by Rick Polad
Spencer called Rosie and explained what he had found.
“That’s crazy, Spencer.”
“But possible?”
“Possible. But even if it is happening, what do we do about it?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself. I have no idea. But it might explain why he takes some Fridays off. He’s searching for the right girl.”
Silence.
“How about if we set up a sting?” suggested Spencer. “Put someone out on the street and make it known that her name is Kate or Kathy, and set up surveillance.”
“Pretty risky. It only takes a few seconds to cut a throat. And what are the odds of him hitting on your decoy? There have to be other Kathys out there. It’s a pretty common name. And the killer’s territory spreads out over a mile.”
“Well, we could put someone in each of the neighborhoods he’s hit so far.”
“And provide all that surveillance? Doubtful. But I’ll talk to the lieutenant in the morning.”
“Okay. Rosie?”
“Yeah.”
“Friday is three days away.”
She sighed. “Right. I wonder why he only strikes on Friday nights.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe something turns him into a werewolf.”
“Like what?”
“Booze, drugs. Maybe he only goes out drinking on Friday nights. You think we should mention this to Stosh tonight?”
“No, he’ll think it’s crazy enough in the morning. Get some sleep.”
Spencer left his notes on the chair, carried the beer bottle to the kitchen, and dumped it in the sink. He hoped this would help, but at best he could only be hopeful. There wasn’t any more he could do tonight. He needed some sleep. Shedding clothes as he walked through the bedroom, Spencer fell onto the bed without pulling down the covers, wrapped his arm around one of the pillows, and was asleep within seconds.
Chapter 45
Spencer woke up a little after nine Wednesday morning to the sound of raindrops on the roof. As he stretched, the phone rang. It was Rosie.
“Morning Spencer. I presented your thoughts to the brass. They think it’s a coincidence. A pretty amazing one, but a coincidence nevertheless. And the parallels aren’t perfect. Polly is Paula, and Jane is the middle name, not the first. They won’t devote the manpower. If you can get me something more concrete...”
“How about a dead girl named Katherine or Elizabeth?”
“That’s not fair, Spencer. We’re trying. This just isn’t enough to spend all that time and money on.”
Spencer silently shook his head. “I hope I’m wrong.”
“Me too. I’ll talk to you later. Behave yourself. And stay out of dark alleys—I care about you.”
“Sure, I’ll try.”
They hung up. Spencer had to admit his theory wasn’t perfect. But it was better than anything else they had. He decided he would try and stick closer to Laura on Friday night just in case his theory was wrong. But she was elusive.
Chapter 46
Charles got home Wednesday night and saw two mahogany cases lying on the dining room table. He knew one held silver dinnerware and the other, two silver daggers. If they were out, Sarah wanted them polished. He eyed them suspiciously and climbed the stairs to change. Sarah was in the kitchen, but was ignoring him.
She had inherited the silver from her parents and made him polish it twice a year, like she had done as a girl, just in case they had anyone over for dinner, which they never did. As long as they were married, they had never actually used the silver.
Charles hated polishing the silver. As far as he was concerned, it was the most tedious, boring chore there was. Sarah usually would do it and make him help. She would yell at him the whole time. He never did it right. He did have to admit he didn’t put a lot of energy into it.
He thought about the silver all the while he was changing his clothes. By the time he got back to the kitchen for dinner he was nervous. She knew something he didn’t. He wondered if someone was coming to dinner.
Slowly pulling out a metal chair, Charles sat down at the table. Sarah ignored him. He decided this was an improvement over the normal yelling that went on. She would always find something to yell about. He never did anything right according to her. He was dying to tell her about Amanda. Amanda thought he did everything right and was glad to have him around. He was also dying to ask about the silver, but concentrated on eating and kept quiet.
She served the noodle casserole and sat down.
Halfway through dinner, Sarah announced that she was going out and wanted Charles to polish the silver.
He asked why.
She just glared at him. She never gave a reason, and he had learned not to ask again. But this was something unusual. She had never let him do it alone. His curiosity was driving him crazy. Accepting that he would not get an answer, and thankful that she would not be there to berate him, Charles stopped asking questions and finished his dinner.
Sarah left about a half hour later. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t remind him about the polishing job. No reminder was needed. He knew it had better be done by the time she got home, and he knew she would inspect the job, and it had better be done right.
After adding money to the baggie, Charles turned on the TV and opened both cases. The silverware consisted of a twelve-piece place setting of knives, spoons, forks, and serving utensils. He carefully picked up one of the daggers that had belonged to Sarah’s grandfather. The blade was about four inches long, and the handle was about six. The handle was in the shape of a snake with the body curving back at the top and curling around, forming a guard around his hand. The snake’s head, with its mouth open, was at the bottom of the guard. They were beautiful pieces and probably worth a good deal of money. A can of silver polish and cotton gloves were also on the table. Charles started with the daggers. When he was through with each one, he lovingly held it up and watched the light dance off the sparkling blade as he twisted it.
Sarah always made Charles wear gloves so he wouldn’t mar the silver with his fingerprints. But the gloves made his hands sweaty. When he’d pointed out that you couldn’t see the fingerprints, she had said that she would know they were there. This time he smiled like a kid stealing a cookie, and a feeling of power ran through him as he gripped the cold steel in his bare left hand. Sarah would never know the difference. He gently placed it back in its velvet bed.
Chapter 47
At 9:25 Thursday morning, Jimmy watched Mr. Lamb get into his beat-up Chevy and back out from the pad next to the driveway. Mrs. Lamb had left an hour before. From his perch in the tree house, Jimmy couldn’t see the car after it pulled into the street, but he could hear the roar of the bad muffler as Mr. Lamb drove away.
When the noise had stopped, Jimmy climbed down to the ground, walked between the houses, and peered around the corner of the Lamb’s house. There was no one in sight. He quickly returned to the side of the house and parted the bushes. The baggie was still lying on the ground, tucked beneath the sturdy boughs. Jimmy opened the baggie, holding it carefully by the top edges as he had before. He took two more twenties and counted the rest. Five hundred sixty dollars. He counted it twice. Exactly the same.
Jimmy thought about taking all the money. But Mr. Lamb put more in every day. There would be more. For the moment he was happy with his growing stash.
Chapter 48
Before leaving for Laura’s apartment Friday evening, Spencer called Ben and asked about his new case.
“Can’t talk much about it, but the evidence is good. Actually my job isn’t too tough in a case like this. Neither is the prosecutor’s. If the police do their job correctly, it’s just dotting the i and crossing the t. Goes smoothly and nobody complains. In most cases, even the accused knows he’s guilty and is ready to do the time. What’s happening with Laura?”
“Heading over there now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
They hung up and Spencer made a sandwich to take with him.
Spencer pulled up at 6:20, parked almost in the same spot as the week before, and waited for Laura.
Less than a minute later, Stretch let Laura know that Spencer was back. Actually, what he said was, that crazy son of a bitch is back. And he asked Laura if she still wanted to go out. She said there would be no change in plans. But she decided to make Spencer wait until 10:30.
Slowly eating a ham and cheese sandwich on rye washed down by Coke, Spencer tried to stretch his legs and hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long. When she hadn’t shown by 10:15, he started to worry and considered another trip to her apartment.
Spencer breathed a sigh of relief as Laura finally appeared, dressed exactly the same as she was the last time. A glance at his watch showed him it was 10:32. He got out of the car and trailed her.
* * *
Laura didn’t change her routine. She stopped at the hot dog stand, then made her way to her post just south of the antique store and the alley where she had lost Spencer the week before. Several men stopped to talk but kept on walking. She evidently hadn’t lowered her price.
The evening was balmy and the crowds were in a good mood. Weekly paychecks had already started turning into alcoholic smiles and bawdy laughter. Bright lights and music and honking horns overshadowed the possibility that a vicious murderer might be part of that happy crowd, waiting for the right moment to continue his butchery. As Spencer scanned the crowd, he realized the task of catching this modern-day Ripper was next to impossible. It could be anybody. It could even be a woman, but that was unlikely. For some reason, men had the undesirable distinction of committing most brutal murders.
He noticed two other women who appeared to be working the street. He also noticed a rather large man talking to both of those girls. But that’s all he did was talk. One of the men who had talked with Laura went off with one of the other girls. Spencer wondered if she would end up as a headline. He thought of following them but didn’t want to leave Laura. And he didn’t want to interfere with free trade.
* * *
He had started at a bar where he had several beers and thought about his new name. The papers were now calling him Friday. He liked it—showed respect. His name would be in the history books.
He did his heavy drinking on Friday nights. He would spend an hour or so talking to girls on the street and then go back to the bar.
Friday had talked with several of them before and now scanned the street for new faces. There were three he hadn’t seen before. He walked slowly past one of them and made eye contact.
“Hi, honey,” she said with a pasted-on smile. “You looking for some fun?”
He smiled back. “You never know. What did you have in mind?”
“Well. That’s up to you. Depends on how much fun you want to have.”
“I’ve been known to have a lot of fun. My name’s Jake. What’s yours?”
“Belle. So, let’s take a walk.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Belle—I think I’ll pass tonight. Perhaps another time.”
She shrugged. “I may not be here another night. I can send you home with a smile on your face.”
“I’ll take that chance.” Friday turned and walked away.
He looked at the other two girls. One of them was busy. He approached the other and had the same conversation. When he turned away, he didn’t see the third girl with the red top. There would be other nights. He would find her again.
* * *
Stretch also noticed the man talking to the girls on the street. One of the girls dropped her shoulder bag. The man bent down, picked it up with his left hand, and handed it back to her. He saw the man glance at Laura several times but he didn’t approach her.
* * *
A young man stopped next to Laura and started chatting. He stayed and they talked. In less than a minute they both started toward the alley. Spencer crossed the street and fell in behind them.
They turned into the alley. Spencer saw Laura and the john walking slowly about fifty feet ahead. This time he wouldn’t lose her. He gingerly stepped into the alley and let them get a little farther ahead. They passed the dumpsters on the left, and ten seconds later he did, too. A bum was lying against the wall, but this time he was between the dumpsters. And this time he was asleep, or so Spencer thought.
Spencer continued to follow Laura, who had not looked back. He had taken four or five steps past the dumpster when he felt a sudden, searing pain in the back of his head.
Briefly aware of Laura floating off down a spinning alley, Spencer crumbled to the ground.
Chapter 49
Amanda Brock got home at four a.m. Saturday. She had spent the evening at a dinner at the Palmer House, the guest of the president of Viscor Dynamics. After dinner, she accompanied him to his penthouse apartment where she earned a thousand dollars. Because of the alcohol and the exercise, he had fallen asleep a happy and tired man. Amanda spent a few minutes admiring the view of the skyline, then called the chauffeur and met the limo at the front door. She instructed the chauffeur to drop her off on the corner of Sheridan and Glenlake. She knew from experience that the stretch limo would never be able to turn around in her dead-end street.
She made some tea, put the mug on a tray with some cookies, changed her clothes, and then moved to the office. She placed the tray and the stack of ten, hundred dollar bills on the desk.
Amanda unlocked the cabinet on the left side of her desk and slid back the panel that hid the safe. Agile fingers spun the dial without thinking. The safe door swung open. As she reached for the money, she saw lights far out on the lake. She placed the money into the safe, leaving the door open, and went to the telescope at the window. She couldn’t make out the name in the dark, but could see the boom on the deck of the ship. She knew it to be one of the old-style, self-unloading bulk freighters. She loved watching the ships.
Warming her hands on the ceramic mug, Amanda used the remote to turn on the stereo, choosing WFMT, a classical FM station. As a piano sonata played quietly in the background, Amanda swiveled her leather chair to look out the picture window. She took a sip of the herb tea, which was from Paraguay and supposedly had all kinds of amazing healing properties. She really didn’t care about that. She drank it for the taste. Hints of honey and licorice weaved through an overall flavor of wood smoke.
Amanda stretched and yawned. Watching twinkling lights out on the lake was very relaxing. She would watch until night started to fade into dawn, then take a shower and go to bed. Amanda always felt a kind of rebirth as the horizon started the slow change from black to gray, almost as imperceptible as the beginning of the wrinkles she so much feared. If there were clouds banked over the lake, she would stay for the sunrise. The view was spectacular. She sat in the dark and enjoyed her favorite part of the day.
As she stared at the light on the northernmost water intake crib, Amanda tensed up when she thought she heard a noise. It was a kind of muffled click. She listened, heard nothing else, and turned back to the lake. The old house made many noises, most of which she had grown accustomed to. But there was always something new. The radiator clanged and the heat came on. She relaxed. Because of the thick carpet on the stairs, Amanda was not aware of the person who had entered her house.
Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Amanda jerked her head and saw a blur springing up from the floor near the corner of the big desk. As she dropped the mug in her lap, she saw the flash of a silver knife blade held at the end of an upraised arm. Before she could react, Amanda felt a searing pain as someone plunged the knife into her chest. She tried to kick and push the person away, but the knife struck next in her left eye. It all happened so fast. Amanda lost consciousness as she slumped into the chair.
* * *
The intruder picked up the money off the desk, removed the money from the safe, left the house, walked onto the rocks, and, after looking around to see if anyone was in sight, carefully dropped the knife down in a deep crevice between two rocks
as the first hint of dawn appeared on the paper-thin horizon between sky and water.
Chapter 50
A faint odor of coffee hit him before he even opened his eyes. Spencer grimaced from the pain at the back of his head. He tried to rub it, but his hands were tied behind him. He thought he could feel some sort of mask over his eyes.
His feet were tied together and his toes were numb. He was sitting upright on a hard surface with his back against a round post. The floor was cold, probably concrete. All he touched was air when he wiggled his fingers. Every muscle in his body ached. And the pain at the back of his head would be a reminder not to walk into dark alleys again, if he survived.
The last thing he remembered was seeing a bum asleep between the dumpsters in the alley. He had no idea how much time had elapsed between then and now, but it was enough to cramp his muscles and numb his extremities. His mouth wasn’t gagged, so he assumed yelling would do nothing but anger his captors. He tried taking deep breaths, but that just hurt his head. Giving in to exhaustion and pain, he passed out.
Spencer woke to footsteps in the room above him. A minute later he heard a click and the sound of a door opening, and then footsteps coming down stairs. He could see a little light around the edges of his mask. He strained to hear more sounds but heard nothing. His whole body was tense.
He thought he heard a brief noise behind him and then felt a sharp stab in the back of his neck. He yelled and his body involuntarily jumped. The room was cold, but Spencer was instantly sweating.
“Who the hell are you?” he gasped.
There was no answer.
