intake of breath. “Second,” Brand said. “He’s struck again. Shot dead his fourth couple in a movie theater. We’re down there now.”

  Jill squeezed her eyes shut, turned and gripped the break room’s counter.

  “Where?” David asked quietly.

  “Union Square.” Shouts and cop radios sounded in the background. Brand said something to somebody else and came back. “He sat right behind this couple. Shot the back of their heads point blank. CSU’s going over the area and we’re looking at surveillance tapes. He dressed as a woman this time. Movie theaters have surveillance inside too, so it’s a bit of a break. Thing is, he’s wearing tons of makeup, glasses like Dame Edna, and a different wig. Left us his Catch Me note to make sure we knew.”

  Brand practically spat out those words, then hesitated. “Looks nothing like he did in the bar. Show them to Beth Willis anyway?”

  “Yes, send them,” David said. “Everything to Jill’s phone too.”

  “Natch. Got your old phones charged?”
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  “Definitely.”

  “I’ll send you his pictures. If he calls to brag keep him talking, he’s escalating.”

  Seconds later their two phones had the photos. Shoulders touching, they flipped their touch screens through shots of a heavily made up woman in a long, curly blond wig entering the theater, leaving the theater, and seated behind a young couple.

  “Ditched the beard,” Jill said ironically, barely breathing.

  “Yeah and those tinted glasses hide half his face.” David’s voice was tight. “Them and those ridiculous bangs.”

  “His chin looks different. Not so protruding.”

  “The chin could have been makeup too. My God, who is this guy?”

  They re-pocketed their phones. In their right-hand pockets the new, silver ones for hospital and cops, in their left pockets their old black phones, cop-trapped and waiting for Catch Me. A system they’d devised: the different colors and pockets made it easy to remember.

  “In case you’re dead tired, going on three brain cells and he calls,” David said as they left for the elevators.

  Jill didn’t answer. Kept hearing Brand’s he’s escalating, feeling numb.

  “He had a nightmare,” Beth Willis told them softly. Ricky was cuddled under her arm and asleep again. With his thumb back in his mouth. Jamie Wong had been up to check on him, Beth added; had arrived minutes after Ricky woke up screaming.

  “Flashbacks, nightmares, anxiety…children’s PTSD,” Beth sighed. “Jamie said give it time…”

  She looked drained. Exhausted and depressed from fighting pain, her own trauma and her child’s. Jill and David traded looks. On their way up they’d agreed that they hated doing this.

  Her TV was off, at least. BREAKING NEWS! was probably blaring from every set in the hospital. The city terrorized, a fourth couple killed, this time closer to the monster’s last attack.

  “Beth…” David let out a breath.

  Her gaze sharpened. She saw them both holding their phones, Jill glancing down, biting her lip and flicking nervously to a colored photo. “No,” she breathed, so quick to catch on. “More…?”

  Somber nods, and they told her.

  Another couple, this time in a movie theater. The killer dressed as a woman, looked nothing like Goatee in the bar, but would she be up to looking at surveillance pictures?

  “Gimme.” Beth’s features changed to fury. This was the enemy. In seconds she was flipping through photos of the bizarrely-dressed killer, shaking her head. “No, dammit, that’s one ugly, scary woman. Doesn’t look at all like…The chin’s even different.”

  She peered up sorrowfully as more sunk in. “Who were…the victims?”

  “Two twenty-somethings,” Jill said, swallowing. She sat by Beth’s knees at Ricky’s feet. David took a chair and pulled it to Beth, who went somberly back to the photos, flipping slowly. “No good, no good, not the faintest resemblance…”

  Then she stopped.

  “Omigod,” she whispered, going white.

  They stared at her.

  She brought David’s phone close to her face, frowning intently at one photo. Flipped shakily to the next, then back. Looked up at them, blinking, breathing faster.

  “He’s wearing my brooch,” she gasped. “I mean, my grandmother’s. It was stolen…”

  Her hand trembled as she handed the phone back to David. Jill, stunned, leaned to see, then flipped shakily to the picture on her own phone.

  “That brooch near his shoulder,” Beth whispered frantically. “I didn’t see it at first because the picture’s dark and the b-brooch is dark.” She stuttered in her excitement.

  They studied the photo. Sitting behind the doomed pair, a closeup of a garish, big-shouldered woman with one shoulder wearing a teardrop-shaped brooch. Blue crystals surrounding a larger green crystal, a fake emerald, Beth told them.

  David looked at Jill: Bingo.

  She looked back at him: Beth the only “missed” shot.

  “When was it stolen?” Jill breathed, her lips dry.

  Beth’s head dropped back to her pillow. She was breathing faster. “About ten days ago. I mean, that’s when I noticed it was gone. I adored my grandmother, she’s all I had growing up. I kept her brooch on my dresser.”

  Stunned silence for a long moment.

  Then they took turns telling Beth what Jill had guessed at lunch. Every other victim had been shot fatally, the one exception being a male shot in the head who now lay in a coma. He was meant to die, and the killer bragged to David about being a sharp shooter. The police thought that Beth’s “missed” wound was because the killer had been distracted by Ricky, but sharp shooters don’t get distracted.

  David rose and started to pace. “We’ve been thinking maybe until this moment.”

  “The brooch,” Jill said as calmly as she could. “He’s flaunting it for eyes that would recognize it.” She hesitated, searching Beth’s face. “This is someone who knows you.”

  David stopped by Ricky’s cot. “You have any spurned boyfriends, admirers? Anyone who even casually asked you out and got no?”

  Beth was still stunned, trying to take this in. “No,” she said. “I don’t date. Everyone knows I don’t want to date. I’m not looking for anyone.”

  “Anyone at the VA send you admiring looks you may not have returned?” Jill asked. “Ditto in your neighborhood?”

  Beth screwed her brow. “No and no.”

  David was pacing again, more slowly now, frowning. “The VA has your address and all your personal info on file. They must employ civilians too. Non-military types for clerical work, admin jobs.”

  Beth nodded a grim yes.

  “Great.” Jill inhaled. “That only narrows it down to a few hundred people.” She scowled, pushed her overburdened brain, and a new bulb lit.

  “Oh gee, y’know something?” She urgently met Beth’s eyes. “There just might be two things going on here: first, the killer got into your apartment for your brooch. And second, he shot you in the belly, which may mean he knew about the pregnancy and was mad about it.”

  Beth put a hand to her mouth, the picture suddenly bigger. “My God,” she finally managed. Then seemed to have stopped breathing. She was staring ahead, blinking rapidly.

  “Beth?” David stepped closer.

  Incredulously, she returned Jill’s gaze. “You’re right about both. Some creep could have been stalking me” – she stopped to swallow – “and followed me to maternity shops. There’s one in my neighborhood. It’s small, called Way Cool Mama.” Her breath was coming fast. “I was so excited and went back a couple of times, tried on some cute outfits in front of the mirror – which he could have seen through the window.”

  David asked, “When did you do this shopping?”

  “Nine or ten days ago. That weekend, Saturday and Sunday. It’s open on Sundays.” The timeframe of the murders hit. A stifled whisper: “Oh no…”

  “What kind of locks do you have on your apartment?” David was already getting out his phone.

  “Old. Crappy.” Beth shook her head numbly. “Another reason I’ve kept my gun.”

  Jill got off the bed, breathing fast too. “Dammit, who is this guy?”

  Snip, snip… His hands worked, his left hand rotating the paper while his right hand cut carefully. He liked the sound the scissors made…snip, snip…as they sliced up, across, down and across again, staying right on the line of the photo.

  Done, he admired the picture of pretty Angie Vargas, aged twenty-eight, tragic victim of the Couples Killer, shot fatally in Soho with her friend Jonah Barron, aged 34.

  Jonah’s picture was already cut and waiting in the pile. He placed Angie’s photo over Jonah’s, and went back to his work. He was so behind! The media wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace! He’d printed out wonderful online coverage but hadn’t caught up with all the cutting, and new newspapers had piled up, a continuous, obsessive barrage of new photos of new victims and pictures of funerals, grieving rel
atives, cloying scenes of flowers and candles that made his skin crawl - but hey, they were about him, right?

  He had created this show.

  He was so loving this.

  There were also articles without pictures, one of them very interesting. It was about Madison Memorial, short but impressive. He’d found it by accident, on the fifth page of the Times below the fold. This one needed some mulling, he thought, as he cut it out too, folded it and put it in his pocket.

  See? It pays to be thorough, read everything. You never know what’s hidden in the back pages.

  20

  Alex was unavailable but David spoke to Kerri, told her about the brooch and the rest.

  “Beth Willis is definitely the key,” he said, watching Jill. It was now her pacing, lips bunched together and fists clenched. Her fighting mode, he knew. They were in a far corner of the empty shower room behind the doctors’ lounge.

  “Think that narrows it down?” David asked Kerri.

  “I’ll say.” Cop din sounded in Kerri’s background. They were still at the Union Square movie theater. “I’m just wondering why he’d expect Beth to see his crime scene pics.”

  “Maybe he didn’t, just wore the brooch ‘cause he likes it - or knows we help the police and are likely to compare notes with Beth. Have those surveillance pics been released to the media?”

  “No. This is incredible, the best lead yet. Ask Beth about any males in her life, even casual acquaintances who might have flirted, asked her out, been rebuffed.”

  “Done. There’s nobody, this was probably an unknown stalker. That maternity shop is called Way Cool Mama, see if they have any surveillance from nine, ten days ago. That weekend.”

  “Will do but stores re-loop and we gotta hurry. This guy’s on a rampage.”

  David was surprised to see Jill suddenly on her phone too, stiff, listening intently.

  Huh…?

  Kerri was saying. “We’ll still check out the VA. Come back to ask Beth if-”

  “Kerri, wait a sec.”

  Jill was excited, trying to pry his phone from him. He let her.