Billboard Cop

by Lynde Lakes

  “Have you always wanted to be a reporter?”

  “Since the third grade. That’s the year my teacher, Mrs. Knight, told me I was going to be a writer, and her words stuck. By the time I entered college I knew what I wanted.”

  He sniffed the chocolate in the air. “To major in homemaking?” he teased, hoping to relax her a bit.

  “No, wise guy. Writing. I got a Bachelor’s degree in journalism from the University of Southern California, with additional studies in English and liberal arts.”

  “Then you joined The Globe?”

  “Not right away. I had to pay my dues. I worked as a copy girl for The Sun newspaper in San Bernardino, California. Then finally an opportunity opened up on The Globe for a staff reporter.”

  His gut twisted. “You really worked hard to get where you are.” He could never ask her to give that up. He’d been selfish and arrogant to even consider it. He wanted her, and he wanted a stay-at-home wife to care for his kids. It looked like he couldn’t have both. It was a damned no-win situation. He touched the slight scar over her eyebrow. “Get this falling off the jungle gym?”

  She shook her head. “Got it chasing a story.”

  “Don’t you mind living dangerously?”

  “It goes with the job… No different than being a cop.”

  York shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth. He found it difficult to swallow it. This beautiful, talented woman he loved would never have a normal home life. How could he bring kids into a situation like that?

  Jen rose and headed for the kitchen. “Since you saved my life today, you deserve a special dessert.”

  Seconds later, she paused at the door. His heart pounded. The dessert was the brownies she’d written about in her letter while pretending to be his old-fashioned woman.

  She sat down with her own chocolate square and waited with expectation on her face.

  He took a bite and warm, fudgy chocolate, bits of nuts, and peanut butter melted in his mouth. “Umm. You didn’t exaggerate. You make the best brownies in Boston! Probably in the world!” And she’d made them just for him.

  “I’ve wanted to hear you say that since—”

  “Since you told me in no uncertain terms to get my blasted sweets at the doughnut shop,” he said, remembering the spunky fire in her eyes. Now, there was something else in them, a look he couldn’t quite identify. An overwhelming urge gripped him, and with the wonderful rich taste of chocolate still exciting his taste buds, he leaned over and kissed her. He groaned at the warm, softness of her lips, the chocolaty sweetness of her mouth. He loved this woman so much he thought his heart would burst.

  The pager at Jen’s waist went off. They jumped apart, exchanging looks that conveyed their shared question. Did the killer know her beeper number?

  ****

  Jen didn’t recognize the out-of-area code number. She grabbed her cellular from her tote bag and punched in the digits with tense fingers. York watched, narrowing his eyes. When the caller answered, she let out a sigh of relief. “It’s Dory,” Jen told him, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

  York nodded and began to clear away the dishes. Weak-kneed, Jen took the cellular with her to the couch, and sank down in cushions with one leg tucked under her.

  “I’ve been worried,” Dory said. “Is your weekend in Salem going okay?”

  “I’m home.” Jen filled her in on the latest murder and their unexpected return to Boston. They talked about Buddy’s kidnapping until tears burned the back of Jen’s eyes. “What about you?” she said, needing to change the subject.

  “We’re having a ball. But there’s something else... While Clark and I browsed a gift shop, I spied this neat black-and-white photo of an underground tunnel, dark with lots of shadows. It reminded me of the last talk I had with Gordon. He was really uptight. Probably your cop friend already knows this but—”

  Jen gripped the cellular tighter, the thread of her patience shredding until there was nothing left. “For God’s sake what bothered Gordon?”

  She bit her lip, immediately sorry for her outburst. Dory had worked as photographer on a number of assignments with Gordon and was familiar with some of his stories.

  “Take it easy, kiddo. I’m getting to that. Several bodies showed up at the same place, like the killer had a favorite spot, as if something about the location drew him back.”

  Excitement bubbled in Jen. “I know the place you’re talking about.” The repeat murder site was an abandoned warehouse where the state had bought the right-of-way for a proposed underground tunnel.

  “Hope the information helps. Clark and I will be praying for the boy’s safe return.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry I got testy,” Jen said. “I’m just so darned worried.”

  “Don’t fret about it. And stay safe.”

  After the call, Jen turned to York, her mind on fire. “Remember the building where all those bodies were found?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dory said Gordon had zeroed in on that place, working on a theory to explain why the strangler was drawn back in spite of the greater risk.” Jen tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe it was just the familiarity, or perhaps the location excited him some way. Or he lived in the area.”

  York frowned, looking agitated. “We checked former employees and nearby residents but came up empty. We staked out the building for weeks, but he didn’t come back. It was as though he knew we were waiting.”

  “You shouldn’t have given up. Gordon might still be alive if your department hadn’t dropped the ball.”

  “Looking back, we made some mistakes.”

  York’s sharp look cut deep but she couldn’t seem to get off his back. “You’re still making them. Your chief won’t even admit there’s a serial killer on the loose. Now more people are dead.” Her voice broke in spite of her efforts to control it. “And that maniac has Buddy.”

  The ringing phone stopped her tirade. They both stared at it. Jen swallowed, then grabbed up the line. “Hello,” she said with all the calmness she could muster.

  “Say hi to the nice lady,” the electronically altered voice said.

  Trembling, Jen jabbed the speaker button.

  “I want my mommy.” Buddy’s cries echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls like ricocheting bullets.

  York was at her side in an instant and squeezed her shoulder. Jen closed her eyes briefly. Thank God, Buddy’s still alive. “Don’t hurt him.”

  “You disappointed me. I told you to ditch the cop.”

  “I did. I did exactly what you said. Why did you try to run me down?” Jen fought her anger. It wouldn’t be wise to provoke this maniac as long as he had Buddy.

  York tapped his watch. Jen nodded, understanding she was to keep the killer on the line long enough for the police to trace the call.

  “Forget it,” the killer said. “Timer’s on, so listen. If you want the kid, walk outside and wait. I’ll send a taxi.”

  Jen listened for background sounds. There was a whirring, like a thousand fans. “A taxi?”

  “Don’t try to stall me. If you’re followed I’ll slip fishing wire around the kid’s scrawny neck. One quick jerk—”

  Jen shivered. Say anything. Just keep him on the line. “Which taxi company?”

  “City Cab. The kid’s life is in your hands.”

  “Wait! I have something important—”

  At the sound of the loud click, Jen met York’s gaze. “Did I do it?”

  “Takes time for Operations to verify a trace.”

  “Did you hear the whirring sound?” Her throat felt dry.

  “Maybe freeway noise. The warehouse where those bodies were found is by a freeway.” York opened the sliding glass door, stepped out onto the terrace and looked down at the street.

  “See Ted?” Jen knew it was too soon for the taxi.

  “Not yet. Clever of you to pique the killer’s curiosity with the ‘important’ thing bait.”

  “I...”

  The phone
rang.

  “Get ready,” York said, looking high-strung. “I’ll lay you odds that’s him calling back right now.”

  Jen took a breath before lifting the receiver. I can do this. Didn’t I brag that I could think on my feet? “Hello,” she said in a strong voice.

  “What’s important?” the killer demanded.

  She shivered. York came close and started to put his arm around her, but she shook her head and held him away with a firm hand. She needed all her wits to keep the killer on the line.

  “You’re missing a once-in-a-lifetime break,” she told him. “You should help me write the strangler story and grab your fifteen-minutes of fame.”

  The killer’s laugh vibrated across the phone lines, slithering through her, quickly finding its way to her spine, where it lodged and twisted like a dull needle.

  “Think I’m nuts? You expect me to lay it out for the cops who are too dumb to catch me without help. Is that it?”

  “Stay anonymous.” Her tone was much braver than she felt. “Just be THE STRANGLER. It’s perfect. We’d both get what we want. Not even the first Boston Strangler terrorized a city like this. You have a powerful story here. I’ll tell it your way.”

  “Your idea is moronic.”

  Moronic. Jen shuddered, as a faded memory flashed in her brain. The day before she’d broken up with Lee, he’d said one of her ideas was moronic. While she couldn’t condemn him based on a word... “Think about it,” she said. “Fame is heady stuff. That’s why movie stars—”

  “Taxi’s on its way. Get in it, or the kid dies.” He laughed maniacally. “We’ll talk about my fame when you get here.”

  The line disconnected.

  She placed the receiver in the cradle with a shaking hand and faced York. “Did I keep him on the line long enough this time?”

  York exhaled. “Is that what you were doing? It sounded like you’d lost your mind.”

  “Not quite.” She headed for the bedroom and York followed. She yanked open the night stand drawer, withdrew her gun and checked it. It was still loaded.

  York reached for her. She sidestepped him.

  “You have lost your mind!”

  Jen whirled around and ran to the living room.

  She felt him on her heels. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Taxi’ll be here any minute. Gotta go.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  For a fleeting moment, she thought of pointing the gun at him to keep him away. She couldn’t. The gun handler’s code played in her head: Don’t point it unless you plan to shoot it. “You can’t stop me.”

  He walked toward her slowly. “Give me the gun, Jen. You’re not thinking straight.”

  “I am. Never straighter.” An image of Buddy’s frightened tearstained face flashed in her mind. Her own tears broke loose and ran down her face. “It’s my fault the killer has him.”

  York came close. She put the gun behind her, keeping it out of his reach. He brushed away her tears with his finger. “Think, Jen. Then he’ll have both of you. That won’t help Buddy. We’ll get a policewoman to go as you.”

  Something tightened in Jen’s chest. “Dammit. Where is she? Not here. Besides the killer knows what I look like and he wouldn’t be fooled. That dumb idea would definitely get Buddy killed. The taxi’s on its way. The clock’s ticking on Buddy’s life and I’m the only one who can stop it.”

  “How?” York gave her a small shake. His voice was husky. “I won’t let you commit suicide.”

  Jen met his gaze with eyes blurred by tears. “Then come up with a plan. Quick. Didn’t you hear Buddy’s cries? We don’t know what that madman might be doing to him.”

  York tightened his jaw and glared at her.

  She knew it was a dirty trick to use his worst fears against him, his need to save everyone.

  “I want to give in to you because I care about you, and can’t for the same reason. This isn’t open for negotiation.”

  “Wanna bet?” She thrust out her chin, letting him see her stubbornness. “Figure out how I can do this safely, or I’ll muddle through alone and make it up as I go along. I mean it, York.”

  “You’re playing dirty. It’s hard enough to fight the echo of Buddy’s cries and your tears, without hearing that heartbroken tremor in your voice.” York rubbed his head. “Dammit Jen, you’re making me lose all professionalism, and for sure, my mind. But, I could wire you, follow you, get Ted and a radio team into the act. It’s risky as hell. You’ll have to obey my instructions to the letter.”

  “Just wire me, and let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Slow down. If we’re going to do this, we have to cover all the bases.”

  She watched him flip open his cell. “I have to check with radio dispatch.” When he hung up, he said, “Good work, Jen. They were able to trace the call. The call came from a pay phone about six blocks from the warehouse in the tunnel right-of-way. The SWAT team is positioning to close in. We won’t need you.”

  “Are you dense? If I don’t get in that taxi, that fiend will kill Buddy.”

  York paced a few steps. “If I didn’t see a way for this to work…”

  Jen heard the misgivings in his voice. It was costing him to allow this. “You won’t be sorry.”

  “I’m already sorry.” He dropped his equipment bag on the table and hurriedly laid out what they would need. She felt his tension as he raced time. The taxi could come any minute. Still, he wired her carefully, giving instructions as he worked. She fought the tiny bursts of desire set off by his touch. “I’ll be with you every minute.” His deep voice made her heart skip a beat. “Backup will be nearby. The killer won’t let Buddy go, but if you can separate them—”

  She pushed away wisps of hair from her burning face. “What do you mean, you’ll be with me every minute? The killer said—”

  “He may think he’s running this show. But he’s not.” York met her gaze. “Keep this in mind. Your goal is to separate Buddy from the killer not have a shoot out at the O.K. Corral.”

  He paced a second then grabbled up the phone. “I can’t leave anything to chance. I gotta call Ted and arrange a little surprise for the killer.” After he made the call, he went out on the terrace. “I’ll watch for the taxi.”

  Jen joined York on the shadowy balcony, and forced a smile when he gave her waist a little squeeze. “Ted just pulled up across the street,” he said. “Get set.”

  Jen saw him wipe sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. In spite of all his precautions, she knew he feared something could go wrong.

  “Damn,” he said. “Pushing the killer against the wall is like lighting a stick of dynamite. I have to believe in the plan. It’s the only way it’ll work. You’re strong and smart and you’ve already proven you can react quickly to danger. But after some of the tricks you’ve pulled—”

  She patted his hand. “You have to trust me—and yourself.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  She took a deep, cleansing breath, and looked up into the dark sky, searching until she found the brightest star. “Star light, star bright,” she murmured under her breath, “let me have this wish tonight. Please, no hitches to this rescue.” Impulsively, she added her secret wish. Let me find out that I’m wrong, that happy families do exist, and let me live to be part of one.

  “Sure you want to go through with this?” York asked, his voice hopeful as if he thought she’d back out.

  She nodded, afraid to trust her voice. A few minutes later, she walked out of her apartment, wired, and with her gun in a shoulder purse. York lagged behind, ducking into shadows. Unease pressed around her as if the air were a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter. Her hands felt clammy, and her knees shook.

  City Cab came slowly around the corner and stopped at the curb. On cue, she tripped and fell. The driver got out and came to her aid. She sighed in relief. It wasn’t Lee.

  Ted made a U-turn and skidded to a stop alongside the taxi. He leapt from
the car. Flashing his badge to the driver, he hustled him into his unmarked car. Over his shoulder, he called, “Get in the taxi, Jen.”

  She slid into the back seat and rolled down the window. She didn’t know the whole plan and wanted to hear what Ted was saying to the driver. She couldn’t make out their words, but they were arguing.

  She hadn’t seen York approach the cab, but suddenly there he was. Ted reached out the window and handed him the cab driver’s cap and jacket.

  Low and in the shadows, York put them on. “What’s the deal?” he asked his partner.

  “Some guy with a hat low over his face and wearing dark clothes paid the driver fifty bucks to take Jen to Old Town on the North End,” Ted said. “She’s supposed to get out at the corner of Hanover and Richmond and walk toward Salem Street. A limo will be waiting curbside.”

  York nodded and slid behind the wheel, rocking the taxi with his weight. “Remember, no matter what, don’t get into any other vehicle.”

  As he started the engine, she glanced around. It had taken them about twenty minutes to set this up, plenty of time for the killer to get here, too. Was he nearby watching? If so, they’d just signed Buddy’s death warrant.

  She hoped that wariness had kept him away, but that his obsession would make him reckless at some point.

  Fifteen minutes later, at Hanover and Richmond, she slipped her purse strap over her shoulder, got out of the cab, and walked quickly toward Salem Street. The sense of being watched scraped across the back of her neck. She felt a low-frequency vibration skimming along her nerve endings. If she could just stop trembling...

  The plan was for York to park the cab and join Ted in his unmarked car. A police van with tracking equipment was parked nearby. It was comforting to know she was a constant green blip on a watchful cop’s screen.

  Besides the tracking device, she was to keep in touch with York by talking into the tiny one-way microphone attached to the underside of her blouse collar. Cars whizzed past. Loud music throbbed from a passing van. Exhaust fumes mixed with the aroma of garlic and tomato wafting from an Italian restaurant up the street.

  The North End was Boston’s oldest neighborhood and different from any other in the city. Even at night the streets and narrow alleys rang with constant banter and laughter of residents and visitors. She should feel safe with all these people around. But with all the noise, would anyone hear her if she screamed? York would. It felt good knowing he was out there protecting her, and a new revelation to know how deeply she wanted him to care about her. “Just checking,” she murmured into the microphone. “But I know you’re there,” she said, wishing it were a two-way unit.