His attention skimmed the crowd like sonar did an ocean bed, seeing everything, noting anomalies, filing away and collating. A man always on the job. A job that could easily consume.
Casey regretted sharing her burden with him, a man who looked as though he carried enough burdens already. She wished the words had never escaped, that she could push them back into the past where they belonged and let them rot in peace. But he wouldn't have understood otherwise.
She sought levity. "I bet if you were on a cruise ship, you'd look for hijackers."
He looked over at her without much expression. "Maybe."
She sighed, wondering what Jack was like off duty. Wondering if he ever really was. "What do you do on vacation?" she asked, slurping again at her ice cubes.
His quick smile betrayed his frustration. "Read murder mysteries. How 'bout you?"
Casey allowed a grin. "I chase ambulances. What about when you're at home?"
"I never go home."
"That," she admitted, "I think I believe."
She turned her attention to the park, listening to the chatter of people, the rustle of the animals, the distant thread of traffic. At any other time it would have served to decrease her stress level. Today, it made it worse. It made Casey think again of maggots, of the darkness that writhed beneath all this normality.
"So," she finally said. "The news."
Jack had obviously been waiting for her. "I interviewed your ex. He didn't have much to say, except for invoking doctor-patient confidentiality. Nice office."
Casey couldn't look over at Jack. She didn't want to hear about Ed from him. She didn't want to imagine what Jack had thought, sitting in that sterile office, watching Ed rearrange himself into perfect creases.
Jack must have felt her discomfort, because he went on, his gaze still scanning the crowds. "I also got the chance to meet the East St. Louis team. It's a good crew."
Casey looked over in surprise. They'd reached the fence around the lagoon area. To her left a mother was lifting a toddler up past the chain link to see the seals ignore them. Beyond, a couple was celebrating spring in each other's arms.
"Any luck?" she asked Jack.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets to settle them atop the fence. "I managed to raise their suspicions. They don't have any evidence or witnesses. They would desperately like to tie in those two other murders that night, since they were unusual for them, too. Problem is, of course, money. The cops over there don't have any."
"What do you think?"
He shrugged, his attention down at the water that reflected dimly in the flat light. "It's a jigsaw puzzle. We have your friend Evelyn Peters dead from a twenty-two at a stoplight with no witnesses. We also have two local murders, cousins who might or might not have been circling one of the local gangs. They got it with an AK47 and were dumped down by the river."
AK47. Why did that ring bells? Casey tried to remember, to pull up all the bits and pieces of information she'd culled and decide what an AK47 meant.
"The thing about the cousins is that there wasn't any physical evidence," he went on, gaze still out to the seals. "Which sounds like Hunsacker. Except it was with a different gun. The cousins' car was found a week later in a parking lot by the downtown bus terminal where they think the perp took off for parts unknown."
"St. Louis?"
"Yeah. Also, no turn-up on jewelry from Mrs. Peters. The regular channels have dried up. I talked to Franklin about Wanda, and talked to O'Fallon about Mrs. Peebles. Franklin says for you to stay off his turf, and O'Fallon wasn't impressed except to say that Mrs. Peebles's wedding ring was missing. Your friend Martin called to let me know he's trying his hand at the Brentwood police, but the consensus there is that maybe you should be fitted for a beanie."
"What about the gun she bought? Did she say why?"
"Protection. She was going to be living alone. Salesman said she came in with her husband."
Casey sighed, frustrated. Instinctively knowing there was more. "And Hunsacker's alibi for Mrs. Peebles?"
"Another chart. He sure likes to sit in hospitals at night. The daughter-in-law did say that her mother-in-law had gotten some call about a problem at the country house, but didn't know what or who."
"Which leaves us where?"
"Without enough to get a search warrant on him. And with lukewarm interest from East St. Louis and Jefferson County."
It was a nice day. Casey was standing at the zoo watching the seals and didn't have to go to work tonight. She should have felt better. She felt dragged down and frustrated. "We're not going to get him, are we?"
Jack looked out to the trees and the solid towers of Barnes Hospital that rose beyond. "He'll get sloppy. They all do."
For a minute he seemed content to consider that fact. Casey waited, squinting into the distance along the paths where parents pushed strollers and dates held hands. She saw a single pair of feet strolling beyond the overhanging tree branches and thought it unique. Old people strolled alone, not Yuppies.
"I did get some interesting news," Jack said, turning a little her way. "Want to hear Hunsacker's life story?"
Casey sharpened a little. "I wouldn't even mind hearing how he managed to stay in the Pan Caribbean School of Medicine."
Jack smiled. "Money. Truckloads of it. His family is old Boston Brahmin from Beacon Hill. His father was a hotshot surgeon. His mother was deb of the year, fundraiser of the year, hunt master of the year. You get the idea."
Casey scowled. "I'll be sure to invite them to my next birthday party."
"Can't," Hunsacker said nonchalantly. "They both died in a fire."
Casey almost stopped breathing. "A fire?"
Jack's smile wasn't pretty. Casey thought it was the most satisfying thing she'd ever seen. "Young Dale managed to get out in time. Older brother and sister were away at boarding school. Tragedy of the year."
"What was the verdict?"
Jack shrugged. "Spontaneous combustion from painting supplies. They'd just redecorated the downstairs."
"Anything else?"
"Just that Dale had trouble staying in schools. Even the ones where marks are directly related to donations. Understandable, of course. Dale had had a trauma, and did some acting out. Nobody's talking about just what play he was doing, though."
Casey felt a new thread of hope tempt her. "Any word on family pets?"
"Nothing anybody's talking about. I'm waiting to hear from the family doctor now."
Casey almost laughed, she was so relieved. What a terrible reason to feel better. "So, it wasn't his wife he offed. It was his mother."
She'd just turned back to consider her little pastoral scene. That pair of shoes was still there, walking along the fence. A pair of Dock-Sides, worn without socks. That was what had caught Casey's attention. She looked up, through the leaves, searching for an owner.
"Casey?"
She hadn't realized she'd stiffened up. She was bending now, leaning one way and then the other to get a better look.
She saw him. Smiling. He turned very briefly toward her and nodded his head. And then he walked away.
"Oh, my God," she breathed. "It's Hunsacker."
Chapter 17
First Jack looked. "Are you sure?"
They could both see him, walking away from them, his face in profile. It was just like the mall. One minute Casey was sure, the next she couldn't decide. Those same all-American features, that same jaunty walk. But something... something was different.
"I know it's him," she said all the same. "What are we going to do?"
Jack craned his neck for a better view as Hunsacker turned back toward the zoo-line train station. "Not much we can do. He has a right to be here... are you sure?"
Casey kept looking, mesmerized, revolted. "This happened once before," she admitted. "At Crestwood Plaza. I saw somebody I could have sworn was him, but he looked different. Just a little... like, plainer, more normal. I couldn't decide. But I think I was right. I think he was follow
ing me that day."
Jack turned back on her, and there wasn't any indecision left on his features. "He's stepping up the pressure," he said. "I've got to get some protection on you."
Casey shook her head, knowing just as well as Jack how difficult that would be for him to do. "I'll be okay."
"Wait a minute," Jack said, turning back, walking a little ways toward where Hunsacker was disappearing over the gentle rise. "You say you weren't sure before. That he looked different."
Casey stared after him, wondering what had just clicked for Jack. "That's what I said."
Jack whipped around on her, his eyes alight. For the first time Casey saw the hunter in him. He threw his arm out in Hunsacker's direction. "You'd swear that was Hunsacker."
Casey took another look. "You want to go find out for sure?"
Much to her astonishment, Jack nodded. "Come on," he urged, grabbing her hand.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" she demanded, tap dancing around a pile of lost snow cone ice in an effort to catch up.
"The hooker couldn't say for sure," he was saying, almost to himself as he ran, his coat flapping past his hips. "She said he looked different when she saw him in lineup. Bundy had the ability to do the same thing. Witnesses couldn't pick him out, because he changed somehow. Maybe Hunsacker does it."
"Like wolfman?" Casey demanded dryly, still hanging on for dear life.
"It's an attitude," he told her without looking away from the now-empty rise. "Look at Bundy's pictures. Each one's different. He was different, depending on what he was after. Who says Hunsacker can't do that?"
Casey sidestepped a stroller and hopped a curb. "Honey, I wouldn't put anything past Hunsacker."
Even disappearing into thin air. When they topped the rise, Hunsacker was gone. Jack searched the crowds that swept onto the train, and chased the stragglers who trudged for the parking lot. He disappeared into the men's room and quizzed vendors. Nobody remembered the man Jack described, for good or bad. Hunsacker had simply become invisible.
Casey stood by the train station, battling the urge to look over her shoulder. Sure somehow that Hunsacker was watching her and laughing, and not sure how. The train hooted. A puff of steam shot up from the stack and the train squealed and chugged out of the station. A little black boy with a striped shirt waved to Casey. She waved back.
"He's gone," Jack admitted, coming to a halt beside her. He pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair before resettling it. "Well, it doesn't matter. It finally makes sense. I'll get that hooker back in and we'll start all over again."
"And you'll be tossed right out in the snow with your stingy brim."
Jack's smile was full of anticipation. "Can't have redemption without risk," he told her and turned her around to leave.
* * *
Jack didn't make it to Casey's house that afternoon. His beeper went off right in the zoo parking lot, and when he called in, was told it was another command performance. Suddenly he wished he hadn't eaten even half that breakfast treat the zoo called a hamburger.
It wasn't just the captain waiting for him. It was the captain, the chief of detectives, and the union lawyer. They huddled in the captain's office like three hemorrhoid patients waiting for the knife. Jack saw the chief take a long drag from a cigarette and wished with all his heart he could have one, too.
"Yeah, Cap?" he asked, knocking on the door frame.
All three men looked up. The captain was old Irish, florid features and snowy white hair. The chief was younger, neater, with a hawk's face and sparse black hair. The lawyer straightened, slick and sharp, a local version of Jack Kemp. Good old boys all, born to serve, sniffing around power like dogs in heat. The last bastion of white St. Louis democratic politics before the blacks really made inroads. It was one of the things that made Jack so popular. He'd backed the black candidate for mayor, a hotshot new voice out of nowhere who liked to buck the system.
"Come in, Jack." The captain waved him in. Over by the radiator, the chief contemplated what was left of his cigarette and finished it off. The lawyer stepped forward, hand outstretched.
"Crawford Wilson, Sergeant," he introduced himself, even though Jack needed no introduction. Wilson had been called out on his behalf before, a matter of insubordination and suspension. "Good to see you again."
"Crawford." Jack acknowledged him with a quick nod and a shake of his dry, firm hand.
"Let me give it to you straight, Jack," the captain said, rubbing a finger at the side of his bulbous nose. It always made Jack think of Santa Claus. "We were served today with a harassment suit. The city, the department, you."
Jack was tempted to sit down. He didn't. He just pulled off his hat and ironed the duck's ass with his palm. "Dr. Hunsacker?" he asked.
The captain nodded. "Forty million."
Jack couldn't quite contain the quick bark of laughter at the news. "Well, I'll say one thing for him. The son of a bitch has balls."
All three men came to attention. Obviously Jack wasn't taking this seriously enough.
"He claims his practice has been falling off," the captain informed him, his posture more unyielding. "That the notoriety is causing emotional distress. He says you got a hard-on for him, Jack, that nothing but total ruin's gonna cure."
"That's about right."
The captain huffed. He was a great hand-shaker, the captain. He knew more about the political and business figures of this city than the Post Dispatch. He knew nothing about his men.
"I'm going to have to take you off the case."
Jack shook his head. "I'm not going."
That brought his captain right to his feet. "You'll do what you're told. Or would you rather be pulling nights up on North Market?"
Jack slipped his hat back on his head and slid his hands into his pants pockets to prevent himself from hitting anybody. He rarely got this angry. Usually he just sublimated it all into that growing hole in the lining of his stomach. Today, though, he'd seen Hunsacker change like a chameleon. He'd answered a question that had kept him awake at night. He'd seen a way to reel Hunsacker in before Hunsacker stopped playing games with Casey and got down to business. But it wasn't going to happen if the captain handed off the Crystal Johnson case.
Jack wasn't going anywhere with the smell of the chase finally in his nose.
"Let me give it to you in a nutshell," Jack said, looking down at the Marine seal on the captain's desk and thinking about how this was what always got him into trouble. He was more than happy doing the work, if the brass just left him alone. They never did. Not in the service, not in the church, not in the department.
When he looked back up, the three men were watching him as if he were a Buddhist monk shaking a gasoline can over his head. "Hunsacker's harassing the nurse who reported him. He's calling her, he's following her. I saw him today. I suspect he's involved in five murders to date, including Crystal Johnson's. Problem is, every murder takes place in a different jurisdiction, so communication is spotty. I've asked for the Major Case Squad and been turned down. Now, if Hunsacker kills this nurse because she's the only one standing up to him, we're gonna have a lot more to answer to than a harassment suit."
"You're only responsible for Crystal Johnson," the captain reminded him, florid complexion now closer to puce. "And so far you haven't come up with squat."
Jack took a breath. It was always the same, caught between what you knew was right and what everyone else thought was expedient. Well, he'd survived before. He sure as hell wasn't going to cave in now. Not if Casey wasn't. "Look at my record, Cap."
No arguing there. It was the one thing that had saved Jack's ass. He might not close cases the quickest or the most conveniently, but his conviction rate was indisputably the highest.
"I can't afford to leave you on this," the captain said. "Do you know what that would look like in the press?"
Jack almost smiled. "It would look like the police can't be intimidated by money."
Crawford Wilson battled a laug
h, because, of course, money and power spoke the same language in any city, and the police department here spoke it fluently. The captain just stood there, hands splayed on his desk, eyes glinting fire, certainly envisioning a bigger target area on Jack's ass.
"Can I go now?" Jack asked. "I need to interview my witness in Crystal Johnson's murder again, and get old medical records on the doc. And then I'm talking to the FBI."
"What did I tell you?" the captain bellowed, rigid with fury.
"Jack..." Wilson appeased, hand out.
From his corner, the chief finally came to life. "What was your time limit?" he demanded, stepping forward, hands shoved in his own pockets. Nonchalant as a hunting tiger.
Jack turned to him. "A week. I can have an ID that Hunsacker frequented Crystal Johnson today. That means he knew all five women, and had problems with every one. His alibis are mostly his own notes on hospital charts. If I can break one, I can get him. We got personal items missing from victims, like he's taking souvenirs, and not a goddamn shred of physical evidence from any of the crimes. Nothing, like somebody's been vacuuming. This guy is an obsessive-compulsive who washes his hands all the time, schedules sex, and carries a diary around on him like a rosary. A diary that gives me night sweats just thinking about it. Now, what else do I have to do to get somebody to call out the Major Case Squad and coordinate this? Crystal's the weakest link, and that's all I can legitimately investigate right now."
The chief faced off with him, watery blue eyes as sharp as a hawk's, his expression hard. The chief was a crafty politician, but he'd been a real cop before hitting the big leagues. He'd been captain at fifth precinct when Jack had started, up where the wars of North Market were fought.
"Something solid," he growled, sending the captain into another color change. "One bad alibi, one solid ID. One overheard threat. Now get the fuck outta here."
Jack didn't stick around to hear the rest. He heard it as he was striding down the hall toward his office.
A Man to Die For Page 31