Ring Around the Rosy (5 page)

The headline for the next story
popped out. Standing well away from the body, she watched Dave and the other
officers who had converged on the scene. Someone took out the victim’s wallet
and identified him — Jack Murphy. She knew him. Not well, but she had talked to
him a couple of times at Meliti’s Market.

Two officers taped off the crime
scene. Another took photographs from all corners, moving closer to the victim
as the flashes from the camera lit up the night. Others scoured the area,
collecting evidence with gloved hands. Still other officers talked to the crowd
that had gathered, looking for potential witnesses.

One of the witnesses said a man
wearing a gray shirt and carrying a bag had asked for directions shortly before
the police arrived. Several officers copied names and phone numbers and assured
them a detective would be in touch.

Her stomach turned over as the
medical examiner took the internal body temperature with something that looked
like a meat thermometer. Nausea filled her throat, threatening to erupt and she
looked away. She needed to get out of there, needed her laptop or the newspaper
office. She had enough info for the story.

Looking at the faces in the crowd,
she spotted Ray off to the side with his camera. “Ray,” she called, “what are
you doing here?”

“I heard the call on my scanner.”
He snapped another picture. “I wasn’t far, thought I’d see if I could get some
pictures. Are you doing the story?”

“If I can get to the office and
turn it in before anyone else.”

“Well, come on, I’m on my way
there myself. This could be my big break, too, if I can get this film in before
the others.” They hurried into his car and sped away. “Hey, maybe your headline
will go with my picture,” Ray said on the way.

Composing the story in her mind,
Susan didn’t’ feel like talking and only nodded in reply. What luck. First to
be with Dave when the call came, and then for Ray to show up. Chances of her
story being the first one turned in and printed looked good.

Susan suppressed a chuckle. “Too
bad, Dan Hill!” Beat him out again..

When they pulled in front of the
building and parked, she jumped out, waved at Ray, and hurried into the
newspaper offices without waiting for him. She flipped on a computer and
started typing.
 

Jack Be Nimble, Jack Wasn’t Quick
the headline read.

Was Jack killed with a
candlestick? Towering maple trees cast eerie shadows in the park where Jack
Murphy, 32, became the second victim of the Nursery Rhyme murderer. The coroner
will rule on the cause of death, but the victim suffered head injuries. Marks
on the victim’s neck suggest strangulation. The victim clasped the nursery
rhyme “Jack Be Nimble” in his hand.
 

Susan leaned back. Best to keep
the candlestick out of the story. The public didn’t need to know everything.

Police received an anonymous phone
tip about the body, and a witness reported a man in a gray shirt asking for
directions moments before the police arrived. The death has been ruled a
homicide, and there are no suspects at this time. Is there a serial killer on
the loose? This is the second murder in two days with the same M.O.
 

She hit send and sent the story
down to the editor, sat back, grinned, and punched her fist in the air. “Yes!”

She did it again. Beat the
deadline with minutes to spare. This story superseded Hill’s follow-up story,
which they’d probably relegate to the inside pages, if they printed it at all.
Now let Ernie try to take this story away from her.

Ray met her at the door as she got
ready to leave. “Did you get your story in?”

With thumbs up and a grin, she
nodded. “How about you? Your pictures turned in?”

He smiled, nodded, and put his arm
around her. “Do you need a ride home?”

Shoot, she didn’t have her car,
hadn’t given it a thought until now. What the heck? She liked Ray. With his
blue eyes and easygoing manner, he looked like the fair-haired boy next door —
fun to be around. Besides, right now, she loved everybody. She was on her way.
No one could stop her.

The phone rang shortly after she
opened her door. Thinking it was Dave, she grabbed it.

“I told you Jack would be next.
Did you get the story in on time?” the voice said. “Watch out for Wee Willie
Winkie.” The line went dead.

Susan steadied herself against the
counter. Her heart raced. The room spun, and a wave of nausea swept over her.
Slumping down against the cabinet, she slid to the floor.

She had to get a hold of herself,
clear her head, take control.

It wasn’t like her to fall apart.
What kind of reporter couldn’t even deal with a phone call? Placing her head
between her knees, she took long, deep breaths. She had to call Dave.

She found his number on the
refrigerator and dialed. Drumming her fingers on the counter, she waited for
him to answer. His voice message came on. She hung up and called nine-one-one.
“I need to talk to Detective David Morgan, please. He’s at a crime scene.
Please hurry, it’s an emergency. I have to talk to him. Tell him it’s Susan
Weston. Please hurry.”

“Miss Weston, Detective Morgan
will call you right back,” the emergency operator said a moment later. Susan
hung up, and the phone rang almost immediately.

“Dave, he called,” she said. “Just
now, he called.”

“Okay, calm down,” Dave said. “I’m
on my way. Oh, and sit down away from the windows. I don’t want you moving
around the apartment.”

* * *

Damn it, the killer was watching
her, knew what she was doing. Where was he? Dave needed to keep her on the
phone until he got there.

“So tell me, why did you want to
be a reporter anyway?”

“Because I love writing, and I
always have to investigate everything. Why did you become a cop?”

“I come from a family of cops,
from my great-grandfather down to my father, me, and my brothers. We’re a long
line of cops. He veered around traffic and just missed hitting a car.

“I just recently made detective,
my one big dream fulfilled.”

Dave did a quick scan of the
neighborhood as he pulled in front of her apartment. Nothing appeared out of
the ordinary, no one lurked nearby. Could it be one of her neighbors? He raced
up the steps to her apartment house. Luckily, Horace let him in.

* * *

Susan opened her door. “There’s
going to be another murder, probably someone named Willie, but he didn’t say
when. He said watch for Wee Willie Winkie,” she blurted, not giving Dave time
to get in.

“How does that rhyme go? Wee
Willie Winkie runs through the town... How does the rest of it go? I don’t
remember.” She felt light-headed. Anxious. Couldn’t breathe. It was hard to
think. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. Why was she so scared?

“Calm down, Susan.” Dave led her
to a chair. “Let me get you something to drink. Sit, take deep breaths, and try
to relax.” He went into the tiny kitchen and opened cupboard doors, found a
glass, filled it with water, and brought it to her. “Do you have anything stronger
than water around here?”

“Lemonade, soda, or beer, in the
fridge.” She sipped the water and inhaled a long deep breath then exhaled
slowly. ”This is fine.” Feeling a little more relaxed, she leaned back in the
chair.

“Upstairs and downstairs in his
night gown, rapping at the windows, crying through the locks are the children
all in bed...” She stood up and recited as the rhyme came back to her.

“For now it’s eight o’clock,” they
finished together.

“The murder is going to be at
eight o’clock, isn’t it? That’s broad daylight. Unless he meant eight o’clock
tomorrow night. So far, something about every rhyme was part of the murder. A
pudding and pie at George’s scene, the candlestick at Jack’s.”

Susan paced the apartment, a habit
developed while plotting a story, getting the facts straight in her mind. “The
next one is going to be named Willie, and he’s going to be murdered at eight
o’clock, maybe wearing a nightgown.” She shook her hair out of the clasp, then
pulled it back up and clicked the clasp in place.

“That’s how these are going,
aren’t they. What’s the connection? Do you have a suspect? You know for sure
now it isn’t me.” She turned to Dave, who stood grinning at her as she rambled.

“Speaking of you not being a
suspect…” He pulled the evidence bag from his pocket, removed the bracelet.

“I didn’t place it into evidence.
I never really considered you a suspect.” He handed her the bracelet. “No, we
don’t have a suspect. So far, we haven’t been able to figure out a connection
between the victims, other than they lived around here. We’re checking to see
if they went to the same schools. Maybe it’s someone who knew them long ago. We
don’t know yet.”

She hoped he knew she was going to
print this. The public had a right to know this information, and she was a
reporter.

The way he looked at her and
cringed, he knew.

“Come on, Susan, that was off the
record.”

She shrugged. “I have a job to
do.”

“Let’s put those shades up, shall
we?” He changed the subject, but Susan noticed the tightness in his jaw. He
wasn’t happy with her. At least he didn’t leave. She didn’t want to be alone.

While he measured, she cut the
shades, liking the silence. Too bad she hadn’t known how easy they were to
install, she’d have done it long ago. These were a new type that you fit to the
window yourself. Dave hung the brackets.

The way his hair fell to the side
begged her to run her hands through it.

This wasn’t good. She had to stop
this nonsense.

The window looked strange with the
shades drawn. Good thing she had picked the off-white rather than the stark
white. Not too bad, considering she preferred the open look with just a valance
to add some color. Besides, she liked the look of the exposed wood.

Thankfully, Dave had mounted the
shades on the inside so at least the wood still showed, but they blocked the
city lights, and she missed the view from her living room. The ones in her
bedroom didn’t matter because the light from the parking lot and the morning
sun interrupted her sleep, but she missed looking out at the city.

“Want some coffee?” she asked when
they finished. She still didn’t want him to leave. He made her feel secure and
comfortable. Nothing had ever rattled her like this case.

Maybe Ernie was right, maybe she
was too involved. No! She almost stamped her foot. This was silly, she was a
grown woman. Why not admit she liked having Dave around?

He shook his head. “One cup, then
I have to leave,” he said. “I‘m still on duty. And I don’t want you to answer
the phone anymore. Let the machine pick it up.”

He followed her into the kitchen.
“I’d feel better if you’d find someplace else to stay. This guy might be
watching you. Is there anyone you’ve come in contact with lately that’s been
acting strange? Maybe it’s someone you know and wants to get your attention.”

Surprised, she turned to look at
him. “That’s ridiculous. Why would someone want my attention?” No one she knew
was capable of murder. At least, she didn’t think they were. But maybe it was
only an acquaintance. It didn’t have to be someone she knew well.

She shook off the thought. “That’s
just plain ridiculous.” Still, she knew both victims. A tremor ran up her
spine.

“Just a thought,” he said. “All
the same, I want you to be extra-cautious, more observant of people around you,
who you come into contact with and their reactions. Just use your reporter’s
intuition and observation, okay. And don’t forget — screen your calls, and call
me immediately when he calls again.”

He finished his coffee, stroked
her arm, and looked at her.

Desire smoldered in his eyes. Susan
tried to look away, but his gaze held her captive. Tingles of excitement
started in the pit of her stomach. Her breath came in short gasps. He moved
closer. She tried to back away, but her legs wouldn’t budge. She didn’t like
the affect he had on her. She’d always been able to resist men, but not him.

His gaze locked on her lips. He
was going to kiss her, and she wasn’t going to stop him. He leaned toward her,
and the phone rang.

“Leave it,” he mumbled before his
mouth joined hers.

The machine picked up, and her
mother’s voice came on.

Dave pulled away, breaking the
mood. “I better go.”

Electric sparks still surged
through her body from his kiss. Never had she been so attracted and so
aggravated by one person before in her life. She ignored the phone. She’d call
her mother back tomorrow. She needed to think.

No point going to bed. Sleep
wouldn’t come. She took out her laptop. Writing helped relieve her stress. She
wrote aimlessly, not about anything in particular, just whatever came to her
mind.