The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  How did you reason with a man, a profiler who just did not give a shit? Didn’t care about authority, consequences, or even feelings? Before she could ponder such things, a practical concern rose.

  Wait a minute. How was Kent going to stay on Rebecca’s tail without any transportation? Once outside, she realized she needn’t have worried. There Kent was, with her keys, driving off in her car.

  “Of course,” Nicole said to no one in particular. Why did this situation feel so very familiar? Why did she let Kent bend her will every single time? Why did she yield each and every time?

  Not up for an internal debate of that magnitude, Nicole turned to the man she always did in these situations. Picking up her phone, she hit speed dial number one. Torres.

  Was she imagining things or did she hear his phone’s distinct Gipsy Kings ring? Cautiously, she walked around the corner to find her partner leaning against a railing.

  “I figured you might need a ride.”

  Nicole knew she should feel relieved, but instead she felt irritated. It was bad enough to be abandoned by Kent, but to have Torres witness it and rub it in?

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Enough.”

  Her cheeks flushed red. Ruben knew she had agreed to lie for Kent as well. This day could not get much worse. “So you are going to tell Rebecca that she may be a target?”

  “No,” Torres said as he walked toward his car.

  Not certain if she heard him right, she asked, “Why not?”

  “Because Kent, for all his glory, is wrong this time.” Her face must have registered her shock because her partner hurried on. “I know, impossible to imagine, but true.”

  “Because?”

  Torres unlocked the passenger’s door as he explained, “One of the women from Kent’s DMV search, a Nancy Halfer, fits the victim profile, has had an abortion, and complained of a Peeping Tom last week.”

  “But that could have been—”

  “We checked. Kent was busy getting frisked at the Krispy Kreme at the time she reported the lurker.”

  As pissed off at Kent as Nicole might be, a part of her still rose to the profiler’s defense. Kent might be an asshole, but an asshole who was seldom wrong when it came to the criminal mind.

  “That’s it? A scared brunette that Kent rejected as a victim is your best lead?”

  Her partner handed her a folder. “And these.”

  Ruben urged her into the car as he went around to the driver’s side. Nicole sat down but did not shut the door as she flipped through the large stack of security camera photos.

  They all showed a young man, mainly from the back or other equally useless angles.

  “And who’s this?”

  Torres shut his door. Suddenly the car seemed too small. She knew she should shut her door but kept it open. Nicole needed to feel that she could leave if she wanted to.

  Ruben laid several pictures out on the dash. “I combed through every frame of footage from the store that the previous victims had frequented.”

  Nicole was in no mood for a presentation. “And this was the best you could come up with?”

  “He obviously knew where the cameras were.”

  “Or it’s not the same guy,” she asserted.

  Her partner’s tone sharpened. “True, until I cross-checked the photos against the list Kent kicked out of the DMV’s computer.” Tapping each photo in turn, Ruben continued, “These were taken this week…at the pharmacy, farmers market, and gym that Nancy, my choice as Plain Jane’s next victim, frequents.”

  Nicole had to admit the man’s presence seemed like more than just a coincidence. Just as she vacillated, Kent drove past them in her car.

  A fact that did not escape her partner. “Harbinger has made his decision. You need to make yours.”

  Nicole watched her taillights retreat into the distance. Kent had not even looked back. While Ruben had shown that even when he was pissed, he still had her back. In a moment of decision, Nicole closed the car door.

  Torres nodded. He must have sensed the effort it took for her to cut Kent loose like that. He turned the discussion back to business. “Nancy has at least three teams of surveillance, 24/7.”

  “You’ve told her then, the danger she’s in?”

  Ruben gave her an “of course” look. “You joining me?”

  She nodded, then remembered there were a few problems that Kent had left her. “We just have a few errands to run first…” She opened her purse and pulled out Ruben’s badge. “And here.”

  Ruben looked quizzical. “Where did you find this?”

  Nicole could not look him in the eye.

  His face went from relief to pissed in 1.6 seconds flat. “Damn it all to hell! He can’t—”

  “Ruben, please.”

  “No, damn it. He has got—”

  Nicole couldn’t take this right now. She was still too raw from the conversation with Rebecca. Too raw from Kent doing what Kent always did. So Nicole did the only thing she could to stop Ruben from continuing his rant against the profiler. She grabbed his hand. Like she used to. Back before Kent reinserted himself into their lives.

  “I’m going with you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “But—”

  There would be no “buts.” Not today. “Turn him in, and I’ll find another ride.”

  Her partner fumed, but ultimately turned over the ignition. Nicole leaned back in the seat. Relieved that Kent was no longer the topic of conversation.

  If the profiler wanted to be on his own, then he was going to get his wish.

  CHAPTER 51

  Kent lay back in Nicole’s bucket seat, looking like he was taking a late afternoon siesta, only with one eye peeled toward the parking regulations office.

  Sure enough, Rebecca pulled her meter maid cart into the parking lot within seconds. The brunette was punctual. She gathered her things and went inside the angular building.

  Unlike the morgue, someone had tried to get cute with the architecture of this building. What those snobs in the magazines called “a riddle for the eye.” Kent called it by another name…“ugly-ass office complex.”

  Probably so ugly that actual businesses did not want to pay the rent, so most of the occupants were spillover government departments. Public works, Assemblyman Offices, Oversight committees. You know, crap like that.

  The profiler knew all this because he had already done his homework. Rebecca’s office was on the second floor, west side. That’s why he had chosen this parking spot.

  With winter coming on, everyone’s blinds were open to soak in the last bit of sunlight before dusk. He should be able to watch as she synched her Palm Pilot with the county’s databank, uploading all of her ticket information in a matter of minutes. Kent guessed she would then change in the restroom and head home in street clothes.

  He made a mental note that if the surveillance lasted longer than a few days, he would have cameras placed in the changing room. Or more importantly, scan for other cameras.

  Although he seriously doubted he would have the time. If his own apprehension was any indication, the killer must be about bursting. His need for a womb growing with each second. Her womb. Rebecca’s womb.

  A snake of doubt slithered in the back of his mind. What if he was wrong? What if she was not Plain Jane’s next victim? What if Plain Jane stalked another woman?

  Just as quickly the mongoose of arrogance snatched that doubting snake and shook it violently. His job allowed no room for error. No room for doubt. Whatever intangible quality Kent could not quite name but recognized instantly, Rebecca had in spades. Even more than Joann. The killer could not resist this one. Not with his frustrated desire demanding release.

  As she entered her office, Kent abandoned his napping ruse and pulled out Nicole’s binoculars. He watched Rebecca greet her co-workers. She checked her messages. She logged on to her computer. If Kent was not mistaken she checked her personal e-mail before starting her data transmission.


  Interesting. That was the behavior of a woman hoping a man had written. Was she dating? He would have Nicole pull her LUDs, both from her cell and home phones, and put up a tap on her e-mail.

  Right on Kent’s timetable, Rebecca grabbed a bag from under her desk and headed toward the restroom. So she was going to change. Kent had that sense about her. Rebecca would feel self-conscious walking around town in her uniform if she was off duty. She seemed more the wallflower type.

  Exactly the killer’s type. Shy. A little socially awkward. That’s the only way Nicole’s bumbling attempt at undercover work could have been successful.

  Unbidden, a grin came to his lips. The detective had done a belly flop her first time out, yet had somehow managed to pull it off. What she lacked in experience she made up for in sheer guts. She’d not been afraid to screw up, and that’s what had made her successful.

  Nicole had a gift he could never claim. The ability to accept the fact that she might be wrong. That she might make a mistake. She was not afraid of the possibility of failure.

  Whereas Kent’s stomach torqued on itself at such a thought. He was gambling with Rebecca’s life. Exactly one day after he had gambled with Joann’s life and lost.

  In his world, being wrong or failing did not involve embarrassment, it involved death.

  An image of Joann’s throat slit and blood gushing from her abdomen filled his mind. The taste of her iron on his lips. The smell of death on his clothes. He forced it out. He couldn’t let that happen.

  He would not let that happen to Rebecca.

  Precisely on time, the meter maid walked out of the building, sporting loose-fitting jeans and a nondescript knit pull-over. She did not shop at the mall or high-end retail. More likely Marshalls. Maybe Target. Not Kmart or Wal-Mart, though. She had a little bit more ego invested in her presentation than that.

  Kent’s brain kicked into overdrive. It was like a T1 trunk line had opened. Information flowed in so quickly that he did not have time to process it. He just let all the sensory input wash over and into him. Every second he spent watching this woman gave him hours of information to sort through. Her stride told him so much. Her Chevy Cavalier told him she lived within her means.

  Each moment, each and every movement, reinforced his original gut feeling. She was the one. Even more than he had sensed it about Joann, Kent knew. Deep in his marrow.

  Rebecca was the one.

  CHAPTER 52

  Nicole walked out of the elevator and searched the hallway for Apartment 302. Ruben had been reluctant, but she had insisted they run a few errands before they joined the protection detail at Nancy’s house.

  She wanted to be rid of everything Kent. Nicole might be willing to put her career on the line for the profiler, but the man himself? Him, she wanted out of her life. And this was her first step toward such an independence. Returning the items Kent “borrowed” over the last few days would wash her hands of his eccentricities.

  In front of the correct apartment, Nicole knocked, but no answer. She knocked again. Still no answer.

  Nicole announced, “It’s Detective Usher.”

  The door cracked open, the chain still on. An eye darted, checking the entire hallway from its narrow vantage point.

  “Um… Joshua?” Nicole asked, not sure if it was the morgue attendant behind the door or not. “Work said you should be home.”

  The young man’s voice squeaked as he spoke. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I called in sick, but hey, man, if they’re going to send the fuzz to check up on me, I’ll go in. No prob.”

  “No, no,” she reassured him. “It’s about last night.”

  “I didn’t see anything!” His words came out in a slurred flood. “Or post it on YouTube!”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” He opened the door a little wider, but didn’t remove the chain. “Sorry. What about last night?”

  Reluctantly, Nicole pulled the iPod out of her pocket. She had already returned Dolores’s cell phone. This little ritual never got any less embarrassing, though.

  “Somehow this got mixed in with my things.”

  The door slammed in her face.

  Did Joshua somehow know the truth? Did he know that Kent lifted the item last night? Just as quickly the door opened and Joshua came out into the hall.

  “I was going three shades of Tupac crazy trying to find this thing!” To prove it, he kissed the screen.

  Nicole could not help but smile at the young man’s unbridled enthusiasm. “No prob.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  CHAPTER 53

  Joshua suddenly realized he had left the door ajar behind him. He pulled the door as closed as he could. He had to ditch the detective, like now.

  Usher smiled, somewhat sadly. “See you later.”

  “Yeah, later.” Could he sound any more unconvincing? Joshua tried to slow his pulse. Slow his breathing. This chick didn’t make detective by affirmative action. She was smart and perceptive.

  Luckily Usher turned and walked toward the elevator. He stood out in the hallway like some kind of dope, but he couldn’t risk her catching even a glance inside his apartment.

  The detective pushed the button for the elevator then looked quizzical, the question obvious on her face. Why was he still standing there?

  But what was he supposed to do? Desperate, he gave a little wave, like he wanted to watch her as long as he could. Which under normal circumstances might have been true, but today, well, he was just desperate.

  After possibly the longest wait in recorded history, the elevator finally dinged. With an awkward half-wave, Nicole disappeared into the elevator. Collapsing backward, Joshua leaned against his door. That was a narrow escape. Too narrow for his bladder.

  Checking the hall both ways as if he were getting ready to cross a New York street at rush hour, Joshua opened his door, slid his slim frame inside, then slammed it shut.

  Inside his apartment, he clenched his eyes closed, and panted a few more breaths as he listened for any telltale noise that Usher or anyone else was coming down the hallway.

  Satisfied that his getaway was complete, Joshua opened his eyes. What he saw, Usher never would have understood. His walls were lined with newspaper articles about Plain Jane. Each one a maze of highlighted text and cutouts.

  Well, except for the wall that led to the bedroom. That one had his wall of honor. A Sigourney Weaver poster from Aliens. A Buffy wall scroll. And a pink Power Ranger just to keep things real.

  But the thing he might have had to sedate the detective for was sitting on the center shelf above his television. His pride and joy. But in retrospect, maybe he should not have put it in quite such plain sight. Most would not have understood. Not like the way he understood.

  Cautiously, Joshua removed the item from the shelf and ever so gently stroked the glass jar. What it contained was beyond precious, beyond beautiful. It was perfection.

  A perfect uterus.

  CHAPTER 54

  Kent had already parked Nicole’s car two blocks away from Rebecca’s house. The giant exempt “E” on the license plate was sure to raise some eyebrows if he parked too near the meter maid’s home.

  So he’d parked far enough away, then walked his way in, setting up in the neighbor’s hydrangea bushes. Luckily they were less prickly than the morgue’s azaleas.

  From his vantage point, he watched Rebecca drive into her driveway, then unload the groceries she had bought at the store all the way across town.

  A health food nut.

  Kent should have known. It was probably another reason he and the killer were drawn together. The meter maid knew how to take care of herself. Arms loaded down with cloth reusable grocery bags, Rebecca climbed the steps to her house.

  “Time to get up close and personal,” Kent mumbled as he pulled out of the shadows, making his way down the street at a leisurely pace. There was no need to hurry as the meter maid put her key in the lock.

  Abruptly t
hough, she stopped and set down her environmentally friendly bags. Without missing a step, Kent continued walking past her house as Rebecca headed toward the backyard.

  What in the hell had made her change direction and abandon her task?

  There was no way he could double back without arousing suspicion, so he continued to the corner, then turned right. As soon as he was sure there were no witnesses, Kent hopped a fence, raced across the yard, and hopped another fence diagonally from Rebecca’s house.

  He didn’t even have to think about his route. Once the meter maid was in line at the grocery store, with enough frozen ice cream mint sandwiches to feed a battalion of vegetarian tree huggers, Kent sped over to Rebecca’s house and cased the neighborhood. He knew which yards had dogs. Which had children. Which had the nosy older neighbor with his hearing aid and binoculars.

  So, without hesitation, Kent followed the hedge line to where the two yards intersected.

  Wedged between a shrub and the fence, he found a knothole and peeked through. He couldn’t see Rebecca, but Kent heard strange sounds emanating from the alleyway.

  Was it a struggle? Was that a strangled cry?

  Damn it, he couldn’t take the chance. Yesterday he might have, but after Joann’s crimson makeover? Not again.

  Kent agilely scaled the last fence, landing lightly on the uneven pavement. Another crash, and he took a tentative step down the alley.

  If he were late again…

  If the killer had already struck…

  Bolder, Kent broke into a trot as a strange rumbling came from around the house. Nearly at a run, he skidded to a halt just as Rebecca backed into the alley, dragging a garbage can with a broken wheel down the alley.

  Scrambling for cover, Kent landed in some pyracantha bushes. Luckily, Rebecca was so intent on the unruly trashcan that she didn’t seem to notice his presence as she stumbled past his hiding place.

  He held his breath as the can nearly tipped over. Finally, Rebecca got the wheels aligned and continued down the sloped alley toward the curb. With his heart somewhere between his chest and his throat, Kent watched her finish with the trash, then head to the front door again.