"He got my number, Mike. How hard could it be to find my address?"
"Not very."
"Did he say he'd be calling you back?"
"He said he'd be watching the newspaper to make sure I kept my word. I started to ask if he'd be calling back, but he hung up. Jesus, I hope he calls again now that the story's out."
"Let me know if he does, okay?"
"And let me know if he calls you back."
"Deal, Mike."
"You got nobody to work with you on this now except me, Joe."
"Don't try to depress me any more than I already am, Mike."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Keough awoke the next morning and sat up in bed. It wasn't his regular day off and he didn't have to be anyplace, and it was an odd feeling. He decided to get up and make himself a big breakfast, something he hardly ever did. He checked his refrigerator and discovered two eggs, four strips of bacon, and a green pepper. In his closet, on the floor, was one lone potato in a bag. He made all of this into an omelette, along with two pieces of white toast and a pot of coffee. All he needed now was a newspaper to read with it. He was headed for the door to check the hall and see if anyone had not picked up their newspaper yet when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Keough? Huff. Bad break, buddy."
"What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about? Your suspension, that's what I'm talking about."
"How the… how the hell did you know about it?"
"Whataya mean? It's in the newspaper."
"What newspaper?"
"The Post."
Keough couldn't believe it.
"How the…"
"Yeah, it's right here in Mike O'Donnell's column."
Keough frowned, then realized that while O'Donnell covered major news stories for the Post, he also did an occasional column, whenever he had something to say.
"What's it say?"
"Don't you have a copy?"
"No, if I had a copy, I wouldn't be asking you what it said."
"It says that you were wrongfully suspended from the Lover Task Force when your opinions on the case radically opposed those of your commanding officer. What opinions is he talking about, Joe?"
"It doesn't matter. Look, Pete, I got some bacon cooking…"
"Makin' yourself a big breakfast, huh? That's good. Listen, I just called to say tough break, but good luck, huh? From the other guys, too."
Oddly touched, Keough said, "Uh, yeah, well, thank all of them for me, huh?"
"Sure thing, partner."
Keough hung up, shaking his head. Apparently, O'Donnell had taken it upon himself to question Keough's suspension in the newspaper, and Keough wasn't sure at the moment what he thought of it.
He went to his front door and opened it. Checking the hall, he saw that everyone had taken their newspaper in. He looked across the hall at Nancy Valentine's door and wondered what shift she was working today.
He was wearing only a robe over his underwear, so he went back inside and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and a sweatshirt, then went to Nancy's door and knocked. When she answered, she looked surprised to see him.
"Joe! I was going to knock on your door in about a minute."
"Hi, Nancy."
She was wearing a blue pullover sweater with stars and moons on it and a pair of black stirrup pants. Her hair was down and her feet were bare.
"I saw the column in the paper."
"Uh, yeah, that's why I'm here, Nancy. I haven't seen it, and I thought"
"Do I smell bacon from your apartment? Are you cooking?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, looking over his shoulder, "it's probably burning…"
"Well, go and save it, and leave your door open. I'll bring the paper over."
"Oh, hey, good, thanks. Uh, come over for coffee, too, why don't you?"
She smiled, apparently pleased at the invitation, and said, "Fine." He went back into his apartment and saved his breakfast, then put out another coffee cup. He had scraped his breakfast onto a plate and was pouring the coffee when Nancy appeared with the newspaper.
"Here it is."
She had taken the time to comb her hair, and she had obviously put on perfume. The kitchen suddenly smelled of vanilla.
She handed him the paper and said, "I thought we were friends, Joe."
"I… what? We are friends, Nancy."
Nancy had been in his apartment exactly three time-she forgot the last time, when she and Cindy had put him to bed-but she walked right to the refrigerator and took out the milk as if she had been doing it forever.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked, sitting opposite him, pouring milk into her coffee.
"It just happened yesterday."
"We were home last night. You didn't have to be here alone."
"Well… I had a lot of work to do."
"Work? But you've been suspended. Why should you be… oh, I think I see. You're going to continue working on this case, aren't you? The serial killer?"
"Nancy," Keough said, making a sudden decision to confide in her-once again. "He called me."
"Who called you?"
"Him, the serial killer."
"Which one?"
He could have kissed her then. She asked, "Which one?" so naturally, demonstrating so completely that she believed in him.
"The original one, the Lover."
"He called you on the phone?"
"Twice," he said, nodding, "once at work and once here."
She put her hand to her mouth.
"My God, here?"
"I didn't get a chance to talk to him here, but he left a message."
"Oh my God."
He lowered his voice and asked, "Would you like to hear it?"
"Oh… no, I couldn't. I mean… no, thank you, but… no… How did he get your number?"
"There are a lot of ways to do it."
He realized that he was eating his breakfast right in front of her.
"Can I get you something?"
"No, I had my breakfast. The coffee is fine-and it's good, by the way."
"Does that surprise you?"
"Truthfully… yes. Can you cook anything else?"
"No," he said, shaking his head, "what you see here is it. Eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, that's it."
"Then you're lucky you have me as a neighbor."
He stared at her and said, "Yes, I am, aren't I?"
He could have sworn she blushed, but she turned her head at that moment.
"What about this man O'Donnell? The one who wrote the column."
"He's a friend of mine. I used to see him a lot when I worked in Manhattan."
"Did you know he was going to do this?"
"No, I didn't," Keough said. "If I had, I might have stopped him."
"Why? Why not let people know what's going on?"
"Well… it would be better for me if I didn't try to show up the department."
"Are you really worried about that?"
"Actually, more and more of late, no. I've been getting real frustrated-even more than usual."
"Then maybe this will be good for you. Maybe somebody will listen to you after this."
"Well, somebody will listen all right. I'll have a departmental hearing about my… altercation with Lieutenant Slovecky."
"That's something else you didn't tell me about."
"Well, I haven't seen you for a few days-or Cindy, for that matter. Oh, hey, did Cindy see this?"
"No, she didn't, and I don't know if I should show it to her. She loves you a lot, Joe. I don't know how she'd react to this."
"She'd react a lot worse if she heard it from someone else. Maybe I should tell her myself."
"I'll leave that up to you. What are you going to do today?"
"Work," he said. "And I've got to talk to O'Donnell about this column."
"What are you going to say?"
"That I appreciate his help but don't think he should give me any more without checking w
ith me first."
"That's probably wise."
"Well, I'll just be going then. Thanks for the coffee, Joe."
"That's okay. Thanks for the paper."
"Sure." She started for the door.
"Nancy?"
"Yes?"
He walked to where she was standing by the door.
"Having you to talk to means a lot to me."
She smiled, touched his face tenderly, and said, "It means a lot to me, too, Joe."
His cheek burned as she went out the door.
He went back into the kitchen, scraped off his plate, and put it and the coffee cups into the sink. He thought briefly of Nancy and smiled. It wasn't as if he didn't have other options in the sex-uh, romance-area. Why hadn't he thought of this before? She was right next door, and she was certainly pretty enough-more than pretty enough-and wasn't he already telling her things he didn't tell anyone else?
Why was it that the girl next door-or in this case, the woman-was always too close to see? Thinking back it was obvious that she was interested in him. When this was all over, if he was even in a position to have a normal relationship with a woman, it would be something for him and Nancy to talk about.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Keough decided to stay in all day and see if the killer called back. While he was waiting, he intended to go over the histories of the victims to see if he couldn't link them up somehow. First, though, he called Mike O'Donnell.
"Joe!" O'Donnell said when he heard Keough's voice. "How'd you like the piece?"
"I don't know whether to kiss you or kick you, Mike."
"Uh… if I have a choice, I'll take the kick."
"I think that'd be my choice, too."
"What's the matter? I thought you'd be pleased that somebody came to your defense."
"I am, Mike, I just wish you'd talked to me about it first."
"Ah, hell, Joe, I knew you wouldn't go along with it beforehand."
"You did, huh?"
"You would have said something about alienating the department, or prejudicing your case…"
"And you don't think that's so?"
"My friend, I think when you took up this particular banner, you knew what you were doing. Throw in the death of your friend, and your belief that he was killed by a cop-a lieutenant, no less-and I think you either cave in or put up a helluva fight and say good-bye to your career, win or lose."
"You've got it all figured out, do you?"
"Look, don't worry," O'Donnell said, "When my book comes out, you'll be a celebrity. I'm gonna play up your part in this big. Maybe there'll even be a movie. Maybe you'll get to play yourself. Maybe"
"Lots of maybes, Mike."
O'Donnell paused, then said, "Look, Joe, I believe in you. I think you're doing the right thing here, and I want to support you. If you wanna kick me for that, I'll bend over for you."
"Ah," Keough said, "if you're going to put it like that, just forget it. You're taking all the fun out of it."
"So what are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to keep working, Mike."
"Did he call you again?"
"No, not yet, but I'm going to stick around and see if he does. I'm also going to go over some files."
"You rascal," O'Donnell said, "you duped the task force files."
"Yes, I did."
"That's great. I can use them for the book."
"You're jumping the gun here, Mike. The case isn't solved yet, you haven't even written the story, and you're thinking about the book already?"
"Hey, I've got an open contract and this is the book I'm gonna do. You're in, pal."
"Thanks, Mike."
"Keep me informed, huh?"
"You do the same."
Keough hung up, wondering if his career as a police officer was indeed over. If that was what happened, if he lost the job, it would be no one's fault but his own, and yet he didn't think he would regret it. He could still see that first girl, Mindy Carradine, lying at the base of the steps at Erasmus High School, the promise of her future gone, taken from her by some psycho who happened to idolize a sick serial killer and wanted to emulate him. If he could have convinced someone then that there were two killers, none of the rest of this would have happened. Hell, Len Swann might even still be alive.
But Swann wasn't alive, and two other girls had been killed in Brooklyn. Keough wouldn't be able to sleep or live with himself if he allowed the Brooklyn killer to go free.
Of course, he could just sit back and wait for the Lover to be caught. At that time, the copycat killer might stop-but then again, he might not.
Wouldn't that be a kick in the head? If Slovecky and the task force caught the Lover and put him away, and while he was in jail another girl was killed in Brooklyn? What would the brass say then? How would Slovecky explain that to the chief of detectives?
There was a time in every cop's life when the job was the most important thing in the world.
For Det. Joe Keough, that time had passed.
It was time for justice to move to the forefront, and that meant finding Len Swann's killer and proving to everyone that there was not only one serial killer at large in New York but two.
***
Keough had all of the girls' histories spread over his desk. Under normal circumstances, a single individual had no chance in the world of catching a serial killer. In this case, however, most of the work had already been done by the task force detectives, and all of the VICAP and psychological-profile information was all in place.
Keough didn't put much faith in the psychological profile, though. On the one' hand, he thought the Lover was too smart to be caught that way, and the second killer might just be too dumb. After all, he was trying to copy his hero's methods, and yet had bungled at every turn, from the color of the rose, to the thorns to the ages of the girls. If anyone could be bothered to look, the copycat was stamping his own killings as individual.
The dead women-the Manhattan victims-were all college-educated, but they had not all gone to the same school. There had to be another way, then, for them to have come in contact with the same man.
At that moment, the phone rang. He stared at it as it rang a second time. On the third ring, he knew that it was him.
He picked the phone up in the middle of the fourth ring.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all," Keough said. "I'm just doing some work at home."
"On me?"
It was the same cultured, educated voice he had spoken to the first time. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to keep his voice level and calm.
"What else?"
"I read about you in the newspaper today." The killer chuckled. "I never used to read the Post. Its coverage of current events has always been banal, at best."
"I read the sports page."
"Ah, yes," the man said, "I have been given to understand that their coverage of sports is… adequate. I myself am not interested in sports."
"What are you interested in?"
"Justice."
Now it was Keough's turn to laugh.
"What is funny?"
"I was just sitting here thinking about the same thing."
"Were you?"
"Yes, I was."
"Amazing. Did you get my message?"
"I did."
"And of course you read the story."
"Yes."
"And now you are in no position to help me."
"Helping you was never my intention."
"Granted. You expected my statement to vindicate you somehow?"
"It was a possibility."
"And now you have been suspended… because of me?"
"You get only partial credit."
"Are you an educated man, Detective Keough? I can still call you Detective, can't I?"
"Yes, technically, and to answer your question, I'm nowhere near as educated as you. I was educated on the streets, and then at the Police Academy."
"Ah yes, the vaunted stree
t smarts that people talk about. I've never felt that to be the equal of a formal education."
"Is that what you tell your students?"
There was a long silence, during which Keough started to think the man had hung up.
"We will get nowhere, Detective, if you continue to try to trick me."
There was enough in the man's voice to convince Keough that he had struck a nerve.
"Are we going anywhere?"
"Actually, no."
"Then why did you call me?"
"Truthfully?"
"I don't get much of that in my business. It would be a refreshing change."
The killer chuckled again.
"I called because I enjoyed our talk the other day. Indeed, I am enjoying this one even more. You know, I haven't had anyone to talk to about… what I've been doing."
"And you want to talk to me about it?"
"Well, why not?"
"And why would I want to talk to you about it?"
"Who knows? I might let something slip during our conversation… something that would help you catch me."
"There's not much danger of that," Keough said, "you slipping up or me catching you."
"And why is that?"
"Well, first you're too smart to slip, and second, I've been suspended, so I don't have the facilities to properly"
"Oh nonsense," the killer said, interrupting him. "I have been following the efforts of your task force to catch me, you know. Grossly ineffective."
"Well, you can't blame me for that. The day we talked was the beginning of my second week."
"Ah, so they have not had the benefit of your expertise to call upon. Too bad for them. I would wager quite a bit that you would catch me before they did."
"I'm flattered."
"Truly, I am only basing my opinion on our conversations, but they have had adequate time to make some headway, haven't they? What's been holding them up?"
"Their leadership."
"Ah, this superior officer you scuffled with?"
"Yes."
"A bad sort?"
"The worst."
"Will no one listen to what you have to say?"
"No."
"Then you and I are the only ones who know that I did not kill those Brooklyn girls?"
"I guess so."
"That is, unless the story in the New York Post does some good." He said 'New York Post' with the disdain of a New York Times reader.
Alone with the Dead Page 17