A Maria Sanchez Thriller
Book One
Pattern of Violence
By
C. Hyytinen
Prologue
There'd be Hell to pay when he got home tonight, and she was terrified. Her husband had turned violent more than once in the past week, consumed with a rage no one could possibly understand. She'd discovered there was no match against his brutal strength, fueled by drugs.
After calling the construction site, she found out he'd been fired late in the afternoon.
It was
The young woman laid the baby down, kissing the child on top of her soft, downy head, then walked into the tiny kitchen to brew a pot of tea–more to keep busy than actually drink it.
She was just sitting down at the kitchen table when his old, worn-out pickup rumbled up the gravel drive.
The man stumbled through the back door, malice in every step, his hair damp with sweat and dirt; his bruised face streaked with dried blood and grime. The torn sleeve of his work shirt and bloodied knuckles gave testament to the fact he'd been in a fight.
As he approached, she backed into the far corner of the small kitchen. That was her first mistake–she knew from experience–but couldn't control her fear of him.
He sensed her terror and thrived on it. Closing the distance between them, he grabbed her, crushing her unwilling body to his massive chest and kissed her hard on the mouth. He smiled at the blood that appeared on her lips.
"Don't...please," she begged.
"Shut up," he hissed, his breath reeking of cigarettes and alcohol.
"You'll wake the baby."
Laughing, he pushed her away, making her stumble and catch her hip on the edge of the counter.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she staggered to keep her balance.
"The baby? Not my baby, you stupid bitch," he growled, glassy eyed and crazed from the drugs and alcohol. "I knew from the minute that little bastard was born she wasn't mine. And I'm glad. Do you hear? Glad! I hate her as much as I hate her slut of a mother. Why do you think I do this?" He thrust his arm in her face.
She gazed at the needle tracks trailing up his arm and shuddered with disgust as well as fear. The broken veins showed an angry red against flesh bruised from the drugs he injected daily.
"'Cause I hate your fuckin' guts, both of you," he screamed, spraying her with spittle. He drew back his hand and swung, connecting with her jaw, sending her crashing against the kitchen wall.
Advancing toward her crumpled body, he pulled out the hunting knife strapped to his belt, promising over and over in his own crazy, whispered litany, to teach her a lesson she'd never forget.
From the other side of the room came the voice of a small child, timid and frightened. "Mommy? Daddy?" As the little girl looked at her mother lying on the floor, blood trickling down one side of her mouth, then at her father, knife in hand and murder in his eyes, she began to wail. Running to her father, she pummeled his leg with her tiny fists, crying. "Stop, stop! Mommy hurts!"
The man turned on the child, ready to kill. He raised the knife, hatred for them both burning in his insane eyes.
The woman looked up. Getting to her knees and shaking her head to clear it, she knew her child was in grave danger. Struggling to her feet, she lost her balance, but soon recovered, scanning the kitchen for a weapon of some kind. Grabbing the teakettle from atop the stove, she lurched toward the man holding her child. With all the strength left in her battered body, she swung the kettle in a high arc, landing it on his head with a loud thwack.
He fell backward, banging his head on the kitchen table as his immense frame crashed to the floor–then lay still.
"He must be dead," she muttered, cradling the sobbing child in her arms. Kneeling by her husband–a man she no longer knew at all–and placing her hand to his mouth, she felt the warmth of his breath against her palm.
He was still alive.
"Come on, honey. We have to hurry," she whispered. Clutching the child to her bosom, she ran out the back door to the old pickup truck that would get them to a safe haven.
"Oh, no. Damn!" The keys to the truck were in the kitchen, hanging on a nail above the sink.
Setting the child in the pickup, she was prepared to go back inside when she glimpsed the sparkle of something shiny reflecting in the sinking, golden summer sun. Miraculously, the keys dangled from the ignition. "Thank you, God," she muttered to the heavens. Kissing the child's tear-streaked face, she locked the door and climbed in the driver's side.
Never again would she come back here. She should have fled with her baby long ago, but feared it would have been their death if she did. Now, time was running out, and he'd almost killed them anyway–and still would when he regained consciousness.
Turning the key, her stomach lurched at the sound of the engine turning over and over again. "Please, God. Please," she chanted, glancing furtively at the back door, expecting her husband to come stumbling out at any minute with the shotgun that lay under their bed. She cursed herself for not remembering to grab it before leaving.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, she tried again. Still nothing but the incessant cranking.
"Damn! Maybe it's flooded," she told herself, looking at her beautiful little girl who was on the verge of sleep, despite all the anxiety her mother struggled with. Pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor, she said a silent prayer and tried once more.
The old truck roared to life, black smoke billowing out the rear. Then it coughed, sputtered, and almost died.
Gunning the motor to keep it running, she slammed the pickup into gear and tore out of the driveway, gravel flying in all directions, never looking back.
They would stay with her brother,
Carlos, in
* * *
She'd been with her brother one week when she received the news from the police–her husband had been killed in a car crash. He'd hit a tree while driving on a country road late at night, going in excess of eighty miles per hour. The impact caused the gas tank to explode. A farmer plowing his fields discovered the charred remains of both car and driver the following morning.
Chapter 1
A shrill, insistent ringing interrupted Maria's deep, dreamless sleep. She reached for the alarm clock, pushing the snooze button for an extra fifteen minutes of sleep, but the ringing continued. Realizing it must be the telephone, she groped with one hand, fumbling for the phone and almost knocking it to the floor. "Damn. Sanchez," she whispered in a sleep-induced croak. Her eyes snapped open and every muscle in her body tightened as she carefully listened to the facts concerning the most recent victim.
She hung up the phone and laid her head back on the pillow, closing her eyes. "Oh, God. Not another one," she whispered to no one in the darkness. "When is this nightmare going to end?"
Detective Maria Sanchez looked at
the clock on her bedside table.
After starting the coffee maker, she took a quick hot shower, feeling some of the tension leave her tired, aching muscles. With only three hours of sleep, she felt surprisingly wide-awake, even though looking in the mirror, her blood-shot eyes betrayed her.
Applying minimal makeup and running a comb through her wet hair, she dressed quickly and poured a large thermos mug of coffee for the road.
Only the light of an occasional street lamp held back the darkness of the ghost-like streets.
* * *
The riverbank glowed in bright artificial light as technicians meticulously processed the crime scene.
"We ready to bag her?" the medical examiner inquired.
"Yeah, go ahead." Maria crouched next to the victim, watching as they untied the naked body of the young girl from the raft so the body bag could be slipped over her.
The victim's pale skin glistened a sickly green in the unnatural light, and her dark eyes stared empty at the starry night sky.
"Same as the others, right," Maria stated more than asked, feeling her heart sink at the sadness.
"Exactly," the M.E. said. "The River Rat strikes again. Look at this." He pointed to a necklace of dark bruises around the girl's throat. "Windpipe's crushed." Closing the bag, he added, "She's missing her right thumb, too." He stood up, removing the plastic gloves he wore, and smiled winningly. "Maybe you'd care to join me for the autopsy. I do my best work with an audience, especially one as lovely as you."
"Thanks, but no thanks," she said, amazed that he had the audacity to hit on her no matter what the circumstances.
Maria walked to where the two teenagers sat, off to the side of the crime scene. One hung his head between his knees, a puddle of vomit pooling at his feet, while the other was passed out cold.
"Where's the chief?" Maria asked the officer who was one of the first on the scene and keeping an eye on the two boys.
"Here and gone already–in a helluva mood, too," the young cop said.
"Yeah, I'll bet. You might as well take these two home," she said, nodding toward the two kids. "I'll talk to them later when they sober up."
"Yeah, okay. I just hope they don't puke in our squad. My partner will have a fit. And I just might join them," he confessed, glancing uncomfortably at the body bag being loaded onto a gurney for transport to the morgue.
* * *
It was
Maria flipped on the overhead florescent lights and sat down at her desk. Pulling the files on the two previous victims from the bottom drawer, she tried to prepare herself for the sick feeling she got in the pit of her stomach every time she went through them.
Each file held two photographs. The first picture was given to Missing Persons at the time of disappearance, and the second photograph was taken at the crime scene when the body was discovered. To look at the difference between the two pictures–one of a smiling, happy child, and the other depicting the abuse of this madman–made her bile rise.
Maria studied the files again, looking for something, anything she might have missed. She reviewed what little information she'd previously entered into the computer:
*Murders committed approximately two weeks apart.
*Victims: male-age 10, female-age 9–both reside in
*Pornographic video on male victim discovered on
West Coast (in FBI custody).
*Bodies tied to rafts, found in
*Cause of death: Strangulation–both victims
beaten/raped repeatedly prior to death.
*Two different seminal fluids found in female–due to
mixture of the two, semen analysis inconclusive. No seminal fluids found in male, though
sodomy did occur.
*Both victims sustained lacerations, contusions on
abdomen/upper torso, and one or more fingers severed.
*Internal bleeding and organ damage noted on autopsy
reports–attached.
"These poor innocent kids," Maria said, running her hands through her short, dark hair and letting out a heavy sigh. "Now there's one more to add to the list." In the past six weeks this maniac had wasted three young lives. She went through the autopsy and crime lab reports several more times, but there just wasn't anything useful. No hair fibers other than the victims' were found. No skin under the fingernails. No distinguishable fingerprints were detected on the makeshift rafts either. All of which was undoubtedly due to the victims being immersed in river water for several hours before discovery. Imprint evidence was non-existent–recent summer storms and the high humidity had made the riverbanks a virtual quagmire.
The FBI initially became involved when a pornographic video containing footage of the first victim surfaced on the West Coast more than a month ago, before the case was even categorized as a serial murder. The video was one of many discovered by an undercover agent who'd infiltrated the underground. It revealed nothing of the assailants, but focused primarily on the boy, his fear and pain indescribable. Since then, the Behavioral Science Unit had created a psychological profile on the killer by studying the autopsy reports and pictures from the crime scene, which were faxed to them as soon as the homicide department received them. They'd cross-referenced databases nationwide, searching for similar crimes and offenders.
The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension was working closely with the Minneapolis Police Department as well. Agents from the BCA were in top form, following leads from the moment of abduction to the untimely demise of the young victims.
But they still had nothing substantial–no concrete evidence that would help them catch the killer.
Maria was still going through the
files and mumbling to herself when Joe Morgan sauntered in around
He took one look at her and stopped in his tracks. "What the–"
"I was going to call, but knew you needed your sleep." He'd gone home sick yesterday with a bad case of the stomach flu–it was busy making its rounds through the entire department. Joe was the fifth this week to be disabled by it, and with only eighteen detectives in Homicide, the shortage was sorely felt.
"Another body was found this morning," Maria informed her partner. "This makes three. Damnit, Joe…three!"
"Son of a bitch!" Joe shook his shaggy gray head. "Same M.O.?"
Maria nodded. "Remember the missing-persons report that came in on the eight-year-old girl about a week ago?"
"Cheryl Roe?" Joe recalled all too well the picture of the dark-eyed little girl the department had been searching for night and day.
"Yeah. Her parents were down to the morgue a couple
of hours ago to ID the body. We'll have
to wait until the autopsy and lab work is done before we have all the details. Her body was tied to a raft, floating in the
Joe sat his huge 6'4" frame down with a thud on the chair by her desk. "Yeah, too familiar. That's his pattern, all right, goddamn River Rat. Have you talked to the chief yet?"
"No, not since around
The autopsy was being performed at
"I'll cruise over to the crime lab first, then catch the medical examiner on the way back. That way I won't have to wait around," she said, taking a gulp of her cold coffee and grimacing.
Joe laughed, knowing the morgue wasn't one of Maria's favorite places, but for reasons other than the obvious. It wasn't so much the dead bodies that bothered her as it was their keeper, the good doctor.
"By the way, how are you feeling?" Maria asked, concerned.
"Better. I managed to keep down my breakfast, anyway."
"Good. You sure looked terrible yesterday. I was surprised you made it till afternoon."
"You and me both."
"I thought you could go comb the banks where we found the victim's body this morning, if you think you're up to it. Forensic technicians have already searched the riverbanks, but it was dark, and maybe they missed something. They'll be back out there again, now that it's daylight, and one of us should be there to call the shots and keep things running smoothly."
"Sure thing, kid," Joe said with a wink.
"I'll join you when I get done."
Some men might resent taking orders
from a woman, especially one as young and beautiful as Maria, but Joe and
everyone in the department knew she was one tough cop. She'd proven herself competent many times
over the years. First as a rookie street
cop, and then as one of the best homicide detectives in the
Then there was a time several years ago when Joe didn't think he could make it through another day–after his wife, Laura, died of cancer. If it hadn't been for Maria taking care of him and helping him get through his loss, it surely would have been the end of his career as a cop. So, Maria was his friend as well as partner. And he loved that kid of hers like his own.
Maria had joined the force about five years ago. Back then he was the veteran and she the rookie. She learned quickly and after about a year of working side by side, they became known as the 'Dynamic Duo'. A couple of years ago they started spending time together outside of work and soon became close friends.
Joe supposed that was when he started falling in love with Maria Sanchez and around that same time grew close to Theresa, Maria's daughter. She needed a father figure in her life, and Joe was more than happy to be that role model. Tess was a miniature version of her mother with her rich chocolate-brown hair and smooth olive skin, and the same enormous dark eyes as Maria. She already had the same tall, lanky build, too.
As if reading his thoughts Maria said, "God, I miss Tess. I can't believe she's only been at summer camp for two days. It feels more like two weeks."
"Only natural," Joe said, "considering this is her first time away from home. When is she due back?"
"August twenty-third–eight more days. Then it's back to school already, a little more than a week after she's home. Oh, well, looks like I'll be swamped, both day and night, working on this case, anyway."
The chief buzzed Maria's intercom, requesting to see them promptly in his office.
"First things first," Maria muttered to Joe. "I guess the crime lab and M.E. will have to wait." She grabbed a notepad and pencil, and with Joe following close behind, knocked twice on Chief McCollough's door and entered.
Chief Frank McCollough was a large, ruddy-faced Irishman with a quick temper and a good sense of humor when he had a few beers in him. His down-home phrases and readiness to say the first thing that came to mind rubbed some people the wrong way, but Maria had learned from experience that he was a good man with a good heart–it was only his mouth that needed a makeover.
He looked mad as hell now, his face red and sweating, his eyeballs close to bursting from their sockets. He resembled an angry bull, ready to charge at the least provocation.
Needless to say, he was stone cold sober.
Purple veins stood out in cords on his thick neck as he bellowed, "We have thirty days to get this low-life, sleazy son of a bitch. And if we can't do it, the honorable mayor himself is sending in a special investigations team to take over and kick our butts outta here! We'll look like a bunch of goddamn college kids with our fingers up our asses. As it stands now, we already have the Feds, not to mention the BCA working with us. If you ask me, too many cooks in the goddamn kitchen already. We'll be lucky if we aren't the ones tossed to the wolves–the proverbial sacrificial lamb."
He leaned back in his swivel chair,
his gut a majestic mountain, and blew air out of puffed cheeks. After deflating himself, he appeared somewhat
calmer. Then looking at Maria through
hooded lids, he said with a slight smile, "Now, I know you can do it, but
the big question is can you do it in thirty days? Ten extra officers have been put out on the
streets in
"This is all making the mayor
very uptight. Our kids are being
slaughtered like hogs at the market and the whole fuckin' city is in a
panic. Not too good for re-election. I'm on your side, but when the mayor pulls my
strings, I gotta dance to his tune.
Tomorrow morning at
Maria nodded.
"Visit the dead girl's parents. They've already been down to the morgue to ID the body. The mother got so hysterical she had to be sedated, but see if you can glean any useful information from them. The two teenagers who found the victim's body were informed last night that you'd be stopping by to chat with them sometime this morning as well."
"I doubt if they'll remember. They were pretty out of it," Maria said.
"Yeah, I know. I was there. Here's their address," he grumbled, sliding a piece of paper to Maria.
As they got up to leave, the chief shouted, "Hey!"
They both turned, prepared to be screamed at some more.
"Remember, you two are my best and we're all counting on you," he softly added.
* * *
Maria decided to leave her car parked at City Hall and took a squad car over to see the teenagers. It was a seedy dump of an apartment in the run-down section of the city, where a lot of violence and gang-related crimes took place in the early morning hours. It wasn't very long ago she'd walked this beat as a street cop. She climbed the rickety, broken-down stairs that led to their apartment. On the second floor landing, she almost tripped over a bum sleeping in the corner, a bottle of booze tucked protectively under one arm.
She knocked on
"Detective Sanchez with Homicide," Maria said flashing her badge. "I'd like to ask you and your friend a few questions."
"Sure, lady," he said, looking her up and down, his eyes coming to rest on her Glock nine-millimeter. "Come on in."
"Freddie!" he shouted. "We got company!"
Maria could tell they had been smoking pot recently. The dope smoke still hung thick in the air. The place stunk like cat piss or strong BO, she wasn't sure which.
The other kid appeared in the bedroom doorway. He looked considerably cleaner, and slightly older than the first; his red hair cut short.
"Hope you're feeling better this morning," Maria said, smiling.
"Uh, yeah, sure," he said nervously, looking around the apartment, wondering where he left his bag of dope…
"What time was it when you boys first discovered the body floating in the river?" Maria pulled a notebook out of her handbag and flipped it open.
The red-haired kid, Freddie,
stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I guess it was around
"Well, last night you were very intoxicated. I need to make sure we have all the facts straight. Did you see anyone walking along the river, or on the nearby streets?"
The kids looked at each other and shook their heads.
"Any cars that looked like they didn't belong there? Parked along the road, near the river, maybe?"
"Nope, we were the only ones out there. Just comin' home from a party and thought we'd take a little dip to cool off, ya know? Then we see this gross lookin' stiff, bobbin' up and down, tied to some funky little boat. Man, what a trip," the dark-haired, greasy kid remarked.
Maria looked at Freddie for confirmation.
"That's right, man. Not a soul out but us fuckin' night owls," he said, a pot-induced half-hysterical laugh escaping. He covered his mouth with both hands in an attempt to shut himself up.
"Okay," Maria said, putting her notepad away, realizing these two had told her all they were going to. "We may need to talk to you again, so don't leave town, okay?"
"We ain't goin' nowhere," the greasy kid said, and opened the door for her.
Once outside, she breathed deeply, relishing the fresh air after smelling the stink in the apartment.
Although glad to be out of there, she was apprehensive about her next visit. "This one won't be as easy," Maria said aloud, pulling the squad car out into the street.
* * *
Maria pulled up to the house and compared the address she had for the dead girl with the house number above the front door. This was where the grieving parents of Cheryl Roe resided.
It was a beautiful, two-story,
Victorian-style home, overlooking
She rang the doorbell, and a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a Brooks Brother's suit and tie, opened the door. She showed her gold shield. "Detective Sanchez."
"Yes, come in. They told us someone would be coming over," he softly replied. "I'm afraid my wife is heavily sedated and finally asleep. I'd rather not disturb her."
"That's fine. If you could just answer a few questions for me, I won't take much of your time. I'm very sorry about your daughter. I know how difficult this must be for you." She followed him through the lavishly decorated living room.
They sat at the dining table as Maria listed off the facts she had about the girl's disappearance to once again make sure they were correct. Cheryl Roe had been playing outside in the backyard all morning. But when her mother called her in for lunch, she was nowhere to be found. There was no sign of a struggle.
When Mr. and Mrs. Roe reported her missing there wasn't the usual twenty-four hour waiting period, because every cop in the Twin Cities was alerted to the potential danger of waiting. With a child-murderer on the loose, virtually all street cops and civilians alike had been searching in vain for the last several days–until this morning when her body was discovered.
"I know from the police report that you've already answered these questions, but maybe you remember something new. Did you see any strange cars, or people, hanging around your neighborhood on the day, or days preceding your daughter's disappearance?"
He thought for a moment before answering. "I'm sorry, no. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all."
"Well, if you think of anything, even if it seems insignificant to you, please contact us," Maria said, handing him her card. "You have our deepest sympathy Mr. Roe. If there's anything you need–anything at all–please don't hesitate to call. We're here to help."
He looked at the card with a dazed, blank expression and nodded.
Maria thanked him and told him she could find her own way out. As she walked through the living room to the front door, she glanced back and saw Mr. Roe staring out the kitchen window at the swing-set in the backyard. The two swings gently moved back and forth in the summer breeze, while tears ran down his haggard face.
She quickly walked to her car, trying to get the man's haunted expression out of her mind.
* * *
By the time she arrived at the
Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in
Half an hour later, she
double-parked in front of the
The medical examiner's office was on the lower level. His secretary informed Maria he'd left for lunch about ten minutes ago, but had finished the autopsy on the Roe girl. She handed Maria the folder containing the report and told her to go ahead and take it with her.
"Dr. Lang said he'd be over at
City Hall around
Maria thanked her and left, impatient to read the latest information.
The air hung thick with humidity, and when she reached her car, she rolled down the windows, both front and back. She settled back with a can of Coke, warm from sitting in the hot car, and opened the autopsy report folder.
The autopsy report read almost
identical to the other two victims. The
liver temperature indicated the victim had died around
However, as she went over the information from the crime lab, she found something that piqued her interest. Traces of an artificial fiber had been found between the boards of the raft this time. According to the lab, they appeared to be a type of synthetic blue carpet fiber.
Maria put all the papers in order and stuck them into the folder, then drove over to where Joe was conducting the search on the riverbank.
Seeing the police barricade from
the road along the west bank of the
As she climbed down the muddy riverbank, she spotted two forensic technicians combing the area about a half-mile down from where she stood.
She turned and looked in the other direction. Maria spotted Joe, stooped over a hollow log, peering in one end in the midst of heavy brush. She made her way over to him, mud squishing around her shoes, trying to suck them off her feet.
"Find anything?" she called from about ten feet behind him.
He jumped, then flushed a deep red upon seeing Maria approach. "Yeah, I think so."
Joe made his way out of the thick brush, into the little clearing where Maria stood. He held up a baggie, along with a piece of rubber tubing wrapped around a syringe. "Looks like someone was shooting a little dope down here. If it's the killer–and we're damn lucky–maybe we'll get a clean set of prints off this stuff," he said, pulling a folded up paper bag out of his back pocket and opening it. He deposited the tubing, syringe, and small baggie inside, then pulled off the latex gloves he was wearing and stuffed them into his front trouser pocket.
Joe produced a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Maria, and then lit both, inhaling deeply.
Maria had been trying to quit, but the stress and unease of this latest case foiled her half-hearted attempt.
They sat on a rock looking out over the river, and Maria told Joe about the synthetic carpet fibers. This, along with the drug paraphernalia just found were the first and only clues they had. With a little luck, prints would show up on the latter.
Maria looked at her watch. "It's already
"Yeah, okay. They'll be happy to have something to work with." Joe laughed, holding up the bag containing the evidence. "They might even give it a wash and wax. I'll meet you at the top," he said, getting up and jogging over to the technicians, looking spry and handsome–his well muscled body resembling that of a much younger man–for his forty-two years of age.
Driving back to City Hall, they remained silent. Maria thinking about her daughter and wondering how she was doing, while Joe sat engrossed in the reports from the medical examiner and crime lab.
* * *
Dr. Kenneth Lang was waiting for them when they returned. He was a tall, handsome, Nordic-looking man who loved himself much more than anyone else ever would. With his blond hair and blue eyes–not to mention his everlasting suntan–he was known as quite the ladies' man.
Maria considered him a fine M.E., but that was as far as her interest went. She knew him to be a womanizer, and also knew he'd had more than a couple of female lab assistants fired for refusing his advances over the last few years.
After discussing the findings from the Roe girl's autopsy, they all filed into Chief McCollough's office to go over the results.
"I don't even want to see you people unless you've got good news for me! Find anything?" The chief frowned, looking at Dr. Lang, his dislike for the man apparent on his face.
Maria placed the folder containing the reports on his desk, then told him about the possible evidence Joe found in the hollow log along the riverbank.
He grunted his acknowledgment without even looking up. When he finished reading the autopsy and crime lab reports, he gave them his attention. "We'll only give the media the information we have on the drug paraphernalia. I want to hold off telling them anything about these fibers until we know more, understand?"
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
"Lang, you can say for sure that all three kids bought it from the same lunatic, right?"
"Yes, I think that's obvious, isn't it?" the doctor replied.
Chief McCollough ignored his sarcasm and continued. "Sanchez, Morgan, check with the lab on your way home. See if those boys had any luck lifting those prints.
"I want you all to be fresh and alert tomorrow morning for the press conference. You look like death warmed over," he said, nodding at Maria, noticing for the first time the dark circles under her eyes.
"Why, thank you, sir," Maria replied. "I could say the same about you."
The chief smiled. "That's all for now. I'll see you all in the morning. Close the door on your way out."
While Maria got the files out of her desk that Liebert and Mackelroy would need, she noticed Lang out of the corner of her eye. He was standing off to one side of Joe's desk, watching her intently. She chose to ignore him, hoping he'd fade away into the woodwork.
Joe offered to stop by the lab since the BCA was on his way home.
Maria uttered a tired,
"Thanks" and left, exhausted from the long day and previous sleepless
night. She decided to take the stairs
down the three flights, because at
Thinking about the day's events, Maria was startled when Dr. Lang grabbed her elbow.
"Hello, Maria," he said, exuding false charm. "You ran away before I could ask for your gracious company at dinner this evening."
"Don't ever do that again," she hissed, putting her hand to her pounding chest. "You shouldn't sneak up on people." She felt foolish at being startled so easily.
Sensing her vulnerability, he leaned close, his minty breath warm on her cheek. "Well?"
"Listen, I'm really beat. The only thing I want to do is go home, soak in a hot tub, and climb into bed," she replied, pulling her arm free from his grasp and meeting his gaze. She realized that her choice of words was not wise by the shifty look in his eyes.
"My, now that conjures up a lovely image–you soaking in a hot tub. Maybe you'd like some company?" he asked, pressing her up against the cold cement wall of the stairwell.
She could feel his male hardness and was appalled, along with being somewhat frightened. "You know me better than that, Doctor. As I've told you before, no," she said, shoving him backward–hard enough to make him stumble–then briskly walking down the steps.
Lang kept pace with her. "We'd be great together, Maria. Why don't you give us a chance? I guarantee I'd make you happy." He smiled seductively. "I've never had any complaints."
She stopped her rapid descent and glared at him. "Your inflated ego wouldn't know a complaint if it slapped you across the face, which is exactly what I'm going to do if you don't leave me the hell alone. I have no interest in you and never will. Got it?"
He examined her with cool blue eyes, a smug smile dancing on his too full lips.
Only an inch or two shorter than the doctor, she leaned close, as if to kiss him. "Oh, one more thing," she whispered.
He looked at her expectantly, thinking she was only playing hard to get, like so many others he'd conquered in the past.
"Next time you get the urge to hit on me? Go fuck yourself, you egotistical, self-centered prick, and save us both a lot of trouble!" She left him with his mouth hanging open as she ran out into the steamy heat of the parking lot.
Chapter 2
Maria was still shaken from her confrontation with Lang when she got home. She'd just unlocked the door when the phone started ringing.
"Hello," she answered, short of breath.
"Hi, it's me, Joe." I just wanted to make sure you made it home okay. I saw that asshole, Lang, hanging around and–"
"I'm fine, Joe, but you're right. He accosted me in the stairwell–of City Hall no less," she said with a tired laugh.
"That prick. I don't know why he keeps pestering you when you've made it crystal clear how you feel about him. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, I'm sure, but thanks for worrying. Did the lab turn up anything, yet?" she asked, wanting to change the subject.
"They're still working on it. Connely told me to leave him the fuck alone so he could do his damn job. Guy's got an attitude problem."
"Well, that's Connely for ya. Did you tell him the chief was the voice behind your actions?"
"Yeah, he didn't want to hear it."
"Nothing new there. Hey, what are you doing for dinner tonight?" She knew he'd just open a can of soup or a TV dinner, like he did every night, and she worried about him, too, living alone with no one to look after him.
"Not a thing, just gonna open a can of soup or something. Nothing special."
Maria laughed. "Well, how about coming over around
"That sounds great; if you're sure you're up to it. I know how tired you must be."
"Just be here at
* * *
Maria filled the bathtub to the top and slowly lowered her tired, aching body into the hot, steamy water. She sipped a glass of red wine and tried to relax, closing her eyes.
Just recently, she realized the reason she liked Joe's company so much–she felt safe with him. She never had to worry about Joe making a pass at her. He was her closest and dearest friend. She felt a tug at her heart when she thought of him–his prematurely gray hair and those piercing blue eyes, his stumble-bumpkin way of always saying what she needed to hear, not to mention his constantly disheveled, messy appearance.
They'd have fun tonight, but it was too bad Tess wasn't here to enjoy it as well. Maria felt a profound emptiness without her daughter. Thank God she'd be home by the end of next week. She was tempted to call the camp, but had promised Tess she wouldn't check up on her; that she'd call only in an emergency. Loneliness was not an emergency–at least not yet.
* * *
Maria sat up with a start. She must have dozed off, because the bath water was barely warm. She'd been dreaming of Jack, her deceased husband. It seemed so real. She put her hands to her face and found it wet with tears…but not from missing him. No, she was glad he was dead. While alive, he'd made her and Theresa's life a living hell with all the drugs and physical abuse. His death was a welcome friend.
She'd left him after Theresa was born, when the abuse became unbearable. But he had tracked them down within hours and promised to kill them both if she ever tried to leave again.
About two years ago, she stopped having the terrifying nightmares. She shuddered, thinking of him, and drained her wine glass. The fight that took place on the day she eventually escaped was their worst ever. Maria knew he would have killed Theresa on that fateful day if she hadn't stopped him at the last moment. She would never forget the look of murderous hate in his eyes.
Joe and her brother, Carlos, were the only two people in the world who knew her true feelings about Jack.
Tess was only two and a half when he died and couldn't remember him at all. Maria hadn't seen the point in telling her the horrible truth when she was younger, in fact, she felt blessed the girl had no recollection.
Jack had vowed to get revenge on Maria for having another man's baby, but it was paranoia from the drugs that was doing all his thinking. He used to threaten to carve his initials in her face, so no other man would want to look at her, let alone sleep with her. He wanted to teach her a lesson she'd never forget, that lesson being, remember who you belong to. She had a one-inch scar on her left cheek where he tried to do just that, but their next-door neighbor had intervened just in time and threatened to call the cops. That stopped him–that time.
Maria had never been unfaithful to Jack. Theresa was his daughter, but that was something he went to his grave never knowing. He didn't deserve her anyway.
She had a special relationship with Tess. Since there was only the two of them, over the years they'd developed a unique bond, which made them best friends as well as mother and daughter. There was no deeper love in the world than that between mother and child.
Maria thought back to the time when she and Jack were first married. They were happy then–for a little while anyway–until Jack started using. With Jack it was all or nothing. He got into the heavy stuff right away and began dealing within a matter of weeks. Maria couldn't reason with him. She couldn't even talk to him when he was high, and he was always high. She realized later how naïve and foolish she'd been to marry a man she barely knew. Maybe if her mother and father had still been alive they could have helped her to see what a terrible mistake she was making. Carlos had tried, but she refused to listen.
Maria now knew that she'd never loved Jack. It was more pity than love. He was abandoned as an infant by his mother and raised in an orphanage. He was sickly as a child, and never felt needed or wanted. The only way to get attention was to be bad; therefore, that's what he became very good at. Maria thought she could change him by giving him the love he so desperately needed. She was wrong.
In a strange way she owed a lot to Jack, because if it weren't for him, she wouldn't be a cop, and would never have come to the Twin Cities on her own. They came here when they were first married, so Jack could work in the construction business, which was booming in the Cities at that time.
After Jack died, she sold the
little house and bought a condominium on
Now at thirty-one, she'd done what
many people didn't believe she could do.
Even Carlos thought she was crazy to want to be a cop. He'd begged her to stay in
* * *
But now there was a crazy man
running loose–raping and killing children.
The media had dubbed him the River Rat, because his victims were always
found in the
Maria knew she would get him–felt it in her heart and soul–but they only had thirty days to do it. One way or another, she thought to herself, I'll bring this crazy son of a bitch down. I may die trying, but so help me God, I'll do it!
Startled by the doorbell, she sat up. "Coming," she yelled, hopping out of the tub, which was now ice-cold, and slipping into her bathrobe.
She looked through the peephole,
surprised to see Joe standing there.
"It can't be
Joe checked his watch. "In fact it's
"These are lovely." Maria interrupted his thoughts, holding up the roses and inhaling the scent. "Thanks. Why don't you have a seat on the sofa while I put these in water and stick the wine in the fridge," she said, already in the kitchen, hunting for a vase under the sink. "Sorry, I haven't even started dinner yet. I'm afraid I must've fallen asleep in the tub."
"I've been thinking," Joe said from the kitchen doorway, watching her arrange the flowers in a vase. "I'm really in the mood for pizza–large, with everything on it! How does that sound?"
Maria looked at him, a smile spreading across her face. "But I invited you over for a home-cooked meal. I would feel terribly guilty."
"How about a rain-check on the world-famous spaghetti? Like I said, I'm really in the mood for pizza," he persisted, picking up the phone and dialing.
Maria shrugged her narrow shoulders and laughed. "Okay, pizza it is. And we'll have that spaghetti dinner when Tess comes home next week."
"Wonderful," he said with a wink, then proceeded to give the girl his order for a large pizza with everything on it while Maria went into the bedroom to change into something less comfortable.
* * *
"Jeez, I probably gained ten pounds," Maria laughed, leaning back in her chair and patting her stomach.
Joe lifted the empty bottle of wine. "Polished this off, too. Hope we don't feel its after-effects at the press conference tomorrow morning."
"God, I'll be glad when that damn press conference is over," Maria said, standing up to clear away the dirty dishes and pizza carton.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Joe said, joining Maria. "I'm sure the mayor will let it be known to the public he's given us thirty days to get this creep or else. Hey, kiddo, you look wiped out. I'm gonna go and let you hit the sack."
"Okay, thanks for the pizza, Joe. You're the best. Remember, I owe you a spaghetti dinner. Next Friday for Tess' homecoming?"
"Sounds great! See you tomorrow bright and early." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
Joe hurried out the door and home to a cold shower.
Chapter 3
Cameras flashed as Maria walked
into the room where the press conference was being held at the
Maria took her seat between Chief McCollough and Joe, with the mayor and his assistant seated on the other side of the chief and Dr. Lang seated next to Joe. A couple of agents from the BCA were also at the back of the room, away from the cameras and out of the direct line of fire. She spotted the district attorney leaning against the far wall, playing the strong, silent type.
The mayor's assistant stood and
cleared her throat. "First, I'd
like to thank everyone for attending this conference. These are difficult times for the city of
The barrage of questions started.
The first question was from Di
The chief stood, his large frame dwarfing the reporter to the point of being comical. "I'll be more than happy to answer your questions, but first, if I may, I'd like to take this opportunity to address the public."
"By all means, sir. Go ahead."
"Thank you. I would just like to say that the Minneapolis Police Department is doing their best job possible. To reiterate what the mayor's assistant has previously stated, our city is in a crisis situation right now, and we're doing everything we can to remedy that. Extra officers have been put out on the streets, and we are working closely with the FBI and the BCA on this case. We have our two finest, most successful homicide investigators working exclusively on this case, and as you all know, Detectives Sanchez and Morgan have brought forth quick results in the innumerable cases they've worked on in the past.
"Now that I've gotten all that off my chest. In answer to your first question, Ms. Herold, yes, we do have one or two leads on the case. Yesterday afternoon, Detective Morgan here discovered some drug paraphernalia down by the river where the latest victim was found. There appears to be a clear set of prints on it, and we'll be working on matching them up to a suspect as soon as we get the final results from the lab."
"You said you had a couple of leads, Chief. What's the other one?"
The chief laughed. "I said one or two. For investigative purposes, I'm not at liberty to discuss anything else, but you'll be the first to know when we're ready to release any new information," he said, giving her his most charming smile.
"Dr. Lang, could you tell us your thoughts on this case. Are there many similarities in the victims and the way they were killed?"
Kenneth Lang leaned back in his
chair, appearing confident as always.
"Yes, indeed. They're all
relatively the same age, and all victims were sexually abused and beaten,
sustaining lacerations and mutilation by a sharp instrument. The autopsies show that they were abused,
literally tortured, over a period of several days before being killed–strangled. Since the victims have been both male and
female, gender doesn't seem to be a factor, and as you all know, the victims
were discovered in the
"That sounds like pop psychology to me–better stick to cadavers, Doc," the chief muttered, pissed that Dr. Lang had decided on his own accord to divulge so much information without consulting the department first.
There were a few nervous laughs, and Lang shot the chief a look that said, Go to hell.
A dark-haired reporter from Channel Four stood up. "Mayor Johnson, it's been rumored that you've given Chief McCollough and his detectives thirty days to find the killer or you'll send in a special investigations team to take over the case. Is this true?"
"Yes, it certainly is. We can't have our city living on the edge of
panic. This has gone on long enough, and
I think one month is a sufficient amount of time to bring this child-murderer
in and have justice finally served. We
owe it to the people of
"Thank you, sir. Detective Sanchez, how do you feel about this? Do you think you can find the killer in one month's time?"
"I have confidence in our police department and, yes, I think chances are very good we'll bring the perpetrator in soon. We're a very dedicated group here, and there will be many a sleepless night until the killer is brought to justice," Maria boldly stated.
The press conference lasted several hours, with the news media attacking the police department, insisting more had to be done to protect the children of the Twin Cities.
By that time, everyone, especially the chief, was getting irritable. He stood and announced in a booming voice that they all had their work cut out for them; therefore they had damn well better get busy instead of sitting on their asses. That little remark was the highlight of the evening news.
Maria and Joe spent the entire
afternoon trying to match the fingerprints found on the evidence. It was a long and tedious procedure, because
they'd found several sets of prints on the syringe, tubing and small
baggie. Comparing the prints to the
FBI's VICAP database proved unsuccessful–another perp that fell through the
cracks of the system perhaps, or maybe the crimes weren't violent enough to
rank with these heinous criminals.
They hit pay dirt around
His name was Lenny Milano and he had an extensive record, including several drug busts and four sexual assaults on small children several years back. He was currently on parole.
Maria went into the chief's office with the latest information.
"Good work, Sanchez. Now what? Bring him in for questioning? There were traces of heroin in that baggie, but we can't prove it was his. Even though his prints are all over the stuff, we can't make the drug charges stick unless it was found on him."
"Yeah, I know. And I don't think we should let him know just
yet that we're on to him. If he is
the killer that would be just enough to scare him into hiding until things
cooled off and then he'd start killing again.
If not in
"You're probably right. If we want to catch this son of a bitch, we don't want him to know we suspect him of anything. I just don't want him to butcher any more kids."
"Well, we've got his last address. I'll have it checked out, and if he's still there we'll set up surveillance. He won't make a move without us knowing about it first."
Maria left the chief's office, and five minutes later had verified Lenny Milano's current place of residence.
* * *
He was in his element now. Soon, night would cover the city, and once darkness was upon him it would be time for the fun to begin. He looked at the little girl lying in a crumpled heap on the floor of his shabby, run-down apartment. She appeared dead, but he knew it was only the dope he'd given her. In about three hours, she would be lively game.
Her parents probably haven't even missed her yet, he mused. It was surprising how easy it was for him to get them. Didn't their mothers warn them to stay away from strangers?
He laughed a shrill, uncontrollable cackle, spittle running down his chin, which he wiped off with the back of his hand.
All it took was a puppy. God, how fucking simple, he thought, still on the verge of uncontrollable glee. And when the little snots came over to pet it, they were his for keeps, or rather, for as long as they were useful.
He laid out another line to keep his buzz going. Coke mixed great with the crystal meth he mainlined about twenty minutes ago. He was flying high now.
Remembering the intense surge of power coursing through his body after he wasted the last chosen one made him smile. She was a rich little bitch who lived in one of those big, fancy houses on the lake. He couldn't remember which lake. For that matter he couldn't even recall what the little snot looked like. But he did remember her screams, and the way she begged him to stop when he pulled out the knife and started cutting into her fresh, pink flesh with the care of a skilled surgeon. And the fear in her eyes–that was what he thrived on–FEAR. He was getting an erection just thinking about it.
And to think I'm having this much fun and getting paid for it, too, he thought gleefully. Money makes the whole fucking world go round. Thanks to them, his creators, he had money for his many needs and his daily habit. Big bucks were paid for his films, and he enjoyed the creativity. Enjoyed it almost as much as he enjoyed killing the chosen ones when their duties were fulfilled. But the key word was control. Once he took out the knife, he had to keep reminding himself to use it sparingly. He didn't want them dead too soon. He needed them for his videos, and besides that, he wanted them to suffer first…before he'd give them the privilege of dying.
The killing was for his purpose only. When he felt his hands around their little throats, squeezing the life out of their young bodies and watching the light go out of their eyes, it was the ultimate orgasm for him. It was as if he absorbed their youthful energy at the moment their young lives ceased to exist. Shuddering with pleasure, he thought about what was to come.
His creators never questioned him about the kids. As far as they were concerned, it was his business where he got them and what he did with them afterward.
Standing up, he felt blackness creep into his line of vision. Holding onto the edge of the table, he waited until the darkness lifted, then walked over to the video equipment in the corner of the room. Since this was his livelihood, he had to make sure everything was in working order.
He removed the tarp covering the expensive equipment and lights. They supplied the camera, through their black market of stolen goods. It was similar to those used by TV reporters and could be set up so no one had to operate it–you just focused it on the subjects and it basically ran itself. The results were top-quality, too.
Once he was assured everything would work properly for tonight, he walked into the bathroom to shower and shave.
After undressing, he stood in front of the mirror, admiring his naked self. He was handsome–tall and very muscular, with wavy, coal-black hair and deep-set green eyes.
But even he noticed the strangeness in his eyes. That's why he wore dark sunglasses wherever he went, day or night. Because looking into those eyes, and seeing the unleashed madness lurking within, made ordinary people fear for their lives.
Chapter 4
The surveillance van was set up on
From the outside, any passerby would think it was some kid's rusty piece of junk. It was an '89 Ford that had been light blue at one time, but now the predominant color was rust. That was from the outside.
On the inside sat two veteran cops with high-tech equipment.
Harris and Peterson had instructions to watch Lenny Milano and not let him out of their sight. Harris held the high-powered binoculars up to his face and let out a long whistle. "Man, he's got a hot number tonight. Take a look at this one, Larry." He handed the binoculars to his partner who took his turn looking at the peep show.
"Jesus, look at them go at it. You'd think they were a couple of goddamn dogs," he said, letting out a bark of laughter.
* * *
Maria and Joe parked a block away in her Ford Mustang and walked the short distance to the van.
They knocked twice and went in through the back door. Once inside, their eyes had to adjust to the darkness. The smoky-black window that ran along one side of the van was one-way glass–they could see out, but no one could see in.
Harris and Peterson had been there about forty minutes. As soon as Maria had verified where Milano lived, they'd cruised over to find a spot where they could watch his apartment for the evening. They'd change location tomorrow so they wouldn't look suspicious.
"Anything interesting?" Joe asked.
"Yeah, you could say that," Harris snickered. "See for yourself." Grinning at his partner, he handed the binoculars to Joe.
Joe looked and flushed several shades of red, but kept looking.
Maria grabbed the binoculars, not quite anticipating the scene unfolding before her eyes. "My God," she exclaimed. "They look like a couple of goddamn dogs."
They all burst out laughing.
Handing the binoculars back to Peterson, she said, "Let me know immediately if anything serious happens up there. I mean, concerning the case," she added, reading his twinkling eyes.
He gave her a salute, "Yes, ma'am. Sure will."
* * *
When Maria got home that evening there was a letter from Tess in the mail. She wrote about winning first place in the canoe race and the excitement of receiving a blue ribbon. She told of horseback riding and hiking on woodsy trails, ending her letter by admitting she was getting more than a little homesick and was glad she'd be home in a week.
Maria kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the sofa, exhausted.
She missed not having her daughter to come home to after a long day's work.
Tess was growing up so fast; she'd be ten years old already, October first. She'd been asking Maria a lot of questions lately about her father, and Maria hated to lie to the girl. When Tess came back from summer camp, Maria decided she would tell her the truth about Jack. She was old enough to understand a little better now. Maria sighed heavily. How could she expect a little girl to understand what even she couldn't? All she could do was try. Maria prayed that Tess would forgive her for lying to her all these years and understand that she'd only wanted to save her the pain that knowing the truth would surely bring.
Maria closed her tired eyes, intending to rest for just a minute, but before long she was sound asleep.
When she awoke, it was
Maria sat up and stretched, her back stiff from sleeping on the sofa. "Well, no news from Harris and Peterson," she mumbled to herself, walking into the bedroom. Her stomach growled from lack of food, because instead of eating dinner, she'd slept the evening away. This was getting to be a bad habit, she realized, getting undressed. She climbed between the cool sheets and closed her eyes. But sleep eluded her, and even though her body needed the rest, her brain was now wide awake.
She started thinking about the case and would lay odds on it that Milano wasn't the killer. It was more of a gut feeling than anything else, but she'd learned from experience that in this line of work, more often than not, gut feelings were right.
Give it a couple more days,
she thought. Through their initial
investigation, they had discovered Milano went to work at a downtown deli at
Even though dawn wouldn't break for several more hours, she called the chief, apologizing excessively for waking him.
"Goddamnit, Sanchez. Couldn't this wait until morning?"
"Sorry, Chief, but no. I've been thinking, maybe we should go have a look around Milano's apartment when he leaves for work; see if we can find–"
"Can't do, Sanchez. You know as well as I do, with Judge Hansen out of town, and both Judge Morris and Capstan out sick with the flu, it'll take the better part of a day to get a warrant–courthouse is like a zoo without a keeper."
"Bullshit," Maria said. "You've got connections."
"No, I don't. My 'connections' as you put it, are temporarily unavailable. I can have your search warrant by late afternoon–no earlier," he said, hanging up.
Maria set the phone back on the
bedside table, thinking. Late afternoon–
Not wanting to get Joe in trouble,
she decided that if she went against her better judgment and checked out the
apartment, she'd do it alone. After all,
the warrant was pending, and they needed answers to some very important
questions. They needed them now.
Maria got out of bed, wide-awake, and started making a huge breakfast for herself: scrambled eggs, bacon, waffles, and fresh squeezed orange juice.
She ate and reread Tess' letter, making a mental note to call her brother. She hoped he was still coming this weekend to keep her company while Tess was away.
* * *
The rain let up and the early morning sun tried to peek through the clouds. With luck, the day would show similar improvement and provide some new insight into the case.
Maria called Harris and Peterson on
their mobile phone when she got in at
At
Maria parked her Mustang across the street from Milano's apartment, in virtually the same spot the van had left just fifteen minutes ago.
An old man waited for the bus on the corner, and two teenage girls stepped out of the drugstore with ice cream cones, giggling. No suspicious looking characters appeared to be lurking around Milano's apartment building.
After wrestling with her decision, she got out of the car and locked the door, then strode across the street and into the building.
In the entryway were mailboxes with
the tenants' names and apartment numbers on them. Milano lived on the first floor,
Maria opened the battered wooden door that led to the first floor landing and found herself standing outside the door to Lenny Milano's apartment. She knocked. Just as she expected, no answer.
Looking up and down the dark hallway, she jiggled the knob, then, producing a lock pick from her purse, went to work on the cheap door lock. Milano should have a dead-bolt living in a neighborhood like this, she thought, suppressing a laugh. Within a matter of seconds, she had the door opened and crept inside. Closing the door behind her, she relocked it.
The place stunk like dirty bodies and stale cigarette smoke. She walked around the small apartment looking into each dingy room, only to find no carpeting in any of them. Old, dirty rugs scattered here and there covered the bare wood floors.
She looked through the closets, hoping to find a clue of some kind–shipping crates, an old roll of blue carpeting maybe–but found nothing unusual.
Entering the bedroom, which she'd had a bird's eye view of last evening, brought back to mind the X-rated scene of Milano and his lady friend. She cringed at the thought of it. The sheets were balled up, crusted with come, and tossed to one corner of the bedroom. She opened the chest of drawers and found a fix kit–several syringes, spare needles, and rubber tubing–along with a couple of crack-smoking pipes, buried under his underwear and shoved way to the back. Checking the rest of the drawers and the old roll-top desk, she found no other incriminating evidence. She ran her hand under the mattress–one of the most obvious places to hide things–but it was clean also.
Then she explored the tiny kitchen, looking though all the cabinets, then the refrigerator, finding only a 12-pack of beer and a package of stale bologna. The freezer contained a tray of ice cubes and nothing more. Milano didn't have an oven, only an electric hot plate.
Next, she went into the bathroom and searched the medicine cabinet and linen closet. Then on impulse, lifted up the heavy porcelain top to the toilet tank, and that's where she found it. Carefully wrapped in layers of cellophane to stay dry and taped with heavy masking tape to the underside of the porcelain lid, was the heroin.
It wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but it was more than enough to put Milano behind bars for a long, long time. "He's selling this shit. Son of a bitch," Maria whispered, looking at over five hundred thousand dollars' worth of the stuff.
She replaced the tank cover, then retraced her steps to make sure there was no sign of her intrusion, not wanting to alert Milano someone had been here if he came home early.
She went to the door and listened. All was quiet out in the hall. Checking to make sure the door was securely locked behind her, she quickly departed, running across the street to the safety of her car.
Once inside, she let out a sigh of relief and reached into the glove compartment, searching for a pack of cigarettes that had been there since last week. She lit one and inhaled deeply, not minding the stale taste, but feeling guilty at the same time for breaking down and having one.
She cruised slowly back to City Hall, not sure how she should go about explaining the heroin and her questionable entry.
By the time Maria pulled into the parking lot of City Hall, she'd decided to tell Chief McCollough everything–that she'd broken into Milano's apartment, looking for evidence to link him to the murders. For some reason, she felt it imperative she did it now instead of waiting for the warrant, while Milano was at work.
As she rode the elevator to third floor, she rehearsed in her head what she would say. The elevator door opened, and she ran smack into the chief who was on his way to lunch.
"Sanchez," he bellowed. "Why the hell don't you look where you're going? Give a guy a goddamn heart attack," he grumbled.
Startled and somewhat flustered, Maria blurted: "I need to talk to you. Now! It's important."
"Break in the case?"
"Yes…er, no…maybe…" she stammered.
"Let's go back to my office and discuss this privately," he said, looking sourly at a longhaired juvenile delinquent who was entering the elevator.
Maria followed the chief into his office, and then proceeded to tell him of the morning's events. "So, after Milano left for work this morning, I got into his apartment–"
"What do you mean, got into?"
"Well–I broke in–picked his lock," Maria boldly stated.
Chief McCollough looked sternly at Maria from under heavy, furrowed brows, then threw back his head and laughed. "I'll be damned. You got guts, kid, that's for sure. What did you find?"
Astonished by his reaction, Maria sat stupefied, at a momentary loss for words, then recovered and continued to tell him of the heroin she'd found.
She also mentioned the fact that there was no carpeting anywhere in the apartment, reminding him of the fibers found with the last victim–it was, after all, her reason for breaking into his apartment in the first place. "The way I see it is this guy is a real menace to society, and we can put him away for a long time on these drug charges. If he is the River Rat, we got him. If he's not, we got one less junkie on the streets selling his wares."
The chief picked up the telephone, pushed one of the in-house extensions, and a moment later was talking to Narcotics. He gave them Lenny Milano's address and the name of the deli where he worked, then told them where they'd find the goods. "But get a search warrant first–it's already in the works," he barked, giving Maria a look that would melt rock. "And read the asshole his rights. Do everything by the book! We don't want this guy getting off on a technicality."
He hung up the phone and looked long and hard at Maria. "Good work, Sanchez, but I hope you realize you broke departmental rules."
Maria looked at him, ready to be reprimanded.
"Don't worry," he said. "We'll keep this between you and me. This time. But don't ever let it happen again!"
Chapter 5
When Narcotics brought Lenny Milano in, he was scared–crap your pants scared. He'd already admitted to the heroin being his, but now the cops were trying to pin this other shit on him.
Lenny sat in the interrogation room, sweating profusely under the intense heat of the lights. Unfortunately, he was coming down hard and needed a fix desperately–he'd do just about anything for a fix.
"I already told you, man, I didn't kill no little kids. I'm not into that kind of thing," Lenny said, his voice trembling.
"I don't believe you, Milano. We can place you at the scene of the crime where the last victim's body was found." Maria held up the bag that contained the syringe and rubber tubing with his prints on it. "Look familiar?"
"That could be anyone's, man. It's not like it's got my fuckin' name on it."
"You're wrong, Milano. It might as well have your fuckin' name on it, because it has your fingerprints all over it. We got you, asshole, and we know you like little kids. We got the facts right here." Maria tapped the file lying on the table between them. "Maybe I should refresh your memory," she said, flipping it open. "We have you categorized as a mentally disturbed sex offender, Lenny. Sexual assault on a six-year-old girl in July of 1989." Maria glared at him, then continued reading the file. "Sexual assault on a five-year-old boy in November of 1990. Attempted rape–"
"That was then, man–I've changed. And I never killed 'em. I don't know nothin'. Honest, man." He started shaking all over and put his head in his hands, moaning. He looked up at Maria, eyes bulging out of his face. "I swear to God, man, you gotta believe me. I never killed no little kids. Give me a fuckin' lie detector test, man. I'll prove it to you! I never killed 'em."
"Milano, the way you're starting to shiver and shake, coming down off that smack, a lie detector test wouldn't be reliable, and anyway, they aren't admissible in a court of law," Joe said. "Tell you what, after a few days in Detox maybe we'll think about letting you take the test. You have some rough times ahead of you, my man. You're going to be in prison a long, long time, even if you're not the killer, and that's a pretty big if."
Milano's blood-shot eyes filled with tears as he shook convulsively from head to toe.
"The way I see it, you must
know something, due to the fact you're selling drugs to every junkie in
the St. Paul/Minneapolis area," Joe continued. "Think about it, Lenny. You have nothing to lose. In fact, it's very possible you could get a
lighter sentence on the drug charges if you cooperate. The state prison in
Joe stood and took his time walking to the door, while Maria gathered up the files and followed suit. At the door, he stopped and looked long and hard at Milano. "Unless of course, we've already found our man. I'd really hate to see you take the rap for something you didn't do, though," Joe said, smiling.
* * *
When Maria and Joe were back at their desks and Milano was locked up tight in the Corrections Facility, she turned to Joe. "Don't ask me how I know–just a gut feeling, I guess–but I don't think he's our man. It's just too damn easy. You're probably right about one thing, though. He knows something, maybe even who the River Rat is, but he's scared shitless. Time is running out, Joe. We gotta get this maniac before he strikes again, if he hasn't already. For all we know he's already got his next victim, even as we speak."
"Well, no new missing-persons reports have come in. We'll get Milano to talk before that happens."
Maria was getting ready to leave for home when Joe pulled his chair up next to her desk. "Sit down, Maria. I think we need to talk."
She knew what was coming by the tone of his voice. He was pissed.
"I heard about your little escapade–breaking into Milano's apartment," he said between clenched teeth. "Next time, why not let your partner in on it? I still can't believe you did it behind my back. I thought we were partners, not to mention friends, for Christ's sake!"
"Joe, I'm sorry. I just didn't want to get you in trouble. I'm lucky I wasn't suspended. I never meant to do anything behind your back, and we are friends, good friends–best friends. Don't be mad! I won't ever do it again!"
"Promise?"
"I promise," Maria said, raising her right hand. "So help me, God."
"Okay, I guess I'll forgive you then," he said, cracking a smile.
* * *
When Maria got home that evening
there was a message on her answering machine from her brother, Carlos. He said he'd be in the Twin Cities by about
She was looking forward to seeing him again. It had been over three months since she last saw him. They were always close growing up, and when their parents died in an automobile accident when Maria was eighteen, they'd became inseparable, until she married. Then, after her trouble with Jack, Carlos became her best friend and protector from all evil.
She often remembered how helpful
he'd been when she and Theresa had fled to the safety of his home in
"You foolish girl," Carlos had said. "Can't you see? God is watching out for you and has given you true freedom from that crazy man. Don't ever feel guilty. Feel happy and free, because you and your beautiful baby daughter have your lives and a fresh start. And don't ever forget, Maria, he would have killed both of you. He beat you half unconscious and would have killed your child if you hadn't found the strength to stop him."
Maria would never forget the look on his face when she showed up on his doorstep, limping and in bandages, carrying Tess in her arms. She recalled the gratitude and love she felt for him that fateful day. Unshed tears stood in his sparkling, brown eyes, so much like her own, as he carried her into the house. Over time, he'd helped heal her wounds, both physical and emotional.
We'll have long talks, and go
for a picnic in the park, like we did when we were kids, Maria
thought. But unfortunately, Tess
wouldn't be home to see him. She loved
Carlos very much, and it might ease the pain when she learned the awful truth
about her father.
Maria went into the kitchen to make a grilled cheese sandwich. She didn't realize she was crying until she saw her reflection in the door of the microwave. "God, I'm not meant to be alone," she cried, grabbing a piece of paper towel and getting half the roll by doing so.
That incomplete feeling she tried
so hard to ignore, washed over her–the feeling in the pit of her stomach when
watching couples together–holding hands, whispering in each other's ear and
laughing. She'd had several
relationships with men she thought important in her life, but they never lasted
more than a few months. She never really
trusted any of them. Maria pushed
these thoughts from her mind, which thankfully she was always able to do. She wasn't one to wallow in self-pity. Well, maybe for a little while.
Maria ate her sandwich and made out a grocery list. Listing all the ingredients she would need for a home-cooked spaghetti dinner, she found herself thinking of Joe, wondering what he was doing. She wanted to call, just to talk to him, but knew she wouldn't. Joe was becoming a very important part of her life; more so every day, she realized, and it wasn't their jobs bringing them closer. They'd always had a complete understanding about one another, but lately Maria felt things deep inside that were more than just friendship.
She didn't like feelings she couldn't control.
* * *
Maria changed into her jeans and was getting ready to go to the store when the phone rang. She almost dropped the receiver when she heard the news on the other end. It was an officer from Missing Persons, who informed her another child was reported missing about twenty minutes ago. She took down the information about the nine-year-old girl and got the parent's address, then dialed Joe's number.
"Shit!" Then after a pause, Joe added, "Maybe she just lost track of time. She's probably on her way home right now." He let out a long sigh. "Looks like your gut feelings about Milano were dead center. He's not our man. Damn! I'll swing by and pick you up in about ten minutes. Let's go have a talk with Milano when we're done. We gotta find out what that slimy, little bastard is holding back!"
"I'll be waiting." Maria set the receiver down. It rang again.
"I take it you heard the news?" the chief growled.
"Yeah, Missing Persons just phoned. Joe is on his way to pick me up. We should arrive at the kid's house in about twenty minutes."
The chief responded with a grunt and hung up.
* * *
BCA agents had already been and gone by the time Maria and Joe arrived at the McReedys' house.
As they pulled up on
"Have you found her? Have you found my baby?" the woman asked Maria in a high-pitched, hysterical voice. It was obvious she'd been crying for a long time. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she clutched her husband's arm so tightly you could see the white marks her fingers left in his flesh.
"No, ma'am, there's no sign of your daughter yet, but hopefully she'll turn up soon. We have every available officer out on the streets looking for her."
"But if that sex murderer has her, she'll turn up dead," she screamed at Maria. "Oh my baby, my poor, poor baby. What are we going to do?" she wailed, searching first Maria's then Joe's face for an answer, with frantic, animal eyes.
"First we have to pull ourselves together if you want to help find your daughter, Mrs. McReedy," Joe said, putting an arm around the distraught woman's shoulders. "I know it's hard, but try to get hold of yourself. Your daughter's life may depend on it. Now, think back to when you last saw, Betsy. Was she playing in the front or back yard?"
Patsy McReedy stifled a sob with the back of her hand. "I think she was out front, looking for babies in the bird nest in that evergreen over there," she said, nodding toward the large tree. "She's always been such a nature lover. Oh my baby, my poor–"
"Was she alone or with friends?" Joe interrupted.
"Betsy was alone. She's shy and doesn't make friends easily. She's more mature than most girls her age and likes to keep to herself."
"Did you see anyone hanging around who was a stranger to the neighborhood? Any strange cars?"
Patsy McReedy shook her head, then paused, thinking. "Wait a minute. I did see a red car parked across the street, but I didn't think anything of it at the time. Since the park runs parallel with our house, sometimes people park there to go for walks."
"Did you happen to see the driver of the car?"
"No. When I noticed it, it was empty."
"How about the make, model, license plate? Anything you can remember about it may help."
"Well, all I can tell you is that it was small and red. Like I told you, I didn't pay much attention to it. And John was at work. He's the one who usually notices things like that," she said, looking at her husband. "Now I wish to God I had. Do you think that car might have something to do with my Betsy's disappearance?"
"Well, it's hard to say, ma'am, until we get more information," Maria said.
They spent another half-hour talking to the McReedys, then went through Betsy's things to get a better idea of what the girl was like. They found a couple of recent pictures the McReedys allowed them to take. Betsy was a beautiful little girl, with long blond hair and large, sparkling blue eyes.
"We'll be leaving now. We will let you folks know if we find out anything. You've been very helpful and if you think of anything else, please call this number," Joe said, handing them a card, which listed the phone numbers where they could be reached day or night.
Maria and Joe crossed the street, entering the park to have a look around.
Joe walked over to two boys playing catch.
"Do you boys live around here?"
"Yeah," they said in unison, then took a couple of steps backward, seeing Joe's gun.
Joe followed their gazes to his firearm and smiled. "Don't worry, I'm one of the good guys. I'm an officer of the law."
At that, their eyes opened wide, and they started asking all sorts of questions like: "Have you ever shot anybody?" and "Why aren't you wearing a policeman's uniform?"
"We're detectives."
"Way cool!" They looked at Maria with skeptical looks. "Her, too?" one of the boys asked, wrinkling his freckled nose.
"Yep, her too," Joe said, giving Maria a wink.
"Do you boys know Betsy McReedy?" Joe asked, showing them one of her pictures.
"Yeah, she goes to our school. Why?" the dark-haired boy asked.
"Well, she's been reported missing, and we were wondering if either of you boys saw her earlier today?"
They both shook their heads no.
Joe asked them about the red car, but they hadn't seen it.
"We were huntin' toads in the pond behind Jimmy's most of the day and didn't get to the park until a little while ago," the freckled-face boy said with a grin that showed several teeth missing. He produced a very large, brown toad from his pocket.
Joe laughed. "Looks like you got a monster toad
there. I'm surprised he even fits in
your pocket."
The toad let out a loud croak as if in response to this, and they all laughed.
"Well, you boys have a great summer and don't talk to strangers, okay?" Joe paused. "And don't go too far away from your parents."
"We won't. My sister came with, so you don't got to worry," the dark-haired boy responded, nodding toward the swings where a leggy teenager sat dangling her bare feet in the dirt.
"See ya, mister." They smiled shyly at Maria, then turned and raced over to the swings to join Jimmy's big sister.
Maria and Joe briefly questioned Jimmy's sister who reluctantly replied with one-word answers and knew nothing about anything. They then went door to door, visiting some of the McReedys' neighbors, but had no luck. Most of them worked during the day, and the ones who were home stayed busy gardening or doing other chores and hadn't noticed anything unusual.
When they climbed back into Joe's car, Maria lit a cigarette and turned to Joe. "Well, now I guess we just have to hope Milano can shed some light on the subject."
Joe grunted. "Don't count on it. He's still pretty strung-out from the drugs. I don't think he's seeing things too clearly yet."
"Well, we'll just have to make him then, won't we?" Maria said with a cutting edge to her voice.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, each thinking their own thoughts, but exactly the same. Their minds were focused as one on the killer and what he was doing to poor Betsy McReedy.
Chapter 6
Betsy McReedy fainted. She tried to fight it, but the darkness came over her like a black shroud.
"Son of a bitch," he growled, getting up from the girl to turn off the camera. The little brat wasn't supposed to pass out in the middle of Act 1. Well, he'd make sure she paid for it. He walked into the kitchen and turned the cold water on, letting it run while he rummaged in a cupboard for a large pan. He filled it to the top and carried it back into the living room, splashing water on the floor as he went to where the little girl lay, motionless.
He stood over the naked girl, a twisted grin plastered on his face. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he said, dumping the entire pan of water on her face.
Betsy McReedy's eyes fluttered open as she sat up, choking and coughing. Momentarily confused, she muttered, "Where am–" and then she saw him, and the horror of everything that was happening to her registered. She tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her ankle and slid her back.
"You can't get away, so you may as well just give up and be a good little girl like I told you. Understand?" he said, smiling sardonically, bringing the knife up to her face, and turning it so the bright camera lights reflected off its sharp, gleaming edge.
Her eyes were glued to the knife hypnotically as he brought it down to her belly and drew a straight line from her navel to her breastbone, pressing ever so lightly with the tip of it. A thin, red ribbon of blood appeared, looking as if he'd painted it on.
"Now, I want you to do everything I tell you, and if you try to get away or pass out again, I'll have to hurt you real bad. Do you understand me, you little brat?"
Betsy whimpered and nodded her head, eyes wide and in shock.
He walked back to the camera and flipped the switch to On.
"We're going to finish where we left off, and you just lie there. Don't fight it, or I'll slit your throat from ear to ear," he said, getting on top of her and entering her.
She cried out in pain, then bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle her cries. Tears streamed down her face as she prayed to God this nightmare would end and she could go home to her mom and dad where she would be safe and warm. That's why she did as she was told and kept very still, trying desperately to think of a way to escape this terrible dream. She didn't want to die.
After what seemed like forever to Betsy, he withdrew from her and got up to turn off the camera and lighting equipment. He threw her a blanket and told her to crawl back to the corner of the room, which she did obediently, wrapping the blanket around herself and curling up into a ball.
"Tomorrow we're gonna have
some more fun," he said, more to himself than to her. "Another day, another dollar. Maybe I'll invite Lenny along for the ride,
since he enjoyed himself so much last time." He needed to replenish his dope supply
anyway, and Lenny was supposed to be getting a shipment of dynamite smack from
He laid out another line of coke even though it was getting late, and he was already wasted. He snorted it up and waited for the rush, which he got in a couple of seconds, then dumped the remaining coke in the vial on the mirror.
He looked over at the shivering girl, curled up in the corner of the room, and felt not the slightest bit of sympathy for her. He felt only hatred, and the desire to satisfy that need in him that demanded power over his victims and ultimately death.
He needed to kill them. He was doing the videos for drug money, and them, but he was killing them out of necessity.
He was pretty sure they knew, but didn't care. Being involved in so many other illicit deals, they didn't have the time, or see the need to baby-sit him. And even if they did object, that wouldn't stop him from doing what he had to do.
Chapter 7
Exhaustion consumed Maria, leaving her miserably defeated. Joe was right about Lenny Milano. He had the heebie-jeebies so bad coming down off the heroin, he didn't make any sense when they tried talking to him. Maria even tried scare tactics, threatening everything from a lifetime prison term, to excessive bodily harm, but nothing she said or did made him open up. He'd sealed his lips tighter than King Tut's tomb, while his body shook with the need for a fix. Eventually, he ended up breaking down and crying like a small baby, saying over and over how he didn't want to die, and the walls were closing in on him.
Disgusted with the sight of him, they let the guard take him back to his cell, where he could freak alone.
After Joe dropped Maria off at her condo, she tried telephoning Carlos again. It was after ten in the evening, but he still didn't answer, so she left a short message on his answering machine to call her when he got in.
* * *
Even though tomorrow was Saturday,
it would be a very busy day. They were
all to meet at the
They needed to come up with some kind of lead. Milano was hiding something, but he just wasn't ready to talk. He was obviously terrified of something or someone. They had to make him spill his guts, even if it meant getting him off on a lesser charge and putting him back on the streets. No price was too high if he could help them catch the killer.
Maybe hotshot FBI agent Peter Slade
could get through to Milano. The chief
informed her and Joe that afternoon that Slade would be working with them until
they solved the case. He was supposed to
arrive in
* * *
Maria rubbed her tired eyes and lay down on the sofa. She'd just dozed off when the telephone rang. It was Carlos. She explained to him that she'd be working all weekend and wouldn't be able to see him. "Next weekend would be better, and Tess will be home by then. She'd love to see you and I'm really going to need your moral support, Carlos. I'm planning to tell Tess about her father. I think it's time she learned the truth, don't you?" Maria asked, her voice rising emotionally.
"Yeah, Sis, I do. If you're ready to tell her, I'll be there."
Maria let out the breath she'd been holding in. "Oh, Carlos, I don't know if I'll ever be ready to tell her. I know it will hurt her terribly, but I feel it's something that must be done. I've waited seven long years and can't bear to keep this dreadful secret any longer. I'm glad you're on my side, big brother. You've always been there for me."
"And I always will be. You'll see. Everything will turn out all right. I promise. Between the two of us, we'll make Tessy understand. Please don't worry, honey. I love you, and I'll see you next weekend."
"I love you, too. Bye." Maria hung up the phone and walked into her bedroom, somewhat relieved.
She sometimes envied Carlos, with his simple bachelor lifestyle in the windy city. He had few demands on his life–no wife or kids–setting his own hours in his own business.
They'd grown up in a run-down
housing project in the inner city of
When Maria met Jack, she'd hoped to have the same kind of devoted family as she and Carlos had experienced, with the exception of living in poverty. She couldn't wait to get out of the big, dirty city after they were married. She'd begged Carlos to go with them, but he wouldn't even consider leaving.
Everything had changed dramatically
since then–some things for the better and some for the worse. They both had successful professional
careers. Carlos owned his own furniture
refinishing business in the
Carlos seemed happy, although he once told Maria he'd never marry again when his first marriage failed miserably after only six months. Maybe they were both destined to be alone the rest of their lives.
At least she had Tess. Carlos always said that the only thing he missed was not having kids, but he loved Tess like his own.
* * *
Maria stripped down to her panties
and climbed under the cool, crisp sheets, checking the alarm clock once more to
make sure it was set for
It was not a peaceful sleep, though. She tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around her legs. The recurring nightmare of Jack beating her and then going for Theresa with murderous rage, plagued her sleep. Only this time Theresa wasn't a baby. She was the same age as now.
In the dream, Maria tried to rescue Theresa from her father, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move. Her feet seemed cemented to the floor, while her daughter cried out to her for help. The knife in Jack's upraised hand would strike Theresa at any moment and she could only watch.
Maria opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She tried again and again to go to her daughter's aid, but her feet wouldn't move! Every part of her body, inside and out, was frozen and immobile. Tears of anguish coursed down her fevered face, not knowing how to help the one person she loved more dearly than anything else on earth.
She woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed, screaming, and in a cold sweat. It took a couple of seconds for her to realize it was her own voice she heard screaming.
Maria ran a shaky hand through her sweat-drenched hair. "It was only a dream. Oh, God, only a dream," she said aloud, getting out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom to get a drink of water. She cupped her hand under the cool water and drank deeply, feeling somewhat better in the bright light. She looked at her tear-streaked face in the mirror and was startled by the haunted woman who stared back at her. "You'll never be rid of that son of a bitch," she said to her reflection.
The nightmare seemed to be coming more and more frequently. Maybe she should start seeing a shrink. It probably had a lot to do with the case, she told herself. The disappearing children and the day-to-day stress of her job, life, everything!
"I've gotta get this guy before I go crazy," Maria said, grabbing her robe off the hook in the bathroom and slipping it on. She padded into the kitchen and started the coffee maker, then went back into the bathroom to take a long shower. Exhausted from chasing phantoms in her sleep, she hoped the strong, hot spray of the shower would cleanse her mind as well as body, giving her a clear head for the meeting that was to take place in less than two hours.
Chapter 8
They sat around the long table in conference room 23B, sipping strong coffee, self-absorbed in their notes. There were six of them–Chief McCollough, Dr. Lang, BCA agent Bill Foley, FBI agent Peter Slade, Joe, and Maria.
Maria looked over the top of her clipboard at Peter, who wasn't supposed to even be there for two more days. They made eye contact and she immediately looked away.
Chief McCollough cleared his throat. "I think everyone here has met Mr. Slade prior to this case, with the exception of Agent Foley here," he said, nodding toward the BCA agent who'd been on the job only eight months.
Agent Bill Foley nodded curtly, the florescent lights gleaming off his bald head. He'd sized up the FBI agent when he first entered the room, trying to determine who would win at arm wrestling. Slade was taller, but that was about it. It would be no contest, he decided–the FBI guy looked like a wimp, with his skinny arms and 'mama's boy' curly brown hair. He probably didn't even work out.
"Peter caught an early flight out from D.C. so he could attend this meeting," Chief McCollough continued. "As you all know, he's been working with us long distance in the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit, now referred to as the Investigative Support Unit for those of you who may not be aware of this, and has agreed to help us out here."
Looking at Maria the chief added, "I want to make it understood that Slade is just helping us out. You and Morgan are still running the show, Sanchez, so nobody's pride needs to be hurt. Is that clear?" he asked, frowning at the FBI agent, seeing that he and Maria were already shooting daggers with their eyes.
"Perfectly," Slade replied coolly.
Maria smiled.
"Good. Okay, what do we have so far?" Chief McCollough questioned, standing up and walking over to the large blackboard that covered most of the wall opposite the table. He drew a line down the middle of the board and wrote the word 'VICTIMS' on one side and 'SUSPECTS' on the other.
Under 'VICTIMS' he wrote the following information:
Children between ages of 8-10 (4 victims…)
Male and female – Caucasian.
All reside in
Upper class, Middle class (no preference?)
No common characteristics or features.
Attended different schools:
Public–Jefferson, Four Winds, and Martin Luther King.
"Even though school is out for the summer, it's important to establish that they all attended different schools. So we know it isn't some psychotic teacher determined to cut down on class size for the upcoming school year, or something equally disturbing," the chief explained as he wrote.
"I never thought of that," Maria commented.
"It's happened before–nothing surprises me anymore," the chief grumbled.
Then under 'SUSPECTS', he wrote the following information:
"River Rat" - male
Drug User
Pornography involved
Red sports car??
Victim's bodies disposed in
Victims sexually/physically abused several days before killed.
Rafts built out of shipping crates, standard rope.
Blue carpet fibers.
"Okay, what else do we have?" the chief asked. Wiping sweat from his brow, he glared at each of them.
Maria stood up and walked over to the chalkboard, all eyes on her. Next to 'Drug User' on the 'SUSPECT' side she wrote 'Milano possible supplier?' and at the bottom she added, 'Uses knife on victims–severed fingers, rapes and ultimately strangles.' She set the chalk on the tray and returned to her seat between Joe and the medical examiner.
Dr. Lang cleared his throat. "Let's see, the time of death always seems to be in the early morning hours," he said, making no move to get up.
The chief picked up the chalk and added this to the list.
"And on one of the victims two different seminal fluids were found, indicating we have more than one suspect involved here. At least in the sexual part of one of the crimes," the M.E. added.
Peter Slade stood up to his full 6'2" height. "I think we're missing the obvious here."
"And what's that?" Joe asked, not liking Slade much more than Maria did.
"A pornography ring. This guy is getting kids for kiddy porno flicks."
Chief McCollough leaned back in his chair and winked at Maria. "I'm impressed, Slade, but Sanchez, as well as the rest of us, have already thought of it. We already know of one video, and where there's one there's probably more. But if it is a pornography ring, why kill them right away? That's money in the bank to those assholes. There has to be more to it than that. You don't kill the goose that lays the golden egg, do you? At least not in that short of time."
"I guess you're right, and since the boy wasn't killed on film–If it wasn't a snuff film, it must've been a thrill-kill–for his own gratification."
"Exactly," Maria said. "These kids have been killed relatively quickly, only a few days after they'd been abducted, and that just isn't the norm. We definitely have a mixture of deadly forces at work here–a serial killer and a pedophile to name a couple–so even though pornography is involved, it's not the main issue. In this case it's much more dangerous because we don't have the usual time factor on our side."
"It's possible organized crime is involved, considering the video showed up where it did. Our guy must have the right connections," Slade offered.
"Yes, very possible," the chief said, adding that to the list.
With a look that said I'm bored and a monotone that matched, BCA agent Foley muttered, "La Cosa Nostra." As way of an explanation he said, "Means 'Our Thing' to the mob."
They all sat in silence for several minutes thinking Foley was a fool and made less sense every time he opened his mouth, and mulling over what little information they had.
Maria turned to Joe, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. "Let's try talking to Milano again when we're finished here. Maybe he's ready to talk now after spending a couple of nights going 'cold turkey'."
Joe nodded. "Yeah, I hope so. I'm afraid Betsy McReedy's young life may be coming to an abrupt end if we don't find some goddamn answers, and fast."
"You guys go ahead," the chief said, lighting his pipe and filling the small room with thick, choking smoke. "Go ahead and tag along with 'em, Slade. Maybe you can do some good."
"Yes, sir," Peter Slade responded.
"You, too, Foley," the chief added.
"Sorry, can't do," Bill Foley said, rising. "Already wasted the whole damn morning."
The chief ignored the remark, not willing to stoop to the level of pulling rank and going head to head with the BCA, which he'd done in the past and lived to regret. Turning to Maria and Joe, he said, "If this Milano creep knows anything, hang the fucker by his balls till he talks!"
* * *
Lenny Milano relieved himself, then lay back down on the cot in his cell, thinking. He'd already decided he was gonna spill his guts the next time those two detectives came around. He just hadn't decided how much he was gonna tell them. He knew enough to bring down a whole kingdom. And he also knew the walls had ears in this place, but they couldn't get to him in here.
He closed his eyes tightly, wishing
the pain in his guts would go away, and his jaw would unclench. He was still going through withdrawals, but
nothing like a couple of days ago when he'd
seen snakes slithering in one corner of his cell and blood dripping down
the walls. Now that was heavy shit,
man.
He started to doze off when he heard a noise coming from the other end of his cell, but he was so very tired–too damn tired to open his eyes. He figured it was just one of the other inmates back from free time and screwin' around, which was often the case.
The last things Lenny Milano remembered were a rope being pulled tight around his neck, choking, eyes bulging, feet kicking in midair…then blackness.
* * *
By the time they reached the Hennepin County Jail they were already forty-five minutes too late. Apparently, someone did hang Milano up, but not by his balls.
"The warden has been trying to reach the chief for close to an hour, but couldn't locate him," the flustered assistant warden replied to Joe's rapid-fire interrogation.
"What the hell are you people running here, a jail or a goddamn three ring circus? He was our only lead in this case, if even that! And how the hell did someone get to him in here? Or did he hang himself?" Joe fixed the young man with his piercing gaze.
"We really don't know yet, sir. It could be a suicide, or it's possible someone had a contract out for him in-house. We're dusting for prints in his cell, so we'll know more soon. I'm sorry, sir, I can assure you this type of thing only happens once in a blue moon."
Joe gave the assistant warden an exasperated look. "Once in a blue moon, huh. That's just our luck. In this case it's one fuckin' time too many." He glanced at Slade, who was watching Maria. "Let us know right away what you find–and call the chief for Christ's sake!" he demanded, thrusting his card in the man's sweaty hand and storming out the door with Maria and Slade following close behind.
Once outside, Joe turned to Maria. "Damn, the chief is sure gonna be pissed about this major screw-up. Where the hell do we go from here?" he asked, looking into Maria's distraught eyes.
Maria shrugged her narrow shoulders, returning his gaze. "I don't know."
Peter jingled the keys in his pocket, one of his many nervous habits. "I know Milano's place has already been searched, but maybe something was missed. Why don't we cruise over there, have a look around and see what the three of us can turn up?" he asked, looking from Joe to Maria.
"Well, I suppose, considering we were planning on giving it another once-over anyway," Joe replied.
"Yeah, I didn't have enough time to do a thorough search when I found the heroin. Narcotics went over everything with a fine-tooth comb, but you know what they say, 'third time's a charm'. You may as well tag along," Maria said to Slade with a sigh, getting in the front seat next to Joe, leaving Peter the back once again.
* * *
There was still police tape across
the door of
"We don't have a key," Peter whispered. "We'll need to find the landlord."
Joe laughed. "That never stopped Maria before. And by the way, Slade, you don't need to whisper, we're the good guys, remember?"
Maria was standing between the two men and heard the "Fuck-you," Peter said under his breath, even if Joe didn't, or pretended not to.
Maria had the locked door open in less than a minute. The apartment was sweltering hot, and the stink was horrendous. "Phew! Let's open some windows," she said, putting one hand over her nose and mouth.
"Do you know what it smells like in here?" Peter asked, sniffing the air.
Maria looked at him over a raised eyebrow. "Do tell."
"A wet dog. When I was a kid I used to go swimming with my dog, and I'd come home smelling just like this."
Maria laughed in spite of herself. "Memories can be painful sometimes, can't they? God, what a smell! It's probably because Narcotics had their dogs in here sniffing out dope, and the place has been shut up since then."
"What do you say we start looking and stop reminiscing," Joe said, flipping through a stack of albums.
* * *
They had been searching the apartment for close to two hours and everyone was getting hot and irritable.
Maria was going through the old roll-top desk for the third time and Joe was searching the bathroom, when Slade gave a shout from the kitchen area. She walked the few feet to the entryway, several papers from the desk still in her hand.
"Lookit here," Peter said, as he opened an old cookbook in the middle and showed them how a square, approximately four-by-two, had been cut out. Placed snugly inside was a small black book. Slade pried the little book out with his pocketknife and opened it to reveal lines of code that appeared to be Greek, or something equally confusing.
"Hmm, looks like some sort of address book." Maria snatched the little book from Peter's hand and examined it. "I'll bet this contains the addresses to Milano's drug contacts. But what the hell is this, some kind of secret code?"
"Some of it looks like hieroglyphics," Joe said from behind Maria, peering over her shoulder and pointing at a symbol.
"Well, it's something isn't it? It sure as hell is something," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "Good job, Slade." She slipped the little book into her purse and walked toward the door. "Oh, shut the windows–looks like rain," Maria added, going out the door. She heard the word 'bitch' come from the other room and smiled at Joe. "I don't think he likes me."
By the time they left Milano's apartment it was after five o'clock, so they dropped Slade off at his hotel, then went back to City Hall.
The chief had just received all the details from the warden, and wasn't too happy with the findings. He looked long and hard at Maria and Joe before speaking. "Apparently there were too many prints in Milano's cell to get anything identifiable from whoever hung him up. It was definitely no suicide. I'd bet my own life on it. Milano was scared to talk for a reason. Son of a bitch!" he bellowed, red-faced, slamming his fist so hard the stack of files teetering on the edge of his desk toppled to the floor. "Back to square one, with absolutely nothing to show for it," he said through clenched teeth. He bent down to gather the files scattered at his feet.
"Well, we may have something," Maria said, producing the little black book from her purse and sliding it across the desk to him.
"What the hell is this?"
"It appears to be an address book in some kind of secret code. We found it, or I should say Slade found it, inside an old cookbook in Milano's apartment."
"I'll be damned," the chief said, looking through the little book. "Although, fat lotta good it'll do us. What the fuck kind of language is it in? Chink?"
"Joe thought part of it looked like hieroglyphics."
"We'll see if we can get started deciphering it first thing in the morning," Joe said. "I'm sure Professor Littleton at the U of M can help."
"Hopefully it will give us something to work with here, considering we are now up shit-creek without a paddle," the chief said, as he opened his bottom desk drawer and produced a fifth of Jack Daniel's. He nodded at Maria and Joe. "Drink?" He then proceeded to pour two fingers of whiskey into three Styrofoam cups.
He finished his whiskey in one gulp and poured himself another. "God, when the mayor hears about this, I may as well put my own balls in a vise and save him the trouble," the chief said, looking into his cup.
"Well, it sure as hell isn't your fault, unless of course you put the contract out on the little creep," Maria said, setting her empty cup on his desk and looking at him with mock suspicion in her large brown eyes.
He laughed. "I hope you know, Sanchez, only you can get away with talking to me like that," he said, filling her cup and grinning. "You're right though, goddamnit. It isn't anyone's fault, except maybe the warden's and believe me, I'm gonna make that little cocksucker wish he'd never been born. He knew our case was riding solely on Milano and he should have kept a closer watch on him. Yeah, he's gonna be one sorry son of a bitch."
The three of them sat and drank JD
and talked about everything from the weather to the Minnesota Twins, trying to
get their minds off the setback, if only for a little while. They decided it was time to call it a day
when the weekend janitor knocked on the door at
After a lot of fumbling around and cussing, Joe somehow managed to make a pot of very strong coffee and brought it into the chief's office. When the pot was empty, they had sobered up enough to remember why they'd gotten drunk in the first place–the fact that Milano was dead hit home hard.
"Somehow I don't think I'm gonna sleep much tonight," the chief muttered, head in hands. "No, not enough booze in the world could get me to sleep tonight."
"I'll call a cab," Maria said, sliding the phone on the chief's desk in front of her and dialing.
The three of them rode in the back of the cab in silence, stone-cold sober, thinking about the nine-year-old girl whose life was hanging by a very thin thread.
Chapter 9
Betsy woke from a fitful sleep, feeling sick to her stomach and disoriented. She lay in the darkness holding her belly and listening to the night. It was very quiet. A cool breeze drifted in through the open window across the room, and moonlight shone an eerie beam along the bare wood floor she lay on with only a single, threadbare blanket for cover.
She slowly got to her feet, very unsteady, a wave of dizziness washing over her. Reaching out, she leaned against the wall for support until the dizziness subsided. The door to her left was his bedroom, and a bar of glowing bluish light–she guessed from a TV–was visible beneath it. She tiptoed to the closed door and listened, hearing static from the television and heavy snoring. Turning the knob, she silently opened the door an inch to peek in. He was sprawled naked on the bed, a half-empty bottle of liquor sitting on the bedside table. She shoved a fist in her mouth to stifle the scream that wanted to let loose at the sight of him.
Betsy closed the bedroom door, not making the slightest sound, and walked to the front door that led outside to safety.
She grasped the doorknob, her heart trip-hammering, and turned it, but found it wouldn't move. Then she saw the dead-bolt lock. It was high up on the door. Standing on tiptoe, she discovered it had a keyhole on the inside and was locked to prevent her escape. The key was probably in the pocket of his pants, which lay on the bedroom floor. She thought about this and realized she couldn't bring herself to go in there. The risk of him waking up and catching her was just too great. She fought back the tears that threatened to overcome, trying to think of another way out.
Betsy walked over to the open window in the living room and peered out. It was two stories up and a straight drop down to the street below, with no ledge to grab hold of and nothing to break her fall. Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad–at least the hurt would stop, she thought.
"No," she whispered, a single tear sliding down her flushed face. "I don't want to die." Betsy crossed the living room on tiptoe so as not to make the old floorboards creak and opened the bathroom door. She heard something move from under the sink and her heart leapt into her throat.
Then she heard a whine and a steady thump-thump-thump where the puppy's tail hit the floor, ecstatic to see a friendly face. She bent down and scratched the pup behind the ears while his tail drummed the floor in a steady beat.
"Shh," she whispered, holding his head in both hands, and looking into his trusting brown eyes. He licked her hand and thumped his tail again, gazing at her adoringly, head cocked to one side. The puppy's leash was so short he couldn't move more than a couple of inches one way or the other, and he had no food or water.
"Poor little thing," Betsy murmured, realizing for the first time this little puppy was somewhat responsible for her predicament. The man had seemed nice enough at first–asking if she knew anyone who wanted a free puppy because his new apartment didn't allow pets. When she bent over to pet the dog, she felt something sharp go into her arm, then darkness was all she remembered. She didn't wake until in his domain, just like the others he'd tricked.
She knew there had been others
because he told her so. He also told her
they were dead, and soon she would be joining them. She wiped the tears from her face with the
back of her hand, missing her mom and dad so much. Would she ever see them again? Maybe not.
After letting the puppy drink water from her cupped hands, she stroked behind his ears while looking around the tiny bathroom. No windows in here, she thought, disheartened.
The puppy whined and looked at the linen closet with his big brown puppy eyes. Betsy opened the closet, and sitting on the floor was a large bag of Purina Puppy Chow.
"Hungry, huh? What a smart dog."
The puppy whined in response.
Dragging the big bag out of the closet, she poured some of the dog food on the floor.
The dog practically inhaled it he was so starved. He chewed while periodically glancing at the girl with simple adoration and a thump of his tail between bites.
Struggling to get the bag back inside the closet, her good deed done, she noticed a small rectangular door. She opened it and peered inside. It was a laundry chute, like the one her grandma used to have. A light seemed to turn on in her anguished mind amidst the dark despair.
Betsy remembered how she was cautioned to stay away from the small door when she was little. Grandma McReedy used to tell her she'd get stuck or worse–hit the hard basement floor and break her neck.
She stuck her head inside and peered into the inky blackness. She was pretty sure she'd fit. The big question was where did it lead to, if anywhere? Maybe it was blocked off at the end and she'd be trapped like a rat if she tried to go down. This was an old house after all, she thought, looking at the peeling wallpaper on the bathroom wall. Probably no one had used this laundry chute for years. Her grandma had sealed hers up several years ago, before she got sick and sold her house to move to the old folk's home.
Betsy bent down and picked up a few nuggets of the puppy food, then dropped them down the chute, sticking her head inside to see if she could hear them drop at the other end. It was hard to tell. She picked up a handful of the chunks and tried again. This time she heard them hit something, but it sounded kind of funny, like a boing sound.
It's probably blocked off, she thought, chewing on her lower lip, trying to decide what to do. She looked at the puppy, then at the laundry chute, then back at the puppy. "Then again what choice do I really have?" she asked the dog, who cocked his head to one side and whined as if understanding her situation.
Betsy wrapped the blanket tightly around her torso and tucked one end under, and then proceeded to climb into the laundry chute, feet first. She looked at the puppy one last time, and he let out a worried whine as she worked the rest of her small body into the narrow space.
Now, all she had to do was let go and she'd be on her way to only God knew where. But anywhere has to be better than this, doesn't it? She panicked at the last minute, wanting to get back out into the open space of the bathroom, but then she thought of what lay in store for her. More of the same awful stuff he did to her last night and maybe worse, then eventually death.
With that last thought she closed her eyes tight and let go. The blanket made her slide easy enough, but it seemed an eternity before her feet struck the wire mesh that was nailed on at the bottom. That was the 'boing' sound she heard when she dropped the dog food down. Her worst fear had come true–she was trapped! She felt the panic start to surge through her once again, and bit down hard on her lower lip to keep her wits about her.
It was so dark inside the chute and the basement beyond, she couldn't see anything but total blackness. Crouching way down, she crossed her arms above her head, palms flat against the cool metal wall of the chute, bracing her from moving upward. Pushing against the wire mesh with all the strength her legs had in them, she heard a splintering noise–nails pulling out of rotten wood–and the covering gave a little bit. She tried again, and then again, each time feeling it loosen a bit more. The third time the wire mesh gave way entirely, hanging on by only one nail.
Betsy fell several feet onto the hard concrete floor of the basement, which now served as storage for the upstairs tenants.
Stunned, she couldn't move for several minutes.
She sat up and rubbed the back of her head where it hit the rock-hard floor and felt a large goose egg rising. Pulling the blanket over her nakedness, she stood up and looked around the filthy basement, her eyes now adjusted to the darkness. There were boxes piled everywhere and shipping crates were stacked six feet high in one corner, along with rolls and rolls of ugly, old blue carpeting.
Betsy slowly climbed to the top of the basement stairs, feeling all at once the unbelievable hell she'd been through. Her legs threatened to buckle and send her sprawling several times. When she reached the door at the top she was out of breath and had a painful stitch in her side.
Grabbing the doorknob, she said a silent prayer and turned it.
The knob turned easy enough, but the door wouldn't budge. She pushed on it again and again to no avail. It was either blocked or locked from the other side.
Realizing she was now locked inside a dark, dirty basement with no way out and no hope, she sat down hard on the small landing. Dropping her head to her knees, she sobbed, her long blond hair brushing the dirty stair below.
After a while no more tears would come. The well had gone dry.
* * *
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she finally stood up and walked back down the basement stairs, noticing for the first time several small windows set high up in the basement wall. With the dirt and grime so thick on them it was no wonder she hadn't noticed them before.
Betsy moved several of the crates over to a window and stacked them one on top of the other, then climbed up. Wiping a spot clear with her blanket, she gazed into the nighttime world. Standing on tiptoe, she was eye-level with the ground that a nearby street lamp helped make visible. The ray of hope she felt earlier seemed to shine a little brighter, as her wobbly legs brought her back down to the floor.
She rummaged through a pile of junk in one corner of the basement until she found something she could use to break a window. She found an old, brass lamp lying in a box amidst a lot of other stuff with the name Nelson printed on the side of it.
Armed with the heavy lamp, she scrambled back up to the top of the crates, perched precariously with each foot on opposite sides of the top crate to distribute her balance.
Shielding her face with the blanket, she hurled the lamp as hard as she could into the window. It shattered, raining glass down on top of her and the ground outside. Betsy knocked out the few sharp pieces that remained with the base of the lamp.
On each side, at the top of the window frame, a large rusty nail protruded, which was likely used to hang some type of window covering in the past. Hooking her blanket on one of the nails, she tested it to see if it would hold her slight weight–it did.
Using the blanket as a kind of makeshift rope, Betsy pulled herself up, hand over hand, bare feet flat against the cool cement block. She emerged out of the small opening into the darkened world.
She didn't even feel the glass cut her feet as she stood up outside, free at last. Reaching in and grabbing her blanket off the nail, she wrapped it around her thin body one last time.
Then she took off running as fast as her trembling legs would carry her into the night, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked little face.
Chapter 10
The temperature was well past the 90-degree mark and it was only 11:00 in the morning. It was supposed to reach a whopping 102 by late afternoon, and Tess was coming home from summer camp today. Earlier in the morning, Maria had baked a double-layer chocolate cake, decorated with pink frosting and large, red hearts.
She was taking a vacation day in order to get ready for the party and pick Tess up, but she'd already called Joe twice, and stopped in around 9:30 to check on any new developments with the case.
Joe sent her home and promised he'd call if something came up.
Joe was coming over after work, and Carlos said he'd be in the Twin Cities by 6:00 this evening at the latest.
Maria climbed into her heat-trap on wheels–cursing the fact she never had the air conditioner fixed when it went out two years ago–and rolled down the windows, relishing the slight breeze coming through.
The camp bus was supposed to drop the kids off at the local YMCA at 11:30.
Maria's mind wandered over the past few days as she drove, thinking about the little McReedy girl lying in Minneapolis Children's Hospital. There hadn't been any improvement in her condition when she and Joe went to see her last night. The past few nights Betsy's parents kept a vigil by her bedside–not leaving her alone for even a moment–telling her over and over how much they loved her and how everything would be okay.
But everything was not okay.
A taxicab driver who was making his rounds near First Avenue found Betsy early Tuesday morning. She was conscious but incoherent, not even knowing her own name. The girl was in shock and bleeding internally as well as cut up pretty bad on the soles of her feet.
The hospital called the police station after she was brought into the emergency room, and when her description matched the missing-persons report, Patsy and John McReedy were brought in to identify their daughter.
Betsy had stared blankly at her mother and father, not recognizing them at all. Then late Tuesday evening, she slipped into a coma, shutting down all bodily functions.
An extensive search was conducted in the surrounding area where Betsy was discovered by the cabby, but nothing had turned up so far. Several plainclothes police officers were still patrolling, looking for anyone suspicious in nature. They would stay posted to that area until they were told otherwise, even though many surmised the McReedy girl had traveled a good distance before being discovered.
Was it coincidence that she ended up only several blocks from Milano's apartment? Maria wondered. Well, Milano was dead now, so he couldn't help them figure this one out.
They hadn't had much luck with Milano's address book yet, either. Both Professor Littleton and a colleague, who were well known for their work at deciphering codes and foreign language, were working on it. According to the professor, it was written in a combination of several different languages, hieroglyphics being only a very small part of the intricate coding.
Maria pulled into the YMCA parking lot, trying to push everything except Tess's homecoming from her mind.
She walked across the lush green lawn to wait for the bus with the other anxious parents already gathered there. Spotting Nancy Turow in the crowd, she went to greet the other woman. Their daughters were best friends, like sisters they were so close. Since both were only children and from single-parent families, they found they had a lot in common and had been best buddies since kindergarten. In turn, the two women had become good friends, also.
"Gosh, I've missed Jenny terribly," Nancy confided to Maria. She leaned over to take a closer look at her friend. "You don't look so hot. Are you feeling all right?" She looked into Maria's eyes with a worried expression.
"Oh, I'm fine." Maria forced a little laugh. "Just worried about the kid, I guess. I'll be glad when she's under her own roof. I've missed her an awful lot, too."
"Ya know, I had second thoughts after I sent Jennifer to camp, what with that crazy man running around–"
"I know, but they're probably safer at camp than in their own backyards. I'll tell you one thing, though–I've never appreciated my daughter more."
"God, how do you do it, Maria? Dealing with crazies all day long. No wonder you look like hell."
Maria just smiled.
The bus pulled into the parking lot at that moment, saving her from talking about her police work. She wanted, no needed to focus on Tess right now and nothing else, especially not her job.
The bus started unloading its hot, sweaty passengers, the camp counselors checking off each name on a sheet of paper as they disembarked.
Tess and Jenny were almost the last ones to get off, looking tired, dirty, and irritable. Tess's face lit up when she saw Maria. Throwing her backpack to the ground, she ran to her mother, giving her a tremendous bear hug.
"Oh, Mom, I've never missed anything so much as I missed you. Well, except maybe our bathtub," she said, looking down at her crumpled, dirty clothes and wrinkling her nose.
"I missed you too, honey. I had to practically cut the telephone cord to keep from calling you." Maria smiled at her beautiful daughter. "What do you say we get you home?"
"Sounds wonderful," Tess exclaimed, slinging her backpack over one shoulder and taking her mother's hand. "Let's go! Bye, Jen, call me tomorrow," she yelled to her friend.
Jenny waved, already running ahead of her own mother to their car.
* * *
"Boy, it's sure great to be home," Tess said, kicking off her sneakers and collapsing on the sofa in the air-conditioned comfort of their condo. "I've realized I took a lot of things for granted–like hot baths and going to the bathroom in a real toilet."
Maria laughed. "That bad, huh? I take it there were outhouses, or did you have to pick a favorite bush?"
"Oh, there were outhouses all right, but you had to hold your breath from the minute you stepped in until you stepped outside again, or else risk the possibility of passing out in there and probably dying of asphyxiation. It was totally gross."
Maria smiled to herself. Asphyxiation. Tess was going through a stage where she was trying to use one new word a day–Webster's Dictionary was her constant companion. "Well, you're home now. I missed you terribly and worried about you constantly," she said, leaning over to give her daughter a hug, tears threatening to spoil her composure.
"Mom, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, honey, now that you're home." Tess had a questioning look on her upturned face and Maria hurried on. "Now, I suggest you go take a long, hot bath and put on your prettiest dress, unless of course you don't mind looking like that for the party?"
"Party?"
"Well, just a little
get-together really. Uncle Carlos is
coming up from
Tess's entire face lit up as she jumped off the sofa. "I haven't seen Uncle Carlos in ages! I've missed him terribly." Her large brown eyes softened. "And Joe, too. He's a real sweetie," she added, skipping to the bathroom, humming a tune as she went.
* * *
The party was a huge success. Tess squealed with delight upon seeing the beautiful cake Maria had baked for the occasion, and everyone, especially Joe, raved about the delicious spaghetti dinner.
Maria and Carlos decided the next
day would be a good time to tell Tess the truth about her father. They'd go for a picnic at
But tomorrow would be different, in that it would change the rest of Theresa's life–in more ways than one.
Chapter 11
That evening Carlos and Tess went to the movies, while Maria and Joe drove to the hospital to check on Betsy McReedy's condition.
They arrived at Minneapolis Children's Hospital and went up to the second floor, where a police officer was stationed in the hall outside Betsy's room. Patsy McReedy was in the hallway also, crying hysterically.
"Has something happened?" Maria asked, putting her hand on Mrs. McReedy's fleshy shoulder. The woman just kept sobbing, oblivious to Maria and Joe standing next to her. John McReedy emerged from the hospital room, wiping his tears away.
"What's wrong?" Maria asked, a note of alarm creeping into her voice.
"Betsy is out of her coma."
"I–I don't understand. Why are you both so upset then?"
"She's what they call catatonic, and according to the doctors–" He let out a heart-wrenching sob, leaning on the wall for support. "At least she's alive–thank God for that–but our beautiful baby girl may never be the same. The doctors say she may never come out of it."
"But there's a chance she will! You both must have faith," Maria offered. "I've seen cases such as this before; victims in severe trauma and shock like Betsy has had have recovered completely, sometimes in as little as two weeks–"
"Or two years, or twenty, or maybe never," Patsy McReedy interrupted. "I blame you people. If you had done your jobs, none of this would have happened and my baby would be home safe and sound, all in one piece–not some vegetable lying in a hospital bed!"
"Patsy! For God's sake, stop it. What good does it do to blame them? It's not their fault; it's the maniac who took her. They're only trying to help," John McReedy said, giving them an apologetic look as he led his hysterical wife down the hall toward the elevators.
When John and Patsy McReedy left the floor, so consumed with grief they had to support one another, Maria and Joe went in to see Betsy.
* * *
The little girl lay on her back, propped up by pillows, staring blankly out the window. The respirator had been removed. Betsy was breathing on her own.
Maria sat down on the bed next to Betsy's small form and picked up her pale, lifeless hand, rubbing it gently. "Betsy? I know you can hear me, honey. I want to help you, but you have to help me first before I can. You have to get better, Betsy. We want to catch the man who did this to you, but we really need your help. Your mom and dad really miss you, honey. Especially your mom. I have a little girl about your age, so I know how they must feel. I think you'd like Tess.
"Maybe I'll bring her by to visit you once you get back home. Would you like that? You'll be going home soon–the doctors say in a few days. I know you're going to get better because you love life too much not to. Your mom told me you're good with little animals–squirrels eat right out of your hand. And she said you want to be a veterinarian when you grow up, so you can help sick animals get well. She told me you once nursed a baby robin back to health that had fallen out of its nest.
"Betsy? That's why you escaped, isn't it? To live again! Not in a shell of your former self–you want to live every minute of life to the fullest. You can't give up now, Betsy, you've come this far."
There was the briefest flicker in the girl's eyes, as if she knew exactly what Maria meant, but it was so brief, Maria thought she might have imagined it. She talked softly to the little girl, holding and rubbing her small, lifeless hand the entire time, for another half an hour or more.
When Maria finally stood up, she felt drained and out of sorts.
Joe put his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the hospital into the parking lot where his old Chevy sat like a dinosaur amidst all the newer models. "You are an amazing woman, Maria," he said, looking into her large, liquid brown eyes.
"Now, why in God's name would you say that?"
"I think you got through to the girl. I saw a slight change in her eyes, a movement, when you were talking to her."
Maria reached out and put a hand on Joe's shoulder. "You did? I thought I might have imagined it."
Joe shook his head. "No, you didn't imagine it. It was there–if only for a moment–it was there."
* * *
When they got back to the condo, Carlos and Tess still weren't back from the movie-theater.
"Have a seat, Joe. How about a brandy?"
"Sounds great," he said, flopping on the sofa.
Maria poured the brandy and turned on the stereo before joining Joe. She sat down next to him and curled her legs up underneath her. The brandy felt warm and delicious going down, and she started feeling better immediately.
Maria smiled to herself. "Why is it I feel so damn comfortable and safe when I'm with you?"
Joe looked at her, surprised by her sudden confession. "I don't know, why don't you tell me?"
Their eyes locked and try as she might Maria wasn't able to look away from his piercing blue gaze. At that moment, she could see all the love he felt for her behind those clear blue eyes and felt her own heart start beating a faster rhythm. "Joe," she whispered, and then she was in his arms. When their lips met, she felt a hot fire surge through her, building into an all-consuming passion that ran deep within her. She was so caught up in the moment she didn't hear the door open.
Joe stood up so fast Maria nearly fell to the floor.
The look of surprise on Tess's face was comical, with eyes wide and mouth hanging open in a perfect 'O'. Then a sly smile spread across her features as she said, "Jeez, I guess we should have knocked first."
Carlos was grinning right along with her.
Both Joe and Maria were visibly flustered.
Joe cleared his throat and looked at his watch. "Man, look at the time. I gotta be going," He said, literally breaking into a run for the door.
"See you Monday, Joe," Maria said. Their eyes met and she felt heat go into her face as he turned and went out the door. What has gotten into me? Maria thought, trying to regain her composure.
Both Carlos and Tess were still grinning.
"Well, I'm bushed," Maria announced, looking sternly at Theresa.
She took her mother's cue. "Me, too. I think I'll hit the sack. Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Uncle Carlos, thanks for the movie," she said, giving them each a kiss on the cheek.
As Maria was pulling the bed out of the sofa sleeper, with Carlos's help, he said, "I never knew you and Joe had that kind of relationship, Sis."
"We don't, Carlos. I can't explain what happened here tonight. I don't know. But it won't happen again–I can promise you that. Joe and I are just friends, that's all."
"Yeah, right."
"Goodnight, Carlos," she said with a resigned sigh. "See you in the morning."
"Goodnight, Sis. Sweet dreams," he said with a smile still playing on his lips.
Chapter 12
He wasn't mad anymore. So the little bitch got away–there were plenty more just like her. He'd been furious when he woke up and found she'd escaped.
But after he took his anger out on the puppy he felt somewhat better. He broke its skinny little neck when he threw it against the wall. Now he had a mess to clean up as well. He picked the pup's limp body off the floor and deposited it into a plastic garbage bag, then disposed of it in the Dumpster out back in the alley.
There was no way the little brat could tell the cops where he lived since she was passed out when he brought her here, and the taxi driver found her on First Avenue, which was almost ten blocks away. Anyway, according to the news reports she wasn't doing much talking. Just the same, he'd have to eliminate her to be on the safe side.
He climbed into his sports car and opened the glove compartment, removing the stash he'd squirreled away. He took a couple of good-sized snorts in each nostril and laid his head back on the car seat, feeling the coke permeate his brain and making him feel superior to the rest of the human race.
"Fuck," he said, thinking aloud. Now he wouldn't be able to finish the film, which meant less money; and worse, he missed out on the best part, killing the little bitch. Oh, well, he'd just have to find another one all the sooner. Maybe he'd go hang out at the park for a while and smoke a few joints, try to get his thoughts together–that was getting harder and harder these days. But first, he needed to pay someone a courtesy visit.
He realized to play it safe, they would need to get him another car, not to mention find someone else to be the go-between–to get his dope and deliver the goods. Oh well, his creators would take care of everything–always had–that was no problem. It was just a pain to deal with someone new again, especially after Lenny, who jumped at command, no questions asked.
Too bad for Lenny and his loose lips. Unfortunately, he'd had to be taken care of. It was easy enough. Because of them and their contacts everywhere, Milano was taken out nice and neat. They even made it look like a possible suicide. "Dumb fuck," he mumbled, starting his car. "You can run but you can't hide!" he said laughing, his tires squealing on the macadam.
* * *
The morning sun woke Tess up about
The birds were singing their
morning song and all was right in the world, now that she was home again. Tess looked around her cozy bedroom and
couldn't help but smile to herself. The
sheer pink ruffled curtains on the window matched the pink bedspread and canopy
over her bed. A large, Victorian-style
chair with an overstuffed pink velvet cushion sat in one corner of the room,
and perched on the chair were all her dolls–a dark-haired Cabbage Patch Kid,
Raggedy Ann and Andy, various stuffed bears, dogs, and other critters. On the wall opposite her bed hung a poster of
her favorite rock group, along with several other posters, one of which was '
Tess found herself thinking of Tyler, a boy she liked at school, and how they had held hands on the last day of school. She was thinking of boys more and more these days. It seemed that was all she and Jenny ever talked about.
There was a soft knock on the door and Maria poked her head in. "Mornin', sunshine. I thought you'd still be sleeping after waking up at the crack of dawn these past two weeks." She sat down on her daughter's bed and leaned over to kiss her forehead.
"No, I've been up for a while, just thinking about how great it is be home and wake up in my own bed. I've been thinking a lot about school, too. I guess I'm ready to go back. It's been a great summer, but I'm looking forward to meeting my new teachers and seeing the other kids and stuff."
Tess had told Maria about Tyler and she smiled thinking about it now. "I bet you're especially looking forward to seeing a certain boy?"
Tess blushed. "I hope he still likes me," she blurted out. "I've been thinking about boys a lot these days. Too much! Is that normal? I never used to."
Maria laughed. "You're growing up, honey. It's perfectly normal. I remember when I was your age; I had such a crush on Carlos' best friend. I would think about him morning, noon, and night. But then, when he'd come over to the house, I'd be so tongue-tied I couldn't say two words to him."
They both laughed and hugged each other. "I'm so lucky to have a mom who is my best friend, too. When I grow up and have kids, I'm going to be just like you."
"Well sweetie, you make it easy–most of the time, anyway," she added as an afterthought, tickling ribs. "Now enough of this mushy stuff. What do you say we get dressed and you can help me make the potato salad? We have a full day of fun and excitement waiting for us, not to mention the orangutans," Maria said, trying to forget, temporarily, what the day really held in store for all of them.
Chapter 13
Maria listened to nature's serene symphony–birds singing and insects buzzing–as she lay back, deep in thought, gazing up at the cloudless, blue sky.
They had stuffed themselves with cold fried chicken, potato salad, homemade biscuits, and lemonade. Tess and Carlos decided to go for a walk to the Ice Cream Pavilion for cones while Maria lay sprawled under a big oak tree, feeling so full she felt she might burst.
Her mind went over in startling
detail her life with Jack, and she wondered how she would ever go about
explaining it all to Tess. Where to
begin…there are so many lies.
She heard Tess laughing and sat up, shielding her eyes from the bright midday sun. Tess and Carlos were holding hands and each was carrying a triple-dip ice cream cone. Maria smiled and waved, shaking her head and holding her stomach.
Tess plopped down on the blanket next to her mother and began devouring her cone. "Want a bite, Mom?"
"Oh, no thanks, honey." Maria laughed. "Where on earth do you find room for ice cream after the huge picnic lunch we just ate?"
"Mmm, always room for ice cream," Tess said between mouthfuls.
After Carlos and Tess finished their cones, they all walked back to the car to deposit the picnic basket and blanket in the back seat, and then set out for the Como Park Zoo.
Upon arrival at the zoo entrance, they could hear the ruckus the orangutans were making.
Tess laughed. "They must know we're coming," she said, patting her purse, which contained several ripe bananas.
Walking through the zoo, they saw a family of adorable prairie dogs who made their homes in mounds of dirt. Next- door, three skinny coyotes paced back and forth in their cage–bored, pink tongues hanging out. Further along, a couple of ill-tempered badgers peeked out of their cave, looking as if they'd just as soon take a bite out of their hides as lay eyes on them.
They watched the peacocks ruffle their feathers, and then spread them out in a beautiful multi-colored fan.
They approached the orangutan cage–it housed a mama and two babies. The mama had an old dirty scarf tied on her head and was jumping up and down, scolding one of her youngsters.
"Boy, that sure looks familiar," Tess said with mock sincerity.
"Gee, thanks a lot. Are you telling me I look like a stinky old monkey?" Maria asked, hands on hips.
Tess giggled. "Well, if the scarf fits."
They all laughed.
Tess walked up to the cage. "Hi there, Big Mama." That was the orangutan's name, and the moniker was a perfect match.
The large primate stopped its tirade and looked at Tess with intelligent brown eyes, cocking its large, shaggy head.
"Are you hungry?" the girl asked.
Big Mama shook her head up and down and both babies followed suit, shaking their heads in unison.
Tess laughed and fished out three bananas. She ceremoniously tossed them each a banana then sat back on her haunches watching them peel back the skin, plopping the entire piece of fruit into their mouths.
Smacking their lips they started jumping up and down, making the entire cage tremble in their demand for more.
"Okay, okay, take it easy. This is it," Tess said, giving them each one more banana.
They devoured the fruit and tossed the peels over their shoulders. Then Big Mama clapped her hands and did a backward flip into the air, making an Olympic-worthy landing.
Tess clapped her own hands and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.
Maria leaned her head on Carlos' shoulder, smiling. "I'm so glad we came here today. This place has always been so special for her."
Carlos nodded, watching Tess. "She's a great kid. I hope this makes it easier, considering what she's about to learn."
"We don't have to tell her, you know?" Maria whispered, looking up into Carlos' deep brown eyes.
"I think she's old enough now, Sis. There's no point in prolonging the inevitable." He looked down at his little sister and could read the pain in her eyes. "I know it's hard, but you have to tell her sooner or later, and it's driving you crazy keeping all this bottled up inside."
Tess walked toward them. "I wish I had more bananas. Hey, what do you guys look so serious about?"
"Let's go for a hike and walk off some of that ice-cream. What do ya say, kiddo?" Carlos said, putting an arm around her shoulder. Tess grinned up at her uncle and put her own arm around him.
They walked on one of the many hiking trails, enjoying the peaceful surrounding woodland, and eventually came upon a clearing with a lovely waterfall. They stopped for a moment to enjoy the scenery, watching the water cascade down in a rush, then flow gently over the mossy rocks in the little stream that babbled at their feet.
"I'd forgotten how beautiful it is here," Maria said, taking Tess's hand.
"I was just thinking the same thing," Tess said, smiling at her mother. "Thanks for today. It's been totally awesome."
"I'm glad you've enjoyed it, honey–so have Carlos and I."
They continued walking deeper into the woods, where only an occasional bird twittered in the woodsy silence, and acorns crunched underfoot.
A little bench had been placed along the path, and Maria suggested they sit for a while. They chatted about various subjects: the impending doom of school starting soon, Tess's stay at summer camp, the mosquitoes…
After several minutes of silence, Maria mustered up all the courage she could find and spoke.
"Tess, honey, there's something we need to talk about. It's going to be difficult for you to understand at first, but I want you to listen, and then I'll answer all your questions, okay?"
Tess looked alarmed. "What's wrong? Are you sick or dying or something?"
"No, no, nothing like that. This is about…your father."
"My father? But he's dead."
"I know, honey, but there are some things concerning your father that I think you're old enough to know now. I don't expect you to understand everything I'm about to tell you, because even I don't. But I think I've kept the truth from you long enough."
"Okay," Tess said in a monotone that scared Maria.
Looking to Carlos for encouragement, which he gave with a nod of his head and compassion in his eyes, Maria began…
* * *
By the time Maria finished, she felt drained. And the shocked look on Theresa's face told Maria her daughter felt the same way.
Theresa stared straight ahead, as if in a trance. Then she slowly shook her head, tears standing in her large brown eyes. "I don't believe you." She looked at her mother, confused. "You're lying! I don't know why, but you're lying," she cried, getting up and running off into the woods.
Maria started after her, but Carlos caught her arm. "Let her alone, Sis. She needs to sort this out by herself for now. She'll come back on her own, just leave her be for a little while."
A sob escaped from deep within Maria.
"Oh God, what have I done?" Maria moaned, leaning on Carlos. "I shouldn't have told her any of this. She just wasn't ready." She buried her face in her hands and let the tears come, while Carlos held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. "It's not safe out there, Carlos, she shouldn't be by herself."
"Shh, Maria. It's okay. We'll just give her a couple minutes, and then I'll go after her. You did the right thing telling her the truth. Don't worry, Sis," he whispered, wiping the tears from her face with a handkerchief. Sitting together, they looked more like father and child than brother and sister as Carlos tried to soothe Maria's frazzled nerves.
"Carlos, please bring back my baby. Right now. I can't stand this a minute longer.
"Maria–"
There's a murderer on the loose. You haven't seen what can happen to a young child. I have first-hand knowledge–and I'm not going to let Tess become another statistic." Tears flowed freely from Maria's eyes as she pictured every horrendous thing imaginable happening to her young daughter.
"Okay, okay. Calm down, Maria. I'll go find her." He instructed Maria to stay put while he went searching for his niece.
Afternoon soon faded away into early evening and still no sign of Tess. Maria was starting to reach panic-mode.
Chapter 14
Tess couldn't believe her mother had lied to her all these years. Her own mother, for God's sake. She'd called her mom her best friend just this morning. What a pathetic joke. She cried so hard and so long there were no tears left. She felt tired and achy from walking and running. Running mostly. Running away from the terrible truth of having a father who was a drug user that hated her so much he'd tried to end her young life. And the fact that her mother would lie to her–life just didn't make sense sometimes.
Back on the walking path, Tess stumbled along and followed it through the thick, fragrant lilac bushes that lined either side. She heard a rustling sound coming from behind one of the bushes.
"Who's there?" she cried, startled by her own high-pitched voice in the stillness.
There was no answer, but she knew someone was there. Not only did she have a strange feeling of being watched; she could see part of a white T-shirt showing from behind a bush several feet away. Someone was following her!
Tess was scared and disoriented, not sure which direction was the right way back to her mother and uncle. She'd taken so many turns in her desperate flight; she was now confused. Leaving the path, afraid she would be too easy to trail if she stayed on it, Tess ran blindly in the opposite direction as fast as she could, not wanting to see the face of the man who was following her. It's a monster's face, she thought–bloody and distorted, with bone jutting out through greenish skin, one eyeball hanging by a bloody stalk, teeth rotting and stinking, falling out of his head as he calls 'Thereeesssaaaa' over and over. These morbid thoughts made her run all the faster until she heard a familiar sound. Up ahead was the waterfall. It was probably safe to stop and rest a while to rethink her strategy for escaping the monster. She'd always had an overactive imagination, and it was times like this she wished she could just turn it off like a light switch.
* * *
Carlos had been searching for close to an hour and still there was no sign of Tess. Upon coming back full circle to the waterfall, he happened to catch a glimpse of her flowered shirt. He'd almost missed her. She was crouched down in a squatting position underneath the waterfall. He stood there for a full minute, watching her. She was shivering now that the sun was going down, and her hair and clothes were soaking wet.
Treading carefully on the shiny, wet rocks to where the little stream met the cascading water, Carlos hunkered down so he was eye level with the girl. She was looking at him, but didn't move a muscle until he held out his arms to her.
Then she stood and made her way toward him on the slippery stones, nearly falling a couple of times. An anguished cry escaped her shaking body as he enfolded her in his big, strong arms and stroked her long, wet hair. "It's all right, honey. Let it out if it makes you feel better."
"Oh, Carlos…how could she lie to me all these years?" she wailed.
Carlos took her by the shoulders and leaned back so he could look her in the eye. "Tess, I want you to put yourself in your mother's shoes for a minute. Think how she must have felt. What was the point in hurting her precious little girl if she didn't have to? Think about it, Theresa! My God, child, she loves you more than life itself. That's why she saved your life years ago and spared you the pain by not telling you until now. Can't you see what it has done to her? She never wanted to lie to you, Tessy, but she knew how much the truth would hurt."
Tess looked at her uncle–with eyes blazing and passion in his voice for the love of his sister–and felt ashamed for being a selfish little girl with no regard for anyone but herself. She stood up. "Let's go find Mom, Carlos. I want to go home."
They walked hand in hand along the winding path, back to where Maria sat waiting for them.
When Maria saw them approaching, she stood up, brushing dirt from the seat of her shorts.
Tess ran into her arms, nearly knocking her over. "I'm sorry, Mom. I love you so much," she cried, burying her face in her mother's bosom.
As grateful tears coursed down her face, Maria looked over her daughter's head at Carlos and mouthed the words 'thank you' at her remarkable big brother.
* * *
Carlos drove while Maria and Tess sat in the back, holding hands and talking. The girl had many questions and her mother was finally able to answer all of them. Maria explained how after Jack died, she had sold their house and bought the condo they now lived in, wanting to be rid of all memories of him.
Everything seemed to make sense now that Tess knew the truth–like why there weren't any pictures of her father around the house. She remembered how upset Maria had become one day when she was about six or seven years old and was rummaging through her mother's closet. She came across her mother and father's wedding picture. Maria had tried to hide the dreadful fear that crawled through her belly upon seeing his face, but Tess knew something was wrong. She still remembered the straight-faced, dark-haired man that looked at the camera with contempt in his hazel eyes.
Tess asked her why she'd stayed with a man like that, and Maria explained how her life had been controlled by fear. She told her daughter, for the first time, the truth behind the scar on her left cheek that would remind her of Jack for the rest of her life.
Tess felt a newfound respect for her mother, realizing the strength it must have taken to endure all that pain and despair.
Carlos sat silently up front, driving and listening to the exchange between mother and daughter, until all questions were answered and they both felt a sense of closure.
Chapter 15
When they got home that evening, there was a message from Joe on the answering machine that said it was urgent Maria get in touch with him as soon as possible. She called him at home but there was no answer, so she called Homicide. He answered on the first ring.
"Detective Morgan."
"Joe, it's me. What's up?"
"You're not gonna like this, Maria, so brace yourself."
"What now?"
"An attempt was made on the McReedy girl's life about two hours ago."
"Oh, no! Is she okay? You got the guy in custody, right, so at least we–"
"She's okay," Joe interrupted. "No change, still catatonic. Her neck is a little bruised, though. Her attacker tried to strangle her. He would have killed her if a nurse hadn't come in at exactly the right moment. And in answer to your other question, no. He got away."
"What? Shit!"
"Knocked the nurse out with a blow to the head and ran like hell. Nobody got a good look at him. Tall is all I got."
"Damn! There was supposed to be a cop posted outside her door at all times. What happened?"
"There was a cop there. This guy was dressed as an orderly. We found the orderly he knocked out in a supply closet; bound, gagged, and naked as the day he was born. The cop on duty thought the guy was just another hospital worker making his rounds, and decided to take a quick leak, not realizing what was happening. He's been reprimanded. Anyway, we moved her to a different room and now have an officer inside and outside her room. It won't happen again."
"The poor kid. As if she hasn't been through enough already."
"I know. Hey, I heard from the professor about an hour ago. Can you get away for a while? I'd like to touch base on some things."
"Sure. Sounds like you've had a busy day. Why don't we meet at the coffee shop on Seventh? That's about halfway. In about twenty minutes?"
"Sounds great. See you then."
Tess and Carlos were so busy playing Scrabble, they barely mumbled their acknowledgment that she was leaving.
* * *
Maria saw Joe through the large window that covered the front of the little coffee shop, sitting in a booth near the back, drinking coffee, and ripping a napkin to shreds. As she opened the door a bell dinged, and the few customers gazed her way to see who'd entered their late night domain.
She slid into the booth opposite Joe. "Hey, partner, what's up?"
Joe shoved the bits of napkin into a small pile behind the menu holder, then reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a card, sliding it face down across the table to Maria.
She picked it up and looked. It was one of Joe's business cards with a number written in ink in the upper right hand corner.
Before Maria could ask, Joe said, "The McReedy girl's new room number."
She slipped it into her purse as the waitress approached. "Just coffee, thanks," Maria said, turning her cup right side up and watching Joe as the waitress filled her cup.
When the waitress left, Joe continued. "Professor Littleton called. He thinks they've cracked the code to the little black book. He and a colleague will be working through the night until it's completely deciphered. We're to pick up Slade and meet the professor at the University tomorrow morning at 8:00 sharp."
"That's terrific, but why drag Slade along? He doesn't need to be there."
"Not my idea–chief's orders." Joe shrugged his broad shoulders and took a gulp of coffee. "How was the picnic? Did you tell Tess about her father? We need to talk about last night, Maria."
"Whoa, slow down. You sure are covering a lot of ground fast. The picnic was great. Tess took the news about Jack hard, but I think she's already learning to accept it, difficult as it is." She paused, taking a sip of coffee and contemplating what to say next. "As for last night, well, I think we should just forget it–"
"Forget it?" He looked at her, hurt and confusion written all over his face; then shook his head as if to clear it. "Whatever you say. I'll pick you up around 7:30 tomorrow morning to go to the University." Laying a couple of bucks down to pay for the coffee, he made a quick retreat for the door.
"Joe, wait!" Scrambling to follow, she spilled her coffee in the process, drawing stares from several patrons in the cafe. She threw several napkins on the puddle of coffee and hurried out the door, taking refuge in the starry night, where she abruptly collided with Joe.
He wrapped his strong arms around her and looked deeply into her liquid brown eyes. "Forget it, huh? No way, lady," he whispered, lowering his mouth onto hers and drinking in her sweetness.
Maria's entire body was immobile. The only thing that mattered in life was this kiss. She felt a yearning deep in her center and moaned, responding to him unlike any other man before.
All of a sudden, the spell was broken as the door to the coffee shop opened and expelled an elderly, pot-bellied gentleman.
Maria put her hand on Joe's chest and halfheartedly pushed him away.
They stood there, breathless, just looking at each other for several moments, before either spoke.
Maria ran a shaky hand through her wind-swept hair. "God, Joe, we can't do this, it isn't right."
"Why, Maria? Why isn't it right?"
In a daze, heart pounding and too confused to think straight, she was speechless. Instead, she turned and ran like a child trying to escape the bogeyman, to her car parked a block away.
She broke the speed limit getting home, but once there, sat in her car for close to an hour, thinking about one thing–that unforgettable kiss.
Chapter 16
When Joe picked Maria up at 7:30 the following morning, she thought they would both be uncomfortable, but much to her surprise he was the same easy-going guy as always.
Following Maria out to the parking lot–watching her hips sway–Joe felt his desperation even if he didn't show it. Man, life really sucks sometimes. Why do the simplest things have to be so damn hard? You would think loving someone would be easy, but Maria is so damn bull-headed sometimes. He let out a sigh as they approached the car, and Maria darted a furtive glance in his direction, then looked away.
Spotting Slade in the back seat, Maria had to smile to herself. Did Joe and Peter hate each other so much they couldn't even ride in the front seat together?
"What's so funny?" Joe asked defensively.
"Did he ride in the back all the way over here?"
"Oh, that," Joe said, looking relieved. "Yeah, I guess he's a little pissed off at me. I told him to let us do the talking when we meet with the professor. He's not used to taking orders, only giving them."
"I'm surprised a certain little someone from the BCA didn't tag along."
Joe laughed. "Foley? Guy's an egomaniac if ever there was one. I talked to the chief this morning. He said he didn't want to waste any more of Foley's time–I think he wants to keep him at a distance. Don't worry though, he promised to personally keep the 'powers that be' at the BCA informed."
"We're just one big happy family," Maria said, opening the passenger door, giving Slade a perfunctory glance, and sliding into the front seat.
They drove to the University of Minnesota in silence, each wondering what the other was thinking.
Professor Littleton's office wasn't much bigger than a broom closet, but the awards and diplomas that lined the walls were impressive.
The man himself was in his late fifties; short and stout, with a beard, thick glasses, and a slight English accent, he was the perfect stereotype for his academic profession. The desk he sat behind was a mahogany monster that took up three-quarters of the office space and dwarfed even further the small, mousy man that sat off to one side of the professor in a high-back chair.
The professor motioned for them to sit down. Since there were only two fold-up chairs available, Slade remained standing.
"You're five minutes late," he said, frowning, peering over the top of his glasses at them. "I have another engagement in twenty-five minutes, so let's not waste anymore time on formalities than is necessary. This is Dr. Phillips." He gestured toward the excessively thin man, who nodded toward them with an equally thin smile. "He has helped me immensely in solving the mystery of decoding this little book," he said, waving the black address book in the air.
Professor Littleton laid the book down and reverently opened it to the strange symbols and coding, then pulled some papers out of his top desk drawer. "And here we have the fruits of our labor," he said, patting the papers.
They listened to the professor explain the phenomenal detail that went into the decoding and how they came up with the end results. The intricate coding was comprised of Japanese and Greek lettering, along with a series of dots and dashes similar to Morse code. Hieroglyphics were also used to separate the entries. Dr. Phillips, being the expert in cryptography and a professor in foreign languages, explained how they translated each letter and symbol into the English version.
In the end, what they had on paper was a list of simply three names–two of which were accompanied by address and phone number. Both of these were well-known Mafia crime bosses in the Los Angeles area–Roberto Santini and Nicholas Freyhoff. The last name was J.R. Franco. No address or phone number, just the initials and last name, which no one had heard of.
"I know you gentleman are the experts, but are you absolutely certain every letter is correct here?" Maria looked from the professor to Dr. Phillips. "I mean, considering all the coding that was in that little book, it seems strange to say the least that all we're left with is a list of three names."
The professor sat up ramrod straight. "I can assure you, Detective Sanchez, each and every letter is indeed correct. We've checked and double-checked." He appeared to be slightly offended that she questioned his practices. "You must understand, the plan of whomever we are dealing with was to fool even the most professional eye," he stated, as if speaking to a small child.
Dr. Phillips responded with a curt nod and a thin smile.
"I'd say we have our work cut out for us," Maria said to Joe. "Franco is a fairly common name."
"Well, maybe we'll get lucky. If we can tie him to Santini in any way, shape or form, we got him," Joe responded.
"Yeah, If," Slade offered, skeptically.
Joe stood and looked at Slade with equal measure, then returned his gaze to Maria. "I think we know why Milano was hanging out with these guys, considering the mass quantity of heroin he was dealing. But one thing is for sure, he certainly didn't do the coding in that little book. The man didn't have enough brains to fill a thimble, let alone something as involved as this." He picked up the black book, inspecting it, then slipped it into his front shirt pocket.
Professor Littleton stood, barely reaching Joe's chest. "Whoever devised that coding was indeed very intelligent," he said, nodding toward Joe's shirt pocket where one corner of the book was visible. "And they went to great lengths to hide its contents if it should fall into the wrong hands."
Maria rose, reaching out to shake first the professor's hand, then Dr. Phillips, who remained seated. "We want to thank you both very much. This has been very enlightening and hopefully something will turn up when we run a check on J.R. Franco. As for the other two, we know they're into everything from drug smuggling to prostitution. I think they're in even deeper than they realize, though. Well, good-bye, gentlemen. Have a nice day."
Joe and Peter mumbled thanks and they all filed out of the cramped, stuffy office and into the bright morning sunshine, squinting while their eyes adjusted.
The car was like an oven. It was going to be another hot, sticky August day, just like the previous week. As if on cue, they all rolled down their windows and sighed as the slight breeze made the heat almost bearable.
* * *
Walking down the cool corridors of City Hall was a welcome relief from the sweltering outdoors.
Maria sat down at her desk and powered up her PC, with Joe and Peter seated on either side, waiting with anticipation. She keyed in the access code and put out a search for all Francos with prior arrests in the United States. The NCIC–National Crime Information Center–was a criminal justice network that supplied pertinent data to police officers in all fifty states. However, unless the perpetrator was arrested for a serious offense or had an outstanding warrant, he wouldn't be found in the system. The computer paused, cursor blinking, then beeped, and spit out a list of fourteen names. All of these with the exception of three had the wrong first name. Out of the three, one was female and the other two were already incarcerated, but Maria printed the list to go over again later.
"Hmm," Maria said thoughtfully, hands flying over the keyboard again, eyes now scanning the DMV menu for the proper statewide licensing information.
They waited, watching the computer screen as if it were a god they were all worshipping. This time after the beep, a list of seventy-one names appeared, followed by license and registration information.
"Take your pick," Maria exclaimed. "I'll print this off and then narrow down the search to only the ones with a first name that start with 'J'."
The next list that filled the screen showed twelve names. Out of these twelve only five resided in the Twin Cities area. And of these five only two were male. "Look at this one," Maria said, pointing to the third name from the bottom.
The screen showed a Jake Franco, who resided on Chestnut Avenue, in the city of Minneapolis.
Maria gave a grunt of disbelief. "Oh Jeez! Take a closer look–check out the birth date. The guy was born in 1913. That would make him how old?"
Peter laughed. "Ninety, if my math is right. Hmm, a ninety-year-old serial killer, that's a first. Hey, here's another one," he said, pointing out a Jim Franco, who lived in St. Paul and was closer to the right age. He was forty-two years old.
This time it was Joe who burst their bubble of hope. "Afraid not. Look. He's a paraplegic," he said, pointing at the little wheelchair symbol and reading the guy's driving restrictions.
"Shit," Maria said. "Why can't we get a goddamn break here already?"
She printed out this information then proceeded to investigate the remaining forty-nine states, putting out a search first for any and all Francos, then for only the ones with a first name beginning with a 'J' who were male. "This is going to take a while."
About twenty minutes later they had the results.
They found a grand total of 2,847 Francos in the United States who had valid driving permits, 236 of them males with a first name that began with the letter 'J'.
"I think we may have a better chance of winning the lottery," Maria said, sending these two lists to the printer.
"Slade, see if you can pull some strings and have some of your men put the heat on those two kingpins in L.A.–see what they can get out of 'em."
Maria turned to Joe. "Let's run these over to the Government Center and have them cross-referenced with Social Security and any other state and government records they can find. Hopefully we can tie one of them in with Santini," she said, taking the stack of printouts from the printer output tray. "Not that Roberto Santini ever did anything by the book, but we know he has several legit companies to cover his other scams, so who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky. We probably won't get the results back until at least Monday afternoon, but we can check out the two Francos in the Twin Cities, even if they don't fit the mold for deranged killer. Maybe the paraplegic is faking us out, or another scenario could be the old guy has a son, Jake Jr. let's say, who for one reason or another didn't show up on our computer. They're not infallible. What do you think, Joe?"
"Lots of maybes, but it's worth a shot. At this point I don't think we can pick and choose." Joe looked at his watch. "But it's getting late. I don't know if we can hit both of them today."
"I can do one when I'm done here," Slade volunteered. "Unless of course you want them both. I don't want to step on anyone's toes." He held up his hands, surrendering, and smiled crookedly.
"No, be my guest. Which one do you want?" Maria asked, feeling herself bristle at his smart-ass attitude.
"Ladies first," Slade said with a sneer.
"Fine. Let's go see what Jake Franco has to say for himself." Maria spoke directly to Joe, but noticed Slade nod as he pulled the telephone on the desk closer to make his calls.
Maria shut down her PC, then scribbled a quick note and slid it under Peter's nose just as he was starting to get angry at whoever was on the other end of the line. The note stated they were to meet at Finnian's Pub at 6:00 to discuss their findings, if any. Peter Slade glanced at the note and smiled at Maria.
"Let's go, Joe."
* * *
Maria handed the printouts to Tom Thompson, who was in charge of Operations in the Government Center's data processing department, which operated 24/7, explaining the order in which they should be done.
"Chief McCollough wants the results no later than tomorrow afternoon. Top priority," she said, knowing that's exactly what he would want when she informed him.
"Tomorrow afternoon?" he asked. He flipped through the stack that contained the names of all the Francos in the United States. "Whoa! There has to be close to three-thousand names here."
"Good guess, Tommy. There are 2,847 to be exact. But don't do any shortcuts. We need a thorough check run on each and every one, starting with the 'J's, first in Minnesota, then California and so on, like we discussed. I know with your mainframe, you've got access to almost every computer in the country, so use your resources to their maximum potential."
Tommy looked at her and frowned.
"Did I forget to say please? Sorry. Please?"
Tommy Thompson shoved his hands in
his faded blue-jeans pockets and looked at Maria with a mixture of loyalty and
trepidation. "I'll do my best
Maria, but I'll need ear-plugs when I tell my staff they'll have to pull an
all-niter…and on a Sunday," he said with resignation, shaking his
head. "Let's see–double workload
calls for double manpower–dayshift is supposed to get off at
"Thanks, Tommy. I knew I could count on you," Maria said, talking to his already retreating figure.
Maria hurried out the door to where Joe waited double-parked in front of the Government Center, anxious to discover what the remaining afternoon held in store for them.
Chapter 17
The ramshackle old house was rather large, with tall weeds overtaking the narrow stone walkway that led up to the front door. Unfortunately, this was the norm for many of the houses that lined the street in this neighborhood. Above the front door hung an old, weather-beaten sign that read 'Home, Sweet Home'. It had definitely seen better days.
Joe rang the doorbell while Maria walked over to the large double garage that stood between this house and the huge, dilapidated old mansion next-door. She peered in one of the small, grimy windows and saw two cars: one appeared to be an old model Chevy similar to Joe's and the other was a small, black, foreign job. It was too dark inside to make out the license plates, and the door located at the side was either stuck or locked. The main door operated by remote control only.
She walked back to where Joe was waiting. "Pretty snazzy car for an old fart," she said, nodding toward the garage.
Before Joe could reply an elderly, white-haired woman who smiled cautiously, opened the front door. "Yes?"
"Hi," Joe said with a smile. "We're sorry to bother you, ma'am. We're looking for a gentleman by the name of Jake Franco."
"That would be my late husband," she replied with a questioning look on her wrinkled face. "He's been gone almost three months now. It seems like yesterday…" She paused, looking off into space. "It seems like just yesterday he was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper."
Maria and Joe looked at each other, dumfounded.
Maria was the first to respond. "We're sorry, ma'am. We didn't know he'd passed away. Do you think we could still ask you a few questions?" She showed the old woman her badge, explaining they were police detectives.
"Oh, my! Why yes, I suppose, come in. I'll put on the coffee pot."
"Now don't go to any trouble on our account," Joe said.
"Oh, it's no trouble at all. Been so long since I've had company. Now you just sit right down and I'll be with you in a minute," she said, hurrying off to the kitchen. Maria and Joe took a seat at the dining room table.
The dining room was charming despite its peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet. The woman obviously went to great lengths to keep everything immaculate. The deep brown, solid oak table had a shine that came from hours of polishing, and there were vases of fresh flowers scattered throughout the room.
The old woman entered the dining room with a tray of cookies balancing on one hand and the coffeepot in the other.
"Let me help you," Maria said getting up and taking the tray.
"Would you be a dear and fetch the cups?" Mrs. Franco asked Joe. "They're on the counter."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Please, call me Martha," she said, smiling at Maria. "I am just tickled pink to have houseguests. But I know you young people came here for a reason, didn't you?"
Joe returned with the cups and took his seat next to Maria. "Yes, ma'am, I mean Martha, we did. Like we already said, we're police detectives and–"
"Oh, my, detectives!" she declared, having already forgotten that fact. "My Jake never made trouble for anybody," she said almost defensively.
"Oh, it's nothing like that," Maria explained. "See, the name Franco showed up in an address book we found while investigating a case, and your husband–having the same name–was only one of a large group of people we need to check out."
"Well, like I said before, he passed away three months ago, after a long nasty battle with Parkinson's Disease. He didn't get sick until he was eighty-three, so I guess we were lucky to have as much time as we did together. Parkinson's took its time to grab hold…he was bed-ridden for the last year and a half."
"I'm so sorry," Maria said. "Do you have children?"
"No, I couldn't give Jake children…but we had a peaceful, lovely life together."
"You're very lucky for that," Maria said. "What about relatives–brothers, sisters?"
"Yes, one younger brother, Dave. If I recall, much younger, by about twenty years or so. According to Jake, he was an accident that happened one night when his daddy came home drunk.
"Anyway, Dave lives in Hawaii I believe. He and Jake never had much to do with each other, being so far apart in age. Why, Jake had already moved out of the house by the time Dave was born. In fact, Dave never even came to his own brother's funeral. What do you make of that?" She didn't wait for a reply, just kept right on talking.
"Since Jake died I've been on my own, with no help from hardly anyone." Martha got a wistful look in her eye, then cleared her throat, and smoothed the front of her simple housedress with her wrinkled hands.
"Yes, I think my Jake would be proud of me. I've managed to keep my head above water. With one less Social Security check, it certainly hasn't been easy…but I manage. I've started cooking meals for old Mr. Meyer and his boarders, next-door. Poor, old man; deaf as a stump he is. He gives me fifty dollars a week for doing what I enjoy most in the world, and another fifteen for the use of my half of the garage. He needed the extra space–I suppose for the tenant's cars. I have no use for it, now that my Jake is gone. I sold the car after he died–never did learn to drive. What with traffic so busy nowadays, I wouldn't dream of risking my life out on those streets! The bus runs right by the house, so I always manage to get where I need to go, and I usually make my weekly trip to the grocers with old Mr. Meyer. He's become a good friend since my Jake passed on. Us old poops need to stick together I always say." The sweet old lady beamed broadly at Joe and Maria, her blue eyes sparkling with unbridled mischief.
That explained the sports car in the garage, Maria thought, biting into a date-filled pecan cookie. "Wow, these are absolutely delicious, Martha. Did you bake them?"
"Yes dear, thank you. I'll send some with you when you go if you'd like." Her weathered hands clenched together as she smiled tentatively. "Would you care to see the quilt I'm working on?"
Maria smiled. "We'd love to."
Martha hurried to retrieve her prize possession.
When she left the room, Maria leaned toward Joe and whispered, "I think it's safe to assume we've reached a dead-end here."
Joe nodded his agreement, unable to speak around a mouthful of Martha's cookies.
Back to square one.
One hour later, they walked out of Martha Franco's, armed with date-filled pecan cookies and nothing else.
Chapter 18
Finnian's Pub was packed on this Sunday evening, but Slade had managed to grab a table near the back in a corner. He was sitting alone, nursing a beer when Maria and Joe came in. He looked up with hooded eyes, slightly drunk, as they approached his table.
Maria sat down next to Slade, while Joe ordered a pitcher of beer from the bar. "Any luck with those two assholes in La-La land?"
"I've got a couple of agents working on it. They'll get back to me as soon as they find out something. Hopefully, by tomorrow, maybe sooner. Oh, and as for Jim Franco," Peter said as an after-thought, shaking his head in dismay. "We can rule him out as a suspect. The guy is paralyzed from the waist down and I'm definitely sure he wasn't faking it. Man, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." He downed his remaining beer in one long swallow. "How about you guys? Is the old man our serial killer?" His eyes twinkled as he waited for her response.
"Not unless he's doing it from six feet under–he died three months ago. We had a nice long chat with his widow, though, a sweet old lady who is terribly lonely and bakes wonderful cookies."
Joe returned with a pitcher of beer and two glasses, sitting down next to Maria. "What's up?" he asked, giving Slade a sideways glance.
"Not much," Maria said. "Peter has a couple of men working on those two thugs in L.A. Jim Franco is out of the picture. We have nothing so far. But I'll bet something will turn up with Tommy over at the Government Center. He's helped us out before–I'm positive he will again."
"Well, I would bet my agents come up with something first," Slade stated, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Do we have a wager, Sanchez?" he teased.
"So you're a gamblin' man, are ya? Well, let's see here…I need a new pair of shoes," she said, looking at her worn-out tennis shoe. "How 'bout a hundred bucks?"
"You're on!" Peter extended his hand and they shook on it, while Joe looked on disapprovingly.
Maria put her feet up on the empty chair next to Slade. "Man, I don't know about you guys, but I'm so tired I feel like the walking dead."
"I think this case is hitting all of us hard," Joe said. "I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep since the whole damn mess started."
"Well, maybe this will help," Peter said, filling their glasses.
"Couldn't hurt," Maria stated.
"This has gotta be my first and last." Joe rubbed his temples. "I've got a bitch of a headache and a little league game I promised my nephew I'd be at in fifteen minutes." He moaned, looking at his watch. "Oh, Jeez, make that ten." Downing his beer in three large gulps, he stood up to leave. Looking at Maria he said, "You coming?"
"I think I'll stay a while and drown my sorrows, or at least try to."
"Suit yourself," Joe said, not liking the idea at all. Glowering at Slade he asked, "You'll make sure she gets home all right?"
"Sure, no problem. I have my rental car. As long as Maria doesn't mind my driving–I tend to have a heavy foot sometimes."
"I'll manage," Maria said, looking at Joe and winking. "Hey, partner, don't worry so much. I'm a big girl."
"Okay, okay. See ya tomorrow," Joe said, turning on his heel and heading toward the door, getting several long looks from lonely ladies at the bar.
"After the week I've spent in your fair city I think I need something stronger than beer," Peter declared, pulling out a small flask of bourbon. "Boilermaker, anyone?" He grinned broadly at Maria.
"Oh, God, after a couple of those I won't know my own name."
"That's the whole point, my dear–guaranteed to chase away the bogeyman."
"Unfortunately, not the real bogeyman, only the one in our minds," Maria added, taking the flask he offered. "Ugh! Who can drink this stuff straight?" She grabbed her beer, draining half of it to wash away the bitter taste of bourbon, but feeling its warmth all the way down to her toes.
They passed the flask back and forth several more times and Maria found the taste wasn't so bad after about the third time. In fact, she was starting to feel pretty damn good about life in general. It was a relief not to be fixated on the case–all the unanswered questions and possible scenarios.
She really didn't give a shit about anything at the moment. Slade had been talking about his life growing up in California, and she wondered how she could've misjudged him so. He was actually a nice guy, and she told him so.
Peter laughed. "Maria, honey, you're drunker than a skunk–that's why you think I'm such a nice guy. Believe me, tomorrow when you're sober you'll hate my guts just as much as you did before."
"No, I don't think so. Maybe it was me all along. Who knows, some sort of penis envy possibly?"
Peter laughed so hard he cried, and Maria started laughing too, seeing the tears roll down his face.
"I've never seen a grown man cry," she exclaimed. They both laughed until it hurt.
"Thanks, Slade," Maria said, when she could speak again without fits of laughter threatening to take over.
"For what?"
"I really needed that. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."
"God, me either," Peter said, wiping his eyes. "Well, you know what they say."
"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me." She smiled expectantly.
"Laughter is the best medicine. People have actually died from not laughing enough."
"Yeah, right."
"It's true. Don't believe me if you don't want to, but it's in all the medical journals."
Maria noticed for the first time that Peter Slade was handsome. With his wavy, brown hair and deep-set brown eyes hiding behind wire-rim glasses, he had a college-boy sort of charm. Maria figured he was about her own age, considering the high position he held in the FBI, even though he looked much younger. His tweed jacket with the leather patch elbows helped contribute to his schoolboy persona.
At the same time Maria was observing him, Peter Slade was thinking relatively the same thing about her, only in a more sensual light. The way her large brown eyes sparkled and her wind-swept hair framed her beautiful face was very appealing. Her long legs seemed to go on forever, and he could see the outline of firm uplifted breasts through the thin silk shirt she wore. And that deep, sexy laugh would send any man into a tailspin. He found himself attracted to her, despite their many differences in the past.
A cocktail waitress approached to see if they wanted another pitcher of beer. They ordered coffee instead and were also able to get a couple of burgers before the grill closed.
The food sobered them up, and after a couple more cups of coffee, Peter drove Maria home.
He managed to keep the car at only five miles over the speed limit all the way, but it was tough.
Maria threatened to take the wheel if he didn't behave. She'd never told Slade about her parents both dying in an automobile accident, but he seemed sensitive to her needs without knowing the reason why.
He pulled into the parking lot of her condo and cut the motor.
"Well, thanks for a great evening," Maria said, opening the car door.
"Wait a minute, Maria."
Much to her surprise Peter leaned over. Wrapping his arms around her narrow shoulders, he kissed her. His heart was pounding so hard she could feel it against her own chest.
Maria gently pulled away from his embrace. "I'm sorry, Peter–"
"Why? Or do I even have to ask. It's Joe, right?" Reading her expression before she even answered, he said, "I knew it! I'm the one who's sorry."
"Ya know, I've been denying it for so long I'm surprised I'm finally admitting it–not only to myself, but to you of all people. Yes, it's Joe," she whispered in the dark car. "I love him and I have for a long time. But this can't go any further than this car. Do you hear me, Slade?" Her voice rose and her large brown eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Peter put his arm around her. "I hear you, Sanchez. Man, you've got it bad. I don't know why you're fighting it. It's obvious he feels the same about you."
"I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Okay, okay, but if you ever do, I've got a good ear for listening, and I promise I won't make another pass at you.
Maria laughed. "You're the best, Slade. I'm glad we're finally friends. After all of our hostility toward each other, who would've ever thought?"
"The world works in mysterious ways."
"Man, you're just full of clichés tonight, but you're right about that one. It sure does." Maria leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Then she was gone, running toward the lighted entrance of her condo.
Carlos had left the door unlocked for her, and was snoring on the sofa. Maria covered him up and kissed his cheek. Then, turning out the lights, she tiptoed to her own bed.
Peter watched to make sure she made it safely inside, then reluctantly drove back to his hotel, not looking forward to the cold, empty bed that awaited his return.
Chapter 19
They were in a meeting when Slade joined them a few minutes late. He winked at Maria when he came in, and unfortunately, Joe saw it.
Joe bristled when Peter asked him who won the ballgame Sunday night. "Mind your own goddamn business," he replied.
"Man, someone sure woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Peter responded, not in the least bit offended.
"Okay, boys, enough idle chit-chat. Let's get down to brass tacks," Chief McCollough said. "What have you got for us, Slade? Anything? Or is your pretty face supposed to be enough to keep us happy?"
"Well, I've been in touch with our agents in Los Angeles assigned to question those two Mafia bosses. The assholes claim to have never heard of J.R. Franco, but I really didn't expect them to admit it."
Slade looked at Maria and grinned. "But, they did find out something else rather interesting. It turns out Roberto Santini has a half sister–a Stephanie Franco. Does the last name ring a bell?" Slade paused for effect, but instead was reprimanded by the chief.
"For Christ's sake, cut the theatrics, Slade and get on with it!" the chief bellowed.
Maria held back a laugh that wanted to come bursting forth at this most inopportune moment.
Slade continued, undaunted by the chief. "Ms. Franco, or should I say Mrs.," he said, noting their expressions change at this one word. "Mrs. Franco lives in Ventura, California which is only a stone's throw away from L.A.–about sixty miles actually, more or less. She is married to a Jonathan Franco, who if my guess is right has the middle initial 'R'. But that's purely speculation on my part. Santini had to know we'd find out about this, but he probably didn't think we'd do it this soon."
"How did your agents find all this out in a matter of hours?" Joe asked with a note of hostility still in his voice.
"I can't reveal my sources, Morgan," Peter said. "But I can tell you the FBI has contacts everywhere–from the very high up to the bottom of the barrel." Slade shifted his attention back to Maria. "I took the liberty of calling your Tommy Thompson at the Government Center. It was after three in the morning, but believe it or not the guy was still there pounding away, trying to beat your deadline, Sanchez. I would have called you, but I know how you need your beauty sleep." He offered her a winning smile.
The chief shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glared at Slade, screaming at him to get on with the story without even saying a word.
Slade got the message and hurried on. "Well, to make a long story short, Tommy hadn't reached the 'S's in the golden state yet, so I had him plug Stephanie Franco's name into the computer. The system showed no ties to Santini, personally or financially, but it did show a marriage license with the name Jonathan Franco listed as spouse. Her maiden name was Weber for the record. Now the bad news. When Tommy ran a check on her husband, Roberto Santini's brother-in-law, Mr. Jonathan Franco, he came up with nothing. Nada. Zip. A big, fat zero.
"Tommy tried as many back doors as he could find in his computer, but it appears Stephanie's husband is not available for comment. He has no Social Security number, no birth certificate, no death certificate, nothing. It appears Mr. Jonathan Franco of Ventura, California doesn't exist, at least not in any computer we have access to."
"But that doesn't necessarily mean anything," Joe interjected. "A man like Santini can easily have things like records, or people, eliminated. And he's known for always being one step ahead of the authorities."
"Exactly," Maria agreed. "Unfortunately, anyone who has the know-how can get into almost any system and do irreparable damage."
"Well, Tommy told me to tell you, he'll keep plugging along and get back to you when he's done," Slade said, winking again at Maria and then adding, "By the way, I'll take my hundred in twenties, thank you very much.
"Oh, one more thing." Slade couldn't help but enjoy the pained expression on Joe Morgan's face. "I made a phone call to check out Stephanie herself as well as confirm her place of residence. I'm not sure what I would've said if she'd answered–probably, 'Sorry, wrong number'–but as it turned out no one was home. According to the answering machine, they're out of town on vacation, due back the middle of this week." Slade shrugged his shoulders and looked at the chief. "That's it, sir."
"Interesting, very interesting," the chief said, chewing on the stem of his unlit pipe. He got up and paced the length of the conference room. "I think we better get on top of this before it gets away from us, like everything else in this damn case." He scratched his unshaven chin, thinking. "Morgan, I want you in Ventura tomorrow morning to pay the Francos a little visit when they return home from vacation. If we're lucky, you'll arrive before they do–an element of surprise is our best bet."
"Yes, sir," Joe replied, taken slightly aback at being chosen over Slade.
"I know California used to be your home turf, Slade, but I want you and Sanchez to put your heads together and work on the killer's psychological profile. I hope you understand, Peter, nothing personal, but I want one of my own over there.
"Sanchez, I need you here to help me deal with things from this end. And since you have a kid to think about, I think Morgan here is the best man for the job, so to speak… It could take considerable time to find something of use to us, and it could be dangerous depending on what we find. Understand?" Chief McCollough asked, looking at each of them.
They each nodded in turn.
The chief looked over his spectacles at Maria. "If you get a chance, take Slade to see the McReedy girl. Maybe she can shed some new light." He glanced at his watch and took a last gulp of coffee. "Gotta run."
The three of them sat and looked at each other in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, and then they all spoke at once.
"Your brother, Carlos still in town?" Joe asked Maria.
"How was the little league game last night?" Maria asked Joe.
"More coffee, anyone?" Slade asked, filling his own cup.
They all laughed nervously.
Peter left the coffeepot on the conference room table and took himself and his cup of coffee to the outer office, sensing three was a crowd.
In the quiet conference room, Joe and Maria just looked at each other for several minutes, each waiting for the other to speak.
Joe broke the silence. "So, what happened after I left the bar last night?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"What happened?"
"Between you and Slade."
"Nothing. What makes you think something happened?" Maria responded, defensive.
"You're both acting different toward each other, like you're best of friends or something."
"Well, I don't think I'd go that far. He's not such a bad guy, though. We had a little too much to drink and did a lot of talking–"
"Talking?" Joe interrupted. "Is that all you did?"
A spark of anger lit Maria's dark eyes. "What is this, the fucking Spanish Inquisition? What exactly are you saying?"
"I think you know, don't you? I'm not as dumb as I look, Maria. A little too much to drink and who knows what can happen."
"How dare you! What do you think I am, some confused teenager who got a little tipsy and lost her virginity? You must be as dumb as you look, Joe 'cause you are dead wrong!"
Picking up her briefcase and spinning on her heel, she stormed out of the conference room, slamming the door so hard the pictures on the wall shook.
"Ouch," Joe said to the empty room.
Chapter 20
"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow. He followed her to school one day. Everywhere that Mary went that lamb was sure to go."
Everything was almost ready–ready to set his plan in motion. With school soon to start, he would be able to take his pick of the litter, and then he'd follow his chosen one until the time was right. Just like Mary's little lamb.
He got an erection just thinking
about his hands around some little brat's throat, and the pleas for mercy that
were music to his ears–he could hear it now.
Soon, very soon.
He was set up with a different car now, along with phony license and registration, which changed with each new place of residence, but in this particular situation, was simply an extra precaution due to his last failed attempt. He had a new drug supplier too–Rocky, Ricky, something like that–but they were nervous and told him to lay low for a while. They said the Feds were asking too many questions, nosing around where it was none of their goddamn business.
Time to move on again, but he needed to do one more job here since the last one went awry. Every few months he relocated, always with the help of them. He stayed in small, out of the way rental units–hotels and boarding houses mainly–depending on the privacy they provided. He had to have his privacy. Sometimes he rented an apartment but only if it was on a month-to-month lease.
The most important factor was that he had to be certain there was no way his victims could ever escape–again. Yesterday he nailed the fuckin' laundry chute shut, so the little shits couldn't use that avenue any longer.
In the quarters he lived in now, he'd installed his own locks that could be locked both inside and out. The owner had agreed, said it was time to change the locks anyway–for safety reasons. What a joke. The landlord didn't know about the other remodeling jobs, though. He was so goddamn old he wouldn't know if a new window was cut out of the wall in the fuckin' dump. That was another factor that was considered before he took up residence–the landlords were usually old farts, or else didn't give a shit about anything but the money he paid them up front.
All rent and necessities were always paid for in cash so no questions were asked, and since he wasn't a very sociable kind of guy, no one bothered him about much of anything.
He had no friends to speak of, but that suited him just fine. His creators certainly were not his friends. Even though they pretended to be, always calling him 'Son', reminding him that without them he would be nothing.
They had trained him well. He'd done many different jobs for them in the past– everything from drug smuggling to being their personal hit man. They owed him–not the other way around!
He vaguely remembered being married once, many years ago. It was all fuzzy when he tried to think about it. His defunct mind told him he'd been running drugs across the Mexican border when he met her, but something buried deep inside told him different–perhaps it was before he was running drugs that he met her. In fact wasn't she the reason for all his hatred?
He couldn't remember her name…or anything else about their marriage, but he did remember her long, dark hair. That was as far as his abused memory would let him go.
His head started to ache, as it always did whenever he tried too hard to think about the past. It started out as a slow, throbbing pain and built momentum.
It was best forgotten as they so often said. He knew they made him forget things. But he didn't care–as long as he had his fondest memories…of killing. The drugs helped him not to care about anything anymore–except killing and not being caught, which was one thing he was very good at. Nothing was more important to him.
He always stayed one step ahead of the cops. Doing something different with the disposal of the bodies was the key. Sometimes they were left in Dumpsters with their throat cut, like he'd left a few in Detroit. He remembered how he'd disposed of several in New York by stuffing an apple in their mouth and setting them on fire. Very similar to a pig-roast, only the smell was different. He also recalled leaving mutilated corpses hanging from street lamps, although he couldn't remember what city or state that was in, somewhere down south maybe? Florida? Georgia? There were so many of them it was hard to keep track.
Nowadays the river was his friend. Different strokes for different folks. That way the cops didn't associate one group of killings in one part of the country with the others. The only constant for him in all the craziness was them. They were always there to help him with whatever he needed, whether it was drugs or something else. That was because he'd always been a loyal subject–exemplary in fact.
But he trusted no one–not even them. He knew they wouldn't hesitate to kill him if it suited their organization. That would never happen though… He was more powerful than even his creators knew. He would kill them while they slept if they turned renegade on him.
He walked to the small wooden cabinet above the compact refrigerator where he kept various odds and ends.
Rummaging through his belongings he finally found what he was looking for and pulled out a large, clear Mason jar. Holding it up to the bright light he examined the contents floating inside. "Ahh, tokens of their appreciation," he whispered, mesmerized. Inside were various body parts–eyes, fingers, toes, even an ear floated in the greenish liquid. He liked to shake it up and watch the contents dance like some gory snow-globe scene. He'd begun his collection about two years ago. Before that, he merely killed them and was left with nothing to remember their existence by. It made him sad to think of all the prizes he left behind. Pretty soon he'd have another item to add to his collection–maybe a nose this time.
He spent the entire day yesterday in Como Park, playing 'I Spy' and had spotted several potential candidates. A red-haired little boy was left alone to play on the swings while his mother went back to the car for some forgotten item. He could have whisked him away in a matter of minutes.
But he needed to wait.
He'd also followed a pretty, dark-haired girl on the wooded path while she cried and cried, mumbling nonsense to herself, obviously upset about something–another perfect specimen from what he could see, before she ran away.
But they said wait, so he would wait.
On the way back to his car that same afternoon he came across two dark-skinned girls who appeared to be twins, playing jacks in the parking lot with no adult anywhere nearby to interfere. Twins would be fun…
But he must wait…just a little longer.
Pressure was building in him and soon he would explode if he didn't fill his need–but he must wait!
Soon, very soon!
Children everywhere were anxious for the new school year to begin. So was he, because then the long wait would finally be over.
Once they gave him the green light, he would find the perfect time and place to make one of them his.
Forever!
Chapter 21
The motion of the airplane, along with the previous sleepless night, put Joe fast asleep. He was dreaming of the woman he loved.
Clutching his pillow to his chest, he thought of Maria's warm, willing body. They were just about to make love in his dream when a voice said, "Excuse me, sir. Beef or chicken?"
He opened his eyes and glanced around the alien surroundings, surprised to see the lady in the seat next to him frowning. In the aisle, a cute, blonde flight attendant bent over him, smiling. In a singsong voice, she repeated her question.
"Beef or chicken for your dinner entrée, sir?"
"Huh? Oh, ah, beef will be fine," Joe stammered, still bewildered with the last vestiges of sleep and his dream of Maria hanging on to his subconscious.
Feeling the fool, he looked at the woman seated next to him who was still frowning, only now into a book. He quickly looked away and grabbed one of the magazines in the pocket of the seat in front of him.
The last conversation he had with Maria was not a pleasant one. The way her dark eyes flashed with anger and the sound of the door slamming reverberated in his mind.
God, she is so beautiful, even when she's really pissed off. He'd have to apologize to her the minute he got back. He had no right to accuse her of anything. He had no rights on her, period. Maria had made that crystal clear more than once. They were just partners, that was all.
Yeah, right.
He knew she felt something for him even if she was too damn stubborn to admit it.
After choking down his airline food–a beef and congealed gravy concoction over rice pilaf with a single spear of half-cooked broccoli–the pilot announced their descent into Los Angeles International Airport, and the seat belt signs blinked on.
Smog was a thick, gray layer across the city as they made their approach. The pilot informed them it usually lifted around noon.
Joe consulted his watch and reset it for the appropriate time zone–it was 11:15, L.A. time.
* * *
Jonathan and Stephanie Franco lived on Hacienda Boulevard in a modern, ranch-style house.
Joe was surprised to see a blue BMW parked in the driveway with the trunk open. A small boy struggled up the front steps with a large suitcase.
He parked his rental car in the street and walked up the palm-lined drive, stopping by the BMW.
A tall, dark-haired woman, clad in shorts and a midriff top, came bounding down the steps to get another load, when she spotted Joe and came to a halt.
"Who the hell are you?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
"So much for Californian hospitality. Detective Joe Morgan," he said, showing his badge. "Are you Stephanie Franco?"
Her eyes darted from her car to the house to Joe, like she was maybe thinking about running, but knew it was hopeless. "Maybe…"
"I'd like to ask you and your husband a few questions."
"I'm kinda busy," she said uneasily.
"Here, let me help you," Joe said, grabbing another huge suitcase out of the trunk. Stephanie grabbed half a dozen bags out of the back seat then led the way back to the house.
"Go unpack your suitcase, honey," the woman told the little boy who obediently did as he was told.
"Have a seat," she said to Joe, sitting down at the kitchen table.
"We're trying to locate your husband, ma'am. Do you know where he is?" Joe questioned, taking note of the nervousness the woman exuded.
"My husband?"
"Yes. Jonathan Franco. He is your husband, isn't he?"
"Was my husband. I haven't seen him for more than five years, since before Tony was born. Why? Is he in trouble?"
"Yeah, you could say that. He's a murder suspect."
"Oh." Stephanie Franco stood and walked on trembling legs to the sink for a glass of water. "Can I get you something? Ice tea, maybe? Water?"
"No thanks," Joe said. "Just some answers."
She returned to the kitchen table with her water. "Look, detective, like I told you, I haven't seen him in years…we're estranged. We were married only a couple of months and then he took off shortly after I became pregnant."
"Not the fatherly type?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you."
"I think maybe you're just afraid." Joe had the distinct feeling this woman was holding something back. He watched her while she nervously inspected her fingernails, then looked at her watch. That's when he saw the needle tracks on the underside of her left arm. She quickly folded her arms, fear in her large, green eyes apparent.
"Do you know Roberto Santini?" Joe asked.
Stephanie Franco was so startled by the question her hand seemed to fly out of nowhere and knock the glass of water to the floor. "Oh God, look what I've done," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "What a klutz I am. Good thing it was plastic, or I'd be cleaning up glass as well." She grabbed a rag to wipe up the spill.
While she was down on her hands and knees wiping up the water, Joe asked again if she knew Roberto Santini.
"No, why would I?" she said, putting the empty glass back on the table and flinging her black, glossy hair over one shoulder.
"Let's just call it a sixth sense. There's something else I know, too."
The woman just looked at him.
"You're a user, Stephanie. I saw the tracks before you could hide them. Look, either you can talk to me here, or I can take you down to the local police station. I bet if I looked into that purse of yours," he said, nodding toward her handbag sitting on the counter, "I'd find whatever it is you're shooting into your veins."
"But, my boy, I can't tell you. You don't know what they're capable of," she stammered, fear written all over her face.
"I'll protect you and your little boy. You can come back to Minnesota with me–far away from the people you're so afraid of, where you'll both be safe. We can help you, Stephanie–with your drug problem, too," Joe offered.
"Really? I can't tell you how good that sounds–too good to be true."
"It is true, Stephanie. I promise you on my life it is."
They looked at each other for several moments, evaluating one another.
Finally, Stephanie let out a shaky sigh. "Well, okay, just let me check on Tony first and make sure he's all right."
She came back five minutes later and sat down across from Joe. "Where do I begin?" She looked like a lost little girl.
"How about at the beginning," Joe said.
"Okay, at the beginning. I was fifteen years old when I was admitted into a mental institution for the first time, and for the next three years, I was in and out probably a dozen times. My mother hated me and wasn't afraid to show it. I had the bruises to prove it. I was a very mixed up teenager.
"I never knew who my father was until I turned eighteen. When my mother was dying of cancer, she finally told me–he was Mafia boss Antonio Santini. She told me this, thinking–probably praying–it would drive me over the edge, but it had the opposite effect. I finally knew who I was. A year later, when I was about nineteen, I met him for the first time along with his only son, my half brother Roberto, who is about ten years my senior."
She paused and took a sip of water from the glass she'd refilled, looking at Joe uneasily.
Joe nodded his encouragement. "Go on." At least she appeared to be telling the truth–everything matched with what they had learned so far. He'd been briefed late last night on Stephanie's past. Whatever information could be discovered in cyberspace, Tommy Thompson from the Government Center had found it.
"They accepted me into the family readily enough," Stephanie continued. "Antonio had been a widower for about six months by then and figured he could bring me into his home without too much strife–although no one else knew I was his daughter besides him and Roberto. I was told to say I was a friend of the family, nothing more. That was okay with me. I was happy to be with my father, even if I had to keep it a secret. I lived with him for one blissful year, until he died of a massive coronary one night in his sleep.
"It was then that I started using heroin. Roberto helped me. But you must believe me when I tell you he meant me no harm. He really was only trying to help. You see, I was having trouble again and would've had to go into another institution, but the heroin was like a magic drug. It helped me to cope with my loss and my 'doomsday prophecy'.
"Roberto has been good to me–most of the time. He bought this house and found me a husband. My husband was not a nice man, though.
"Jonathan Franco was crazy, but Roberto thought we would be perfect for each other, considering we were both unstable. Jonathan was a user too, which was another thing we had in common, but that is where it ended. Jonathan was smuggling drugs from Mexico for Roberto when I first met him.
"Shortly after we were married, I became pregnant. I was thrilled. So were my husband and half brother, but for different reasons. You see, they had planned on my pregnancy all along. I was to become a big part of the family business finally. I would make my father's spirit proud, Roberto told me, by making babies for them to sell on the black market. We would bring in tens of thousands of dollars.
"Well, needless to say, I was totally appalled and refused to cooperate–just flatly refused. Both Roberto and Jonathan were furious. Their plans were ruined, but I stuck by my decision. Two weeks later Jonathan Franco left me. We all decided it was for the best. I'm sure I would have been killed right then and there if I was not family–my bloodline saved my life. That was more than five years ago. I haven't seen or heard from my husband since."
She stood, paced the floor several times, then wiped off the counter with a piece of paper towel where a couple drops of water lay. Returning to her seat at the table, she clasped her hands tightly together and looked Joe in the eye.
"Roberto has relinquished all social ties since that fateful day, but still supplies my drugs and enough money for Tony and me to get by."
Joe was so consumed by her story he was temporarily speechless. "Wow," was all he could manage at the moment. This woman was stronger than she looked–to have persevered through so much immorality and pain without losing faith was a testament to that. "Do you think Jonathan Franco still works for Roberto?"
"Probably, but I couldn't say for sure. Like I said, Roberto and I don't speak anymore."
"What about Nicholas Freyhoff, have you ever heard of him?"
"Yes, he was Roberto's right-hand man and best friend."
"Stephanie, I know this is a lot to ask, but would you be willing to testify against your half brother?"
She looked long and hard at Joe before answering. "If you meant what you said, about protecting me and my boy, yes."
"I meant it," Joe said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. "You're doing the right thing, for both you and your son."
"I know. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'll be free, and most important, Tony will be free to be his own man when he grows up. He won't be under the thumb of an uncle that has no morals or scruples. Thank you." Tears stood in her large green eyes.
"No, thank you. With this leverage, we have enough to bargain with Santini and hopefully find out where your husband is hiding."
"It won't be easy to find him. He was not a sane man when I knew him."
"Well, I have a feeling he's even less sane now–over the edge. Is Jonathan's middle initial 'R' by any chance?"
"I have no idea. You have to remember I didn't really know the man, I was only married to him," she said, smiling thinly.
"Well," Joe said, looking at his watch. "We've been talking for close to an hour. Why don't you get your things together and come back to my hotel with me."
Stephanie glanced nervously at her own watch. "Can you come back and get us in a few hours? I'm expecting someone shortly."
"Your supplier?"
She blushed and looked away. "One last time. I promise."
"What do you do with the kid when you're doing that?" Is this going to work? Joe wondered. Would Stephanie be strong enough to withstand the pressure that would soon be building all around her?
"I usually send him next-door to play with his friend. And since we'll be leaving for good, he'll want to say good-bye."
"Okay, I guess I can look the other way this once, but you're not bringing anything back with us. Is that understood?"
"Understood."
Joe felt uneasy about the whole mess, but the supplier was already on his way. "It won't be easy, you know, getting off the horse."
"I know…but I've been riding far too long–I'm ready. For my own sake as well as Tony's."
"I'll be back around 6:00 this evening to pick you both up," Joe said, standing up to leave. "It's at least an hour drive to the airport and there's a flight to Minneapolis that departs at 8:45."
"Okay, we'll be ready. Thanks," she said, hugging Joe. "We needed a knight in shining armor, but I thought he'd never come."
"I'm no savior, Stephanie…you have to save yourself in this world." Joe smiled at her. "But, you're very welcome. I'm glad I can help you. Remember, 6:00 sharp."
Joe walked out the door to his rental car, which sat baking in the hot California sunshine.
* * *
Stephanie gave her little boy milk and cookies, then explained in child-like detail the great adventure they would soon be embarking on. Tony was very excited. She then kissed and hugged him, sending him off to play at the neighbor's house, while she waited for her fix to arrive.
Stephanie Franco had hope in her heart for the first time in her life. Unfortunately, that hope–along with her dreams of a new beginning–would be very short-lived.
Chapter
22
Maria
and Peter spent the entire morning at Minneapolis Children's Hospital, first
talking to Betsy's doctors at great length about her prognosis, then attempting
to talk to the girl herself. Betsy was
still unresponsive, and would be for an indeterminable amount of time according
to her doctors.
They
also talked to the nurse who'd been knocked out when an attempt was made on
Betsy's life a couple of days ago. She
told them exactly what she told Joe at the time of the incident–the man was
tall and muscular. That was all she
could remember. She thought he might
have had dark hair, too, but she wasn't sure because everything had happened so
fast.
Back
in the car, Maria turned to Slade.
"Well, what do you think? Do
we have enough information to add anything new to your existing profile on the
killer?"
Peter
laughed. "Well, to be perfectly
honest…no. But once we hear from
Morgan and know more about our prime suspect one way or the other, we'll have
something more definite to add. In the
meantime, when we get back let's go over the files on the previous victims with
a fine-tooth comb, and start from scratch.
Hopefully by the end of the day we'll have something new to show the
chief."
Spotting
a McDonalds, they went through the drive-thru and ordered burgers and coffee,
deciding to take a working lunch while they put together the information needed
for the profile.
When
they got back to City Hall, Maria pulled the necessary files on the previous
victims and they began the tedious project of going through each and every detail. They perused crime lab results and autopsy
reports, studying pictures and analyzing the similarities and differences in
each of the cases.
Slade
made a list of everything they knew about the serial killer:
*Suspects: River Rat - J.R. Franco (age–mid-thirties)??
*Tall/muscular
*Dark hair?
*Pedophile/Psychopath - victims abused both
sexually and physically before strangulation.
*Collects trophies (body parts–fingers...)
*Pornography
*Drug user?
*Ties to L.A. mob / Milano?
Maria
noticed her message light blinking.
Being so involved in what they were doing, she hadn't noticed it
before. She picked up the phone and
punched in the code to listen to her message.
It was received at 1:05. She
listened to Joe excitedly tell of the progress he'd made, and he mentioned she
should talk to the chief for further details.
He had faxed Chief McCollough a detailed report from the Ventura Police
Department. He also said he was sorry for
being such a jerk yesterday and wondered if she would check on his cat, Mr.
Peanut, on her way home from work today.
Maria hung up with a smile on her face.
"Good
news?" Peter asked.
"Yeah,
I think so. That was Joe. It appears he has a lead. I'll be right back," Maria said, getting
up and going to the chief's door, knocking once and entering.
"Why
didn't you tell me right when we returned about the latest information Joe sent
in?"
"I
left you a copy of the fax in your In-box, Sanchez," he said, looking over
his spectacles. "What do want me to
do? Read the damn thing to you? I'm busy!"
"I'm
sorry. I didn't check my In-box. I just got the message Joe left me and
I–never mind." she said, talking to the chief's back, as he was turned
around looking for something in his file cabinet. She slipped out and softly shut the door, not
wanting to disturb him further.
Back
at her desk, she rummaged through the contents of her In-box and found the fax
near the bottom. Reading it, she could
hardly believe her eyes. This was a
major break-through. Now they had
something to bargain with–or rather someone.
Stephanie
Franco would blow the top off the neat little box Santini had closed himself
into.
"Before
you do anything else, read this," Maria said, handing Slade the fax Joe
had sent.
By
the time Slade finished reading it, he had a smile plastered on his face as big
as Maria's. "Man, I bet the chief
is happy. This is just what we
needed."
Maria
had a puzzled look on her face.
"You know, I would think he'd be thrilled. But he's not.
He's in a foul mood and would barely talk to me when I went in to see
him. I wonder what's going on. Must be something he doesn't want me to know
about."
Peter
read the fax again, deleting most of the question marks they had just put in
the profile they were recreating, and then adding the new information:
*Estranged wife: Stephanie Franco–Roberto's half
sister–married approx. two months.
*Son: Tony (unknown to suspect)
*Employer for past five years (?): Roberto
Santini (Mafia)
*Apparent dislike for children.
*Suspect previously resided in Ventura, California.
"Wow!"
Maria said. "What a tangled web we
weave, huh?"
"Yeah,
you got that right. Now, let's see what
we can put together on this guy's psyche.
He's a classic textbook example of a psychopath. In fact, you could probably pick up any
medical journal or Merck manual and find virtually the same information as I'm
about to describe."
Peter's
hands flew over the keyboard as he read what he was typing to Maria.
"Suspect, J.R. Franco, appears to have
anti-social (psychopathic) personality.
Psychopathic individuals characteristically act out their conflicts and
cannot conform to social rules. They are
amoral, irresponsible, and impulsive.
Suspect demonstrates these aforementioned traits, along with the
following psychopathic traits disclosed:
"*Cannot form close relationship with
others–but charm and plausibility may be skillfully used for own needs.
"*Tolerates frustration poorly, and
opposition elicits aggression and/or serious violence.
"*Behavior is not associated with guilt or
remorse, since individuals with this disorder tend to rationalize and blame
their behavior on others.
"In conclusion, this personality type is
often associated with a history of drug addiction, alcoholism, sexual deviation
(as in the suspect–pedophile), promiscuity, failure to hold an occupation,
etc."
Peter
leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Well, what do you think so far?"
"You're
good, Slade. It's a lot more detailed
than the original profile you faxed us.
I'm sure you'll get another big, fat 'atta-boy' from the chief."
"Thank
you, Sanchez. Your words warm my
heart. But seriously, if it weren't for
Morgan we'd still be sitting at ground zero.
He's the one who deserves the pat on the back. I may have discovered the goose, but he got
her to lay the golden egg–I think the chief said something similar about a week
ago, didn't he?"
Maria
laughed. "He said: 'You don't kill
the goose that lays the golden egg', referring to your suggestion of a
pornography ring. But now, with Santini
involved, anything is possible."
Maria shook her head. "Where
were we? Oh yeah, who deserves the pat
on the back… Well, I think Stephanie
Franco should get some of the credit, because without her cooperation and
testimony, we would have nothing. It
must have taken a lot of guts to go against 'The Family'. I'm sure we'll accumulate tons more
information to add to that profile once we talk to her more extensively."
Maria
looked at her watch. It was already
5:30. "Why don't you print that off
and put on the finishing touches later."
"Yeah,
okay. I brought my laptop. I'll work on it tonight in my hotel
room. What are you doing for dinner
tonight, Sanchez? Or will your boyfriend
disapprove?"
Maria
laughed, even though she felt like punching him. "My boyfriend? Do you mean Joe?"
Slade
nodded, a smug smile dancing on his lips.
This
time Maria did punch him, and hard.
Peter
rubbed his arm. "Man, you sure
throw a mean punch. That hurt," he
whined.
"Oh,
don't be such a big baby. It serves you
right. And if you want to come over to
my house and bring the pizza and beer, I'll help you eat it."
"Man,
what a deal."
"Well,
your other alternative is sitting alone in your hotel room with your laptop
computer for company."
"Yeah,
I guess you're a little better than that.
What time?"
"How
about 7:30?"
"Okay, see you then," Peter said, still rubbing
his arm.
Chapter 23
Maria
pulled up to Joe's house on Hamline Avenue in St. Paul and got out of the car,
thinking about her partner in California.
She
checked under the welcome mat and found the key Joe had left there. You would think, being a detective, he
would know this wasn't a safe place to put his house key. Everyone knows that's the first place a
burglar looks when he's casing a house for an easy break-in. She chuckled to herself.
Mr.
Peanut was snoozing on the couch, sunbathing.
He looked up lazily and yawned when Maria approached.
"Hi,
puss, how ya doin'?" Maria asked, sitting down next to the huge tan cat,
who really was shaped like a peanut.
The
cat stood up and stretched then sauntered over to Maria's lap, kneading her
stomach like bread dough and purring.
"Oh
my, you are a big, old, lazy puss, aren't you?" she chided, scratching the
cat behind his ears. "You miss Joe
I bet, don't you? You know what? So do I…but don't tell him I told you,
okay?"
The
cat responded by letting out a funny sounding meow, because it was mixed with
his intense purring.
Maria
laughed, stroking the big, lovable cat and crooning to him. She was in no hurry to get home, because she
knew Tess wouldn't be there. She was
spending the day over at Jennifer's house and would likely call after supper
requesting to spend the night too, since school would be starting in a matter
of days and sleepovers would soon dwindle to just weekends. Maria had given her daughter permission and
enough money to put several things on layaway for the big back-to-school
shopping trip Nancy was taking the girls on today. Nancy promised she'd watch what Tess bought
and make sure it wasn't too outrageous–in price or style.
Maria
walked into the kitchen with Mr. Peanut following close behind. She gave him fresh crunchies, even though he
still had some left in his bowl, and filled his water dish with fresh water. For a treat, she gave him a small saucer of
milk, which Joe said he sometimes liked.
Seeing
the dirty dishes piled in the sink, Maria figured this was what every
bachelor's house in America looked like.
Filling the sink with hot soapy water, she left the dishes to soak and
went in search of a vacuum cleaner, with the cat following her every move,
trying to trip her with his insistent rubbing on her legs.
By
the time she left, Joe's house looked like a different place from the one she'd
entered only sixty minutes ago. Mr.
Peanut seemed to like it, too–he was sprawled on the freshly vacuumed carpet,
preening, and giving himself a thorough grooming.
* * *
By
the time Maria got home, it was almost 7:00, and her own house looked like a
small tornado had swept through it. She
went into her bedroom and slipped on a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, then
set about straightening up before Slade arrived with the pizza.
Carlos
had gone back to Chicago early in the morning.
He'd stayed longer than originally planned, but they still hated to see
him go. All three of them had tears in
their eyes when he left, but he promised he'd be up again before the
holidays. He and Tess had spent some
much-needed quality-time together while Maria was at work, and they had
developed a deep friendship that would last a lifetime. They spent a lot of time talking about the
past, which was important to Tess since learning about her father.
Maria
noticed the message light blinking on her answering machine and pushed the play
button, listening to Tess's excited voice tell of their successful shopping
trip and pleading to spend the night at Jennifer's. Maria laughed. The girl was so predictable.
She'd
just returned Tess's call and had no more than hung up the phone when the
doorbell rang. She peered through the
peephole and saw Slade with a large pizza balancing on one hand and a 12-pack
of beer in the other.
He
put his eyeball to the outside peephole and grinned. "Pizza delivery, ma'am."
Maria
opened the door. "Come on in,
Peter." She laughed. "Mmm, that sure smells good. I'm starved.
Right this way please, if you want a tip," she said, leading the
way to the kitchen.
They
sat together like old friends, devouring pizza and guzzling beer, keeping
conversation to a minimum while they stuffed their faces.
Chapter 24
It
was
As
he drove, he recalled his phone call to Chief McCollough. The chief was upset with him. If this fell through it could possibly mean
his job–he'd said as much… The chief
didn't like the idea of Joe leaving Stephanie alone, especially for the sake of
getting one last fix. Joe knew he'd used
poor judgment, but at the time he didn't see any other way. This last fix seemed symbolic to her–and the
dope deal was already in the works. If
she wasn't there it would cause unwanted suspicion on the part of Santini
before they even got out of town. Joe
tried to explain this to Chief McCollough, but he wanted to hear none of
it. He said at the very least, Joe
should have stayed hidden in another room while the deal went down. Looking back now, he realized the chief was
right, but he needed to get back to his hotel to pick up his things and arrange
for the flight. He also had to fax all
the information he'd gleaned from
Stephanie from the fax machine located at the Ventura Police Department to the
chief and Maria back in Minneapolis.
Joe
didn't think Stephanie was a flight risk, considering she was so desperate for
help, but like the chief said, 'You can never trust a junkie.' Oh well, hindsight was always 20/20–it was too
late to change anything now.
Traffic
was bumper to bumper, so it took him about twenty minutes longer than expected
to reach Stephanie Franco's house.
* * *
Pulling
into her driveway, he noticed the front door standing ajar. Hopefully, Stephanie would be ready to go
with bags packed. She was probably
anxiously awaiting his arrival, considering he was more than twenty minutes
late.
Joe
checked the time–it was
He
walked up to the open door and knocked, sticking his head inside.
"Stephanie?"
No
answer–that was odd.
Joe
stepped inside, and the strong, coppery odor of blood, mixed with the smell of
gunfire, assailed his nostrils. There
was no mistaking it–he knew only too well what he was about to discover.
He
pulled the Glock nine-millimeter from his shoulder holster, then proceeded into
the living room with caution.
Bright
red blood splattered the white living room wall in a pattern of violence, and
Stephanie Franco lay sprawled beneath it, her body riddled with bullet holes.
Joe
knelt down next to the body, feeling for a pulse even though he knew she must
be dead. Her body was still warm–blood
oozed from the bullet holes in her head–she couldn't have been dead very
long. "I'm sorry," he whispered
as he closed her eyes and covered her ravaged body with the quilt that lay
draped over one end of the couch.
He
gradually stood up, feeling as if everything was moving in slow motion.
The
boy–where was the boy? Would he find him
dead, too–perhaps lying in the kitchen, the life gone out of his large green
eyes–his body looking like Swiss cheese from all the bullet holes, much like
his mother?
As
he made his way into the kitchen, he felt something crunch underfoot. Bending over to get a closer look at the
broken syringe, Joe wondered if Stephanie got her fix before she was murdered. Probably not, he thought. The animal who did this was more than likely
the one who delivered the drugs, with orders to take her out at the same
time. And it was possible the guy was
still in the house–somewhere–considering the smell of gunfire was so strong
when he first came in, and Stephanie's body was still warm. He picked up the telephone hanging on the
kitchen wall, intending to call for backup, but the line was dead and his cell
phone was back in the car.
Joe
realized now the place could very well be bugged. They could've heard Stephanie confessing
everything to him and realized they had to move fast before he could get her
out of town and out of their reach.
Checking
the kitchen, he expected to find the little boy's body, but found nothing. He quickly looked in the cupboards and
anywhere else a little boy–or a killer–might hide.
He
then went into the downstairs bathroom that was just off the kitchen, but found
nothing there either.
Backtracking
his way through the living room to the staircase leading upstairs, he glanced
at where Stephanie now lay dead–nothing but a lump under a blanket–and knew he
would never forgive himself for letting her down. She had trusted him, and in turn, he'd
promised her and the boy safekeeping for helping him. He was just starting up the stairs, when he
heard a soft thump come from the closet by the front door.
Joe
stopped, not taking a single breath as he stood with one foot frozen on the
carpeted stairway...listening. He turned
and slowly moved toward the closet, not making a sound, anticipating
Stephanie's killer rushing him at any moment.
With
his gun aimed at the closed closet door, he reached for the handle and grasped
it. His hands were slippery with sweat
and he could feel the slick knob try to slip through his fingers. Joe tightened his grip, heart pounding out a
staccato beat as he flung the door open wide.
Little
Tony Franco huddled in one corner, eyes wide and terrified in his small, pale
face.
Joe
lowered his gun, relief washing over him.
He took the boy into his arms and held him, patting his back. "It's okay, son, everything's going to be all right," he whispered.
He
steered the child out the front door onto the steps, then knelt down so they
were eye level. "Now I want you to
listen to me very carefully, Tony."
The
boy looked dazedly past Joe, through the front door and into the living room in
the direction of his dead mother.
Joe
gently turned the boy's face toward him.
"Your mom would want you to listen to me, Tony. Did she tell you I was going to help
you?"
Tony
nodded, his large, green eyes that were so much like his mother's filling with
tears.
"I
want you to run next-door and have the lady call 911. I'll come and get you when it's safe. Do you understand, Tony?" Joe could tell the boy was in shock, but he
had to get him out of this house–and with Stephanie dead and the killer
possibly still on the premises, there was a good possibility he might need
backup.
The
boy nodded, looking up at Joe with such vacant, sad eyes, he felt his heart
ache.
Joe
hugged the boy again. "Okay. You go
on now. Have the lady call 911, and I'll
come and get you as soon as I can. Run,
Tony." He gave the boy a little
push and watched him run next-door, glancing back at Joe once before running up
the front steps of the adjacent house.
Less
than a minute later, Joe saw a woman stick her head out the door and
acknowledge him with the phone already up to her ear. She and the boy went back inside and Joe did
the same, heading toward the staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms. Backup would soon arrive, but the level of
adrenaline pumping through his blood pushed him forward.
All
the doors were closed, so if Stephanie's killer was up here it would be a
guessing game–with Joe on the losing end.
He went to the first closed door and with gun drawn turned the knob,
then kicked the door wide open. This was
Stephanie's bedroom. He scanned the
room, checked under the bed and in the closet.
No one was here.
The
next room down the hall was the bathroom.
It was so tiny; he didn't think it necessary to check every nook and
cranny. He could see everything from
where he stood; toilet, sink and shower stall.
The larger bathroom was on the first floor, which he'd already checked.
Finally,
he came to the last door, which was obviously the boy's room. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the door
open, ready to fire at anything that moved.
Nothing.
He
checked under the bed and in the closet, only to find the same–nothing.
"What
the hell," he muttered under his breath.
"Son of a bitch got away?"
Back
in the hall, he looked at each of the three rooms, scratching his head. He could have sworn the killer was still
here, not just from the fresh smell of gunpowder and Stephanie's recent
demise–but he felt it in his gut and every fiber of his being.
He
was walking past the little bathroom he'd felt no need to search earlier
because of its tiny space, when he heard a noise.
Too
late, he turned, catching only a glimpse of a large, black man, moving fast,
before the bullets tore into him, bringing him down hard.
Stephanie's
killer flew past him, and Joe squeezed off two shots before consciousness left
him. He heard sirens in the distance
quickly approaching. The last thing he
thought of before darkness surrounded him was Maria, and how he never told her
that he loved her.
Chapter 25
It
was
"Oh
my God! How bad is it? Is he going to die?" Maria asked,
sitting down hard, feeling disbelief and dread wash over her.
"Calm
down, Sanchez, he'll make it. But he was
shot several times. He's damn lucky to
be alive, that's for sure. Stephanie
Franco wasn't so lucky, I'm afraid.
She's dead."
"Dead? What about her little boy?"
"I
don't know. I didn't get all the details
yet. Nothing was said about the
boy. I assume he's okay."
"I'm
taking the next flight out," Maria said.
"Do you have a problem with that?
Peter can take care of things here for a day or two."
"I
figured as much. Just be careful,
Sanchez. And don't blow up at Santini
when you talk to him. It definitely
won't do you any good; he's a very dangerous man."
"What
makes you think I'll even talk to him?"
"Because
I know you, Sanchez, and your great desire to get answers no matter what the
cost. But listen to me, damnit. Be careful!"
"I
will."
Maria
hung up and went into her bedroom, taking her suitcase from under the bed and
throwing clothes into it helter-skelter.
Peter
stood in the doorway, firing questions at her back, which she answered to the
best of her knowledge.
"I
don't know any more, Slade. Leave me
alone, goddamnit, so I can think for a minute.
I'll call Tess and see if she can stay at her friend's for a couple of
days. Can you drive me to the
airport?"
"Yeah,
no problem. When will you be back?"
"Soon. Probably two, three days at the most. Hopefully I'll be bringing Joe with me. God, I can't believe this has
happened–Stephanie dead–Joe shot. What
else can go wrong?"
"Plenty. You could end up dead, too. Be careful, Maria. Maybe I should go with you."
"Forget
it, Slade. I can take care of myself and
besides, the chief needs you here to help run the show until I get back."
"Okay, but keep in touch with me by phone, so I know
what's going on. I want you to rely on
me, Sanchez, do you understand? Like you
rely on Joe. If I'm to help run the show
here as you put it, I'll need to know everything that's going on in
California. Let me know when you're
going to do something before you do it."
"Yeah,
yeah, don't worry. You sound like the
chief. I'll be careful. I want to get back to Minneapolis in one
piece, you know. I have a daughter that
needs me. I would never do anything
stupid to jeopardize that."
Maria
called Nancy Turow and explained the situation.
Nancy
was more than happy to have Tess stay for a couple of days, or however long it
took.
Maria
was grateful and told her so.
"You're a good friend, Nancy.
I owe you one."
"Don't
be silly. Tess is like a second daughter
to me and like a sister to Jenny. I know
you would do the same for me."
"You're
right. I would... Nancy, this is a weird question, but I feel I
have to ask you."
"Go
ahead."
"If
something happens to me–I mean if the plane crashed or something–"
"You
don't even need to ask. I'd take care of
Theresa in a heartbeat! Like I said,
she's like a daughter to me."
Maria
let out her breath. "Thank
you. Carlos and I have discussed it as
well and he would raise Tess–it's in my will.
But, it's good to know that you and Jenny would be a part of her life as
well."
"That
goes without saying."
"Well,
I better say good-bye to Tess. Thanks
again, Nancy."
"I'll
get her. Hang on." Nancy covered the phone with her hand and
called Tess to the phone. "She's
coming. Have a good trip Maria, and please
be careful."
Maria talked to her daughter briefly and told her how much she loved her and that she'd be back soon, without revealing too many details. Knowing how close the girl felt toward Joe, she didn't have the heart to tell her he'd been shot.
Ending
the connection with her daughter, Maria called the airline and reserved a seat
on the next flight out to Los Angeles.
Chapter 26
Roberto
Santini leaned forward in his leather desk chair, fingers steepled under his
chin, eyes closed as he listened to Tyrone Spencer tell of his half sister's
demise.
"Okay, you did well, Tyrone. There will be a little something extra with
your paycheck. Have Carol check that
shoulder. It's just a flesh wound, but
you don't want infection to set in."
Carol
Severson was Roberto's secretary but had been a registered nurse before she
became his employee. She'd been caught
stealing morphine at the hospital where she worked and was abruptly terminated. That was four years ago. Roberto had helped her get her feet back on
the ground, and in turn, she became an invaluable asset to him. She was his mistress as well as employee, and
he loved her as much as he could love anyone without getting too close.
When
Tyrone left, Roberto looked over at Nicholas Freyhoff, who was gazing out the
large window that looked out over the city of Los Angeles, some thirty-odd
stories up. "Well, what is your
take on the situation?"
Nicholas
looked at his partner with raised eyebrows.
"We should have taken care of Stephanie long ago, and then we
wouldn't be in this mess. Stupid nigger,
shot a cop for Christ's sake. I say the something
extra he should get is a bullet through his thick skull," he offered.
"Calm down, everything is under control. We should be thankful he wasn't caught and spilled his guts. And as for the extra bonus I promised?" Roberto laughed. "I've already made arrangements for our friend, Mr. Spencer, to have a little accident."
"Good. But what do we do about the cop? There will be questions, you
know."
"So? They have no proof. Nothing can be connected to us. All they have is speculation, and that will
get them nowhere. With Stephanie dead,
it's all merely hearsay. We have nothing
to fear. Let them ask their questions,"
Roberto replied.
"What
about our J.R.?"
"He's
becoming more trouble than he's worth, isn't he?"
Nicholas turned to gaze back out the window. "Yes, I'm afraid we've created a monster–literally."
"Do
you think he's a threat to us?"
Roberto laughed.
"He's
crazy, Roberto. More so than even we
know, I'm afraid. We haven't kept close
enough tabs on him. He does his own
thing, and we go along with it, without question. I think he's beyond our control."
"You
sound like a scared little girl," Roberto teased. "He's been conditioned. Of course we are in control." He thought for a moment. "And if you are right by some off
chance? We'll simply destroy him."
"How?"
"He
is still a man–flesh and blood like you and me.
We know where he lives, for God's sake.
We will have Rico keep an eye on him to see what he's up to at all
times, okay?
"Don't
get paranoid on me, Nicholas. Nobody is
indispensable, you know."
Nicholas
Freyhoff studied his long-time associate and realized–not for the first time–he
could end up like Tyrone Spencer would end up later this evening–one more
anchor lost at the bottom of the deep, blue sea.
Chapter 27
Maria
arrived at Community Memorial Hospital in Ventura, California at
The
night-shift nurses had dwindled down to two in the ICU, softly laughing and
drinking coffee, with the background music of electronic monitors and an eerie
green glow surrounding them. Seeing
Maria approach, they stopped talking.
The older nurse smiled at Maria and gave the younger one orders to check
on one of the patients.
"May
I help you?" she asked, taking in Maria's disheveled appearance.
"I
hope so. I'm looking for my
partner–friend, uh–I'm sorry, I'm a little out of sorts today."
"I
understand. You look like you could use
some coffee," she said, pouring Maria a Styrofoam cup full of strong,
black coffee. "Here, drink this and
you'll feel better."
"Thank
you," Maria said, wrapping her hands around the cup.
"Now,
what's his name?"
"Joe,
Joe Morgan. He was admitted several
hours ago…ah…I guess it was last night," Maria said, looking at the clock
and realizing she was in a different time zone.
"Oh
yes, Mr. Morgan. And you are?"
"Maria
Sanchez," Maria stated.
"I
hate to ask you, but could I see some identification? Orders from above, I'm afraid."
"Oh,
of course. I'm glad they're taking
precautions," Maria said, fishing her badge out of her purse.
The
nurse inspected her badge and scribbled down the number–comparing it to a sheet
she was given for authorized visitors–then returned it with a smile. "Well, everything looks as it
should. Your partner and friend,
Mr. Morgan, is doing just fine. Dr.
Mettifield removed the bullets. He's one
of the best surgeons at Memorial. Your
friend was very lucky the bullets didn't damage any vital organs. He took one in the upper chest and a couple
in his left arm. He's doing remarkably
well for a multiple gunshot victim.
We'll be moving him out of ICU later this morning. He'll probably be discharged in a couple of
days if he continues improving and has no setbacks."
"Can
I see him?"
"Well,
he's heavily sedated and resting."
The nurse looked at Maria's crestfallen face and gave in. "Okay, I'm sure he'll be glad to see you.
I'll tell Laurie not to disturb you," she said with a
conspiratorial wink. "But don't
tire him out too much. He's been through
a tremendous ordeal."
"I'll
be gentle, I promise."
The
nurse led Maria down the darkened corridor and pointed her toward Joe's room,
then padded back to her workstation.
Maria
quietly entered the Intensive Care Unit, not wanting to awaken Joe or the other
patients. He looked so vulnerable lying
in the hospital bed–not like the strong man she knew so well.
She
sat down in the chair next to the bed and took his hand. He didn't move a muscle. Maria brought his rough hand up to her cheek
and kissed it. "Oh, Joe," she
whispered, a single tear falling on the back of his hand. "I missed you so, and I love you–more
than you will ever know."
Joe
groaned and stirred, then whispered her name.
"Maria? Is that you?" he
asked, turning his head, his gaze coming to rest on her face. "Is it really you, or am I in heaven and
you're my angel of mercy?"
Maria
leaned over the hospital bed and whispered.
"I came as soon as I heard.
How are you feeling?"
"Pretty
good, now that you're here. I didn't
think I'd ever see you again."
"Shh,
don't talk too much. I promised the
nurse I wouldn't tire you out," she said, laying her hand on his rough,
unshaven cheek. "I'm so glad you're
okay. You really had me worried. I thought I was going to have to find a new
partner."
"You probably will," Joe whispered. "The chief told me as much."
"No,
he didn't–"
"Yes,
he did. I screwed up, Maria, big
time. Stephanie's dead. She trusted me and I let her down," he
said, looking away.
"Joe,
listen to me," Maria said, whispering in his ear. "It wasn't your fault. It was a judgment call. We make them all the time. It's part of our job. The chief knows that. I'll tell you one thing–I wouldn't have done
anything different than you did. Under
the circumstances you had no choice."
"Do
you honestly mean that?"
"Yes,
you know I do. Since when do I
say something I don't mean?"
Joe
laughed weakly. "Since never."
He
tried to sit up but found he didn't have the strength. "I promised Tony, Stephanie's son, that
I'd come and get him when it was safe. I
sent him next-door, and then I got shot.
One more broken promise," he said with a weary sigh.
"Don't
worry. I'll check on him first thing in
the morning and explain everything," Maria reassured him.
"What
will happen to the poor kid now?
Stephanie was the only family the boy had. Or the only one who would acknowledge his
existence, anyway."
"I'll
find out, I promise. Just try to put
things out of your mind for now and concentrate on getting better. I need you, Joe."
Joe
looked at Maria, unable to take his eyes off her beautiful face. "I have to tell you something,
Maria."
"What?"
"I
love you, Maria. The last thing I
thought of before I went down was that I never told you how I felt. Well, I'm telling you now, I love you,"
he whispered.
"I–I
love you, too."
They
kissed, more a gentle brush of the lips than a kiss. Maria laid her head on the pillow next to
him–holding hands; they resembled two young lovers reunited after a long
separation.
Chapter 28
The
morning light showed promise. Joe looked
more like his old self and was even flirting with the pretty young nurse who
was giving him a sponge bath. Bright
California sunshine streamed through the hospital window, promising another
picture perfect day.
Dr.
Mettifield came in, making his morning rounds.
"So, how are you doing today, Mr. Morgan?" he said, checking
Joe's chart.
"Pretty
good, Doc. When can I blow this
joint?"
The
doctor laughed. "Well, considering
I just dug a considerable amount of lead out of you last night, I'd say in at
least a day or two." He checked
Joe's bandaged chest and arm. "You are
doing remarkably well, though. What's
your secret? Or do I even need to
ask?" he inquired, looking over at Maria.
"I'd
like you to meet my partner, Doc," Joe said.
"My
pleasure," Dr. Mettifield said, shaking Maria's hand. "Your partner's a very lucky man. The bullet in his chest missed his heart by
about an inch and came damn close to puncturing a lung, but somehow managed to
miss that, too. I'd say someone was
looking out for him," he added, looking up.
"Thanks
for taking such good care of him. I
wasn't looking forward to training in a new partner," Maria said, giving
Joe a wink.
"Just
doing my job. We'll be moving you out of
ICU later this morning to a private room," he said to Joe. "Hopefully in a couple of days you can
blow this joint, as you so eloquently put it."
The
doctor returned Joe's chart back to the clipboard that hung from the rail at
the foot of the hospital bed. "Nice
to meet you, Maria. Keep an eye on this
one for me…he's a little too rambunctious for his own good."
"I
will, Dr. Mettifield, don't worry. He's
my number one priority."
* * *
Maria
stayed while Joe ate his breakfast, reading him the sports page in the local
newspaper and keeping his spirits up by giving her own editorial comments after
each segment she read.
"Well,
you need your rest and I have some errands to run," Maria said, folding
the newspaper and setting it on the bedside table. "I have Stephanie's address from the fax
you sent the chief. Hacienda Boulevard,
right?"
"Yeah. Talk to the lady who lives next-door. It's the light gray house on the right. Oh, and give this to the kid. Don't forget," he said, handing her
something wrapped in Kleenex, which she put in her purse.
"Okay. I may be
a while. I'll probably get settled into
a hotel for the night. I can't sleep in
that chair again or I'll be crippled for life," Maria said, stretching her
back. "So, don't worry if I don't
come back right away. You just get some
rest, you hear?"
"Okay, but Maria?
Promise me something."
"Hmm?"
she said, rummaging through her purse for the rental car keys.
"Promise
me you won't go see Santini."
Maria
stopped what she was doing and looked at Joe.
Try as she might, she couldn't lie to him. "I'm sorry, Joe, I can't promise you
that."
"Damnit,
Maria, listen to me. It won't do any
good to go see that asshole. All you're
going to do is make–"
"Tell
me something, Joe. If it was me lying in
that hospital bed, tell me that you wouldn't go see Santini," Maria
interrupted. "Go on, tell me."
Joe
just looked at her with an exasperated expression on his face.
"See,
you would. Don't worry, I'll be
careful. Get some rest. I'll be back in a few hours," she said,
leaning over and giving him a peck on the cheek, then hurrying out of the ICU.
* * *
Maria
pulled up to the light gray house next-door to Stephanie Franco's and got out
of the car. There were still a couple of
squad cars parked in Franco's driveway and she saw two uniformed policeman
searching the grounds, as well as a plainclothes detective smoking a cigarette
on the front steps. Maria walked up to
the front door, feeling the detective's eyes bore through her from his perch
some twenty yards away, and rang the doorbell.
A
young, red-haired woman answered the door with a harried expression on her
face. Maria could hear a baby crying in
the other room. "Yes?" the
woman said, looking past Maria distractedly.
"Can I help you?"
"Hi,"
Maria said. "I'm Detective
Sanchez–"
"I've
been talking to the police and detectives all morning and most of last
night. They told me they wouldn't be
bothering me anymore today," the woman cut her off.
"I'm
not here to question you about the case–not officially, anyway. I wanted to check on Tony, Stephanie's
boy. It was my partner who was shot last
night."
"Oh,
I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I'm Catherine O'Riley," she said,
extending her hand. "I didn't mean
to snap your head off. Come on in."
Maria
shook the other woman's hand.
"Maria Sanchez," she said.
"I'm sorry to bother you. I
know things must be really hectic right now."
"Oh,
it's okay. How is he?
I heard he was shot up pretty bad."
"He'll
pull through. He's a strong man. He's more concerned about Stephanie's boy at
the moment," Maria said. She saw
two boys about the same age–one with red hair, the other dark–watching cartoons
on the living room floor. A child of
about the age of two sat in a playpen in the middle of the room.
"Tony,
honey? Can you come here a minute?"
Catherine called gently.
The
dark-haired little boy got up and shuffled over to where the two women stood,
hands in pockets and eyes downcast.
Maria
knelt down so she was eye level with the boy.
"Hi, Tony, my name's Maria.
My friend, Joe, wanted me to check on you and make sure you were all
right.
He would have come himself, but he's getting better in the
hospital."
"He's
not dead?" the boy asked, wide-eyed.
"No,
honey, he's not dead. He's hurt, but
he'll be okay. He felt real bad that he couldn't keep his
promise to come and get you last night, and he was worried you might be
upset."
"I'm
glad he's not dead. He was very nice to
my mom and me. He was going to take us
away on an adventure." The little
boy looked lost for a moment and then seemed to come back. "My mommy's dead," he said. "So I guess the nice man won't be taking
us."
Maria
didn't know what to say.
"Joe
gave me something he wanted you to have," Maria said, opening her purse
and retrieving the item Joe had given her earlier.
It
was wrapped in several Kleenex and the boy carefully unwrapped it, putting each
tissue in his pocket as he did so. When
he took away the last tissue, a gold pocket watch glittered in the boy's small
hand.
Maria
was as surprised as Tony. She knew the
watch had belonged to Joe's father, who'd been dead for more than ten years
now. It had always held special meaning
for Joe.
"Wow! A gold watch," he said, opening it
up. "I'll always keep it. Forever and ever. I'll never lose it. Tell him that, and tell him thanks. Not just for the watch, but for trying to
help me and my mom."
Tony
was unable to take his eyes off the beautiful gold watch. He walked slowly back to where the other boy
sat on the floor and joined his friend, admiring his gift while Bugs Bunny
blared in the background.
Maria
could hardly believe this young man was only five years old. He seemed much older and wiser than any
five-year-old she'd ever known. She
hoped that in time, he would regain his childhood, but Maria had a feeling he
wouldn't. Losing the only person in the
world that mattered to him most at this young age would affect him for the rest
of his life.
Maria
followed Catherine into the kitchen, where the kids were out of earshot.
"A
social worker is coming by around
"Please
do. Here's where I can be reached during
the day, and my home number is on the back," Maria said, handing her a
card. "We'll probably be going back
to the Twin Cities tomorrow or the day after.
I wonder if they'll let Joe see the boy before we leave."
"No,
they won't. At least not yet. Tony has to go through a psychological
evaluation and stuff. I don't know all
the details, but the social worker said no one would be allowed to visit him
for at least several days. I promise
I'll call you when I know something more."
"Okay. Joe will
feel terrible about not saying good-bye," Maria said with a resigned
sigh. "Well, thank you for all
you've done. You have been a
Godsend. I'm sure Stephanie would
appreciate everything you've done for her son." She shook the other woman's hand.
Catherine
nodded. "Stephanie was a good
friend and a good mother to Tony, despite her many problems. She had a heart of gold," she said,
holding back tears.
Maria
said good-bye to Tony and hugged him, then quickly departed, unable to
withstand the devastated look in the boy's eyes at one more desertion.
Chapter 29
By
the time Maria walked next-door to Stephanie Franco's, only one squad car remained,
but she still saw the same two officers searching the grounds.
She
walked over and introduced herself, explaining that her partner was the man who
was shot last night. After showing them
her police identification, she asked if she might go in and have a look around.
"Well,
everything that needed to be taken out as evidence was removed late last
night. The crime scene unit finished
their work around 4:00 this morning so I suppose it's okay. What do you think, Ralph?" the shorter man
asked his partner.
Ralph,
who was obviously in charge, looked Maria up and down for a moment, his eyes
coming to rest on her breasts.
"Yeah, I suppose. Chief
Peters said we should cooperate–McCollough informed him late last night you
were flying out."
"Jeez,
why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything?" the shorter man whined.
"You're
told what you need to know, Dave," Ralph said, hitching up his trousers.
Maria
could sense the tension between the two men and felt uncomfortable–not to
mention sorry for the cop named Dave.
"Just
don't disturb anything in there, okay,"
Ralph ordered more than asked.
"I
won't, don't worry. I just want to take
a look around. I won't so much as touch
anything."
"Okay, good.
But I gotta warn you, it's not a pretty picture," Ralph said,
smirking, seeming to take a perverse pleasure in telling her this.
"What
can you tell me about what happened?" Maria asked.
"Well,
it looks like Stephanie Franco was shot with a high powered weapon, probably an
automatic assault rifle by the looks of it–a lot of holes if you know what I
mean. It must have been equipped with a
silencer because the neighbors heard nothing.
Your friend was a little luckier.
The Doc dug out three .38's.
Either the killer used up his ammo on the woman and had to resort to a
back-up weapon, or it's possible there was another shooter involved. We know a drug deal was going down, and
thanks to your people, that Santini was definitely behind it; although he won't
admit it."
"So
some of your people have already talked to him?" Maria asked.
Ralph
laughed. "Yeah, but it didn't do
much good. He claims to know nothing
about it and we can't prove anything–yet."
"I
figured as much," Maria said with a sigh.
"Have you talked to the boy?"
"Yeah,
If you could call it that. He wasn't
very talkative. From what I could
gather, he walked into the carnage after his old lady was already whacked, then
heard someone moving around upstairs and hid in the closet until your partner
found him. Lucky for the kid it was your
partner who found him first, otherwise–"
"He'd
be dead along with his mother," Maria finished the sentence for him.
"We've
got someone watching the house. " He nodded next-door. "Just in case they come back to finish
the job, although it's highly unlikely.
You can't be too careful when dealing with these types."
Maria
noted the unmarked car parked across the street. "Good idea. Well, thanks for your help. I won't be long in there," she said,
starting across the lawn toward the front door.
"No,
I bet you won't," Ralph said with a snort, watching her walk away.
* * *
The
body of Stephanie Franco was long gone–cold in the morgue for some time now–but
from the blood that remained, it appeared a small battle had been waged
here. It was splattered on one wall and
even on the ceiling. A large,
reddish-brown stain had soaked into the carpet, which was still sticky in
spots, but she could see lighter spots where it was starting to dry. More than a dozen bullet holes marked the
wall like some maniac's dot-to-dot picture.
Next,
Maria walked up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. She stopped short, her heart pounding when
she saw the large, dark stain that soaked the hallway carpet–it was Joe's
blood. He could have died in that
very spot! She couldn't shake the
eerie feeling that destiny or fate, she wasn't sure which, had stepped in to
spare him. It was a miracle, pure and
simple that he wasn't dead.
Maria was not a religious person. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a church. Growing up, they had been devout Catholics, but after her parents died, she'd stopped attending services.
Now,
she felt a re-evaluation might be in order.
After seeing the carnage that was left downstairs, she felt certain it
was an act of God that Joe was still alive.
* * *
Maria
checked into a Best Western Hotel located several blocks from the hospital
where Joe was staying.
She
took a quick shower, then called Directory Assistance to get the phone number
to Santini Realty in Los Angeles. It was
a well-known front to Santini's covert operations–and where his main office was
located. Even though he did
dabble in real estate, his main market was the drug trade and prostitution,
along with several other shady ventures, which included black market goods,
pornography, fake ID's and illegal gambling houses, just to name a few. Maria knew she'd have to play the game right
the first time, because there would be no second chance.
She
called Santini Realty and spoke with his secretary. She was told she couldn't see Mr. Santini
without an appointment and would need to make it several days in advance.
"But
I'm only going to be in town till tomorrow morning. My daddy left me in charge of his finances
when he died and I thought Mr. Santini could help me with some
investments. I got his name from a friend
of my daddy's who said Mr. Santini would be more than happy to help me. A Mr. Devereau?" Maria lied, knowing
Devereau was an attorney who'd worked for Santini in the past. Maria had done her homework and it paid off.
"Well,
I guess if Mr. Devereau sent you, maybe we could squeeze you in. Let's see, how about 1:15 this
afternoon? Would that be suitable?"
"Oh
yes, that would be perfect. Thank you so
very much," Maria said, leaving the name Maria Sands with the secretary,
and hanging up the phone. She smiled to
herself, satisfied with her deception.
It
was already 11:30 and the drive to L.A. would take the better part of an hour,
so she figured she'd better get going.
Maria
dressed in an ivory linen suit that set off her dark hair and skin, with silk stockings
and matching pumps. Giving herself a
last-minute appraisal in the bathroom mirror, she grabbed her purse and left
the hotel room, soaking up the bright California sunshine as it hit her face.
Her
thoughts turned to Joe, lying in the hospital and the man she was about to meet
who'd put him there.
* * *
The
drive into downtown Los Angeles was an experience Maria would never
forget. She was used to city driving,
but not on this large of scale. Cars
flew past her on US Highway 101 like she was standing still, as she tried to
look at her map and keep from being rear-ended at the same time. She was flipped the finger more than once
from fellow commuters, but managed to keep her cool. She found the exit she wanted to take on the
map about two seconds before she saw the sign and veered over into the right
lane so she wouldn't miss it, cutting off a blue-haired old lady, who shook her
fist at her and mouthed obscenities that would make a sailor blush.
Maria
pulled into the parking lot of a huge office building that reached high into
the sky and was made of glass that reflected its surroundings. The sign in front stated that it housed–among
many others–the office of Santini Realty.
Maria
leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get her
thoughts together before she met the man responsible for the destruction of so
many lives.
Riding
the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor where Santini Realty was located,
Maria realized she forgot to call Slade.
Before she left for California, he'd made her promise to call him before
she did anything like this. Oh well, no
point in worrying about it now. She
would call him when she got back to the hotel later. He would no doubt be mad as hell. Maria smiled to herself, thinking of his
inflated ego and the way sarcasm seemed to be second nature to him.
Chapter 30
Santini
Realty was located in a small but elegant office. The reception area was decorated in cream and
pale mauve, with plush carpeting that felt as if you were walking on pillows. Expensive-looking abstract paintings hung on
the walls, and fresh cut flowers adorned the glass coffee table and the
receptionist's desk, filling the small waiting room with an exotic aroma.
Maria
approached the receptionist who eyed her critically.
"May
I help you?" the blonde said in cool, clipped tones.
"Yes,
I have a 1:15 appointment with Mr. Santini..." Maria said, meeting the
other woman's gaze.
The
pretty blonde scanned her appointment book with one long red fingernail. "Maria Sands. Here we are, a friend of Mr. Devereau?"
"Yes,
that's right," Maria said, feeling uncomfortable at the lie.
"If
you'll have a seat, Mr. Santini will be with you shortly."
Maria
took a seat on the cream-colored leather couch and picked up a magazine,
pretending to read it, while her heart thumped with apprehension. Now that she'd arranged to meet with him, she
wasn't sure what she would say to Roberto Santini. She wanted to kill this man who made his
living on other's misery. If only she
could get him to admit his involvement–
"Mr.
Santini will see you now," the secretary said, standing over Maria.
Maria
jumped, startled. "Oh, I'm sorry, I
guess I was doing a little wool-gathering," she offered as way of an
explanation.
Maria
followed the blonde down a long, dark hallway until they came to a set of
double doors. The woman knocked once
then opened the door, standing aside so Maria could enter first.
Roberto
Santini was on the phone and he motioned for Maria to be seated, then covering
the mouthpiece of the telephone, winked at his secretary and said,
"Thanks, honey, that will be all."
The
blonde smiled smugly at Maria and turned on her four-inch heel, leaving Maria
and Roberto Santini alone.
Santini's
office was larger than the entire reception area, with a spectacular view of
the city of Los Angeles. The color tones
in here were of a deeper, richer shade than the outer office, otherwise
virtually the same, with soft supple leather furniture and gleaming glass
coffee and end tables. Maria noticed
another door, separate from the one she entered, and wondered what lay beyond.
She
eyed the man she'd come to hate, who was laughing softly into the
telephone. Roberto Santini was not a
large man, but what he lacked in stature he made up for with dark, Italian good
looks and impeccable dress–and as Maria was soon to find out, he could charm
the skin off a snake.
He
ended his telephone conversation and walked over to where Maria was seated on
the couch, extending his hand.
"Welcome to Los Angeles, Maria Sands."
"Thank
you, Mr. Santini." Maria offered
her hand, which he took gallantly and kissed.
"Call
me Roberto, please," he said, sitting down. "I am told your father was a friend of
Mr. Devereau?" he asked, his eyes slowly traveling over her long legs,
pausing at the curve of her hips, then casually assessing the swell of her
bosom. His eyes danced with amusement,
as Maria fidgeted, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
Maria
cleared her throat. "Yes, my late
father was good friends with Mr. Devereau."
"Please accept my deepest sympa