by Aimée Thurlo
“You can’t do that,” he said, glancing toward the front door.
“You’re wearing a gun and that monster of a dog is going to scare off my customers.”
“Don’t worry,” Laura said crisply. “We’ll just explain that we’re waiting for a warrant to search your records.”
The man’s jaw dropped.
“We’re after a man who has killed at least three people,” Travis said. “If you cooperate, you’d be helping the entire community.”
It was Travis’s version of good cop, and although it was the right approach, Laura swallowed her disappointment. She’d wanted old man Brown to feel uncomfortable for a while longer.
“All right. Come on,” Brown grumbled, then waved them to the back. “I’m always willing to help the police.”
He unlocked a door and they entered a small room—actually a closet, equipped with three screens and a large digital recorder. “If you give me an idea what day and time you’re searching for, it’ll help. I automatically back up the hard drive to disks, but each one contains a week’s worth of images. I keep a thirty-day record, too, before recycling.”
Travis gave him the needed information. Moments later, they began viewing the footage, Crusher lying down next to them. Minutes ticked by slowly while Martin went back and forth to the counter to greet his customers.
After a half hour, Travis stretched. Seeing that he was getting tired, Laura placed her hand on his shoulder. “Take a break. Brown has a coffeepot in the corner. Buy two cups, and make mine black, no sugar.”
“I’ll get you some, on the house,” Brown said as he stepped back into the room.
Travis and Laura switched chairs and she focused on the screen before her. When Brown came back with coffee a few minutes later, Laura reached into her wallet and insisted on paying for both cups.
After Brown left, Travis’s gaze remained on her. “I know what’s bugging you, but you need to move on.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“No, I get exactly where you’re coming from. You want to be treated with the respect you deserve, yet here, people only see who you used to be,” he said. “But you know how far you’ve come. They’re the ones with the problem. They deserve nothing more than, maybe, your sympathy.”
Laura considered what he said. “You’re right. Thanks.”
Her gaze shifted back to the screen and she focused on the man coming up to the counter. He was wearing a baseball cap that obscured most of his face. But it was the way he walked and held himself that caught her attention.
“This guy just bought one of those disposable phones,” she said, pointing him out to Travis. “Now look at the way he’s standing, holding it in his hand so it presents a clear image to the camera. He wants us to see it—yet his face is down so we can’t make out his features.”
“Yeah, he’s deliberately positioning himself and what he’s holding. Interesting.”
They watched him pay—in cash—and walk just under the camera so all they could see was the top of his hat. Then he stopped and brought his hand up. They could see he was holding something the size of a business card. With deliberate precision, he directed it up at the camera. After a moment he brought his hand down again and disappeared from view.
“There was some writing on what he held up to the camera, but I couldn’t make it out,” she said. “Could you?”
“Run it back,” he said.
She did, but although they both tried, the image was too blurry.
“We need to give this to our lab techs. They’ll be able to enhance and enlarge the image. If anyone can get that section cleared up, it’s them.”
Brown came in. Seeing them both looking intently at the frozen image, he said, “I take it you found what you wanted?”
“Yes, but we’ll need to take this disk back to the lab with us and make a copy,” Travis said.
They ran the recording back for Brown, but the proprietor didn’t recall the sale.
“Is that the guy—the killer?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, added, “Look, if you don’t tell anyone outside the department that he came into my store, you can keep the disk forever.”
Travis gave him a receipt for it, then placed the disk into a plastic bag and labeled the outside with his name, date and location. “We appreciate your cooperation.”
“Nicely done,” Laura said as they reached the SUV. “Of course, I would have added, ‘you old cockroach.’”
He laughed.
As Travis drove down the road, he noticed that Laura had lapsed into a long silence.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked at long last.
“I need to get inside our suspect’s head, but every time I’ve tried, I’ve come up short.”
“Giving in to frustration is only going to throw us off our game. Don’t do it.”
“I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want to see this guy behind bars.”
“I know.”
Travis’s steady gaze was tempered with understanding and gentleness. That combination of strength and tenderness defined him. It was why she’d fallen in love with him. What they had was so right. But today, with all its beauty and imperfections, was all they could really share.
She pushed back the sadness that crept into her thoughts. She wouldn’t think about tomorrow. She’d take things one moment at a time.
THEY WERE BACK at the station, sitting by Travis’s computer when they were called to the lab. Hoping for a break in the case, they left Crusher on his pad beneath the desk and went down the long hall. The lab looked more like a mad scientist’s storeroom than the fancy sets TV crime shows usually had.
The tech, wearing a white lab coat, waved at the screen before him. “I’ve cleared it up as much as I can. It still isn’t sharp but at least you can read it.”
Laura stared at the screen, transfixed by the message there. “That piece of dirt.”
“He’s playing you,” Travis said as he, too, saw the note that had been intended for them. It was simple and to the point. “Never thought you’d get this far,” it read.
“That,” Laura said, pointing to the screen, “is his way of saying we’re incompetent.”
“He’s underestimating us. That arrogance will be his downfall.”
“Let’s take a walk,” Laura said. “I need to cool off.”
After thanking the lab tech, they walked slowly down the hall.
“This isn’t about going for a stroll. You have something to say you don’t want anyone to overhear. Am I right?” Travis asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got an idea. It’s complicated, and we’ll need backup from Koval and others, but if we can pull all the details together I’m sure it’ll work.”
As they passed the bullpen, they saw only one other detective, who was currently busy on the phone.
Travis glanced at Laura and she nodded, leading the way back to his desk.
Crusher looked up, sighed, then lay back down, judging rightly that they were staying awhile longer.
“I want to go back to my original plan. Let’s use what we already know about this guy against him,” she said. “He likes young female athletes and he’s got a special interest in me. I say we combine those elements and see if we can draw him out into the open.”
“What exactly do you have in mind?” Travis asked her.
“This is the season for summer softball leagues. I saw the sign-up sheet and schedules on the bulletin board in the hall. I need to find a team that doesn’t already have a full roster—one of the less competitive levels—and see if they’ll let me play. Then we’ll do our best to make sure he finds out.”
“Tryouts are over, and most of the teams have waiting lists because there are lots of people who want to play. But there’s one I know about that could probably accommodate a new player.” Travis stopped speaking as Lester Crosley, their computer tech, came in, set down a tool bag and began to check the network connection at an unoccupied work station.
Lester
gave Laura a big smile, nodded to Travis, then focused back on his work.
“You could play with the Ad Hoc League,” Travis said, lowering his voice.
Lester glanced up at Laura. “Sorry to be eavesdropping, but I’ve heard about the Ad Hoc League on the radio sports channel. It’s made up of kids and adults who just want to play. They keep expanding every time they have enough players to form a team. No one’s ever turned away. They play in street clothes, mostly. The league sponsor has remained anonymous, so his representative runs things. I hear there’s never been a shortage of volunteer coaches or free equipment, even T-shirts and caps.”
“You’re right. It’s just regular folks,” Travis said. “Everyone has fun. That’s what it’s all about.”
Laura gave Lester a quick half smile, then looked back at Travis. “That sounds like a great idea, partner. It’ll give me something to do on my off-hours,” Laura said, knowing that Lester had only heard the very last of their conversation. “What do you say we step out and grab some breakfast? I’m starving.”
As they left the station, Travis gave her a long, speculative look. “So what’s the next part of your plan?”
“First, answer a question for me,” she said. “I heard something in your voice when you spoke about the Ad Hoc League. Back in high school you’d sit on the bleachers and watch every after-school game you could. You couldn’t play because you couldn’t risk calling attention to yourself, but you loved softball.” She paused and met his gaze. “You’re the sponsor of that league, aren’t you? You make sure no one is turned away.”
Travis smiled, cocking his head toward the door. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat. Then you can tell me the rest of your plan.”
“Nice dodge,” she answered, smiling.
They went across the street to a small café, and, while Travis stood outside with Crusher, Laura picked up two breakfast burritos to go and two slices of Texas toast for their canine partner. Then, sitting outside on one of the benches facing a small fountain, they ate, enjoying the cool morning air.
“So what’s your plan?” Travis asked. Crusher had already wolfed down his bread and now he was eyeing Travis’s burrito.
“You first,” she answered with a tiny smile. “You never answered my question about the sponsorship.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Seeing her shake her head, he expelled his breath in a hiss. “All right. Here’s the story, but I’d like you to keep it to yourself. Not even my brother knows.”
Seeing her nod, he began, “You remember right. Back in high school my brother and I didn’t go out for sports because they required parent signatures, physicals, rides home after school and fees. But we played pickup games during lunch and in P.E., and I’d often watch the teams practice after school. I would have traded anything to play.”
In a faraway voice, he continued, “Now that I’ve got a job and the means, I decided to get involved in something that makes a difference. I created a league that takes anyone, and everyone gets to play. The schedule is flexible and the coaches are volunteers from the community, mostly teachers.”
“That’s a terrific idea. Has it been difficult to keep your identity a secret?” she asked.
“No, I just say that I’m working for the sponsor so he can remain anonymous,” he said with a grin. “The league pretty much runs itself anyway. But getting back on track,” he added, uncomfortable with her praise, “we have three games coming up Friday night. I’m assistant coach for one of the six teams, which is comprised of women in the community who failed to get on a regular city-league team. I can put you out in right field where there’s less action. You can wear a small earpiece to stay in contact with the other officers and not have to worry so much about the game.”
“Unless a ball comes my way,” she said.
“That’s the beauty of it. Most of the players bat right-handed and they tend to hit the ball to center or left field. There aren’t any power hitters either, so if a ball does go out of the infield in your direction, it’ll probably be a slow-rolling grounder.”
“Sounds good to me. Now how do we let the word out? We want our suspect to get the news.”
“You won’t have to do anything. He’s into sports, so he’s bound to at least have heard about this charity game. It’s a special event certain to get a big turnout. Our team’s opponent is the local high school’s faculty women’s team. Admission is a nonperishable food item for a local homeless shelter.”
“Then we’re good to go. I’ll dress in tight jeans and pick a T-shirt that’s bound to catch his attention.”
“There should be a pretty big crowd, so one false move and things could go really wrong,” he said. “We won’t be able to use our weapons, at least not easily.”
“Yeah, but in an environment with so many potential witnesses, he’s less likely to do anything overt. He also won’t be able to wear a mask, so this is an ideal opportunity to draw him out and set him up. We can do it. All we need is a detailed plan,” she said.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes and he didn’t answer right away.
“There’s no safe way to go after a killer,” she said, knowing he was having second thoughts. “One thing working in our favor is that he won’t be able to come after me until the game’s over. He isn’t a sniper. He wants a victim he can control, then destroy.”
“All right,” Travis said at last. “Let’s go talk to the chief and see if we can set this up.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Everyone was in place.
Travis stood on the sidelines of the ballpark with his team, the Braves. Koval sat on the old metal bleachers on the opposite side, behind the home team’s bench, shooting video with a small digital camera. The Braves’s coach, Jane Butler, had been briefed and was eager to cooperate with the police.
Crusher was the team’s mascot and good-luck charm. He was sitting beside the bench on a leash being held by the team’s equipment manager, a girl with Down syndrome.
While Jane performed her coaching duties, Travis pretended to document the event with a video camera. Since a lot of family and friends were also filming the event, he and Koval blended right in.
Laura sat on the team bench with the other women, who were so excited about playing before such a large crowd they didn’t notice or care that she was a recent addition. Everyone would get their chance at bat. Laura had practiced with them earlier and had grown to like the friendly, low-pressure group of ladies, whose ages ranged from nineteen to sixty.
Considered the visiting team for this charity event, the Braves were first at bat. Their leadoff batter was walked. The next three players either struck or grounded out, so they took the field before Laura, who was hitting eighth, came up to bat.
When she trotted out to right field, glove in hand, she felt especially self-conscious. She’d poured herself into tight jeans and a spandex T-shirt, hoping to attract the killer’s attention.
Hearing a wolf whistle from someone in the bleachers, she turned to look. It had come from a man in his mid-forties, but one look at his large belly told her he wasn’t their suspect.
At least she was getting attention. Hopefully, their man was at the game and would single her out.
“You’re getting some attention,” Travis said gruffly into her earpiece, his first comment since she’d taken the field.
“Did you get a look at the guy?”
“Wrong age and body type. But our guy’s out here. I can feel him.”
“Let’s hope he makes a move,” Travis said.
“You think he suspects a trap?” she asked, thumping her right fist into her glove like she’d seen some of the other players do.
“I’m an assistant coach. I do this every summer, and this is a scheduled event. If he’s really a local, my being here won’t be unexpected.”
The faculty women weren’t that much better at softball than the Braves, but they had two or three players with some talent—probably P.E.
instructors—and they managed to score three runs right away. Only one ball was hit to Laura’s side of the field, but it was a foul, and all she had to do was pick up the slow roller and throw it back to the first baseman. Her throw was weak but at least it went in the right direction. The guy with the belly cheered at her throw.
“Looks like you’ve got a fan,” Travis commented. “In that outfit, make that two. You look hot.”
His words sent a tingle all through her. The fire between them never went away.
“Stay focused.”
“Yeah,” she said too quickly to be convincing. “Have you spotted anyone who fits our suspect’s description yet?”
“A few, but they’re with other people and our man works alone,” Travis said. “Patience.”
The game continued. Laura struck out on three straight pitches her first time at bat, but it could have been worse. At least she ticked the ball on the third strike.
As they jogged out onto the field during the fourth inning, Laura glanced over at her biggest fan. Someone was now sitting beside him. The new guy looked familiar, somehow, but she couldn’t place him.
She called Travis, making sure not to look toward the bleachers again. “You know the guy with the belly who has been cheering me on?” she asked, glancing down so no one would see her talking.
“Yeah, what about him?”
“There’s a sturdy-looking, brown-haired guy wearing a black baseball cap and sunglasses sitting next to him now. Something about him looks familiar to me, but I can’t make out his face from this far away. Check him out, will you?”
“On it.”
Laura stared toward home plate, not wanting to give herself away. Out of the corner of her eye saw Travis head toward the gate on the chain-link fence.
“He’s heading for the exit. Close in,” Travis called.
“Time-out!” Laura yelled. She raced toward the right-field foul line. Determined to keep the man in the baseball cap in sight, she jumped over the fence, off the playing field now.
Seeing her running toward him, the guy in the black cap swerved around the back of the bleachers.