Killing Spree (7 page)

And all the while, he was grinning.

Gillian slammed the door shut behind her. Fumbling for the dead-bolt lock, she accidentally dropped her purse and keys. The contents of her bag spilled across the living room floor. Gillian almost tripped over the mess as she ran for the phone in the kitchen. Snatching the cordless off its cradle, she switched it on and anxiously listened for a dial tone. At least he hadn’t cut the phone lines.

She glanced out the kitchen window, and spotted a figure darting through the bushes into the neighbor’s yard. Gillian didn’t get a look at his face or what he was wearing.
Dark clothes, Caucasian, medium build, dark hair
—that was all she could tell the police. Even when she’d spotted him from the front porch moments before, she’d merely caught a glimpse of some man hovering near the cellar steps. If the automatic light hadn’t gone on, she might not have noticed him at all. His face and everything else about him had been a blur. All she’d thought about was getting away, ducking into the apartment and locking him out.

Now she watched him scurry across the neighbor’s lawn. Then he disappeared behind a clump of trees at the ravine’s edge. Staring out the kitchen window, Gillian noticed one of the garbage can lids on the lawn. She leaned closer to the glass, and stood on the tips of her toes. Right below the window, a Hefty bag full of trash was leaning against the garbage can.

In her hand, the cordless phone’s dial tone continued to hum. Gillian plopped down at the breakfast table. Numbly, she stared at the phone. She’d been through this before. For a few weeks following Barry’s disappearance, she’d often come home to find somebody had gone through her garbage. They’d leave the trash cans tipped over, with torn bags and debris strewn across the back lawn. Gillian sometimes dug into her mailbox to discover personal letters that had been ripped open. The notes would be out of their envelopes, some even crumpled up and discarded on the porch floor.

The people looking for Barry weren’t very subtle about it.

Gillian remembered one spring afternoon, driving home from the supermarket. She still had the Saturn back then. She was chiding herself for having just bought a six-pack of Heineken, Barry’s beer of choice. He’d been missing for two weeks, and hadn’t contacted her. Buying his favorite beer wouldn’t bring him home any quicker.

Gillian stepped inside the apartment with two grocery bags. She started toward the kitchen, then stopped abruptly. In the mirror over the living room sofa, she saw someone’s reflection. A stranger stood in her kitchen, studying the photographs on her refrigerator door. Gillian’s heart seemed to stop for a moment. She backed toward the front door, which was still slightly ajar. All the while, her eyes stayed riveted on the mirror—and the short, black-haired man with a goatee reflected in it. Suddenly, he turned and his dark eyes locked with hers. Gillian dropped the grocery bags, and reached for the door.

The image in the mirror vanished. All at once, he was on her.

Gillian started to scream, but he slapped his hand over her mouth. She felt the door slam against her back. “Where is he, Mrs. Tanner?” he asked, his face an inch away from hers. She could smell cigarettes on his breath. “Where’s your husband?”

He kept her pinned against the door. Gillian felt the weight of his body crushing her. He slowly moved his hand down from her mouth to her neck. He started to squeeze her throat.

“I don’t know where he is,” Gillian managed to say. She couldn’t catch her breath. “I swear, I don’t.”

He let out a curtailed grunt, a sort of insolent laugh.

Gillian stared into his dark eyes, and suddenly her fear turned to anger. She was mad at these creeps for harassing her and invading her home. And she was furious at Barry for deserting her.

“I’m telling you the truth!” she growled. “You and your low-life friends can keep going through my garbage and reading my mail. And if you discover something—like where my husband is or when he’s coming back—you can tell me. Okay? Because I haven’t heard from the son of a bitch since he ran away two weeks ago.”

The man let go of her throat. Stepping back, he glanced down at the groceries spilled on the floor. He nudged one of the bags with his foot. A couple of the Heineken bottles had broken, and beer leaked onto the carpet. “So you don’t know where Barry is or when he’s coming back, huh?” he said. “Then what’s this? You don’t drink this stuff. You drink wine. I know, because I’ve been through your garbage.”

“Yes, you and the other rats,” Gillian muttered, glaring at him.

He kicked one of the broken beer bottles. Shards of glass flew across the living room carpet. “Why did you buy the beer, Mrs. Tanner?”

“Because I’m stupid,” she said evenly. “And maybe too sentimental for my own good. I bought it, hoping he’d surprise me and come home. But that’s not going to happen, not any time soon. I realize that now. Maybe you and your friends should come to the same realization.”

He gazed at her for a moment. Finally, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “You know something, Mrs. Tanner?” he said finally. “I believe you. I really do. We might have to try another tactic. Maybe your kid knows where his old man is.”

“You stay away from my son,” she whispered.

He lit his cigarette and tossed the match amid the spilt groceries on the carpet. The flame hadn’t gone out yet, and it started licking the edge of the grocery bag. “Or you’ll do what?” he retorted.

“I’ll have the police on you so goddamn fast, you won’t know what hit you.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” he replied with a cocky smile. He stepped toward Gillian and blew some smoke in her face. “Barry’s in as much trouble with the cops as he is with me and my buddies. Step aside, Mrs. Tanner.” He glanced down at the mess of groceries on the floor. One of the bags was catching on fire. “You might want to put some water on that.”

Gillian recoiled as he caressed her neck with the back of his hand. He smirked at her, then opened the door and stepped outside.

Hearing the door shut behind her, Gillian hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a saucepan from the drying rack. She filled it with water, rushed back into the living room, and doused the fire before it spread any further. Still, the smoke alarm went off. The detector was on the ceiling outside Ethan’s bedroom door, but the loud, obnoxious beeping echoed though the entire apartment. Gillian ran to the hallway. With the saucepan, she swiped at the alarm and knocked off the plastic cover. She hit it again. The battery flew out, ricocheted off the wall, and landed on the floor.

Silence.

The man was gone, the fire was out, and she’d stifled the smoke alarm. But Gillian was still shaking horribly. She made her way back to the kitchen, set the pan in the sink, and reached for the cordless phone. She sat down at the breakfast table with the phone in her trembling hand. She knew about Barry’s
trouble
with the police. But Barry was gone, and this man had invaded their home and he’d threatened to go after her son.

She dialed 911, and as calmly as she could, Gillian explained to the operator who she was and what just happened.

Ten minutes later, a young, husky, baby-faced cop with a strawberry-blond crew cut showed up at her door. He walked around outside the house to make sure Gillian’s intruder had indeed left. He even helped her clean up some of the mess on the living room floor—the broken beer bottles and half-burnt, soggy bags. Since Barry’s disappearance, the police had been harassing Gillian almost as much as these hoods. She’d become very wary of Seattle’s Finest. But this polite, young cop, who kept calling her “ma’am,” restored her faith in local law enforcement. She told him about the intruder threatening to go after Ethan.

“Well, ma’am, it’s almost three o’clock,” the officer said. “If you want to go pick up your son at his school, I can follow you in the patrol car and make sure this guy doesn’t show up again. Would that help?”

Gillian wanted to hug him. “Yes, thank you very much.”

They arrived at Ethan’s school a bit early. Gillian pulled up about half a block behind the school buses. In the rearview mirror, she watched the squad car park behind her. The young policeman got out of his vehicle. He came around to the passenger side of her Saturn and opened the door. “Do you see this guy who threatened you anywhere on the premises, ma’am?”

Gillian took a careful look around. “No, thank God.”

To her surprise, the policeman climbed into her passenger seat and closed the door. “I doubt he’ll show,” the cop said, glancing toward the school. “But if he does, I’ll grab him.”

Gillian saw the school’s main doors open. The children began to pour out. She recognized a couple of Ethan’s classmates. Biting her lip, she watched for her son.

“There’s Ethan now,” the cop said. “I see him.”

Gillian spotted him too—wandering out the door alone after a group of taller boys. She hated to see him by himself. He had one good friend, Craig Merchant, who was quite athletic and popular. Ethan was so skinny and uncoordinated. They made an odd couple, but they’d been best friends since the fourth grade.

As Gillian watched Ethan emerge from the school alone, she almost wanted to explain to the cop that her son wasn’t totally friendless. But then she noticed the young officer staring intently at Ethan. Something didn’t seem right. “How did you recognize my son?” she murmured, squinting at the cop. “Out of the kids there, you were able to point him out.”

The young cop turned to her with an icy stare. A tiny smile flickered across his face. “Oh, we know him, ma’am,” he said quietly. “And if you don’t start cooperating with my buddies, you’ll never see Ethan again. Now, where the fuck is your husband?”

“I—I don’t know where he is, I swear. You have to believe me.” Gillian helplessly shook her head and started to cry. “I’m at the point right now where I’d turn in Barry just to get you people off my back and have a little peace and quiet.” This wasn’t exactly true. But now her son’s life was in jeopardy, and nothing else mattered. She would have said anything they wanted to hear.

His head down, Ethan headed toward his school bus.

The young officer was staring at him. He pulled his gun out of his holster. “Honk your horn and wave at him,” he said.

“What?” Gillian asked, bewildered.

“Do it,” he grunted.

She tapped her horn twice. Several children glanced in her direction—including Ethan. Gillian rolled down her window and waved at him. All the while, every muscle in her body was rigid, and she felt a knot in her stomach. She hoped against hope that for some reason Ethan would decide to run away. Maybe some sixth sense would warn him of the danger.

For a moment, Ethan seemed confused. Cocking his head to one side, he stared at the Saturn, but didn’t move.

“Keep waving at him, Mrs. Tanner,” the cop said. “Now, here’s the deal. Before your son gets here, I’ll step out of the vehicle. I’ll look after your boy. You’ll drive to 811 Olive Way, where my friend is waiting.
‘811 Olive Way’
—say it.”

“811 Olive Way,” Gillian repeated, still waving at Ethan. Tears stung her eyes.

“My friend will tell you what to do, and you’ll do it. Otherwise, this is the last you’ll see of your son. Do you understand, Mrs. Tanner?”

She stopped waving to Ethan and turned to the cop. “What can I do? I don’t know anything! For God’s sakes, please—”

“I can shoot him right here in front of you, Mrs. Tanner. And then I’ll shoot you. I’ll say you grabbed my gun and went crazy.”

“No, no, please—”

“You were acting irrational after your 911 call, and I followed you here. Your husband is a criminal, wanted by the police. They’ll believe me. Is that what you want?” The young policeman opened the car door. “You have exactly fifteen minutes to get to 811 Olive Way. If you’re not there in fifteen, my friend’s going to call me, and I’ll cut Ethan’s throat.” He stepped out of the car. “And don’t try to call the police again, because you’ll get somebody else just like me. Now, move.” He shut the car door.

Through the windshield, Gillian saw Ethan—halfway to the car—stopping in his tracks. He seemed baffled at the site of a cop climbing out of his mother’s Saturn.

The young officer tapped on the hood of her car, then waved her forward.

“Oh, God, please,” Gillian whispered. She pulled away from the curb, and watched Ethan gaping back at her.

“Mom?” he called.

Biting her lip, she passed him. Then she passed the school bus and glanced in the rearview mirror. The young cop was approaching Ethan.

“HEY! Watch it!”

Someone let out a high-pitched shriek.

Gillian suddenly noticed a woman with two schoolchildren right in front of her. The woman was trying to pull the kids out of the way. One child was screaming. Gillian slammed on the brakes. Her tires made a loud screech.

“Stupid!” the woman yelled at her. “What’s wrong with you? You’re in a school zone!”

“I’m sorry!” Gillian called back, tears in her eyes. Shaking, she glanced in the rearview mirror again. She couldn’t see Ethan or the cop anymore. She checked her wristwatch: 3:18.
Fifteen minutes
, the cop said. She had to get moving. She had no choice. Gillian felt her stomach lurch as she stepped on the accelerator.