Trace of Doubt (8 page)

Chapter 13

I
ignored all the missed calls on my cell phone. I knew it was probably David, but I desperately wanted to open the envelope in the lab as soon as possible. I flashed my badge at the night security guard.

“Hey, Carl, how’s it going?”

“Good, Billie. You’re in late.”

I shrugged, carrying the envelope. “I have something I need to look at right away.”

“Got a pot of coffee over there, if you want some.”

“No, thanks.” I waved to him and hurried on to the lab. Once inside, I pulled on rubber gloves and readied a bench where I planned to open the envelope. I turned on the light and took a deep breath.

Close up, under magnifying glass, the hair had flecks of blood on it, just like the other souvenir. But this one really was the exact same shade as my own hair—I felt certain it was from my mother, and hair analysis would hopefully confirm that.

Next, I pulled out the note and carefully unfolded it.

Another present for my darling.

Love,
Daddy

I wanted to throw up. I prepared the sample for analysis, stat. I hoped for a careless fingerprint. A bit of saliva on the envelope. Something. As we walk, as we live our lives, we leave our DNA residue all around us. We literally shed the evidence that can solve a crime.

I left the lab and went to my office. I fired up my computer. While I waited, I recalled the world’s most infamous serial killers. From the Zodiac Killer to BTK, Son of Sam to Jack the Ripper, there was a long history of serial killers taunting their pursuers. Some said it was because they secretly longed to get caught. BTK got very sloppy when he came out of seeming retirement and started writing to the newspaper again. He was eventually traced because of a computer disk.

I was convinced that my mother’s killer was a sociopath. Only someone like Ted Bundy toys with people, writes notes meant to torment.

Technology was in my favor. On the one hand, a very smart serial killer can always be cautious—use a condom, wipe off prints, wear rubber gloves, burn his clothes. On the other hand, just a fragment is enough, especially with the advances we’ve made in replicating DNA. Whereas before we needed a fairly pure sample of a certain size—albeit tiny—now we can take the most minute sample and duplicate it again and again.

Why the note? I pondered. I don’t know if I believed it was a desire to be caught. I went on the Internet and found one article that agreed with me—an FBI behavioralist who claims it’s the killers’ own egos, causing them to want to manipulate the press, the police, believing they are invincible. They don’t want to get caught—they want to play God. My mother’s killer wanted to mess with my mind.

“Daddy.”

The killer wasn’t just taunting me about her death, he was taunting me about the very doubts that now plagued me concerning my father, which meant he was close enough to my family to know enough about my mother and father to torment me about this. To leave me his souvenirs.

Statistically, I’ve heard the theories about how many serial killers operate in the United States at any given time. I know that a serial killer can be ordinary. Your neighbor. Your coworker. I shuddered. He was close. I was certain of it.

I’d have to unravel all the threads carefully if I was going to catch him…without being caught in the killer’s net myself.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. My cell phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Billie,” David’s voice was unusually sharp. “Where have you been?”

I was tired and starting to notice my arms ached from changing the tire on my car. “David, I’m sorry, it’s been a long night.”

“Jesus Christ! Yeah, it has. A phone call, Billie. A simple phone call so I wouldn’t worry.”

“Look,” I snapped at him. “I don’t call you and bitch when you’ve stayed at the law library all day and evening. I figure you’re busy.”

“Yeah, but no one at the law library is stalking me, Billie.”

“Come on. Some of those librarians are downright dangerous.”

“Don’t joke. Not about this. Are you coming home?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Good. We need to talk.”

I closed my phone, but inwardly I moaned. If ever there was a warning sign of trouble in a relationship, it was the “we need to talk” speech.

I left the lab, said good-night to Carl and got in my car for the drive home. Once I got to my street, I scouted for a parking spot. I found one directly under a streetlamp—pure luck—and I parallel parked. On a hunch, when I got out, I opened my trunk and took a closer look in the light at the blown tire. Sure enough, there were three huge nails perfectly spaced apart—deliberate. The bastard could have killed me.

I slammed my trunk shut and then walked to my apartment. When I got to the second floor, I opened the door, and David was waiting.

“Hi,” I said wearily. “Do we really have to do the whole talking thing right now?”

“Yes. Billie, I didn’t know where you were—and neither did Lewis.”

“Joe knew.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t. What kind of relationship is this? I’m not your babysitter, but the work you do is pretty intense, Billie. Finding the real Suicide King killer almost killed you. I don’t want to risk you not coming home some night.”

He was wearing sweatpants and a muscle T-shirt, and his arms were crossed. He had five-o’clock shadow, and part of me just wanted to tell him I loved him and climb into bed with him.

“David, I can’t abandon the Justice Foundation. I can’t. And I’m going to find out what happened to my mother.”

“Even if it gets you killed? Why do you have to do this alone? Why can’t I help you?”

“I don’t know. It just seems like such a lonely thing. Like something I have to do on my own.”

“Ben Sato is helping you.” His voice was accusing.

“He’s a cop, David. I need his help.”

“So. Jack was a cop.”

The comment hung there in the air between us, angry and ugly. My ex-boyfriend Jack had been a cop. He’d also been a reluctant accomplice to a killer. And he had framed David.

“That’s unfair.”

“Losing ten years of my life in a prison hellhole is unfair. I know what unfair is, Billie.”

“But I didn’t do that to you.”

“I know. Your lover did.”

The comment knocked my breath out of me. “Don’t be like this. Ben Sato is trying to help me.”

“I’m sure he is.” David’s eyes were a mixture of jealousy and anger.

“He’s an honorable man.”

“He just wants to get you in bed.”

“Fuck you, David.”

I saw his face crumble. We’d never fought. Not once. I found it incredible, actually. The Quinns are known for impatience and hot-headedness, and I’m no exception. And it certainly would have been understandable if David’s readjustment to freedom had included some moments of hostility. But instead we had always been sexually charged and emotionally supportive.

“I didn’t mean that, Billie. I was just mad with worry.”

I turned on my heel, and he grabbed my arm.

“Don’t!” I seethed and shrugged him off. I called to Bo and put on his leash. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Let me come with you.”

“No!” I snapped.

“Billie, we’re both under a lot of strain. Please…”

“Don’t follow me. Let me cool off.”

“No—”

Ignoring him, I opened the door and dashed out with Bo. I was trembling with fury. I tried to breathe deeply as I walked, reasoning that we were both under so much stress, with so many obstacles to happiness. I hurried down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. The air was still stifling. I walked Bo and then settled into a half jog. I glanced at my watch. It was almost midnight. In the distance, I could hear some of the bar patrons on the main drag in Hoboken spilling out of the restaurants and pubs.

I thought of making my way to Quinn’s. Maybe a beer and talking to my brother was all I needed. He usually played pool there a couple of nights a week. Mikey had the eternal optimism of a con man, always sure his big break was around the next bend, the next truck he hijacked, the next score. He had an infectious smile, and he made me feel loved.

Having made up my mind to go find my brother, I slowed my pace. And then I heard footsteps behind me.

Glancing ahead of me, I realized the side street I was on was deserted. I was at least twelve blocks from Quinn’s. I wanted to turn around and see who was behind me, but this strange feeling in my gut told me not to. That I wouldn’t like what I saw.

Grateful for Bo, I picked up my pace. Bo panted beside me, his paws making a clicking sound as he trotted beside me. I could hear that the person in back of me picked up his pace, too. I recalled, in an instant, all the things about street crime drilled into my head by both my father and, actually, Jack—a crooked cop, yes, but he had loved me. I moved off of the sidewalk and into the street, crossing to the other side to see if the person following me did the same. He did.

Staying in the street, rather than on the sidewalk, I looked for a lighted building with people around. A bar. A pub. A convenience store. I couldn’t see one. I spotted a well-lit apartment building ahead, and I dashed to its lobby.

Trying the door, I realized, too late, it was one whose security system meant I couldn’t get beyond the vestibule—and there was no doorman. I buzzed on all the buzzers to apartments. A woman answered one.

“Hello?” It was the voice of an elderly woman.

“Hi…I’m down in the lobby of your building and someone is following me. Can you buzz me in?” I hoped my voice conveyed the fear I felt.

The woman hesitated. “I’m afraid we’ve had some break-ins. I can’t let you in, but I’ll call 911.”

“Fine. Please call them then.
Please!
”

Bo was frantic, pacing back and forth, picking up on my anxiety. I was shaking, and I clasped my hands together and breathed in and out a few times to try to calm my adrenaline rush.

I stepped a little closer to the door, in an attempt to peek and see what the man tailing me looked like. It was my friendly, neighborhood, masked freak again. He stepped toward the vestibule.

I was trapped.

Chapter 14

I
didn’t have my gun. And I was in a vestibule barely big enough to throw a roundhouse kick, if I could even remember to do one properly from the Krav Maga classes I took for exercise a few years back.

I pressed all the buzzers again. I hoped that if I annoyed enough people, they’d
all
call the cops. That’s what I wanted…cops swarming the place.

Bo was really untrained—he was a puppy. A big, sloppy puppy, but now he started barking like an attack dog.

“That’s it, boy! That’s it. He’s a bad guy.” Bo strained at his leash. His growls and barking echoed off the tiled walls of the vestibule. “That’s it, boy!” He had great instincts. He knew we were in danger.

I decided if I was going to be attacked, I wanted to be on the street where I had a fighting chance. The door swung out, so I positioned myself in such a way that it would swing right into the killer—or at least the creep I thought was the killer.

With all my might, I gave the door a shove. The heavy glass door did push against him, forcing him to take a step or two backwards. I rushed out, with Bo ahead of me, and then I let go of Bo’s leash. “Get him, Bo!”

The dog lunged at the creep, barking insanely. Bo was a gentle soul who let my cat sleep on his back. His behavior showed me that his animal instincts were picking up on evil. He bared his teeth, snapping. I reached out to try to grab the mask, but the stalker was flailing, and I couldn’t get close to him.

In the distance I heard the wail of sirens. The masked weirdo muttered, “Shit!” He kicked his leg out and hit poor Bo square on the snout. Bo responded by yelping in pain, but then he surprised even me by bounding at the guy and taking a bite of his pant leg. Snarling, Bo tugged hard. I saw the killer getting more frantic. The cops would be there any minute. With one momentous effort, the killer pulled away and dashed down the street, then down an alley. Bo gave chase until I called him back.

“Come on, Bo…good job.”

Bo trotted back. My heart was still pounding, but the puppy saved my life. I knelt down to check out his nose, making sure he was okay.

“Hey, Bo…what do you have there?”

In his teeth was a piece of cloth. “You tore his pant leg. Good for you, boy!” I whispered. And then I felt my heart skip a beat. “And it has blood on it.”

I had his DNA.

I held the cloth in my hand, as police cars came careening down the street. Two cop cars parked, lights flashing and reflecting off of the glass on the buildings nearby.

“Hey, Officers,” I said. “He went that way.” I pointed down the street. “Made a left at that alley. He attacked me, so be careful.”

Two officers left in pursuit, one came over to me, and the fourth went to call for more backup.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m Officer Parks. Want to tell me what happened here?” He stood about six feet tall, and if he weighed 120 pounds, that was a lot. Skinny but wiry, he had a soft voice and gentle gray eyes.

I knew enough from my time with Jack to know I was best off having a friend navigate this with me—a friend inside the force.

“I’m working with Detective Ben Sato. He’s from the Ft. Lee Police Department. I was wondering if you could call him. Tell him Billie Quinn was attacked tonight.”

“Sure.” He made a call from his cell phone, eventually dialing Ft. Lee’s department, and spoke to someone on duty. After he disconnected his cell, he said, “Detective Sato is off duty, but they’re calling him at home.”

“Can you bag this as evidence?” I handed him the cloth with the blood on it.

“This from the suspect?”

I nodded. “My dog got it.”

“Good dog.” The officer grinned at Bo. “You saved your lady, here.”

“He sure did.”

“Are you hurt?”

I shook my head.

“All right, let’s start from the beginning here.”

The beginning. I’d have to go all the way back over two decades to do that.

I looked around at the gathering crowd. I decided starting at the beginning was way too complicated. I instead opted to take a shortcut until Ben showed up.

“I got in an argument with my boyfriend this evening and went out for a walk with Bo to cool off. I wasn’t paying attention, and I realized someone was following me. I felt like I was in danger, so I looked for someplace to call the police or to get around people, and I ended up in that apartment vestibule. Building 609 there. And I buzzed people’s apartments until someone answered. I begged her to call 911. And then the guy following me tried to come after me in the vestibule, so I released my dog, who was barking like crazy, and the dog chased him before anything really horrible could happen to me.”

“You were lucky.”

I nodded.

“You have a description of the guy?”

“He was wearing a mask.”

“What kind of mask?”

“A creepy one. Flesh-colored, and it sticks to him.”

“How tall?”

“About five-eleven.”

“Hair color?”

“Wig.”

“You have any idea who might be following you?”

“Technically, no.”

“What do you mean?”

Who was I kidding? There was no shortcut. And as soon as I laid this out for this cop, it would eventually make the newspapers. So I lied.

“I mean, no.”

He looked like he was about to ask me another question, when the other two officers emerged from the alleyway.

“We saw him. He ditched the wig and got in a car. Too far away to get plates.”

The officer, a woman, held up the wig. “We could tell it was a Ford. A blue one. Nondescript. A sedan of some sort. Ask me, it was likely a rental. Newark airport isn’t but ten miles from here. We could make some inquiries. Not much to go on.”

Another siren screeched through the night. Backup, and with it, or close behind it, an ambulance.

“Really,” I said, “I’m not hurt.”

Cars were being stopped and redirected, so traffic no longer was coming down the street—not that there was much at this hour of the morning. A minute or so later, a two-door black Acura pulled up alongside the police cars, and Ben Sato climbed out.

“Ben,” I said his name as a rush of relief passed through me. He was dressed in black pants and a black T-shirt, and he confidently strode over, nodded to the officers and pulled me aside. I gave him the story, and he nodded, not speaking. He stared at me, then whispered, “I’m very grateful you weren’t hurt.”

“You and me both.”

Ben stepped away from me and went over to the officers. He spoke to them at length, though I couldn’t hear what was being said. A paramedic took me to the ambulance and checked my blood pressure and vitals. When Ben returned, he said, “They’re going to file the report. I’m going to take you home.”

Now that I was out of imminent danger, my body betrayed me. My teeth chattered, and I felt cold even though the night was muggy. Ben put one hand at the small of my back and guided me to his car. Bo came along and hopped up on my lap once I was in. Ben laughed—the first time I ever heard him laugh, I thought. “He thinks he’s a lap dog.”

I smiled and leaned my face down against Bo’s neck. I was able to give Ben directions, even though I felt dazed. When we pulled up to my building, he said, “Let me walk you up.”

I shook my head. “Please just let me go up alone.”

He nodded but didn’t ask me any questions. “Call my cell phone when you are in and safe.”

I agreed, grabbed Bo’s leash and went up to my apartment. When I walked in, David stood up, the anger gone from his face and replaced by his usual serene appearance—albeit a little worried.

“One minute,” I told him. I picked up the phone and dialed Ben’s number. “I’m in and okay.”

“Good. Tomorrow we interview Daniel after work. I’ll come to the lab to get you.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up, then turned to face David. “I was attacked. By the killer—or at least the person who’s left me the souvenirs. Bo saved my life.”

“Oh, my God,” he rushed over and wrapped his arms around me, then bent down to pat Bo. He stood up again and grabbed me in a bear hug. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I don’t want to fight, Billie. Please…you’ve got to be careful.”

“I know. He slipped away. But…” I lifted my head and gave a halfhearted smile. “There is one good thing. Bo got a piece of him. Literally. Bo bit him, tore his pant leg, and now we have his blood. We have his DNA.”

“That’s good news. So then the police can catch him.”

“Well, only if he’s in the system. But it’s evidence. Little by little I’m wrapping a noose around his neck.”

“Well, darling, let’s just hope he doesn’t wrap one around yours first.” David leaned in and kissed my neck. “I’m sorry about everything.” He kissed my lips.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Now will you let Tommy Salami be your bodyguard?”

“Unfortunately, David, I don’t think I have much choice. As soon as my father hears about tonight, Tommy will be on my doorstep.”