Her Last Scream (9 page)

We called Sal and told her we were brainstorming and drinking good stuff and did she want in? Sal lived in Spanish Fort and Kavanaugh’s place was nearby. She arrived at half past six and Harry revisited our conclusions.

“There is one tie to all of them,” Sal said, “same killer or not. The underground railroad. Three dead women, each thinking she’d escaped an abusive relationship.”

“Unfortunately,” Harry said, “the underground railroad is a big and anonymous place.”

“Got a US map?” I asked Kavanaugh. She scooted away, back seconds later with an atlas. I turned to the continental states and set the book on the floor, crouching and using my finger as a pointer.

“Here’s a Boulder to Mobile line, moving southeast. This would be an approximation of the line an escaping woman would travel.”

“A very rough approximation,” Sal said. “The true route would be more zigzaggy.”

“Still, the result is the same. Now extend the line past Boulder and toward the northwest …” I moved my finger about five hundred miles and into Idaho.

Harry knelt beside me to see the cities. “Boise is on the line,” he said.

“We’ve got probabilities of a woman who went from the Floribama coast to Boulder, one running from Boulder to the Floribama coast, and another who escaped from Boise to here.”

“Damn,” Sal said. “They crossed the same geographical region.”

“Somewhere between Boulder and Mobile they were identified, either pulled from the system at that time, or followed.”

Everyone went silent, studying the map. It was a huge swath of territory.

“There’s only one way to deal with this,” Sal said after a minute. “And we’re all thinking it right now.”

“Put eyes in the system,” Harry said.

“Exactly. Have someone pinball through, node to node, see who looks weird or dangerous. Our person’s got to be undercover all the way, since the killer could be anywhere.”

“It won’t be easy finding the right cop,” Harry said. “Who’ve we got?”

“Me,” Sal said, like it was a done deal. “We’ll invent a history and I’ll ride the subterranean choo-choo.”

I held up my hand. “Sal, you’re a Missing Persons genius, but …”

“Don’t
Missing Persons
me, Carson. I spent three years in Vice, remember? Half of ’em undercover with some of the nastiest vermin to slither through Mobile. I got the instincts, the radar, the acting chops. You want a terrified wife running from a head-case hubby?” Sal’s eyes watered, her voice went quivery. “H-he’s gonna kill me, I know he is. I can’t spend another week there, he said he’d g-gut me like a deer. You’ve got to help me get away …”

Sally tucked her face in her hands and began weeping.

“Jesus,” Harry whispered.

Sal’s face and voice snapped back to normal. “How was that?”

“Heart-rending,” I said, impressed. “But it’s a crapshoot. You might never pass through the section where the killer’s lurking.”

“I’ll shift my final destination around. How many places did Gail stay … eight? I’ll see if I can wangle at least a dozen, staying close to the corridor she might have taken, You guys can stay nearby. If anyone suspicious appears, waltz in and check ’em out.”

I looked at Harry, figuring he too was thinking this the quickest way to force an answer from the system. But Kavanaugh held up her hand, stepping into the Devil’s Advocate role.

“It assumes too much, Sally. You’ll be in a blind tunnel connected to nothing but other blind tunnels. You might not see the perp coming.”

“A freak like that, Doc? He’ll stand out. And anyway, what’s Plan B?”

Kavanaugh thought a moment. “I don’t have one.”

Harry shrugged. “Then this seems our best shot.”

“You’ll help sell this to the brass, Doc?” Sal asked Kavanaugh. An operation of this scope needed permission from above. Kavanaugh was a renowned shrink who donated expensive time to the department. The brass respected her and listened to her input.

“I’m too worn to think,” Kavanaugh said, stretching and yawning. “Let’s regroup in the morning.”

A shiny blue truck crept past a darkened house four blocks from the University of Colorado, the moon shining over the truck’s surface, as clean and bright as polished glass. Treeka parked in the shadows between streetlamps, exited, limping, looking over her shoulder, as if fearful of ambush from the closed shoe store or hole-in-the-wall bar across the street. Shooting a glance at the second floor of the tavern, she saw only darkened windows. She crept to the hatch and removed a bulging suitcase holding everything she owned at this precise moment.

She paused on the sidewalk, turning to the vehicle, resisting the urge to spit on its mirror-bright hood. She limped to the door and knocked three times. The square woman named Carol reached out for Treeka’s arm and almost jerked her off her feet to get her inside.

There were three serious-faced women in the center. The clock on the desk changed from 9:35 to 9:36. Treeka saw a newspaper on a chair, folded open to another story about the dead lady from the water plant. Treeka had seen the news on TV, but not much. The reporters said the cops didn’t have a lot to go on.

“You sure you weren’t followed?” the square woman said, poking her head out the door and checking from side to side.

“It’s Tommy’s poker night,” Treeka said. “He never gets in before three.”

“Whose truck?”

“His,” Treeka said. “He an’ a buddy take turns drivin’ to save gas. They play poker over in Platteville. I never drove his truck before. I ain’t driven anything in almost two years.” Treeka thought a moment, said, “I forgot an’ left something in the truck.”

“Get it fast.”

The ladies looked less worried, knowing Treeka’s husband was forty miles away. She slipped outside and pretended to grab something from the passenger seat. She closed the door, pulled out the key and bent low. Holding the key tight, she scrawled deep into the paint below the window:

I cant take it no more

She started to turn away, stopped, returned to the truck and scratched letters under the previous words that spanned the width of the door panel:

P.S. FUCK U

Treeka limped back to the center. It was a done deal: using those words and injuring Tommy’s beloved truck would mean he’d kill her for sure. There was no return, Treeka knew; the intimidation, the prison-like scrutiny, that damned yellow dress, the chokings, the three of every-fucking-thing, the relieving herself with the door open so Tommy could watch … She would escape or die trying.

“Get the truck out of here,” the square woman snapped at a tall skinny black lady with round glasses that made her face look like an owl. “Drive it to Denver and leave it in long-term parking at the airport. Wear gloves and remember there are cameras all over –”

“Christ, Carol,” the skinny woman said. “We’ve done this before. Calm down.”

The square-faced woman closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. You guys know the drill.”

Both other women disappeared into the night. That left Treeka and Carol. “When you called, you said he’d hurt you again,” Carol said. “That’s why you’re limping?”

“He punched and kicked me. It hurts but I can walk. I’ll run fast enough for the Olympics if it gets me free.”

“That’s the spirit, Treeka,” the woman said. “Are you scared of the path you’re about to take?”

“Down to my toes.”

“Stay that way,” the woman said. “It could keep you alive. And by the way, from now on your name is Darleen.”

Darleen.
Treeka tasted her escape name on her tongue. It tasted fine.

“Before we get you started on your trip,” Carol asked, “is there anything else you need from us?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Treeka/Darleen said. “Could you please make me another of those blue birds?”

Kavanaugh was at the department when Harry and I arrived in the morning, sitting in Tom Mason’s office drinking coffee. We regrouped in the conference room, Tom wanting to hear our plans. Sal ran up from Missing Persons.

“I gave the operation a lot of thought,” Kavanaugh said. “I suspect the perp feels completely protected by the anonymous nature of the system. A dozen more women might be killed before he makes a mistake. I’ll put my imprimatur on the idea.”

“I’ve already packed my bag,” Sal said. “Two pairs of shoes, four pairs of panties, and one nine millimeter.”

Harry and I chuckled. Kavanaugh cleared her throat. “There’s a drawback or two to the plan, Sally. You’re known by the staff of the WCC in Mobile.”

“So what? No one in the system will know me.”

“We know nothing about how the killer selects his prey, or where. The undercover plant has to be fully anonymous.”

The Doc had an excellent point: We couldn’t assume anyone’s innocence. But Sal had an immediate counter-move.

“I’ll fly to Boulder and get in the system, move south. That’s even better because it’ll bring me through the same selection of handlers, especially if I ping-pong my destinations. That handle your objections, Doc?”

I figured it would. But Kavanaugh had done a lot of thinking. “There’s no time to be delicate, Sally,” she said. “You’re what, thirty-nine?”

Sally scowled. “Thirty-eight. For two more weeks.”

“The other women were in their late twenties, early thirties. Plus they were both, uh, more on the slender side. If we’re going to put a target in front of the killer, we should pick a type we know attracts him. Carson, Harry – you’ve dealt with this sort of monster before – am I right?”

“If we’re setting out a meal to entice the perp,” I admitted, “it’s best to cook what we know he likes.”

“Lousy metaphor, Carson,” Tom Mason said. “But I have to agree.”

“I may not be the perfect meal,” Sal said. “But at least I’m food. Who else around here fits the bill?”

Kavanaugh reached into her bag and retrieved a folder. “I found one more candidate.” She stood and stuck her head out the door and gestured. Footsteps approached the door until a woman in uniform stood at the threshold.

“This officer is new to the force,” Kavanaugh said. “Meet Reinetta Early.”

“No way,” Harry said. “Not a chance. None, nada, nyet. officer Early is young, unproven and without any experience.”

We surrounded the conference table, the Doc and Reinetta on one side, Harry and me on the other. Tom was at the head, quiet, weighing the presentation. Tom had no idea Rein and Harry were related, Kavanaugh equally in the dark. I was starting to regret my pledge of silence.

The Doc said, “Let’s listen to what officer Early has to say. She has –”

“She has three months’ experience,” Harry interrupted. “It’s not an assignment for on-the-job training.” He started the
none, nada
chorus again.

“I agree there are experience considerations,” Kavanaugh said. “Detective Nautilus, it sounds like you think she’s way too green for the job.”

“She’s not even green yet. She’s, she’s …” Harry sputtered, trying to think of a pre-green color.

“Excuse me,” Rein said quietly. “While I’m not fully familiar with everyone in this room, I am aware of their achievements, since successes are taught at the academy.” She raised an eyebrow at Harry, tapping a finger on her cheek as if recalling something from a textbook.

“Tell me, Detective Nautilus … Didn’t you once pull a suicidal man’s wife from a burning house as he shot at you? Were you not wounded while doing so?”

Harry waved it off. “A flesh wound,” he said, referring to the slug that had blown through one thigh to lodge in the other. “Nothing important.”

“Nevertheless, did you not achieve this as a raw rookie, only sixty-seven days on the force?”

“I don’t recall how long I’d been a cop, but –”

The warm browns shifted to me. “Detective Ryder, didn’t you, while in uniform and new to the force, risk your life to apprehend the insane killer Joel Adrian, saving one child for certain, and many others had Adrian continued his spree?”

“Future killings are a matter of speculation,” I said.

“Did you do it, Detective? As I basically detailed?”

“Basically like that, yes.”

Rein appeared to think deeply about the answers elicited from Harry and me, giving the perfect four-beat dramatic pause before continuing.

“So it appears training at the MPD Academy is on an extremely high professional level. A level that enables graduates to handle themselves with distinction from the moment they hit the street. Is that not the clear lesson here, detectives?”

You would have been a helluva lawyer, girl,
I thought, unable to counter her argument without dissing myself, Harry, or the Police Academy. I looked at Harry, jaw clenched, equally unable to object.

“A compelling point, officer,” Tom Mason said. “Please continue to present your qualifications.”

“I received top grades at the academy, Lieutenant. I was in the uppermost percentile physically. My shooting scores were in the top five per cent. I also understand that the assignment requires acting ability. My experience there includes –”

“
Oklahoma
doesn’t count,” Harry interrupted.

“Oh?” Rein said, shifting her gaze to Harry. “How about
My Fair Lady
?”

“Not that either,” Harry grumbled.

Rein did the cheek-tap reminiscence again. “Didn’t you once go into jail undercover, Detective Nautilus? Gaining the confidence of an infamous drug kingpin within a week and thereby solving two murders? And weren’t you selected for the assignment because you were so new to the force he wouldn’t have known you?”

She recited as if recalling an academy text, but I suspected she’d heard the story at Harry’s knee. Harry turned away, but had to nod
yes.

“And what was your acting experience prior to this stellar performance, Detective Nautilus?”

Harry muttered under his breath.

“Pardon me, Detective?” Rein said.

“None. No experience.”

“My goodness,” Rein said, feigning perplexation. “Not even
My Fair Lady
?”

Tom dismissed Reinetta after her curriculum vitae had been presented and thought for a minute before speaking.

“Ordinarily, I’d put a thumbs down on the idea. But I’ve looked over officer Early’s records. If anything, she’s underplaying her abilities. The idea of putting her undercover scares me, but every time a cop is undercover, it scares me.”

“She’s too new,” Harry protested.

“Her case was well made, Harry. You guys kicked ass coming out of the gate for several reasons: one, you were smart; two, you had gut instincts along with the training; and three, you had mentors giving you inside skinny from day one. You came up under Zip Johnson, right Harry?”

“Zip built me into who I am today.”

“And Carson, you had Harry. I want the three of you to spend the next few days together, talk out the assignment. Hit perils more than possibilities. If Early goes in, it’ll be you guys handling her. We clear there?”

I looked at Harry. Misery was printed in bold across his face.

“We’re clear, Tom,” I said.

Tom nodded and stood, knuckles rapping the table like a gavel. “I’ll call Early’s commander and get her assigned to Homicide for the next few weeks. Get that girl up to speed, guys. Teach her every trick, because I’m holding you responsible for keeping her safe.”