by Gayle Wilson
"Okay," she relented, "but I can't stay long. A friend's coming to visit me in a little while."
Her lips felt almost numb as they formed the words. She hadn't wanted to say them, but she wasn't strong enough not to.
His response was enough to make her eyes burn as they had last night. Dwight's face lit up as if illuminated from inside.
"That's okay," he said, that nearly adult understanding in his voice again. "I have to be home before dark anyway."
She nodded, reaching out almost blindly to insert her key in the lock. She had been hoping Dan would be here when she got home. The more she'd thought about it. the less willing she was to leave him a key.
Maybe the cops were right about the voice on her machine. She'd thought a lot about that, too, and her certainty that it was Tate had lessened through the course of the day. Still, no matter who had left that message, she didn't want to leave a key lying around.
When the lock clicked, she pushed the door inward, letting Toby's waiting nose edge through. He barked once in greeting, and then, as the opening widened and he saw the boy behind her, the entire back end of his body began to wag.
"I have to get his leash," she explained, unwilling to invite the kid inside. This apartment was a refuge from the very feelings Dwight Ingersoll evoked.
"Okay"
Dwight bent, putting his arms around the dog's neck as he had yesterday at the curb. Toby was too eager for his run to respond as calmly as he had then. Despite his impatience, he managed to bestow a few perfunctory licks across the kid's mouth and chin.
Dwight looked up at her. eyes wide, mouth rounded with surprise and pleasure. Apparently, she'd been forgiven. Or, in one of those quicksilver mood shifts common to his age, he'd forgotten her initial reluctance to take him. After all, Toby was genuinely glad to see him.
While he and the dog renewed their acquaintance in the doorway, she set her purse on top of the bookcase. Her eyes automatically found the indicator light on the answering machine. It wasn't blinking.
Only with the resulting wave of relief did she realize how much she'd been dreading a repetition of last night. In a fit of anger, she had erased that message as soon as she'd gotten home from the police station. That she had done so had been another thing she had worried about during her nearly sleepless night.
She slipped her keys into the pocket of her slacks as she pulled the elastic-backed bow tie off over her head. She tossed it on the bookcase and unfastened the top button of her shirt as she crossed the room to grab Toby's leash from among the books and magazines stacked on the coffee table.
Seeing it in her hand when she turned, the dog broke from Dwight's embrace, beginning his nightly "I need to go" dance, nails clicking like castanets on the scarred hardwood floor.
Spare key, she remembered as she started toward him. Damn Dan. Why couldn't he ever get anywhere on time?
She debated putting the leash on Toby and letting Dwight hold him while she went into the kitchen to retrieve her extra key. In his hurry to get to the entryway, the mutt would probably pull the kid down the stairs. Toby had thrown her off balance a couple of times, and she was a lot stronger than Dwight.
"Sarah? You up there?"
She stuck her head out of the door the child was propping open as he watched Toby cavort. Her ex-husband was coming up the stairs, one hand on the banister, the other holding a metal carpenter's tape.
His eyes found hers briefly before they dropped to the boy squatting at dog's-eye level in the doorway. Dwight had pivoted to face the stairs as soon as he heard Dan's voice.
When her ex-husband glanced up again, his expression was quizzical. Sarah found there was nothing about this she wanted to explain. Especially not the part about why she had a kid camped out on her doorstep.
"I was just about to take Toby out," she said instead.
"Hey, Tobe." Dan said. "What ya doing, you old fleabag?"
The dog lunged past Dwight, making for Dan, who reached down to ruffle his fur, smiling at the boy as he did.
"I'm Dan. Who are you?"
"Dwight David Ingersoll."
The words weren't quite as singsong, but they caused Dan's lips to twitch before he reasserted control.
"So...you a friend of Toby's?"
The boy looked back at Sarah, as if asking permission to answer. Or maybe for confirmation that he was.
When she realized she was smiling at him in reassurance, she forced her eyes to focus on Dan's hand instead of the child's face. Those long, tanned fingers were massaging the spot behind Toby's ear that turned the dog into a slobbering, mindless love slave.
"I'm her friend," Dwight said. "Toby's a dog." The last held a hint of scorn for anyone who didn't understand the subtleties of friendship.
Dan's eyes, filled with amusement, again met Sarah's, but he continued to address the boy. "You've never heard the expression 'man's best friend"? That's Toby. You are, aren't you. old boy?"
"We have to go."
Her words, clipped and unfriendly, brought Dwight's gaze back to her face, his brow wrinkled in concern. She wondered if he could possibly be sensitive enough to recognize the strained dynamics of her relationship with Dan.
"Toby needs to go out," she explained, trying to soften the harshness of her tone.
Somehow, she and Dan had fallen back into their old patterns of behavior. Dan. being charming and laid back, making points with both the dog and the boy. And she. put into the position of having to remind all of them of priorities and duties. During her marriage, it had sometimes felt as if she were rearing two children rather than one.
"We may not be back before you're through," she went on. determined to be clear with Dan about exactly why he was here. She didn't intend to repeat the mistake she'd made yesterday with the kid. "You don't have to wait. Just make sure the lock's on before you close the door."
"Key?" Dan reminded, straightening from his bending stance over the dog. She must have looked blank, because he added, "So I can come by tomorrow and put this stuff in, remember."
"I'll get it. It's in the kitchen."
She handed him the leash and then headed back inside. Behind her, she could hear Dan talking to Dwight. Admiring the ball. Throwing the occasional conversational tidbit to Toby, who was probably wondering what the hell was going on.
This was the most excitement the dog had had since they'd moved in. She could only hope that and the delay in taking him out didn't lead to an accident.
She fished the extra key out of the small china vase she kept it in. As she set the container back on the kitchen shelf, she noticed that her coffee mug and cereal bowl from this morning were still sitting in the sink. She thought about washing them and putting them away before her ex-husband saw them.
Which would be the height of hypocrisy, she admitted.
She had constantly stayed on Dan and Danny about picking up their things. Working the hours she did, she'd complained that she didn't have time to run around behind them and put their stuff away. That didn't mean she couldn't damn well leave a dish in her own sink if she wanted to.
As she walked back into the living room, leaving the swinging door to the kitchen open, she could see Toby darting up and down the hall, legs comically spread to avoid the leash that trailed between them. He was barking at the ball, which Dan and the boy were throwing back and forth, bouncing it once at a midpoint between them.
She stepped out into the chaos, intending to remind them that her neighbors probably wouldn't be thrilled with the noise. Before she could, Toby reared on his hind legs, knocking down Dwight's last awkward, overhand throw.
The dog pounced on the ball as it ricocheted off the wall. It was almost too large for him to grip with his teeth, but somehow, maybe because some of the air had seeped out as it aged, he got his mouth around part of it. Tail wagging, he carried the ball over to the child and dropped it at his feet.
Dwight's laughter was clearly delighted. And he wanted someone to share his joy in the clog's antic
s. His eyes found Dan's face first and then hers.
"Tell him he's a good boy," Dan suggested.
"Good boy," the child repeated obediently, stooping to hug the dog. "Good Toby."
"If you two aren't careful, you're going to be cleaning up after that 'good boy.'"
Had she always been like this? She wondered, hearing the note of censure. Why couldn't she just let them have fun instead of anticipating problems?
Because someone has to anticipate them. Someone has to be the grown-up. Someone has to think of all the things that could happen. And Dan. of course, had never done that. Maybe if he had—
She jerked her mind away before it could complete the circuit. The counselor had told her that some people simply didn't have that kind of mentality. They couldn't plan for disasters because they couldn't imagine having them happen.
"Key." She held the spare out to her ex-husband. "And don't forget to lock the door when you leave."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, winking at Dwight.
The spurt of anger she felt at the gesture was ridiculous. She acknowledged that, but she couldn't do anything about the fact that she'd felt it.
"Are you going or staying?" she asked the boy, her voice impatient where Dan's had been teasing.
Why would he want to go? Who would possibly want to be with you when there's any other option on the face of the earth?
"Going," Dwight said promptly, as if there had never been any doubt. He picked up the ball, and then waited, hovering over Toby.
He wants to hold the leash. Sarah realized. He had asked her if he could, and she'd never answered him. Instead of just reaching down to take it as Danny might have, he was waiting for permission.
"He's pretty strong," she warned.
"So am I." Dwight said, tucking the ball under one arm and bending the other upward at the elbow to make a muscle.
He looked down at his triceps, hidden under the thin jacket, and then cut his eyes up at her. There was a trace of amusement in them, as if he knew what a joke that was, but still hoped she'd enjoy it with him.
"I'll take the ball," she said. "Don't let him pull you down the stairs. I don't want to have to explain to your mother how my dog broke your leg."
"I'll be careful."
Another of those phrases he had probably repeated a thousand times. It was a promise she'd required often enough. She had thrown that admonition at Danny every morning when she'd let him out of the car in front of school. Or even if he were just going into Louise's house.
Be careful.
I will.
And yet, despite all her warnings and precautions—
"Have fun," Dan said as they started down the stairs.
She didn't look back. And she didn't glance down to see if the boy had either.
Seven
Sounds unlikely." Daryl Johnson said, "but you've got to remember he's riding high right now. This guy already thought he was smarter than God and that the police were too stupid to catch him."
"Then there we go, proving him right," Mac said.
Mac had been bothered by the message left on Sarah Patterson's answering machine last night. Uncomfortable enough about the possibilities it represented to touch base with his contact at the FBI. In doing so, he'd conveniently failed to mention his suspension.
"Everybody makes mistakes." Johnson's voice was carefully nonjudgmental.
"Even you guys?" Mac asked.
There was a pause before Johnson said. "Occasionally. You think I'm making one now?"
"You're the expert. I'm just a cop with a bunch of dead kids on his hands. Trying to figure out if this bastard is stupid enough to go after the mother of one of them."
Another few seconds of silence before Johnson responded. "He likes little boys because they're easy to control. Could it be that he thinks this woman would be, too?"
"He'd be wrong," Mac said unequivocally.
The image of Sarah's face as she'd held out that big gun. pointed straight at Tate, was in his mind's eye. There was no doubt in his mind that if he hadn't stopped her, she would have shot the son of a bitch. At that range, she wouldn't have missed.
At that range... Close enough to look Tate in the face. Close enough for Tate to look into her eyes. Close enough for him to know that she damn well intended to blow him away?
"What about other than the easy-to-control business? I mean...this guy kills little boys because he gets off on boys, right?"
"He kills because he likes killing people. He likes controlling them. Hurting them. Humiliating them. That's the sexual payoff for him. But yeah...to answer your question, he prefers boys. Sexually, I mean. His version of sexually isn't what you and I mean by that, however."
"So he wouldn't be interested in a woman?"
"Not in the usual way."
"Would he be interested in killing her?"
The pause was even longer this time. Mac wasn't sure he liked that. He knew he didn't like having to wait through it.
"Contrary to popular belief, there are indiscriminate serial killers. Maybe we should call them equal opportunity killers. Anybody who crosses their path is fair game. I could give you half a dozen names you'd recognize, but...I don't think that's what we're dealing with in Tate. In my opinion—and remember, that's all any of this is—it's more likely that whoever left that message was pursuing an agenda other than the one Tate's embarked on."
"Like what?"
"Borrowing some of Tate's notoriety. Maybe this guy figured the cops would go public with the threat. His little moment in the limelight, even if it's only reflected from Tate's crimes."
"You think he'll lie low for a while? Since we know who he is?"
"Tate, you mean? I think he'll move on. Relocate. He's probably already done that. If you're asking if I think he's through killing... Not until he's dead. There's no AA for this. And the only twelve steps that will do these guys any good are those that lead to the chair."
"We don't use the chair down here. Too inhumane." Mac mocked. "But if I could. I'd pull the switch on this bastard myself."
From what he'd read in Sarah Patterson's eyes that morning, so would she.
"You got to catch him first. Mac."
"And you think we've blown our chance."
"I think he's going to become someone else's headache now," Johnson said. And then, his tone brisker, more businesslike, "Be sure you get everything you have into the database. Maybe whoever ends up dealing with him next will pick up the pattern a little sooner. Otherwise... These guys get better with every murder. They learn what works and what doesn't. And Tate really is smart, which makes him very good at what he does."
There was a part of Mac that wanted to celebrate the idea of this guy moving on. Looking at the photographs they'd pinned to the board in the task force room had been bad enough. Meeting Sarah Patterson, learning the effect her son's death had had on her life, had made all those pictures even more real. He didn't want to have to put up photographs of some other kid's mutilated body.
At the same time, perversely, he hated to admit failure. This was his town. His job. Maybe it hadn't been his mistake that had let Tate walk, but it was also his department.
Besides all that, he wanted Tate. He wanted to be the one to put him away. He didn't want him moving on to some other unsuspecting city, where the cops would have to learn all about him, murder by murder, just as they had here.
"But...a phone call?" Johnson went on, pulling him back into the conversation. "Doesn't sound like something he'd be interested in. Not now."
"So I can tell her to relax."
"I didn't say that," Johnson denied quickly. "Believe me, Mac, I would never advise anybody to relax while someone like Samuel Tate is out there."
They hadn't made it back from the park until after dark. Sarah hadn't had the heart to cut short Toby and
Dwight's game until the last possible second. Then, to make sure that he didn't get into trouble because he was late, she had walked Dwight to the door of his street-l
evel apartment.
He wouldn't let her ring the bell. In case his grandmother was asleep, he'd said. He had a key on a chain like the military used for dog tags around his neck.
"Are you sure your mom won't be upset that we're late?"
He looked up from his farewell hug of Toby to smile at her. "As long as I'm with you, it'll be all right."
Despite her doubts, Sarah had left it at that. She'd waited until he was safely inside and she'd heard the night latch engage before she turned away from the door, congratulating herself that she hadn't had to talk to Dwight's mother.
That would come later, she supposed, because, of course, she hadn't found a way to tell him not to wait beside her door again. At least she had escaped meeting Mrs. Ingersoll tonight.
On top of that good fortune, when she'd reached her apartment, she discovered that Dan had remembered to lock her door. She seemed to be batting a thousand.
Minor triumphs, maybe, but even the excursion to the park had been nothing like she'd been dreading, she admitted as she inserted her key. She had thought that seeing Dwight play with Toby would bring back painful memories. But this child was so different from Danny—different in every possible way—that she had been able to watch him with an emotional detachment she wouldn't have believed possible.
She pushed open the door and loosened her grip on Toby's leash. "Dan?"
As she waited for an answer, the dog trotted across the living room, headed for the kitchen. After a few seconds she heard him slurping water from his bowl.
"Dan? You still here?"
There was no answer. Relieved, she turned back to throw the dead bolt. When she had, she leaned forward, putting her forehead against the cool, smooth wood of the door.
The sense of sanctuary, which she had been afraid might be destroyed by Dan's or the child's presence within the apartment, settled comfortingly around her. That fear had been stronger somehow than the sense of violation she'd felt listening to the message last night.
Prompted by the memory, she glanced at the light on the answering machine. The small red eye was pulsing on and off like a toothache. The feeling of homecoming she had just celebrated disappeared in a bowel-clenching rush of adrenaline.
