by John Douglas
Spider ended the report with insinuations that “Hollywood Jake Donovan and his misfit investigative team” were in exile, consigned to a backwater murder case instead of the “case of the century” where they belonged. That last bit was a nice touch and dropped in, I knew, only because I’d agreed to meet with Spider after the news, a promise I regretted making, knowing that Katie was stretched out on clean hotel sheets upstairs.
Down at the end of the bar, the cosmopolitan and the Amstel were arguing in whispers. I knew what was coming.
“Say,” said the Amstel with the toupee, “wasn’t that you? Aren’t you Jake Donovan?”
Trevor dropped a twenty on the bar and said, “This is where I call it a night.”
Spider showed up just after twelve and bought me a double. I let him carry the tab. I had known Spider for a few years, since breaking the missing-intern case, and he had been helpful on more than a few occasions, and a pain in the ass on many more.
“I’ve always wondered, is Spider your real name?”
“No. My real name’s Leonard.”
“Was ‘Spider’ your agent’s idea?”
“My own. My agent doesn’t have any ideas. What about you, you have an agent with ideas?”
“I have a guy who represents my books, a lawyer, but that’s just so the publishers don’t steal the gold from my teeth.”
“You must do all right. I’ve seen that little car you drive.”
“Yeah, with the bad starter.”
The bartender asked if he could change the channel. We said yes and then pretended to watch more talking heads for a few minutes.
“Will you tell me something?” Spider asked.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“On the record?”
“That depends.” I tossed back a few bar nuts, followed by a sip of smooth single malt.
“Does this investigation have anything to do with the attempt on the First Lady?”
I laughed. “Not at all.”
“So, this isn’t some sort of clever diversion?”
“Not even a stupid one.”
“Then why would the attorney general pull you off the case?”
I watched Spider. After years of sitting across from serial killers, arsonists, kidnappers, and rapists, I can tell when a few words of either threat or praise will pop them open like a steamed clam. “Who said the AG pulled me off the case?”
Spider tilted his head in an ah-shucks shrug. “You hear things.”
“You’re too good a reporter to believe rumors.”
It was Spider’s turn to laugh. “Jake, if you want my sources, you’ll have to do better than that.”
I raised my glass. “‘I looked upon all the works that I had labored to do and behold; all was vanity.’”
“Shakespeare?”
“Ecclesiastes.”
The Scotch and the late hour and the lull of easy banter oiled the conversation for the next hour, and we talked about family and kids and the stresses of being on the road. Spider was divorced, no kids. After the divorce he had dated a movie star and had gone to the Oscars and the A-list party that followed.
“The former president dropped by, although he wasn’t former at the time,” Spider said. “I had interviewed him before, so he knew me. When I introduced him to my date, she shook his hand and one of her breasts popped out. Just popped right out, almost hit him in the eye. The president took one look, smiled, and said, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you both.’”
Spider was a natural storyteller and he had me laughing pretty hard, my guard down, when he sprung it on me.
“So, why are you and Katie splitting up?”
I dabbed my eyes with a bar napkin and said, “What?”
“It must be hard working so closely with her.”
“What are you talking about?” I blinked, trying to follow Spider’s question and wondering what this new agenda was. The Scotch only slowed me down. “Katie’s upstairs.”
“In her own room.”
“Look, Urich, what Katie and I—”
“She’s been seeing a lot of her ex. Or didn’t you know?”
“Rob? What’s Rob got to do with this?”
“You didn’t know, did you? I guess even the great Jake Donovan, a man who’s practically psychic when it comes to serial killers, can still be blindsided by a woman.”
I put my glass down and tried to grasp on to something that would tell me that Spider Urich was wrong, was way off base, but the past couple of weeks Katie had been distant. The thoughts of her coming to bed after I was asleep, and being gone when I woke up, made my face go red, as if Urich could read my mind. That just made me want to punch him, but killing the messenger doesn’t solve anything. I’ve been the messenger too often not to know.
Spider put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, man, honest.”
“Yeah, right. I think maybe it’s time for bed.” I stood up and stuck my hand in my pocket.
Spider stopped me. “I’ve got this.”
I nodded and left. The elevator upstairs seemed to take forever. When it finally reached my floor, I hurried down to my room, fit the key into the lock, and was surprised to find my light on, the sheets turned down, and the mint still on my pillow. I called out, “Katie?” Nothing but the hum of the room air conditioner answered. Then I saw it. On the TV was a note folded neatly into a tent. My name was on the outside. Inside were words no man should ever have to read: “We need to talk.”
7
I wanted to call her room right away, but decided I could wait a few hours to get my heart kicked in.
I turned on the TV and watched the news for a while. The experts were coming out of the woods; all the authors, ex-cops, crime victims, and former colleagues of mine were on the air, and they were all talking, and most of them didn’t know any more than I did about the attack on the First Lady.
I wondered why no one had called me. Disgusted with myself, I changed the channel to a cable station that runs comforting sitcoms from the black-and-white days, before news became a twenty-four-hour torrent of talk. During a crisis with the Beav, I fell asleep.
I woke up in the box. I had gone way past the point of recognizing this as a dream. This was real. The smell of plywood and dirt and my fear filled the tiny space. My coffin closed in, squeezing me, smothering me. I couldn’t breathe. I kicked. I scrabbled at the wood over my face until my nails splintered and tore away. I hollered for help but the words were trapped inside the box with me, smothered by this homemade tomb. I jerked and twisted and screamed out, blinded by panic.
I jerked upright in the hotel bed, gasping for air. A TV voice of opportunity announced a miracle cure for toenail fungus. I turned on the light, and without really wanting to, I checked my toenails. They were pink and healthy.
I turned off the TV, went to the window, and pulled back the curtain. Eight floors below me was a small plaza with fountains and a reflecting pool. Across the street was an insurance building. On the side of the plaza was an old movie theater, its red neon marquee dancing in the waters. They were showingVertigo .
I read for a little while, until the sky began to gray, then changed into my running clothes.
I might not know much about relationships. But I know how to stalk someone and I waited until Katie came out of the elevator in her shorts and T-shirt. She didn’t seem surprised to see me.
“Good morning, Jake.”
“Mind if I run with you?”
“Can you keep up?”
“We’ll see.” We fell into a nice easy rhythm to start. Katie ran down the hill and I was grateful.
“You wanted to tell me something.”
“I think we should ease up a little, Jake.”
“Uh-huh. You mean jogging, or do you mean us, like as a couple?” The sidewalk began to climb up a gentle slope.
“Us,” she said softly.
“Does this have anything to do with Rob?”
She glanced at me, then looked straight ahead. �
�How’d you know?”
“I didn’t. Spider Urich told me.”
“The fuck. I wanted to tell you myself, Jake. I’m sorry you had to hear it that way.”
We topped the rise and headed downhill again. We jogged past brick warehouses, a gas station, and a breakfast place already filling the neighborhood with the smell of biscuits and home fries.
“When? When were you going to tell me?”
“As soon as I got it figured out myself.”
“So, Rob’s honey let him go?” It popped out before I could think of how cruel I was being, and how childish.
“Jake. Please.”
At the bottom of the hill we turned left and ran along the outfield wall of the old Durham Bulls ballpark. Katie picked up the pace.
“How long has he been back? In the picture, I mean.”
“A couple weeks.” Katie stopped at the corner, her hands on her hips. She looked at me, wanting to make sure I didn’t misunderstand when she said, “He wants us to try again.”
I tried not to show how hard I was breathing from just this short run. “And?”
She put her finger to the pulse in my neck. “You’re out of shape, Jake.”
“That’s not what’s making my heart beat like that.”
“I’m really sorry. You want to walk a bit?”
“No. I can keep up and talk at the same time.”
“Okay.” Katie took off again, up the hill away from the hotel.
I ran alongside her, my thighs beginning to burn. Mercifully, she did most of the talking.
“Rob called me a few weeks ago and asked if we could get together for coffee.”
“So you went.”
“Jake, I’ve known Rob since high school.”
I wanted to ask if she was sleeping with him, but knew how disgustingly desperate that would sound, so I kept my mouth shut.
“I loved Rob well enough to marry him, Jake, and no matter what he’s done, he’s still a big part of my life. You should understand. You and Toni talk all the time.”
“That’s about the kids.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
I nodded. She was right. We turned uphill and ran without a word for another half mile.
At the crest, Katie said, “When Rob left, I felt like I’d failed somehow.”
“It wasn’t you who failed. You know that.”
“Intellectually I know that, but emotionally I still feel like it was me, like I didn’t do everything I could, that I worked too hard, or didn’t work hard enough. And you know how I hate to fail. So, if I have a chance at making it right…”
“You’re going back to him?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I just need some time to think.” Katie paused, poised to drop the other shoe. “That’s why I’m moving back to my place. I’d hoped you would understand, Jake. I’d hoped you would react more as my partner than my lover.”
We ran into a threadbare neighborhood of scarred yards and faded homes, their windows caged in wrought iron. It was still early on a Saturday morning, and few people were up, but the few who were awake watched Katie and I jog past as intently as if we were kangaroos suddenly bounding through their weekend. At a corner near a convenience store and a check-cashing place, I stopped and arched my back, trying to suck in as much oxygen as my body was screaming for.
I rolled over Katie’s news a few times in my head and realized I had two choices: I could be an asshole and drive her away for good, or I could leave the door open for her to come back. I’m no genius, but I’m smart enough to pick which of those options was in my best interest. “I just wish you had told me earlier.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. You okay?”
“Yeah, just let me catch my breath.”
“You ready to run back?”
“How about we walk?”
Katie laughed. “Are you kidding? Come on, Jake, it’s time to burn.” And she was off, running down a weedy street next to a long-abandoned railroad track. I knew she was holding back while I was running pretty much full out, an old rhino lumbering after a young gazelle, the only consolation being that the view from back there was terrific. Katie bounded full stride, her ponytail swinging back and forth, her glutes high and tight, the backs of her thighs flexing, her calves taut. Katie was a heartbreaking natural wonder, even when she was running away.
I made it back to the hotel in time to shower and make the team’s usual on-the-road meeting over breakfast. Trevor was in his standard black fatigue pants and black pullover. I was surprised he didn’t rappel into the room.
Dom was dressed in a gray Armani, red tie, and blue shirt. When he reached for the Sweet’n Low, his cuff links caught the morning light.
“Sorry we’re late,” I said. “Katie and I did a little PT this morning.”
Dominic blanched. “Jake, why do you think it’s appropriate to parade your personal life in public?”
Katie glared at him. “Dom, we went running.”
We didn’t tell the team about our conversation, or our breakup. They would know soon enough and I was sure that Trevor, at least, suspected there was trouble in paradise.
Jerry joined us, his hair wild as if it were growing toward the light. He sat and studied the menu with the same intensity he studied trace evidence.
A family of four took the table next to us. The kids squabbled over the menus while Mom tried to quiet them. Dad, meanwhile, was trying not to stare at us. At first he seemed fixated on Katie, a natural thing, and then he stared at me.
After ordering breakfast we listened as Dom and Jerry told us what they had found the night before. Dom was as fastidious in his notes as in his dress. As a counter to Dom, to keep the universe in balance, Jerry dressed in sweats and scribbled his notes on a legal pad. As Dom turned on his laptop, Jerry pulled pages from his pocket and smoothed them out on the tablecloth.
“The victim was a white male, age thirty-four, five-eight, one hundred ninety pounds,” Dom said. “The body was in advanced rigor when discovered. No maggots had hatched as yet…”
The kids at the next table stopped arguing. Mom gasped and sat staring, as white as the tablecloth. Dad caught my eye and smiled apologetically.
“Speaking of maggots,” Jerry said, “the supervisor of the crime team, Dr. Plessy, wrote a terrific monograph on using maggots in toxicology.”
“That was a brilliantly researched and written piece,” Dom said, not one to hand out compliments easily.
“I’ve read about that,” I said. “The maggots will ingest any drugs in the body.”
“Especially barbiturates,” Jerry said. “So by analyzing the maggots, you can see if there were any barbiturates in the victim’s system.”
“You are what you eat,” Trevor said.
“I saw the supervisor,” Dom said, raising his eyebrows. “She’s very attractive.”
Jerry blushed. “Oh, really, I hadn’t noticed. We were too busy analyzing maggots.”
“Analyzing maggots,” Katie said. “Is that what you lab types call it?”
“Oh, baby, show me your maggot,” Trevor said, his voice thick with Barry White innuendo.
“Just ignore them, Jerry,” I said.
“We’re sorry, Jerry,” Dom said.
“Yes,” Katie said. “We’re all happy that you’ve found someone who shows an interest in your maggot.”
That was it. The table lost it, all but Jerry, who blushed all the way to his hairline. When we recovered, I encouraged Dom to continue.
Dom dabbed at his eyes with his napkin and said, “Body temperature was eighty-nine point three.” Dom looked up from his screen. “But it was a warm night so…” He shrugged and went back to his notes. “I’d guess he’d been killed six to eight hours previous, between midnight and twoA .M.”
At the table next door, Mom was whispering to her husband. The little boy said, “Murdered?”
The waitress and a busboy brought our plates. Without waiting, the team tucked into bowls of
fresh fruit, hash browns, eggs, grits, bacon, sausage, toast, juice, and more coffee. For this team, there was always more coffee.
“The lack of blood at the scene made us think the body had been moved,” Katie said.
Dom said, “Yes, Katie, no question. Lividity tells us that the man was reclining for several hours after death. We found shards of porcelain in the exit wound, which suggests a tub rather than a chaise lounge or sofa. That, and there were no fabric impressions in the skin.”
“Yet he was found lying facedown on the jogging trail,” Katie said.
“What was the cause of death?”
Dom said, “The medical examiner states cause of death as cardiac obliteration.”
Trevor looked up from his eggs. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. Apparently he was killed by a point-blank shot to the chest. The velocity and expansion of the bullet hammered the victim’s heart into hamburger.”
“Is that a technical term?” Katie asked, shoveling in a forkful of melon.
“It is in Detroit,” Dom said. “Now, according to the detectives, they found two nine-millimeter Kurz casings on the jogging trail. In my opinion, that caliber could not have inflicted this chest wound. My best guess is it was a .357 Magnum, although we can’t be sure without the bullet.”
“What about the head shot?”
“There were two. Both hours after the man was dead, possibly after the body had been moved.”
“You think he was killed somewhere else and then moved to the trail and shot again?”
“That’s what it looks like, Jake. Weird, huh?”
“Anything else?”
“We found semen on the end of his penis. We assume it was his but the ME is doing a DNA check, just to be sure.”
At our neighboring table, Mom stood up and pulled the kids up by their hands. I heard her whisper to Dad, “You stay if you want, we’re eating in the room.”
The kids stopped struggling and in unison shouted, “Yay! Room service!”
