RCC03 - Beneath a Weeping Sky (50 page)

“She’s a big girl,” Tower said. “She understands.”

Browning nodded again. He adjusted the small wire frames on his nose and observed in a quiet voice, “Be careful you don’t take advantage of that, you know?”

Tower cocked an eyebrow at him. “So what, you’re a relationship counselor now?”

“No,” Browning said. “Just someone who has gone before telling a fellow traveler about the dangers of the road ahead.”

“That sounds more like Buddha than a counselor,” Tower remarked dryly.

Browning let out a small chuckle. “Well, if it helps, I don’t care if it makes me sound like Bobcat Goldwhaite.”

“Point taken, Ray. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And the offer’s open, if you want the help.”

Tower shook his head again. “No, it’s all right. There’s nothing but grunt work here anyway.”

“I’ve done plenty of that.”

“
Boring
grunt work,” Tower corrected, then added, “that doesn’t net anything.”

“Done that, too.”

Tower smiled grimly. “I’ll bet you have. But really, I’m just going to run a few more of these registered owners and then I’ll head home.”

Browning nodded, but Tower could tell the older detective knew he was lying. He must have understood Tower’s angst, though, because he had the decency not to call him on the lie. Instead, he rose to leave.

“You should go home, too,” he told Tower. “Those plates will still be there in the morning.”

“That’s what Stephanie said.”

“She’s right. Besides,” Browning added, “if you leave them for tomorrow, you’ll be fresher when you look at them. Detail work like that, you don’t want to miss anything.”

Tower nodded, but made no move to leave.

Browning gave him a warm smile. He slipped his arms into his jacket. As he adjusted it around his shoulders, he said, “You know, John, when you find this guy, he’s not going to live up to your expectations.”

“I don’t have any expectations. I just want to stop him.”

Browning’s smile widened. “Don’t kid a kidder,” he said. “This guy has brutally raped at least four women. He assaulted a police officer. He’s gotten more violent every time out. Has the teacher come out of her coma yet?”

“No,” Tower whispered. “She’s still unresponsive.”

Browning raised his eyebrows and nodded. “And he’ll be even worse the next time.”

“Probably.”

“So when you find him, you’ll expect him to be some evil, maniacal genius. You already half-imagine him to be a man capable of sprouting horns on his head and spitting fire from a forked, demonic tongue.”

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Barely,” Browning said. He reached up and stroked his graying goatee. “But the point is that no matter how much you’ve built him up, you are going to be disappointed in the end. That’s because what you’ll discover is that he is a sad, sick, flawed, insecure, inadequate creature who figured out how to do one thing well in life. When you take that away from him, all the rest of the bravado falls. All that’s left is the weakness.”

Tower stared at Browning. A sarcastic reply of “profound” died on his lips. Instead, he swallowed and thought about Browning’s words. Then he asked, “Is that how it is with you? With the murderers you investigate?”

Browning nodded slowly. “Every single one of them.”

Tower glanced back down at his open case file, then at his picture of Stephanie. When he looked back up at Browning, the older detective was still staring at him. His warm brown eyes radiated empathy.

“He’s just a man, John,” he said. Then he reached out and squeezed Tower on the shoulder. “Just a sick, sad man.”

Tower nodded his thanks.

Browning turned and made his way out of the Sexual Assault Unit.

Tower thought about it a moment longer. Then he decided that Detective Ray Browning was pretty much the best cop he knew, so he should listen to the man. He pushed the
PRINT
button on the computer, getting a copy of Mr. Jeffrey A. Goodkind’s registration information so that he could start with that particular blind alley again in the morning. Then he reached for the phone.

Stephanie answered on the second ring.

“Babe?” Tower asked.

“Yeah?”

“Put on the steaks,” he said, “and pour the wine.”

2048 hours

Graveyard Shift

Katie MacLeod laced up her patrol boots, cinching down the knot. She reached for her duty belt, strapping it around her waist. She slipped the thin leather belt keepers under her regular belt and around her duty belt to secure the two together. After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable, she grabbed her patrol bag and left the locker room.

In the hallway that led down to the sally port in the basement, she dropped her bag. She’d pick it up after roll call on the way downstairs. She made her way toward the briefing room, but was intercepted by Lieutenant Saylor.

“MacLeod?” he said. “I need to see you for a second.”

Katie gave him a professional nod, but inside she suppressed a sigh.

What is it now? I’m going into the Witness Protection Program?

The two stepped into the conference room next to the sergeant’s office. Even after being on the job for five years, going into the so-called “spanking room” with a sergeant or lieutenant gave her a sense of unease in the pit of her stomach.

Saylor closed the door. He turned to face her. Up close, Katie could see the hard lines of his face. He always reminded her of a paradoxical cross between a kindly grandfather and a Marine drill instructor.

“It’s been a bit of a rough ride this last couple of weeks, hasn’t it?” he asked her.

“It’s been fine, sir,” Katie answered. Unconsciously, she found herself standing as straight as she could.

Saylor smiled slightly. “My experience has been that room service is only good for about a day or so. Usually less than that.”

Katie flashed to the tasteless sandwiches and soggy fries that she’d been subsisting on at the hotel. He’d hit the nail on the head. “It hasn’t been gourmet,” she admitted.

“Well, I’ve got some good news,” Saylor told her. “It’s over.”

“Over?”

Saylor nodded. “That’s the word from above.”

“Did they catch the guy?”

“No.”

Katie narrowed her eyes in thought. She wondered why this change of heart had occurred. “So I can check out of the hotel and go home?”

“Yes.”

“And I don’t have to ride with anyone tonight?”

Saylor shrugged. “I suppose that’s between you and Sergeant Shen. But there’s no directive from the Captain that says you have to.”

Katie stood in the small conference room, a mixture of emotions rushing through her. There was an overwhelming sense of relief and exhilaration at the situation ending and at returning to something akin to normal. At the same time, she experienced some hesitation and gnawing concern. “I wonder why now?” she asked aloud, more rhetorically than not.

Saylor answered anyway. “I think they figured he’d moved on.”

“You mean left River City?”

“Maybe. Or just emotionally. There’s been no sign of him these last two weeks, right?”

Katie shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then that’d be my guess.”

Katie wondered briefly why the Captain wouldn’t have explained things to Saylor in greater detail, but she long ago gave up trying to figure out how the Byzantine world of the brass functioned. Instead, she wondered if ‘they’ meant Detective Tower or if it meant the Captain and Lieutenant Crawford. Whoever it was, she wondered if ‘they’ were right.

“Are you all right, MacLeod?” Saylor asked.

Katie broke away from her contemplation. She nodded. “I’m fine, sir. Just happy to be back to normal.”

TWENTY

Friday May 9th

0721 hours

Day Shift

Where the hell are you, you fucking bitch?

He watched the police station from up the street. It’d been easy to find a slightly different location to park every day. At first he’d sat patiently, sipping his tea and pretending to read the newspaper while he watched the parking lot where the officers parked. He’d spotted the bitch cop’s Jeep on the first day, but it hadn’t moved since. He’d even checked on the weekend, but the Jeep sat there the entire time.

Sitting off her house was out of the question. Not after he’d spotted the two idiot cops up there that day. He’d driven by twice since, taking care not to turn onto her side street. Both times, he was able to pick out a surveillance vehicle. The one time he was certain the house was no longer being watched, a thrill shot through his body like raw adrenaline. He’d parked a block away and crept down the dark alley behind her house. Carefully, he entered her back yard. There was no activity inside the house. The same lights were on as before. He peered through the sectioned glass window of her back door, but saw nothing. And her Jeep wasn’t out front, either.

He wanted to smash the small glass panes of her door. He wanted to go inside and find her. If she wasn’t there, he wanted to wait for her. He ached for it, like a tooth throbbing in his head. But he forced himself not to. He had to wait. He had to be patient.

Headlights appeared up the street, then winked out. A gray Chevy Caprice rolled to a stop a few houses away. Two shadowy figures sat in the front seat.

He quickly lowered himself into a crouch. He waited for a moment to see if they’d spotted him, but neither door opened. Once he was sure, he crept back to the alley and headed back to his car.

Now, sitting in his car in the early morning hours, he ground his teeth together in frustration. He was tired of waiting on this fucking bitch. Obviously, they’d been hiding her from him, which enraged him all the more. If she didn’t show in the next couple of days, he was done waiting. He’d find some other worthless snatch, lay the whammo on her and carve her up like a Christmas goose. That was more than his worthless father ever did, so the son of a bitch would have to be proud, wherever he was. He’d have to know who the better man was.

More than that, if he nailed someone else, they might just take their eyes off of their precious little girl cop.

Then he’d take care of her.

He smiled.

“There it is, Katie,” he whispered in the stillness of his car. “If you don’t show by the end of the weekend, next week is going to be very newsworthy.”

He imagined the news lady, that plastic-faced talking head Shawna Matheson, reporting his deeds to the Joe and Mary Six-Pack crowd that made up the majority of River City. He could see her affected look of contrived gravitas. He could hear the emphasis she’d place on key words in her video report to make her audience listen more closely. It would be so slick, so Hollywood, and yet he knew he’d love it.

Maybe after Katie, he should go after that Matheson bitch. That’d make headlines.

That’d make him quite the man.

He’d be the Rainy Day Killer.

Or maybe the River City Killer. That’d be even better. Maybe after he took care of that Matheson snit, he’d give that reporter lady another call. Maybe he’d tell her how he wanted to be referred to. And she’d make sure it happened, or else she’d find out what the whammo was all about.

He realized he was gripping the steering wheel in two fists and forced himself to relax. It was nice to dream, but the difference between him now and him when he was younger was that now he made his dreams become reality. He wasn’t fantasizing about the whammo anymore. He was living it.

The door to the police station opened. Several male officers filed out, along with a female. He peered closely, but it wasn’t the one he was looking for. It was some blonde. He settled back in his seat. The floodgates were opening now. The graveyard officers would be flowing out for the next ten or fifteen minutes. Katie hadn’t been part of that exodus, though. He wasn’t sure if that meant she wasn’t working at all, or maybe she was on a different shift. Still, she wasn’t using her Jeep or staying at her house. They had to be protecting her, no question.

He ground his teeth, rubbed his palms on his slacks and waited.

Five minutes later, his faith was rewarded.

Katie MacLeod exited the glass doors of the police station. The sight of her caused him to take in a sharp breath. Excitement buzzed through his limbs. He leaned forward, almost expecting it to be some other woman that just looked like her.

No. It was her.

He stared at her as she made her way directly toward the Jeep. Her stride had a confident bounce to it that made his stomach burn. Gone was the slouch. Gone was the meek shuffle. She strode along like everything in world was right. Like she was in control of everything around her. Like she was the queen of the whole goddamn world.

“Oh, I’m going to fix that,” he whispered to himself. “I am going to fix that to
day
.”

0746 hours

Tower sipped a fresh cup of coffee and rubbed his eyes. He felt tired, but refreshed at the same time. On the one hand, he knew he’d had far too much wine last night. And probably too much Stephanie, too, if there was such a thing. He was sleepy and hung over, but in the midst of that, he felt a level of relaxation that he hadn’t experienced since all of this rapist business started.

When he came into the office this morning, he didn’t dive straight into the pile waiting for him. Instead, he’d poured a cup of coffee and wandered around the General Detectives bullpen, shooting the bull with the detectives there. It felt good to argue about something as meaningless as whether the Seattle Mariners were going to have a good season or not.

He avoided Major Crimes, even though he felt like he owed Browning a thank you. There’d be time for that later. He didn’t want to risk running into Lieutenant Crawford and having his good morning spoiled.

Now, seated at his desk, took another sip of the coffee and reached for his pile of registrations. The top one was the printout from the previous night. He scanned it.

“Jeffrey Goodkind,” he whispered. “Time to eliminate another lucky soul from suspicion.”