Ring Around the Rosy (16 page)

He waited in the corner near the
trash bins. He couldn’t believe how readily Sally agreed to meet him,
especially at this hour. Stupid broad. Didn’t she read the newspapers? Watch
television? Was she so desperate that she agreed to meet him at this time of
night?

He laughed. Of course, he hadn’t
used his own name. He wasn’t that stupid. Sally wouldn’t have remembered him,
anyway. None of them had. And why would they? They had their own little
cliques. Certainly, none of them had paid any attention to him. Well, they did
now. And so would Sally.

It had been so easy getting her
here. He had something of hers from a long time ago, he said. Something special
and he wanted to see her. To return it in person.

She wanted him to come to her
house. But he made an excuse. This wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted her kids
to see. Besides, he wanted to see her alone. See if maybe they could pick up
where they left off so long ago. Just like that, she had agreed.

He waited for her now, and thought
about his plan of attack. She might fight a little more. She was a big girl —
tall, with legs that wouldn’t quit. He licked his lips. How the guys used to
talk about her legs, the way she wrapped them around their waists. Long, tall,
Sally. Even now, the thought of it excited him. But he wasn’t here for that.

Ah, there she was, looking for
him. She couldn’t see him back in the shadows. He had to draw her to him.
Couldn’t let her see it was him until it was too late.

“Sally, over here,” he whispered.

Sally hurried toward him.

He stepped out of the shadows when
he was close enough to grab her from behind.

She screamed, and he put one hand
over her mouth to muffle it. Not that it mattered. No one was around. He put
his other arm around her neck and jerked her head back.

She struggled, but he was too
strong for her. He lowered her to the ground and moved in front of her. He saw
the dawning of recognition, the terror in her eyes. And he couldn’t help but
laugh.

He put his knee on her chest to
hold her down, and brought his hands to her neck. She turned her head back and
forth, brought her hands up to his, struggling to loosen his grip, but he
squeezed harder. It didn’t take long. It never did. He felt the breath go out
of her. Heard her last gasp for air. Then she was gone.

He stood and took his time
preparing her body. He dragged her to the big puddle left from the morning’s
rain. How pathetic she looked in death. Her long slender legs twisted beneath
her. Her long dark hair, dirty from the way he dragged her, splayed out on the
ground.

“You sure don’t look sexy now,
bitch.” He pulled the bird out of his knapsack and set it on her chest.

Then, he put the clock next to her
and set the time at one o’clock. “You wouldn’t give me the time of day, would
you, whore? No, you went with all the other guys, but I wasn’t good enough for
you.”

He picked up her hand, looked at
her slender fingers, and curled them around the rhyme. “I heard what you did
with those hands. What pleasures they brought the guys. Well, you won’t be
bringing anyone else pleasure.”

He almost spit on her face, but
thought better of it. That would be stupid. After the care he took not to leave
any trace evidence, it wouldn’t do to leave DNA at this point. Instead, he
picked up his knapsack, kicked her leg, licked his lips, and hid in the shadows
when he heard a noise behind him.

 
An old bum walked toward Sally’s body and
leaned down. When he realized she was dead, he recoiled from the body as if it
would attack him. He turned and ran.

Finally, the bum rounded the
corner. That was close. Too close. He took too much time with this one. He’d
have to be more careful in the future.

* * *

Susan dreaded going home, dreaded
cleaning up the mess. Dave picked her up from Clare’s early. Too early, but it
was going to be a long day.

As usual, Susan automatically
pressed the message playback on her answering machine.

“Twinkle, twinkle little star, how
I wonder where you are.” The voice sounded more evil and oppressive than ever
before. Susan shivered as it continued.

“A tisket, a tasket a
green-and-yellow basket, I wrote a letter to my love and on the way I lost it,”
he said with a malicious gurgle and a short pause.

Susan expected the click of the
disconnection, but instead he went on.

“Hickory dickory dock, the mouse
ran up the clock, the clock struck one, the deed is done, hickory dickory
dock.” After another evil laugh, the click of the phone told her he had hung
up.

“Damn it, who is he?” Slamming her
fist on the counter, anger replaced her fear. Her stomach turned over. The
whole thing disgusted her. She was beginning to regret getting this story

“What did those riddles mean? Did
he lose something? What the heck was he talking about now? Is this his sick
idea of a joke?” Susan paced the kitchen.

“Calm down, Susan.” Dave said.

“It’s pretty certain a murder is
going to take place at one o’clock, but on which day? Is he so brave and brazen
to attempt another murder with the park and lake staked out? Maybe they’ll
catch him this time, hopefully before he murders his next victim.” Susan
couldn’t help rambling.

Dave put his arms around her and
held her close. Being in his arms helped calm her fears.

“I’m spending the night. If the
murder is going to be committed tonight, I’ll be close to the scene.”

Susan was about to object.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, don’t
worry.” He raised his eyebrows. “Besides, you’re going to need help cleaning
up.”

“Are you hungry?” Susan went into
the kitchen to fix them something to eat, and raised her hands in the air. “How
am I supposed to find anything in here?” She tiptoed through the mess.

Could she handle Dave spending the
night? She sort of liked the idea, felt safer knowing he’d be nearby. Her mood
lightened. He had that effect on her. The comfortable, easy companionship they
had grown to share made her feel safe and secure. Conversation wasn’t
necessary. Maybe depending on him wasn’t so bad. If she had to depend on
anyone, she couldn’t think of anyone better than Dave. Besides, she definitely
needed help cleaning up the mess.

She fixed a couple bowls of cereal
and toast. Best she could do under the circumstances. After they ate, Dave
looked at her. “Ready to dig in?”

“Not really, but what choice do I
have? You work on the kitchen. I’ll start in the bedroom.”

After dinner, with the apartment
amazingly back together, they watched television curled up on what was left of
the couch, the lights turned down low. Bella laid half on her lap, half on
Dave’s. Dave’s cell phone lay on the table next to them, waiting for news of
the next victim.

They didn’t have long to wait.
Shortly after one o’clock, Dave’s phone rang, and Susan’s scanner squawked. The
body of a white female victim, approximate age 31, was found near an old
abandoned factory. Susan jumped up the same time as Dave and followed him out
to his car.

She knew it, knew after that last
phone call the murder would take place around one o’clock.

The officer on the scene met Dave.

“What do we have here, Gordon?”

“White female looks to be in her
early thirties. Looks like our boy struck again.”

“Who reported it?” Dave asked.

“A homeless man found the body
when he was looking for a place to sleep. He’s over there.”

Susan looked in the direction
Officer Gordon pointed. A shaggy-bearded man in dirty, old, ragged clothes
leaned against the building.

Dave started to move away, and
Susan followed him.

“Oh God.” Susan covered her mouth.
She’d seen the victim, Sally Arnold, around the neighborhood. Mostly in
Meliti’s Market. Did someone have a vendetta against Mr. Meliti? So far, all
the victims frequented the store. Or was it the neighborhood in general. Maybe
it was someone who worked there? Who? Mr. Meliti? Anthony? Maybe a delivery
man. There had to be some connection.

“What’s wrong?” Dave came back and
asked her.

“I know her.”

Dave
 
put his arm around her. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know her well. I mean, I
talked to her at Meliti’s Market. We didn’t socialize or anything.”

Susan looked at the body. Sally, a
tall, lanky, dark-haired female, lay in a large puddle of water. A stuffed
black bird sat on her chest. Her eyes glazed over with the horror of death on
her face, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. A dead mouse lay by her
side, attached to an old clock.

“Oh, my God, that looks like my
clock. My grandmother gave it to me years ago.” It didn’t work, but she
wouldn’t part with it for anything. How did it get here? “Or is it one that
looks the same?” She’d have to look when she got home.

The hands pointed at one o’clock,
apparently in reference to Hickory Dickory Dock. The rhyme clasped in the
victim’s hand read Sally in the water, Sally in the sea, Sally caught a
blackbird but
You
can’t catch me.

He had written his own headline.
This story was too late to make the midnight deadline, so Susan decided to go
home to write it. Knowing Dave would be tied up for a long time, she decided to
walk the six blocks to her apartment. A staff writer from the paper stood at
the edge of the scene, Bill something — she couldn’t remember his last name —
but vaguely recalled seeing him at one of the other murder scenes. The first
one, she thought.

He smiled and waved in recognition
as she fought through the crowds that had gathered even at this late hour.

Greg touched her shoulder,
startling her when he suddenly appeared at her side.

“Need a lift?” he asked as if it
was the middle of the afternoon and not almost two o’clock in the morning.

“Greg!” Susan couldn’t contain her
surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Offering you a ride home if you
want it.” He cocked his head and laughed.

Susan threw him a curious look.

“Actually, I was leaving the bar around
the corner when I saw the commotion. Curiosity got the best of me. Another
murder, huh?”

She smelled alcohol. Was he drunk?
He didn’t appear to be, not that she’d know the difference. They had only
talked a few times. She pulled away from the grasp he had on her arm. She
wasn’t sure if she wanted to get in a car with him, still not satisfied with
his reason for being there.

“Come on,” he said. “I only had a
couple of beers. I’m not over the legal limit.”

She gave in. After all, he lived
in her building, it was only a few blocks, and he didn’t appear drunk. Even one
beer made a person smell like they’d been drinking all night.

Conversation was stilted on the
short ride home. He seemed curious, but she wasn’t about to divulge any more
information than what she’d write for the paper. Of course, the television news
media would run the story long before hers.

Greg walked her to her apartment
and waited until she was inside. His footfalls disappeared as Susan turned the
locks on her door.

Since Dave visited at such odd
hours, she had given him the keys a few days ago. Besides, she liked to wake up
in the morning to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Something about it seemed
homey.

Sitting down at her computer to
write while the story was still fresh in her mind, she thought about the victim
before she started typing. Sally had a reputation and Susan hoped, for the
family’s sake the news media didn’t pick up on it.

Sally in the Water

“Sally in the sea, Sally caught a
black bird. You can’t catch me” was the challenging rhyme left by the nursery
rhyme murderer on the body of his latest victim. 31-year-old Sally Arnold. Ms
Arnold’s body lay in a large puddle near the abandoned Fletcher Factory.

She is the first murder in a
little over two weeks. Like the previous murder, there was no forewarning. A
homeless person looking for a place to sleep found the body.

Sally Arnold, a single mother of
two children ages 8 and 10, lived in the same neighborhood as the other
victims. As far as the police can tell, they had no connection between the
victims. They didn’t work together or socialize.

Susan left off there. She’d add
more tomorrow, after she talked with Dave. She picked up Bella and crawled into
bed, exhausted.

Chapter Thirteen

The aroma of fresh brewed coffee
and bacon frying woke Susan early the next morning. She stretched, jumped out
of bed, combed her fingers through her hair, and went to greet Dave. She just
might be able to get used to this. Heck, who was she kidding? She was already
used to it.