Beneath a Weeping Sky rcc-3

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Beneath a Weeping Sky rcc-3 Page 31

by Frank Zafiro


  She looked forward to forgetting about all of that in the coma-esque sleep of a graveyard officer. Putter the cat was fed and watered. Her alarm was set. She made sure the shades were pulled and secured in the bedroom. All that remained was to slide between the blankets and-

  The telephone rang.

  Katie sighed, annoyed. Then a tickle of anger sparked in her chest.

  It had to be Stef.

  She thought about letting it go to the machine. Then she thought about changing her phone number so he couldn’t call her anymore. The prospect of his actions forcing her to give up the same number she’d had since first coming to River City pissed her off, so on the fourth ring, she snatched the receiver.

  “Hello?” she asked, not trying very hard to keep the irritation out of her voice.

  The sound of traffic in the background immediately confirmed her suspicions. It was Kopriva, calling on a payphone. She wondered if he’d been up drinking all night. The thought of listening to his self-pitying slur made her clench her jaw.

  He didn’t say anything right away.

  “Hello?” she repeated.

  Still no reply.

  “Listen,” Katie said, letting all of her anger flood through her voice, “this is bullshit, Stef. I told you not to call me anymore.”

  A car horn honked in the background, followed by the sound of an engine racing by.

  “I wasn’t kidding about the no-contact order, Stef. I can get one on Monday.”

  No answer.

  Katie sighed. “Just leave me alone, all right?” She waited another moment for a reply, then started to hang up.

  “Katie?” came a voice from the phone receiver.

  She brought the phone back to her ear. “Stef?”

  There was a low chuckle. “No. Not…Stef,” he said in a hissing stage whisper.

  She recognized the voice. Fear lanced through her stomach. For a moment, she thought it might be Phil, coming back from college to haunt her -

  You liked it. Don’t forget that.

  — or to try to do that to her again. But after that frantic moment, her mind cleared. She knew who it was.

  “Are you there, Katie?” he whispered into the phone.

  She swallowed hard before she spoke. When the words came out, she tried to put an edge to them. He couldn’t know that she was afraid.

  “I’m here. What do you want?”

  He laughed then. The sound grated against her nerves. She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

  “I want you, bitch.”

  Think, Katie! Do something!

  “When I find you, Katie, I am going to lay the whammo on you.”

  Say something!

  “You’re going to get it good.”

  She cast her eyes around the room, her mind racing.

  “And you’ll like it, too. Count on that, bitch.”

  You liked it. Don’t forget that.

  His echoing words cut through her fear and found her anger. Who the hell did he think he was? She clenched her jaw, then spoke in a tight voice. “I don’t think you have the balls,” she told him.

  There was a pause.

  Good. I surprised him.

  She forged ahead. “In fact, I think you’re a giant chicken shit. You only go after weak women because you’re weak yourself. You don’t have the guts to come after a strong woman like me because you know I’ll kick your ass. You know-”

  “BITCH, I WILL FUCK YOU UNTIL YOU CRY!” he screamed at her.

  “I don’t believe you,” Katie goaded him. A flare of satisfaction went off in her chest, settling down her body in a warm glow. The tables were turned and she liked it. “I think you’re all talk.”

  “I WILL CUT YOUR FUCKING TITS OFF!”

  “You’re a coward,” she told him, ignoring the graphic visual.

  There was another pause. She heard his heavy breathing in the receiver. The sound of traffic in the background was again audible.

  How do you like that? she thought. Not used to a woman who fights back? A grim battle smile spread across her face.

  “You’re nothing but a coward,” she repeated. “And I know it.”

  “Really?” he whispered into her ear, his voice full of barely controlled rage. “Well, I know something, too.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “I know where you live, bitch.”

  Then he hung up.

  Katie’s smile melted away.

  1039 hours

  Captain Reott leaned back in his leather chair, giving Detective Tower a hard look. “This really hasn’t gone as you planned, has it, Detective?”

  Seated next to Lieutenant Crawford, Tower shifted in his chair and looked away, his jaw clenched. “There’s been some setbacks,” he admitted.

  “Setbacks?” Reott repeated, surprise and sarcasm plain in his tone. “In order to have setbacks, don’t you have to have some progress to be set back from? Where’s the progress on this case? All I’ve seen is more women being raped and botched operations.”

  Crawford cleared his throat. “All due respect, Captain, Detective Tower is my responsibility. I’ll do the ass-chewing, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind,” Reott said. “Because now one of my patrol officers is the target of this whack job pervert.”

  “What would you have done differently, sir?” Tower asked quietly through his clenched teeth.

  “Lots. For starters, how about catching the guy?” Reott snapped.

  A silence settled into the room. Reott gave Tower a hard look. The detective was unshaven and wearing a pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt along with a Seattle Mariners windbreaker. His eyes held a desperate, haunted look that worried Reott. He made a mental note to bring it up with Crawford after Tower left. This case had almost certainly become too much for one detective to handle, though he knew that was Crawford’s call.

  Finally, Reott rubbed his own eyes and sighed. “All right,” he said. “I guess there’s no profit in casting blame here. Everyone’s doing the best they can with what they’ve been given. The question now is, how do we move forward?”

  “As far as the rapes go,” Tower said, “I’ll keep working the case. Something will break.”

  Reott glanced at Crawford, but didn’t reply.

  “I interviewed MacLeod for about an hour this morning, after the phone call,” Tower continued. “She recognized the voice, so it was definitely the same guy.”

  “Any chance of a telephone trace of some sort?” Reott asked.

  Tower shrugged. “Maybe. The phone company supposedly keeps a seventy-two hour record of all local calls made on a rolling basis. We might be able to find out where the call came from.”

  “That’s good.”

  Tower frowned. “Maybe.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Several reasons. For one, their techs aren’t available on the weekend, so Monday is the soonest we’ll be able to get at the information. Plus, they won’t let us have the information without a subpoena.”

  “So get a subpoena from the prosecutor. Patrick what’s-his-name.”

  “It’s Patrick Hinote,” Tower said. “That’s no problem, just a matter of doing it. The thing is, it probably won’t help us at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “He called from a pay phone. So the odds of getting prints off that are virtually nil, especially by the time we get the information.”

  Reott scowled. It would be the same thing with finding any witnesses who might remember some guy who was there making a phone call two days prior. “So it’s a dead end.”

  “The phone call is,” Tower said, “but I think we have a different opportunity here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We can stake out MacLeod’s house, for one. See if we can catch the guy prowling around.”

  “That sounds smart. What else?”

  “We stake out MacLeod.”

  Reott paused. “You mean use her as bait?”

  Tower shrugged. “Call
it what you want. He’s obviously keyed in on MacLeod. We can use that to draw him out.”

  “No.” Reott shook his head firmly. “She’s been through enough with this task force. I’m not going to ask her to do that.”

  “Captain-”

  “I said no,” Reott interrupted. “This isn’t some cop movie, Tower. MacLeod is not the answer.”

  “Why don’t you at least ask her?”

  “Because it isn’t her choice,” Reott said. “It’s mine. And I’m not going to do it.”

  “Why not?”

  Reott leaned forward and fixed Tower with a cold stare. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, detective. I don’t work for you.”

  Another silence settled into the room. Outside Reott’s open window, the distant sound of tires hissing on wet pavement meshed with high-pitched birdsong.

  After almost a minute, Tower broke the silence, “Captain-”

  “You’re dismissed, detective.”

  Tower gaped at him, surprised. Then he rose and stalked out of the room.

  Reott watched him go. Once the door snapped shut behind him, he turned his attention to Crawford.

  The Major Crimes Lieutenant looked back at him, his face saggy and his expression unreadable. “That was a little harsh, Mike,” he said.

  Reott didn’t answer. He pulled open his drawer and withdrew a pair of cigars, offering one to Crawford. Crawford paused, then accepted it. Reott fired his up, then handed the Zippo lighter to Crawford.

  Once both men had a cherry coal at the end of the cigar, the mood in the room seemed to loosen. The smoke somehow alleviated the tension in the air.

  “It probably was a little harsh,” Reott agreed. “But I stand by my decision.”

  “Which I agree with, for the record. MacLeod’s been through too much already. Using her as bait would be a mistake.”

  “Tower doesn’t think so.”

  Crawford drew in smoke, then blew it at the ceiling. “It’s Tower’s job to catch this guy. He’s failing. He wants to try anything that might work.”

  “You think he’s too close to this case?”

  “Absolutely. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Reott peered across the desk at Crawford through the blue smoke trails between them. “That’s a dangerous game to play.”

  “We live in a dangerous world,” Crawford replied easily. “Look, Tower pisses me off. That’s no secret. He’s a smartass who thinks he knows better than everyone else. But he’s goddamn dedicated. And some days, he’s a good detective.” He took another deep puff on the cigar, seeming to savor the sensation. “He cares, Mike. He cares. And if it means catching a very bad man, then I’m going to ride that horse until it drops.”

  Reott turned the cigar in his fingers. “I don’t know how comfortable I am with that philosophy. A guy like Tower could burn out.”

  “Maybe,” Crawford conceded. “In fact, at some point, he probably will. He’s wired too emotionally for this job.” Crawford leaned forward slightly, his shoulders hunching. “But come on, Mike. You’re a leader. You know you have to push your people sometimes.”

  “Maybe, but not like this. What you’re talking about is a level usually reserved for soldiers at war.”

  Crawford smiled grimly. “We are at war. And it’s a war we’re losing a little more every year.”

  “Jesus,” Reott said, shaking his head. “That’s pretty dark. Who shit in your Cheerios this morning?”

  “Today? The Rainy Day Rapist,” Crawford said. “But he’s just another in a long line of reality checks.”

  Reott sighed. “So where do we go from here?”

  “We need a full court press,” Crawford said. “I’ll throw another of my Major Crimes teams into the mix and get them out there shaking bushes. You tell your patrol troops to stop and FI any single white male who looks remotely suspicious. That’ll hopefully generate some leads for Tower to follow up.”

  Reott agreed. “Call the media, too. Get that sketch out to the public.”

  Crawford laughed derisively. “The Mr. Every Other White Guy drawing? We’ll have sightings at every bowling alley, grocery aisle and video store.”

  “All the more for Tower to follow up on, then,” Reott said with a tight grin. “Now what about the threat to my officer?”

  “Tower’s right on that count. We need to put men on MacLeod’s house. The guy might be foolish enough to come poking around.” Crawford considered. “And she needs protection, too.”

  “A bodyguard, you mean?”

  Crawford shrugged. “Put her with a partner while she’s on patrol. When she’s not working, we set her up at a motel. Put another cop with her in the adjoining room.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know,” Crawford said. “You’re the Captain. You tell me.”

  Reott smoked for a few moments, thinking. He was out of good ideas. He didn’t know how long. He didn’t even know if it would work or not. Finally, he nodded to Crawford. “Do it,” he said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could muster. “All of it.”

  2024 hours

  Katie stared back at Tower, her gaze shifting between the detective and Lieutenant Saylor. “You’re kidding me,” she said.

  Saylor shook his head. “This comes straight from the Captain of Patrol.”

  Katie turned her attention to Tower. “Was this your idea?”

  Tower stared back at her. “Not this part of it.”

  Katie sighed in frustration. “I can take care of myself,” she told Saylor. “I don’t need a partner all the time, El-Tee. And I don’t need a bodyguard. That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’ve received a death threat,” Saylor said.

  “I get death threats once a shift,” Katie replied, bristling. “Sir.”

  “This is different,” Tower said quietly. “This guy has shown that he isn’t simply talking. He acts.”

  She swallowed, knowing that he was right about that. Still, she wondered if this had more to do with catching a rapist or with the fact that she was a woman. If she were a man, would the bodyguard be on the table? Or would the lieutenant slap the man on the shoulder with a macho exhortation to “be careful” and call it enough?

  You’ll never know for sure, Katie. Just do your job.

  Katie met the Lieutenant’s eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  Tension noticeably eased in the room.

  “But I want to choose who my bodyguard will be,” she added.

  Saylor and Sergeant Shen exchanged a glance. Then the lieutenant asked, “Okay, fair enough. Who do you want?”

  Katie didn’t hesitate. “Tom Chisolm.”

  2217 hours

  Tower sat on the small patio, wrapped in a blanket. A beer nestled between his legs, his right hand wrapped loosely around the neck. The ornamental blanket belonged on the small couch inside the house and barely covered his shoulders and chest. It merely provided him some temporary protection against the light mist of rain in the air.

  It isn’t even really falling, he thought to himself. It was almost more like a fog than rainfall. Just a light, stinging mist that bit into his cheeks and ears and coated his slacks. He felt the heaviness of the droplets as they gathered in his hair. Each time he raised the bottle of beer to his lips, the cold slap of the water smacked his hand.

  I should be drinking a hot buttered rum instead.

  Tower smiled grimly. Or maybe some hot buttered hemlock.

  The enormity of the past week settled in on his shoulders with considerable weight. Captain Reott’s condemnation of his lack of progress rang in his ears, louder still because Tower knew the Patrol Captain was right. What breakthroughs had he engineered in this case? The only one that could even be called progress was the victim Heather Torin coming forward and that wasn’t his doing.

  No, it was safe to say that he’d been about as useful as a handbrake on a canoe.

  What’s worse, he didn’t see things improving. He still had little usefu
l physical evidence to convict the Rainy Day Rapist, even if he waltzed into police headquarters and surrendered. In his phone conversation with the prosecutor, Patrick Hinote had expressed concern that he’d be able to overcome corpus delecti issues even if the suspect confessed. All in all, it was a giant bag of crap.

  Tower lifted the beer bottle to his mouth and took a deep draught. The foam at the end of his drink and the weight of the bottle told him he was empty. Now he had to decide whether to go inside for another one or simply sit in the rain. Since he was four deep into the six pack of Kokanee he’d brought home after work, this initially presented a difficult logic problem. After a moment, though, the only thought that resonated with him was that beer was good and he needed more. Besides, he had to take a leak.

  The rain continued to fall on him while he mustered the energy to get up and go inside. He knew Stephanie would have a word or two with him for using the ornamental blanket in such an unorthodox fashion, but at this point, he didn’t care.

  Tower let out a long sigh. Crawford had used the words ‘full court press,’ but he knew what that translated to. His case was being taken away from him. Finch and Elias were on loan from Robbery/Homicide, but it wouldn’t be long before the status of lead detective would drift to one of them. Probably Finch, who was the more taciturn of the two. Tower imagined that the next crime scene would be the last where he was considered the lead, and even that one would probably be a ‘collaborative’ scene in order to begin the transition.

  “Fuck it,” he whispered. “I don’t care who gets credit. I just want to catch this son of a bitch.”

  He wished that were one hundred percent true, but even four beers deep, he knew it wasn’t entirely so. So he sat a little bit longer, paying penance with a full bladder in the cold, stinging misty rain, clutching an empty beer bottle, and thinking ill thoughts.

  Sunday, April 28th

  0848 hours

  Katie tossed her small suitcase into the overstuffed chair. “I guess they spare no expense,” she groused. “This place is barely one step above a Motel 6.”

  “Hey,” Chisolm chided her, “I love Motel 6.”

 

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