Billboard Cop

by Lynde Lakes

  Sensing an unwelcome surprise, he called in a ragged voice, “Jen, don’t...”

  Jen ignored him, as if unable to contain her impatience and curiosity a second longer. “Let this be the journal, she said as she tore away what was left of the brown paper and slipped the lid off the box. She gasped.

  York winced inside as a redheaded Reporter Barbie Doll with fishing line wound tightly around its neck seemed to stare up at Jen. Its face had been painted a light, breathless blue. The letters etched into the doll’s wrist in red ink spelled JEN.

  He watched the box slipping from her fingers, watched it tumble to the floor and spill out its contents into a still, deadly heap. “Oh hell,” he said, “I was afraid of this.” In two long strides he was beside her and pulling her into his arms.

  Her gaze remained locked on the twisted doll.

  He lifted her chin. “Don’t let it get to you. He just wants to scare you.” He hated the unsteadiness in his own voice.

  “It’s working,” she said softly. “It’s only a doll, but with its red hair and oversized briefcase, we both know it represents me. The fishing line cutting into its neck, and the blue cast to the face looks so damned real. What if that psycho’s out there somewhere watching all the commotion?”

  “Without proof of that and some sort of description of the guy who sent the package, ordering SWAT teams to search blocks of Boston office buildings would be futile.”

  He drew Jen closer, trying to still her lingering tremors. He looked down and met her gaze. “But if we knew he was in a specific building, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  “I know,” she said, barely above a whisper. She took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders. “I’m okay now. Really. Seeing the doll just threw me for a moment.”

  He gave her a little squeeze. “That’s my girl.”

  When the phone rang, she moved out of his arms.

  “No, don’t,” he said.

  But it was too late, she’d already lifted the phone to her ear.

  He raced to her and pressed the conference call button.

  “I saw you drop my little gift on the floor,” rasped an electronically altered voice.

  That was a piece of luck, York thought. The echo on the killer’s line would keep him from hearing any sound on this end. York felt Jen trembling and tried to take the receiver. She held tight and glanced through the glass wall overlooking the sea of surrounding buildings. Her bravery was astounding; he knew she must feel the devouring sensation of eyes fixed on her.

  “Didn’t you like the Jen doll?”

  York thought he heard a child sobbing in the background, but hoped it was a radio or TV.

  “Don’t tell the detective it’s me or your little friend Buddy dies.”

  York’s heart thundered. Dear, God, he’s got Shelly’s kid.

  Jen turned to York, eyes wide. He gripped her shoulder, hoping to give support. He knew the horror she was going through, knowing a child was involved.

  The killer let out a snicker. “What’s with the bomb squad?”

  “I think you know the answer to that. Now let the boy go.”

  “Not just yet. I like little boys. Such an adorable, dimpled darling. Such pinchable soft skin.”

  The child screamed in pain.

  “Oh, God,” Jen cried. “It is Buddy!” She clutched the receiver so tightly her fingers turned white. “Don’t hurt him.”

  York felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. If Shelly hadn’t raked the computer for them the young mother would’ve been home with her children and the killer wouldn’t have had the opportunity to grab Buddy from the church grounds.

  Jen closed her eyes, as though praying for the right words. “I’ll forget the story, whatever you want.”

  “I want you—your life for the boy’s.”

  York shook his head, but he knew there was no question that if necessary, she’d give it. He tightened his jaw. Dammit, I won’t let her. He’d seen her trembling before, felt her shaking now.

  “Let Buddy go,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “When he’s safe, I’ll come to you. Wherever you say.”

  “Sure you would.” The hissing sarcasm in the killer’s voice echoed over the lines like a chorus of rattlesnakes. “I’m not that gullible.”

  “Just tell me what to do,” she said.

  “Ditch the cop. When you’re alone, I’ll show up.”

  “What about Buddy?” she asked.

  “You and I will drop him somewhere nice’n safe.”

  “And I’m supposed to trust you?”

  “Do you have a choice?” He gave an evil laugh and the line disconnected.

  Chapter Nine

  From the closed office building across from The Globe, the strangler held his high-powered binoculars steady and focused on Jen. She stared at the phone rubbing her arms, weighing her options. But she’d do exactly as instructed. Bleeding hearts always sacrificed themselves for children. The anxiety in her voice proved she had a special place in her heart for this rug rat.

  It would be worth the struggle to keep him alive to see the horror in Jen’s face when he strangled the boy before her eyes. Then she’d die—and with her, the story.

  He glanced at the boy tied to the high-backed chair. Even though no one could hear the kid here, when he left the building, he had to gag him.

  He leered down at the sobbing child. “You cry good, twerp.” He gave him another sharp pinch and the boy cried harder. He laughed. “No one can hear you, even if you scream at the top of your lungs.”

  Still, no sense taking chances. He forced the boy’s mouth open and stuffed in a rag. Big tears trickled down the boy’s cheeks. The killer chuckled and slapped some tape over the gag.

  Things were going well in spite of the surprises. He hadn’t expected the detective to be there when the package was delivered. Only someone with police training would’ve called in the bomb squad. Sending explosives had never occurred to him, and it was satisfying and enlightening to know he could stir things up with a simple package.

  When Jen opened the box and dropped it to the floor, it was exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. He lifted the binoculars again from the strap around his neck and studied the scene unfolding across the plaza. Wylinski had his arms around Jen. Had she said something about the call? No, she wouldn’t risk the boy’s life.

  Hmm. The detective cared for her. That made this new plan brewing even better. Two troublemakers snared with one tiny hostage.

  Wylinski was the brains behind the investigation, the one who kept Jen out of his reach. He’d never matched skills with a more cautious or tenacious opponent. Wylinski had almost captured him several times. Luckily, the detective never knew it.

  The safe option would be to seek contracts elsewhere, New York, or Los Angeles. But leaving before the job was over was out of the question. He’d never reneged on a deal, and considering who his boss was, now wasn’t the time to start. Besides, he wanted payback. The feisty reporter had outsmarted him once. That wouldn’t happen again.

  ****

  Jen’s knees felt weak as she and York crossed the parking lot. She didn’t know where they were going or why. Terrified she might do the wrong thing, she let York pull her along. When they reached his Thunderbird, he held the door for her, then rounded the car.

  Inside, he reached over and squeezed her fingers. She wanted to press her hand to her mouth to fight the tears pushing at the back of her eyes, but she only clasped her hands more tightly in her lap. She needed time to think this through. Even if she did exactly as the killer said, there wasn’t much chance he’d let Buddy go. Especially if the boy had seen him. Jen bit her lip. She couldn’t successfully barter for his life.

  “Buddy sounded so scared.” Jen closed her eyes until she’d regained her calm center. “The killer might be holding him in one of the nearby office buildings. He claimed he could see me.”

  “You’re right. That’s how he knew the bomb squad came and that you dropped the doll. H
e’s obviously somewhere with a view of Gordon’s office.” York blew out a gust of air. “That’s any one of a number of buildings.”

  York put the car in gear, and pulled out into the traffic.

  Her heart pounded. “Why are we leaving? He’s here somewhere.”

  “Somewhere is the operative word. I know your reporter’s zeal makes you want to stay—”

  “This has nothing to do with my job! Don’t you know that?” Electrically charged air vibrated around her, closing in. She grabbed the door handle. “I can’t leave Buddy. Let me out.”

  York jammed down on the master door lock control, imprisoning her. Then he leaned over and touched her hand. “Trust me. We have to do this right. We need to try to get a description. And we need help from SWAT.”

  York got on his cell phone and set up a SWAT search of all buildings with a view of Gordon’s office. When he finished he said, “It’ll take them a while to organize and move in. And it may be useless. Chances are he’s already left the area. On the positive side, if he has to drag Buddy around, it’ll slow him down.”

  “Not if he ties him up, and tosses him in the trunk of his car.” Sobs pushed at the back of her throat. “Oh, York, Buddy won’t survive in a trunk in this August heat.”

  “As long as he needs the boy, he won’t harm him.”

  “You don’t know that.” She couldn’t keep her voice from breaking. “We’re talking about a psycho.”

  “But an obsessed psycho with a goal.” York’s words came out husky and ragged. His jaw twitched, but otherwise he appeared calm. “He told you to ditch me and said he’d be watching and would show up. But we have to control this, not react rashly.”

  She clung to the dashboard as York increased his speed, zigzagging in and out of traffic. “SWAT will be more effective with a description. Maybe we can get that at the church.” York paused and glanced over at Jen. “The babysitter or someone else might’ve seen something.”

  Jen’s heart pounded. “But Buddy’s alone with—”

  “Don’t lose it, Reporter. We’ll let that psycho think you’re just waiting for a chance to take off.”

  Jen darted a glance at him. Right now she couldn’t function like a reporter, she was thinking like a mother who loved her child. “Fat chance he’ll think that with us fleeing the area.”

  “He’ll believe anything he wants to believe. And he’ll want to believe that he’s in control—especially of you, the object of his obsession.”

  Jen couldn’t argue anymore. Buddy was out there somewhere with a clock ticking away the remaining moments of his life.

  York parked in a rust-eaten metal carport across the alley from Pastor Loraine Stuart’s church. “We won’t be here long,” he said. “Then we’ll head back and check on the SWAT operation.”

  Jen bit her lip. Would it be too late?

  York took her hand as they left the carport. She wanted to trust the strength of his touch, the sense of unity, but every time she thought of Buddy the panic started building again. They cut through a vacant lot to get to the church grounds. People milled about, combing the area.

  “We’re looking for a missing boy,” a gray-haired man said in a sober tone. “Seen him?”

  “No,” Jen said in a choked voice. In the distance, she saw Shelly and Pastor Loraine Stuart. “There’s Shelly,” she told York, gesturing with her head.

  “We need to talk to the boy’s mother,” York told the man.

  He gave Jen’s fingers a squeeze. “I’ll break the news to her.”

  “No!” Jen withdrew her hand from York’s. “I have to do it. If I hadn’t called Shelly to my office, Buddy wouldn’t be missing.”

  Swallowing past the huge lump her throat, Jen approached Shelly.

  Before Jen could speak, Shelly said, “Buddy’s wandered off.” She rubbed her arms. “Probably hiding, and laughing at the trouble he’s causing. Wait’ll I get my hands on him, the little imp—”

  “He’s not hiding.” Jen couldn’t keep her voice from wavering.

  Alarm glinted in Shelly’s eyes. “How do you know? Have you seen him?”

  Jen took Shelly’s arm. “Let’s sit down.”

  Shelly’s frightened gaze bore into Jen’s. She clutched Jen’s arm. “I don’t want to sit down! What’s wrong?” She’d gone pale, as though she already knew.

  God, how can I ease the blow of this? When York came up behind Jen and his warm hand settled gently on her shoulder, she drew courage from his touch. She took a fortifying breath, hating the words she had to speak. “Buddy’s been kidnapped.”

  Shelly curled her hands into fists and shut her eyes for a moment, her thin body rigid. “No! It’s not true!”

  Jen’s throat ached. She’d just ripped out Shelly’s heart, and felt like it was her own. “The strangler has him.”

  “How do you know that?” she demanded.

  Jen forced out the words, “I got a call. I heard Buddy.”

  Shelly glared at York. “What are you doing about it?”

  “I’ve called in SWAT and—”

  “Why the hell are you here?” She pulled at her hair like a crazy woman. “Why aren’t you out looking for him?” Shelly whirled away, gripping herself as if to keep from falling apart. She paced a few steps, then jerked around to face Jen and York. “Every time I get around you people, something terrible happens.”

  “We’ll get him back for you,” York said with a husky voice. “But we need some information.”

  “Your damned need for information is what started all this.” Shelly waved her arms wildly. “Get away from me and my children. And stay away.”

  Jen closed her eyes, feeling Shelly’s pain and anger to her bones. The merging stories—strangler and toxic waste dumping—had gotten too personal, and Jen felt she’d completely lost her objectivity.

  Pastor Loraine rushed up and put her arms around Shelly. “What’s happened?”

  York quickly explained, while darting glances at Jen as though he was acutely aware of the courage it had taken for her to give Shelly the bad news and knew her guilt was tearing her apart. “I need to talk to the babysitter,” he said.

  Loraine gestured with her head. “Plump woman in the purple-and-white flowered dress. Name’s Agnes.”

  With tears in her muddy brown eyes, Agnes said she’d placed baby Lissa on a blanket on a picnic table to diaper her. When she looked up Buddy was gone.

  York questioned the others in the search party. They hadn’t seen any strangers hanging around. “Don’t give up,” he told Jen. “Let’s talk to Jeffy.”

  “Saw a gray car,” the boy said. “Going real fast out of the parking lot.”

  “Did you see your brother?”

  Jeffy slowly shook his head, and tears pooled in his eyes. “Did the bogeyman with the axe get Buddy?”

  The tremor in that small, scared voice squeezed Jen’s heart. York’s eyes looked pained and she knew he wished he didn’t have to answer that. Her heart fluttered when York squatted down and drew Jeffy to his chest and patted his back. Over and over he proved that he had the kind of special bond with children that would make him a fantastic father.

  She hated to break up their moment, but time was ticking away. York looked up and their gazes locked. Moisture glinted in his eyes. Oh, my God. This forceful man she counted on to defeat a ruthless killer had this incredibly gentle, caring side. Although she’d known he was kind, the full impact hit her now like the second rush of a tsunami wave.

  Jeffy turned. “Hi, Jen,” he said in a teary voice.

  Her heart pounded. He looked so much like Buddy, the same soft brown hair, the same wide, trusting eyes. Pain slashed through her skull—Buddy was in the hands of a psycho. The fiend’s eerie voice echoed in her head, warning that only she could do something about it.

  She swallowed. “Hi, Sweetie.” Her heart pounded. “York we have to—”

  He put a finger to his lips and gestured with his head toward the boy. “Shh. Little ears. Let’s take Jef
fy back to his mother, then we’ll talk.”

  Forget talk. She wanted action.

  When York returned the boy to Shelly, the young mother started ranting like a wild woman. York took her cursing blows for a moment, then, in a very low voice, said they could discuss his heritage later—after he saved her son. Jen’s heart cheered. Shelly whirled away from him into Pastor Loraine’s arms.

  Jen shifted her weight. Come on. Come on. There’s no time for this.

  Loraine met York’s concerned look over Shelly’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll help her get through this.”

  York nodded, his face grim.

  Jen bit her lip. “York—”

  He raised a hand in a stop gesture. “Hold on one more minute.” He stepped over to the policewoman who had just arrived, and asked her to protect Shelly and her family until the officer assigned to the job showed up.

  Suddenly, the hair on the nape of Jen’s neck prickled. She felt sinister eyes on her, riding her already twitching nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. She glanced around and moved closer to York. “The killer is nearby,” she whispered. “I feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to make my break. Get set. I’ll draw him out in the open. You grab him.”

  York scanned the area, then seized her arm. “No way! There’s no plan. You’re not wired.”

  With Buddy’s tearstained face flashing in her mind like a neon light, Jen yanked free. “I have to go!” With long, swift strides, she ran toward the busy street beyond the parking lot. All that mattered was Buddy and drawing out the psycho.

  “Stop, Jen. You’re not thinking straight!” York was hot on her heels.

  Okay, make this look good, she thought. Easy enough. She’d gotten a letter for track in high school, stayed in shape. Burn muscles, burn. Where was the killer? Come out, you lowlife. She left York in her dust. Come on York, get with the program. Your hotshot brother bragged that you were a top athlete, a runner. Show me your stuff.

  Her breathing was good. She poured on more speed.

  When she reached the four-lane street, she zigzagged between steadily moving cars. She glanced back. A stalled bus blocked her view. Then she saw it! A Goodwill truck speeding toward her. The driver wasn’t slowing down. Oh, no. He wasn’t going to stop. If only she could make it to the center parkway. Go legs, go. Oh, God. She couldn’t outrun the truck; it was coming too fast.