by Robin Mahle
“I don’t know how all this ties into the fact that this poor woman died at the hands of someone either trying to emulate the Highway Hunter or was a party to the other murders, but what I do know is that someone else is dead now and we’d better figure out who gave this shit to Marc Aguilar. Shalot’s going to take the blame for the Brown murder. What I want to know from you, Agent Scarborough, is will the FBI tell the public there’s more than one killer out there?”
Nick shifted to his feet. “Myers, Jameson, and I need to get to Phoenix. The reports are starting to filter in from the other medical examiners. We’ll figure out pretty quickly how many we could be dealing if we get any hits in the system. As far as Shalot goes, we’ve got too much on him now to consider anything other than what that evidence shows. He’s in custody and, as far as I am concerned, Katie, you are safe from him. Your reporter-friend has uncovered interesting information, but nothing more.” He began to step toward the door. “That being said, the cooperation and help of the San Diego Police Department is critical to this investigation. If you, Detective Avery, or Detective Gibbons believe we have not reached the bottom of Ms. Brown’s death, then I will leave it in your very capable hands to continue on. I’ll be in contact once I’ve had a chance to see what we’ve got in Phoenix.”
Katie looked to Marshall as the door clicked behind her. Agent Scarborough was gone and the two were now alone.
“I was out of line earlier, Kate, and for that I am very sorry.” Marshall leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. “Scarborough was right. He said to me earlier that you weren’t the same person he met last year. Not the same as the quiet girl who walked into that meeting when I first met you, absorbing information, learning. It took some time for me to see it. All you needed was a push in the right direction.
“Kate, you are an extraordinary woman. I’ve always known that, even if I haven’t always shown it. It has proven difficult for me at times, letting you go; letting you do the job. Please know that it was not for lack of confidence, but my own insecurities. My fear of losing what has become the single most important thing in my life. I do fear for your safety. I do fear that you will be hurt. I tried to instill in you the ability to let go of the past and I have not followed my own advice. And for that, I am truly sorry.”
It was those words that she longed to hear from him. Even now, almost eighteen months into their relationship, he rarely spoke of himself, or his feelings. He had been so guarded for so long, she figured he simply didn’t know how to bare himself to anyone.
“I’m not going anywhere, Marshall. Nick thinks he sees something in me and that makes me feel very proud of how far I have come, but he doesn’t know me, not the way you do. He wasn’t there after it all happened. You were the one who wiped away the tears at night months later. You were the one who held me close when the pain became unbearable. You were the one who made me see who I really was.”
“But you could be a great…” Marshall began.
She raised her index finger to her lips, respectfully requesting that he let her continue. “What makes me a great anything—is you.” Katie turned away for a moment when the stinging in her eyes threatened to spill tears. “I had hoped, in return, to someday give you all you have ever wanted. A happy life full of love and children.” She returned to him, catching the briefest glimpse of regret that had crossed his face. He could hide behind his wall better than anyone she knew, but that tiny crack revealed his true feelings.
“I have no doubt that you and I will have everything we’ve ever wanted and we will be happy,” Marshall replied.
Her thin smile conveyed what he wanted to see; her acceptance of the hand they’d been dealt, but she was almost as good a master of concealment as he was. “Nick’s gonna call us after he makes it to the scene. I think we need to find out who Shalot hangs around with in the meantime.”
Marshall appeared to take notice of the shift in conversation. “We also need to get Aguilar to tell us who he’s been talking to. Shalot’s got to have some friends at the school as well. There might be something there. I’ll do some digging around on the people named in this file. Maybe talk to Vice and see if any one of them know the women in the pictures.” Marshall took to his feet. “In the meantime, if you hear from Scarborough, let me know. I’ll do the same.”
Katie stood up to meet him. “Okay. I’ve got a class tonight. I’ll ask around, but as far as Marc goes, I already tried to get a name out of him. He says he doesn’t know. I believe him, but there has to be a way to find out.” She reached for his hands. “Thank you.” She touched his lips with hers in a brief but tender kiss. A kiss that conveyed what they both could not fully express in that moment. It was enough, for now.
13
THE CLASSROOM WASN’T one of the larger lecture halls at the university, but rather a moderate-sized room with about forty or so students. Most were professionals, working toward a graduate degree as she was and were now packing up.
However, rather than listen to the professor’s lecture, Katie spent the better part of the hour studying each and every one of her classmates, working to determine who might be friends with Shalot, if in fact he had friends. Most likely, they were simply acquaintances. Still, she needed more insight into the man.
Marshall had succeeded in identifying a couple of the women in the pictures. He was already working with Gibbons to speak to them. Now it was her turn.
In her observations, three people stood out as possible “friends” of Shalot. Pinpointing her reasoning for why she suspected as much was difficult. It was just a feeling, but better than nothing.
Katie jogged to catch up with Will Mathers. She didn’t know him well – she didn’t know any of her classmates well, least of all Edward Shalot. “Will?”
“Katie? What’s up?” He stopped in the corridor and waited.
“Listen, you know Ed Shalot? He’s in our class?”
“Edward? Yeah.”
“Do you ever talk to the guy? I mean, do you two ever hang out or anything?”
He tilted his head as if he hadn’t understood the question. “No. I—I don’t know him. We aren’t friends. Why do you ask?”
It wasn’t a secret that Katie worked for the police department. Everyone in class knew exactly who she was. Sometimes the professor would ask for her opinion, as she was in the rare position of working in the industry in which they were all studying, although most were sensitive to her past and never questioned what she had been through.
Now, she felt as though she had been too transparent with her question and had given away the fact that her inquiry was likely based on something the department wanted to know.
Will Mathers took pause.
“It’s just that I didn’t see him in class tonight and I wondered if you might have an email address for him that you could use to get him the notes from tonight’s class.” She stepped back. “I didn’t realize you weren’t friends. Sorry about that.” She began to walk away.
“Wait.”
It appeared she had read him correctly. Of course he knew Shalot. He gave it away the second he called him Edward, a preference Shalot had made known to those with whom he was acquainted.
“I don’t really know him that well. I mean, you wouldn’t call us friends by any stretch of the imagination. But I caught up with him a few times at the sports bar not too far from here. He goes there every now and again after class, but I don’t have any contact information for him.”
“Alone?”
“What’s that? Oh, you mean go to the bar alone? Mostly. But I saw him with this guy, um…” Will turned up his eyes in search of the missing information. “Shaun Hudson. That’s right. He’s an undergrad. Met him once or twice, I think. Apart from that, Edward usually sat by himself, tossing back a few drafts. He might have Edward’s email.”
A surge of recognition welled up in her. She recalled Edward mentioning that name. He was the guy who copied her records for him.
“Listen, I gotta go. I’m sorry I couldn’t
be of more help to you, Katie. Maybe someday you’d like to have a coffee or something? Talk, you know?”
“Sure. That’d be great.” Katie smiled, waving as Will walked away.
On the drive home, Katie pressed the call button on her steering wheel.
“Katie. Thanks for returning my call.”
“Sorry for the delay, Nick. I just finished class. How’s it looking in Phoenix?”
“Not good. So far, it appears there are two distinct characteristics in these victims. Two distinct styles.”
“So we’re looking for two people, aren’t we?”
“I’d like to think we’ve already got one in custody. This victim, the marking in her torso was the same as all the others. Something similar to a scalpel or very sharp knife had been used, but the cut went deep, not like with Brown. The woman bled out before she was dumped off the I-10, in the desert, heading toward Tucson.”
Katie could hear the frustration in his voice. “We’re working on a few leads on our end. Detectives Avery and Gibbons are questioning a few of the women in the photographs and I just talked to a classmate who says he’s an acquaintance of Shalot’s.”
“Any luck there?” The speaker cut out for a brief moment, then returned.
“Maybe. He said Shalot hung out with that guy who sold him my information. Shaun Hudson. Said he saw them at the sports bar near campus a few times. He thought they were friends.”
“Listen, Katie. If you’re going to be talking to people, do me a favor and just be cautious of what’s around you. Don’t go off someplace secluded. So what about Aguilar? Is he gonna talk to us?”
“I put a call in to him, but I haven’t heard back yet. He doesn’t know who’s giving him the information, but I’ll talk to him again. Shalot may have been charged and won’t be going home any time soon, but that doesn’t mean we’re out of the woods yet, clearly, or you wouldn’t be in Phoenix right now. Tomorrow, I’m going to look up this Shaun guy and figure out how I can meet up with him. I’ll be sure to let Marshall and Detective Gibbons know what’s going on.”
“All right, all right.”
If Nick was standing in front of her, Katie could swear he would be holding up his hands in surrender.
“Thank you. Listen, you be careful yourself. It sounds like this thing is far from over.”
“You got that right. I’ve got the media and my bosses breathing down my neck, wanting to know why the hell we’ve got Shalot in custody and people are still dying. This shit’s gonna hit the fan soon enough. There’ll be an all-out manhunt for this bastard, or bastards. I’m just pissed I let it get this far.”
“You’re doing your job, Nick. You and your team.” Katie turned into her building’s parking garage. “Listen, I gotta go. I just got home. Call me tomorrow?”
“Will do. Be safe.”
The call ended. Katie cut the engine and stepped out of the car. Her heeled footsteps echoed in the otherwise quiet parking garage. Pressing the button, she waited for the elevator to return to the bottom. Her thoughts turned to Shalot. His pleading eyes, begging for her to believe him. Still, he was clearly not a nice man, something she had missed during previous conversations after class. He was clever at hiding his intentions.
The apartment was dark when she opened the front door and that was when Katie noticed the time. It was 10:30 and Marshall should have been home by now. Her phone showed no missed calls or texts. Last she had spoken to him, he and Detective Gibbons were leaving one of the clubs that Shalot had frequented. That was before class, almost two hours ago.
The woman appeared apprehensive, drawing deep on the cigarette between her fingers. Marshall loomed over the petite, disproportionate exotic dancer. Her shimmery bikini top covered only a very small portion of her enhanced breasts. He wondered if she might topple over at any moment. This prospect was further heightened by the six-inch acrylic platformed stilettos on which she was balanced.
Standing in the darkened hallway between the dressing rooms and the bathrooms, Marshall asked again, “Can you tell me if you believed Edward Shalot might harm you in any way?”
The woman darted her eyes back and forth, seemingly in search of anyone that might be lurking and might overhear the conversation. She inhaled again on the cigarette, its glowing cherry end illuminating her face, further exposing her distress. “The guy paid me for a private dance. I gave it to him. He got a little too handsy and was tossed out on his ass by security.”
“And then he returned after your shift,” Marshall pressed on.
“I was walking to the bus stop. He came up behind me and asked if I’d be interested in going to a party with him. I guess he was into some group shit or something, I don’t know. I meet a lot of people with fetishes. Anyway, I told him I needed to get home. I got a five-year-old, you know, and I’m trying to give him a better life.”
Marshall raised a hand. “I’m not here to pass judgment. I just want to know about Shalot.”
She pursed her lips and continued. “He kept on, you know? Telling me how much I’d enjoy it and it would only be a couple hours. He said he’d pay me for my time. Well, that was when I lost my shit. I’m not a goddamn prostitute, you know? So I told him to fuck off.” She turned away for a moment, lowering the hand that held the burning cigarette. The side smoke still wafted into the air. “He flipped out. Grabbed me by my shoulders, threw me up against the wall of the building.” She now looked directly into Marshall’s eyes. “He put his hands around my neck and started squeezing. So, yeah, I thought he was gonna hurt me. I screamed. There were a couple of men, I don’t know, maybe fifty feet away. They heard me and came running. That’s when he let go.”
“And you didn’t think to call the cops? Report the son of a bitch?”
She rolled her eyes. “What were they gonna do? He didn’t hit me, I didn’t have any marks on me. He just took off when he saw the men coming.” The woman puffed a final time, then pressed the end against the metal trash can behind her. “Besides, Edward has always been a good client. He probably had too much to drink or something. Most men who come in here and think because I’m nice to them and I get them all turned on that I’m theirs, you know? They don’t seem to get that it’s the money I’m after. Some do. But most don’t.” The woman adjusted her top. “We done here? I gotta get back on stage in a minute.”
“We’re done. Thank you for your time.”
Detective Gibbons and Marshall walked out of the strip club and onto the sidewalk that was still dotted with several people hanging around; some on their phones, some talking with friends, clearly intoxicated. Little clouds of smoke, remnants of cigarettes and visible breath in the crisp night air, billowed out of their mouths as they shared stories between themselves.
Marshall pushed his hands into his jacket and pulled it closed. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s much more to our friend Shalot than we originally thought?”
Gibbons cast a sideways glance as they approached his car, which was wedged between two large SUVs. He pressed the remote to unlock the doors. “From what I gathered, the guy’s into some kinky shit. Maybe Lindsay Brown knew it and it freaked her out. We know he’s got a fondness for exerting his force, particularly against women.”
They both stepped inside the black Chevy Impala SS, circa 1995, Gibbon’s pride and joy that he got hold of at a police auction last year.
Marshall sank into the fully restored black leather upholstered bucket seat. “We need to know who was in his circle, including whoever Aguilar is talking to. I don’t know if Kate got anywhere with her classmates; I’ll find out soon enough. We’ve got all the evidence we need on the bastard, but something just isn’t sitting right with me, his fascination with Kate aside. Why would he so profusely declare his innocence to her? It’s as if he doesn’t want her to think badly of him.” Marshall turned to view the passersby on the sidewalk as Gibbons maneuvered out of the parking spot and back onto the main road.
“And it doesn’t explain the connection to this g
oddamn Highway Hunter. Shalot’s a creature of habit. Hitting the strip clubs every week; school, work,” Gibbons began. “This guy isn’t a serial killer. He’s social – goes to college at night – not exactly what I would call your typical reclusive killer. He’s a dick, but I don’t think he’s part of this deal Scarborough’s handling.”
“That’s probably what they said about Ted Bundy,” Marshall replied.
Katie finally had a moment to take a look at the files Scarborough sent to her a few days ago, although she probably already knew everything in them. A great deal had changed in the last couple of days.
She carried a glass of wine with her into the office and flipped on the light switch. The rest of the apartment had remained dimly lit and so the bright flash of the recessed canned lighting above caused her to squint briefly.
Her eyes soon adjusted as she made her way to the desk and opened the lid of her laptop. The chair offered comfort and familiarity as she pivoted back and forth, waiting for the machine to finish loading, sipping on her glass of rosé. The hour had grown late and fatigue was setting in. However, she would not retreat to her bedroom until Marshall arrived home.
In that moment, she began to recall the conversation Marshall had shared with her some time ago about his former fiancée, how she couldn’t accept the danger he would constantly face in his chosen line of work. It had occurred to Katie on more than one occasion that, although becoming increasingly accustomed to the hazards of the job, Marshall could in fact suffer harm as a result. The thought frightened her. But the allure of the job, finding the ones who caused harm to others, seeing them to justice – all that far outweighed the risks. Except on nights like these, when she hadn’t heard from him and he was later than expected.
The email from Scarborough downloaded and Katie opened the files, immediately saving them to her hard drive. He’d sent her the profile Myers had compiled, along with geographic summaries and profiles of the victims. She wondered why, for a moment, that he would send her these details of an investigation that, at that point in time, had nothing really to do with her or the San Diego PD.