by Frank Zafiro
“Did you talk to the Prosecutor?”
“Yes. Patrick Hinote said he doesn’t have an opinion on the matter. He’s more concerned that if we do find the guy, he gets a call right away. Unless the evidence in this case opens up, a conviction is going to be tough.”
“How about his team?” Reott asked. “They seemed pretty hard core during that meeting we had.”
“I don’t know. That’s Hinote’s problem and he said he’d handle it.”
Reott sighed. “Sounds like just about everyone is ready to give up. I don’t like that idea.”
“It’s not giving up, Mike.”
“What would you call it?”
“Re-allocating our assets,” Crawford replied immediately.
“Does that include the MacLeod detail?”
“They’re your people, but I’d say yes.”
Reott pursed his lips in thought. “What if this guy is just waiting for us to do exactly that? What if he’s been watching for that this entire time?”
Crawford met Reott’s eyes with his own steady gaze. “Well, if that’s the case, then it will still be true no matter when we pull the plug on this detail, won’t it?”
Reott thought about it for several long moments. He rose from his chair and walked back to the window. Reaching through the opening, he let the thick spring raindrops pepper his palms. Then he wiped the cool water on his face and neck again. “Is this one of those tough decisions we were talking about earlier?” he asked, more to himself than anyone else.
Crawford answered anyway.
“Only if you make the wrong one,” the lieutenant said.
1804 hours
Tower glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after six already, which put him an hour past quitting time.
He didn’t care.
Lieutenant Crawford informed him earlier that afternoon that both the surveillance and the protection details were being pulled. He took the news in stride, knowing that there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Moreover, he struggled to find fault with the decision. That didn’t stop him from being pissed off about it.
Listlessly, he flipped through the three most recent tips. He found nothing interesting, so he reached for another license plate and tapped the information into the computer. As he waited for the return, his telephone rang.
He snatched the receiver off the hook, hoping it was something helpful. “Tower,” he barked.
“John? It’s Stephanie.”
Disappointment settled into Tower’s chest. Was he ever going to catch a break?
“Oh. Hey.”
“Don’t sound so enthused,” she chided gently.
“Just busy, babe. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering when you’d be home. I was thinking of cooking some steaks.”
Tower felt a pang of guilt. “I, uh, I don’t know exactly,” he said.
Stephanie was quiet on the other end of the line. Then she said, “John, just come home. We’ll have some steak and some wine and then I’ll take you to bed.”
“That sounds good,” Tower admitted. In fact, it sounded very good.
“Great,” she said. “Then I’ll see you soon?”
Tower looked at her picture on his desk, then at the open case file. The stack of license plates next to the case file were his best lead right now, probably his only lead. He should probably finish them before calling it a night. But that would take hours.
“Steph, I don’t know. I’ve got these license plates to check through — ”
“They’ll still be there in the morning, right?”
Tower sighed. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be home.”
Stephanie was silent a moment, then sighed herself. “Okay, John. Your couple of hours usually turns into all night, but okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she said, and hung up.
He stared at the receiver for a few moments afterward, shaking his head to himself. What was he doing? He was going to screw things up with this woman if he didn’t pull things together pretty fast. Most women would have probably already called no joy and split.
Tower hung up the telephone and turned to back to his stack of license plates. The computer let out a soft ding. He took a look at the vehicle registration return.
Goodkind, Jeffrey A.
Tower suppressed a sigh. That certainly didn’t sound like a serial rapist to him, but he’d dig into Mr. Goodkind a little bit just the same, exactly like he had all the others.
Time for another trip down another blind alley.
“Working late, John?”
Tower turned toward the voice behind him. Ray Browning stood near his desk, a light jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Just trying to find the piece that breaks things open,” Tower said.
Browning nodded knowingly. He settled into the chair at the empty desk opposite Tower. “You want a little help?”
Tower shook his head. “Thanks, Ray, but no. Take off. You’ve got a family to get home to.”
“Don’t you have a Stephanie?”
“She’s a big girl,” Tower said. “She understands.”
Browning nodded again. He adjusted the small wire frames on his nose and observed in a quiet voice, “Be careful you don’t take advantage of that, you know?”
Tower cocked an eyebrow at him. “So what, you’re a relationship counselor now?”
“No,” Browning said. “Just someone who has gone before telling a fellow traveler about the dangers of the road ahead.”
“That sounds more like Buddha than a counselor,” Tower remarked dryly.
Browning let out a small chuckle. “Well, if it helps, I don’t care if it makes me sound like Bobcat Goldwhaite.”
“Point taken, Ray. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And the offer’s open, if you want the help.”
Tower shook his head again. “No, it’s all right. There’s nothing but grunt work here anyway.”
“I’ve done plenty of that.”
“Boring grunt work,” Tower corrected, then added, “that doesn’t net anything.”
“Done that, too.”
Tower smiled grimly. “I’ll bet you have. But really, I’m just going to run a few more of these registered owners and then I’ll head home.”
Browning nodded, but Tower could tell the older detective knew he was lying. He must have understood Tower’s angst, though, because he had the decency not to call him on the lie. Instead, he rose to leave.
“You should go home, too,” he told Tower. “Those plates will still be there in the morning.”
“That’s what Stephanie said.”
“She’s right. Besides,” Browning added, “if you leave them for tomorrow, you’ll be fresher when you look at them. Detail work like that, you don’t want to miss anything.”
Tower nodded, but made no move to leave.
Browning gave him a warm smile. He slipped his arms into his jacket. As he adjusted it around his shoulders, he said, “You know, John, when you find this guy, he’s not going to live up to your expectations.”
“I don’t have any expectations. I just want to stop him.”
Browning’s smile widened. “Don’t kid a kidder,” he said. “This guy has brutally raped at least four women. He assaulted a police officer. He’s gotten more violent every time out. Has the teacher come out of her coma yet?”
“No,” Tower whispered. “She’s still unresponsive.”
Browning raised his eyebrows and nodded. “And he’ll be even worse the next time.”
“Probably.”
“So when you find him, you’ll expect him to be some evil, maniacal genius. You already half-imagine him to be a man capable of sprouting horns on his head and spitting fire from a forked, demonic tongue.”
“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Barely,” Browning said. He reached up and stroked his graying goatee. “But the point is that no matter how much you’
ve built him up, you are going to be disappointed in the end. That’s because what you’ll discover is that he is a sad, sick, flawed, insecure, inadequate creature who figured out how to do one thing well in life. When you take that away from him, all the rest of the bravado falls. All that’s left is the weakness.”
Tower stared at Browning. A sarcastic reply of “profound” died on his lips. Instead, he swallowed and thought about Browning’s words. Then he asked, “Is that how it is with you? With the murderers you investigate?”
Browning nodded slowly. “Every single one of them.”
Tower glanced back down at his open case file, then at his picture of Stephanie. When he looked back up at Browning, the older detective was still staring at him. His warm brown eyes radiated empathy.
“He’s just a man, John,” he said. Then he reached out and squeezed Tower on the shoulder. “Just a sick, sad man.”
Tower nodded his thanks.
Browning turned and made his way out of the Sexual Assault Unit.
Tower thought about it a moment longer. Then he decided that Detective Ray Browning was pretty much the best cop he knew, so he should listen to the man. He pushed the PRINT button on the computer, getting a copy of Mr. Jeffrey A. Goodkind’s registration information so that he could start with that particular blind alley again in the morning. Then he reached for the phone.
Stephanie answered on the second ring.
“Babe?” Tower asked.
“Yeah?”
“Put on the steaks,” he said, “and pour the wine.”
2048 hours
Graveyard Shift
Katie MacLeod laced up her patrol boots, cinching down the knot. She reached for her duty belt, strapping it around her waist. She slipped the thin leather belt keepers under her regular belt and around her duty belt to secure the two together. After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable, she grabbed her patrol bag and left the locker room.
In the hallway that led down to the sally port in the basement, she dropped her bag. She’d pick it up after roll call on the way downstairs. She made her way toward the briefing room, but was intercepted by Lieutenant Saylor.
“MacLeod?” he said. “I need to see you for a second.”
Katie gave him a professional nod, but inside she suppressed a sigh.
What is it now? I’m going into the Witness Protection Program?
The two stepped into the conference room next to the sergeant’s office. Even after being on the job for five years, going into the so-called “spanking room” with a sergeant or lieutenant gave her a sense of unease in the pit of her stomach.
Saylor closed the door. He turned to face her. Up close, Katie could see the hard lines of his face. He always reminded her of a paradoxical cross between a kindly grandfather and a Marine drill instructor.
“It’s been a bit of a rough ride this last couple of weeks, hasn’t it?” he asked her.
“It’s been fine, sir,” Katie answered. Unconsciously, she found herself standing as straight as she could.
Saylor smiled slightly. “My experience has been that room service is only good for about a day or so. Usually less than that.”
Katie flashed to the tasteless sandwiches and soggy fries that she’d been subsisting on at the hotel. He’d hit the nail on the head. “It hasn’t been gourmet,” she admitted.
“Well, I’ve got some good news,” Saylor told her. “It’s over.”
“Over?”
Saylor nodded. “That’s the word from above.”
“Did they catch the guy?”
“No.”
Katie narrowed her eyes in thought. She wondered why this change of heart had occurred. “So I can check out of the hotel and go home?”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t have to ride with anyone tonight?”
Saylor shrugged. “I suppose that’s between you and Sergeant Shen. But there’s no directive from the Captain that says you have to.”
Katie stood in the small conference room, a mixture of emotions rushing through her. There was an overwhelming sense of relief and exhilaration at the situation ending and at returning to something akin to normal. At the same time, she experienced some hesitation and gnawing concern. “I wonder why now?” she asked aloud, more rhetorically than not.
Saylor answered anyway. “I think they figured he’d moved on.”
“You mean left River City?”
“Maybe. Or just emotionally. There’s been no sign of him these last two weeks, right?”
Katie shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then that’d be my guess.”
Katie wondered briefly why the Captain wouldn’t have explained things to Saylor in greater detail, but she long ago gave up trying to figure out how the Byzantine world of the brass functioned. Instead, she wondered if ‘they’ meant Detective Tower or if it meant the Captain and Lieutenant Crawford. Whoever it was, she wondered if ‘they’ were right.
“Are you all right, MacLeod?” Saylor asked.
Katie broke away from her contemplation. She nodded. “I’m fine, sir. Just happy to be back to normal.”
TWENTY
Friday May 9th
0721 hours
Day Shift
Where the hell are you, you fucking bitch?
He watched the police station from up the street. It’d been easy to find a slightly different location to park every day. At first he’d sat patiently, sipping his tea and pretending to read the newspaper while he watched the parking lot where the officers parked. He’d spotted the bitch cop’s Jeep on the first day, but it hadn’t moved since. He’d even checked on the weekend, but the Jeep sat there the entire time.
Sitting off her house was out of the question. Not after he’d spotted the two idiot cops up there that day. He’d driven by twice since, taking care not to turn onto her side street. Both times, he was able to pick out a surveillance vehicle. The one time he was certain the house was no longer being watched, a thrill shot through his body like raw adrenaline. He’d parked a block away and crept down the dark alley behind her house. Carefully, he entered her back yard. There was no activity inside the house. The same lights were on as before. He peered through the sectioned glass window of her back door, but saw nothing. And her Jeep wasn’t out front, either.
He wanted to smash the small glass panes of her door. He wanted to go inside and find her. If she wasn’t there, he wanted to wait for her. He ached for it, like a tooth throbbing in his head. But he forced himself not to. He had to wait. He had to be patient.
Headlights appeared up the street, then winked out. A gray Chevy Caprice rolled to a stop a few houses away. Two shadowy figures sat in the front seat.
He quickly lowered himself into a crouch. He waited for a moment to see if they’d spotted him, but neither door opened. Once he was sure, he crept back to the alley and headed back to his car.
Now, sitting in his car in the early morning hours, he ground his teeth together in frustration. He was tired of waiting on this fucking bitch. Obviously, they’d been hiding her from him, which enraged him all the more. If she didn’t show in the next couple of days, he was done waiting. He’d find some other worthless snatch, lay the whammo on her and carve her up like a Christmas goose. That was more than his worthless father ever did, so the son of a bitch would have to be proud, wherever he was. He’d have to know who the better man was.
More than that, if he nailed someone else, they might just take their eyes off of their precious little girl cop.
Then he’d take care of her.
He smiled.
“There it is, Katie,” he whispered in the stillness of his car. “If you don’t show by the end of the weekend, next week is going to be very newsworthy.”
He imagined the news lady, that plastic-faced talking head Shawna Matheson, reporting his deeds to the Joe and Mary Six-Pack crowd that made up the majority of River City. He could see her affected look of contrived gravitas. He co
uld hear the emphasis she’d place on key words in her video report to make her audience listen more closely. It would be so slick, so Hollywood, and yet he knew he’d love it.
Maybe after Katie, he should go after that Matheson bitch. That’d make headlines.
That’d make him quite the man.
He’d be the Rainy Day Killer.
Or maybe the River City Killer. That’d be even better. Maybe after he took care of that Matheson snit, he’d give that reporter lady another call. Maybe he’d tell her how he wanted to be referred to. And she’d make sure it happened, or else she’d find out what the whammo was all about.
He realized he was gripping the steering wheel in two fists and forced himself to relax. It was nice to dream, but the difference between him now and him when he was younger was that now he made his dreams become reality. He wasn’t fantasizing about the whammo anymore. He was living it.
The door to the police station opened. Several male officers filed out, along with a female. He peered closely, but it wasn’t the one he was looking for. It was some blonde. He settled back in his seat. The floodgates were opening now. The graveyard officers would be flowing out for the next ten or fifteen minutes. Katie hadn’t been part of that exodus, though. He wasn’t sure if that meant she wasn’t working at all, or maybe she was on a different shift. Still, she wasn’t using her Jeep or staying at her house. They had to be protecting her, no question.
He ground his teeth, rubbed his palms on his slacks and waited.
Five minutes later, his faith was rewarded.
Katie MacLeod exited the glass doors of the police station. The sight of her caused him to take in a sharp breath. Excitement buzzed through his limbs. He leaned forward, almost expecting it to be some other woman that just looked like her.
No. It was her.
He stared at her as she made her way directly toward the Jeep. Her stride had a confident bounce to it that made his stomach burn. Gone was the slouch. Gone was the meek shuffle. She strode along like everything in world was right. Like she was in control of everything around her. Like she was the queen of the whole goddamn world.
“Oh, I’m going to fix that,” he whispered to himself. “I am going to fix that today.”