"What makes you say that?"
"I haven't seen the reports, so I don't know the dates of the reports, and I don't know the sequence of events. Once again this is theory."
They reached O'Connell's car, but the man made no move to unlock it and get in. Keough took this as his cue to continue.
"This is the first dead woman, and she matches up with the second baby. That means that the first baby's mother is out there. There's also a third report on a missing mother and baby, and they've yet to show up. I think he's dumping the babies and keeping the mothers for a while. If I'm right, then he already finished with the first mother. Her body's still out there, someplace. Also, we've yet to find the third baby. When we do, I'm afraid that child will already be dead."
"Why do you say that?"
"Again, I don't know the date the third mother and child disappeared, but if I'm right he will have already gotten rid of the third baby, and we haven't found it yet." Keough hesitated then asked, "How long do you think a child that age can last in a Dumpster, Chief? Especially if someone's accidently buried it in garbage?"
26
He watched the women on the TV screen intently, watched them pushing their strollers with their sleeping babies into a corner, then taking off their clothes and joining the man on the bed. This was not his favorite scene. The women were beautiful, blond and firm young mothers, but the scene he preferred was the one they did without the man. He wondered for a moment what would happen if he grabbed two young mothers and brought them back here. Would they do the same things the women on the screen did?
He studied the faces of the women on the screen with great care, then looked at the woman who was tied up on his bed. In the beginning, when he first saw her in the mall, he was convinced she was one of the women on the screen. Now that she was here, in his home, he could see that she wasn't. Again, he'd wasted his time-but he wasn't in a big hurry. He knew that eventually he'd find them, the two women in the movie. The guy at the rental store told him that the women were from the St. Louis area. All he had to do was keep going to the mall, because that's where young, blond mothers with strollers all showed up, eventually.
Tomorrow, he'd try the Mid-Rivers Mall, but after that he was going back to Crestwood, to see if he could find that woman again, the perfect one the dark-haired woman had ruined for him. It had felt good to punch that bitch.
He looked at the woman on his bed and knew he'd have to get rid of her soon, before she started to smell. It was amazing how ugly and foul they were when they were dead, while in life they had been so pretty and sweet.
He untied her hands and feet and sat next to her on the bed, watching the movie. He was naked, and as he watched he touched himself, stroking himself and petting her smooth butt until he was almost bursting. He turned her over then, on her back, and spread her legs. He turned her around so he could continue to watch the screen as he pushed himself into her dry pussy. He started to grunt as he thrust his hips, watching the two women on the screen. It was no good, though. She was staying dry, so he withdrew and simply finished himself off, expending his seed onto the dead woman's back with a loud groan. Laying on her, his cheek pressed to her bare skin, he noticed she was growing colder with each passing moment.
It was happening too often, now. He was killing them too fast, forcing himself to get rid of them and go out and find a new one quicker. How many, he wondered, would he have to go through before he found the right one-and when he found her, how long would it be before he found the other one?
The Crestwood one, he was convinced she was one of them. After West County tomorrow, he'd go back there and wait for her.
He turned over, wiped himself on the sheet, then put his feet against her and shoved her off the bed. He rewound the movie so he could watch it again, but he drifted off to sleep halfway through it.
***
He awoke to the sound of static on the TV screen, opened his eyes, and looked at the snowy screen. He yawned, scratched his crotch, then rolled over and looked at the woman's body on the floor. He hadn't wanted to go out tonight, but he was going to have to get rid of the body while it was dark.
He grabbed his watch from the night table and saw that it was 3:00 a.m. There were still a few hours of darkness before morning.
He got out of bed, turned off the TV and VCR, and dressed in dark clothes. After that he took down the blanket-the blanket-from the top of the closet and rolled the body up into it, not giving her a second look.
He hoisted the rolled-up blanket over his shoulder and carried it out to his car, secure in the fact that there was no law against carrying a rolled-up blanket. He didn't care who saw him, as long as it wasn't a cop.
He put the blanket in the trunk of his '79 Gran Prix and got behind the wheel. The car started smoothly, as it always did, because he worked on it himself. All he had to do now was figure out where to take this one. The first one hadn't been found yet, but he had seen on TV and in the newspapers that the second one had. That meant he wasn't going to be able to go back to Forest Park. He was going to have to come up with someplace new.
The babies were easy. It made sense to leave them in Dumpsters in apartment complexes because they were always in use. He had nothing against the kids. He wanted them to be found alive, and so far two of them had. It was getting a little late for the third one, though. If they found that one dead it wasn't going to be his fault. He wasn't going to feel any guilt.
He thought for another five minutes and then it came to him. It was perfect. He put the car in reverse, backed out of his driveway, and drove off to dispose of number three.
27
The next day Keough asked Haywood about the report that had been filed by the woman who had been punched in the eye in the mall parking lot.
"Didn't I tell you?" Haywood asked.
"Tell me what?"
"It didn't happen here, it happened in Crestwood."
"So you sent the report over there?"
Haywood nodded.
"Did you call ahead?"
"No."
"So you don't know who caught the case?"
"No," Haywood said, "all I did was send it over."
"Do you still have a copy?"
"Sure, I've got a file copy."
Haywood went to a cabinet, opened a drawer, and produced the report. He handed it to Keough.
"Thanks."
"Want to try your luck?"
"What?"
"I think she plays around, but she wasn't interested in me. Maybe she doesn't like dark meat."
"Maybe she just couldn't see you very well out of one eye," Keough said. "If she ever sees you again she'll be sorry she missed out."
"You can say that again." Seriously, Haywood asked, "No, really, what's your interest?"
"When she was here she said she was with a blonde."
"So?"
"So the dead woman who was found in Forest Park was blond."
"There are a lot of blondes in St. Louis, Joe. Why look for a connection with this one?"
"I guess I'm just nosy, Tony," Keough said, instead of trying to explain it. "Thanks for the report."
"Hey, are you gonna put that back?" Haywood asked. "It's got my name on it."
Keough had intended to take it with him but instead he jotted down the woman's name, address, and phone number and then handed the report back to Haywood.
"I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"What do I say if somebody's looking for you?"
"Tell 'em I'm out having lunch."
***
The woman's name was Marie Tobin, and she lived with her husband and son in an apartment complex off Hanley Road, near Highway 40, not far from the Richmond Heights station. That explained why she reported the attack there instead of in Crestwood, where it had happened.
Keough recognized the woman who answered the door, even though both of her eyes were open. She still had the cast on her forearm, and the eye where she'd been hit still had some slight discoloration ar
ound it, but for the most part had healed. She was even prettier than he'd thought when he saw her the first time.
"Mrs. Tobin?"
"Yes?" She obviously did not recognize or remember him.
"Ma'am, my name is Detective Keough. I was in the police station when you were making your report-"
"Of course," she said, cutting him off before he could finish. "I remember, now. You were very nice to me."
Suddenly, with recognition, her body language changed. She had been wearing a sundress at the station but today she wore a pair of overalls cut into shorts, with a yellow tube top underneath. She was showing a lot of her arms and shoulders, her ribs-and her legs.
"May I come in?" he asked.
"Sure," she said, backing away. "My husband's not home, and I just put the baby down for a nap."
He entered the apartment and found himself in a pleasantly furnished living room. He could see further into the apartment-the dining room and kitchen. There was also a stairway leading to a second floor, where he assumed the bedrooms were.
He didn't know if she'd told him about the baby so that he could keep his voice down, or if it was an invitation of some kind. He remembered Haywood saying that he thought the woman played around. He hoped she wasn't sending him signals; that was not what he was there for.
"Can I get you something?" she asked. "Some iced tea or a beer?"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Tobin-"
"Marie," she said, "my name is Marie." She stood with her hips cocked. The way she looked, he was sorry that he made a habit of staying away from married women. He was suddenly very uncomfortable being there.
"Marie," he said, "how's your arm?"
"It's fine, thanks," she said. "Doesn't hurt too much."
"And how did your husband react when you told him what happened?"
"Oh, he yelled some about me goin' out dressed-well, like this-but then he bought me flowers. Everything's all right."
"That's good. Marie, I'm here to find out the name of your friend, the one who was with you at the mall the day you were attacked."
"Deb?" she said, frowning. "Why do you want to know about her?"
"I have reason to believe that the man who attacked you was stalking her."
"If he was stalking her, why'd he hit me?"
"I think because you got in his way. You see, I believe he was planning to snatch your friend Deb and her baby. She does have a baby, doesn't she?"
"Yes," Marie Tobin said, "the same age as mine."
"I think he hit you out of anger."
Now she looked confused and forgot about posing. She rubbed her bare arms, as if she were suddenly cold.
"Why didn't he… snatch me and my baby, then?"
"I believe it's because you have the wrong color hair. Is your friend Deb a blonde?"
"Y-yes, she is," she answered. "You mean there's some maniac out there kidnapping blond women and their babies?"
"I think so. Have you seen anything in the papers about babies found in Dumpsters?"
Suddenly, her hands flew to her mouth. Her cleavage was visible between the V formed by her forearms.
"I saw something on television about one," she said, her voice muffled. She seemed to realize what she was doing and moved her hands. "You mean there have been two?"
"Two found, so far. Also, a woman was found dead in a restroom in Forest Park-a blond woman."
"Oh my God!" she said. She staggered back a step and he moved forward, grabbed her arm, and guided her to the sofa.
"Are you all right?"
"Y-yes. Do you want Deb's address?"
"That's why I'm here."
She reached out and grabbed his hand, held it tightly.
"You have to warn her!"
"Yes, I intend to do that, but… you mustn't spread this around, Marie." He was starting to wish he'd taken a different approach with her. "I only told you this so you'd know how important it was to give me this information."
"But… people have to be warned."
"And we'll do that," he said, "as soon as we're sure that I'm right. Talking to Deb will help me determine that."
"A-all right," she said, releasing his hand. "Her name is Debra Morgan. I'll-I'll write it down for you."
"Thank you."
She went to the kitchen and came back a moment later with the name and address written on a slip of paper.
"Thank you, Marie. Do you think you'd be able to give a police artist a description of the man?"
"I could try."
"That's all we'd ask, Marie. Thanks."
"Would you like me to call Deb and tell her you're coming? I'd-I'd like to help."
"That might be a good idea," he said, "but just tell her it's about the attack on you-you did tell her about that, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Good. Don't alarm her, just tell her I want to talk to her about that, and to expect me."
"All right. Will you wait-"
"No, I'll start over there," he said. "Just give me directions." After she did, he said, "Thank you again for your help."
Keough left the Tobin residence, hoping Marie Tobin would keep her word and not spread what he'd told her about. He also hoped she wouldn't panic her friend before he could get to her.
28
When Keough reached Debra Morgan's home in an apartment complex in Shrewsbury, the woman was waiting for him at the door.
"Are you Detective Keough?" she asked, anxiously.
"That's right," he said.
"Come in."
"Let me show you my ID, Mrs. Morgan-"
"Just come in," she said, backing away from the door. "Marie described you to me. She's very good at describing men."
I'll bet she is, Keough thought.
He entered the apartment and found it much like the one he'd just left, despite the fact they were so far apart. Living room, dining room, and kitchen all seemed to be downstairs, while the bedrooms were upstairs. Town-houses, he supposed they were called. He'd never lived in one himself.
"I made some coffee after Marie called," she said. "You don't have to drink any. It was just something for me to do."
"I'd like some, thanks."
"Come in the kitchen, then," she said.
Debra Morgan was much like her friend Marie Tobin. Tall and athletic, she was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, showing lots of long, long legs. The T-shirt was tied beneath her breasts, which were full and firm.
"Where is your… daughter, is it?"
"That's right," she said. "She's asleep."
That made sense. Marie Tobin's child had been asleep, also. The same age, they obviously had the same nap time.
"Please, sit at the table. I'll get the coffee."
Watching her move around the kitchen he took back his original assessment. She wasn't like Marie Tobin. While she was obviously beautiful, with a firm, athletic body, she lacked something that Marie Tobin had-heat. Debra reminded him of an actress who had been popular some years back, although he couldn't see why. Daryl Hannah had always been beautiful, but Keough had found her cold, not sexy at all. Debra Morgan was like a supermodel, lovely but aloof, and unattainable. Marie Tobin was like a… well, a real woman. Sexy, vibrant, and judging from her flirtatious nature, available.
Debra Morgan brought two cups of coffee to the table and sat adjacent to Keough. There was already sugar and cream on the table, but he ignored them.
"Would you like something to eat with it?"
"No, this is fine," Keough said. "Why don't you take a long, deep breath, Debra-can I call you Debra?"
"Of course."
"Take a breath and try to relax."
"I can't relax," she said, sitting back and rubbing her arms. "Marie told me you think the man who hit her was stalking me."
"It's a possibility."
"What if he followed me home?"
"If he was stalking you, as I think, following you home is not his style. Besides, he couldn't have had time to hit Marie and then follow you, could he?"
"N-no, I suppose not."
"All I want to do is see if you can remember him, Debra. Describe him to me, think if you've ever seen him before, or since-"
"I haven't been back to the mall since that day-at least, that mall."
"Which malls do you frequent, Debra?"
"Why not make it Deb? Debra's too formal."
"All right, Deb," he said, "I'm Joe." He put his hand out and she took it. Her palm was cold. He took her hand in both of his and stared at her. "Relax. Just answer my questions and I'll catch this guy. Okay?"
She nodded, took her hand back, and said, "Okay, Joe. Where do we start?"
"Which malls do you frequent?"
***
After taking Debra Morgan through her last few visits to the Galleria, Crestwood, and West County malls Keough wasn't able to determine much. She and Marie did notice the man watching them at Crestwood, but Debra couldn't remember him from the other locations.
"I'm sure a lot of men watch you, Deb," Keough said. "Do you, uh, dress like you are now to go to the malls?"
"Sometimes," she said, "when it's really hot. There's nothing wrong-"
"Don't get defensive on me," he said, raising his hands. "I'm just asking questions. You do notice that men watch you."
"Of course," she said, "but men will watch any woman-"
"Almost any woman," he said, and she didn't argue.
"I'll have to tell my husband about this," she said.
"Deb, I'm working on a theory of mine that the rest of the police department doesn't necessarily agree on."
"I read about that dead girl, the one they found in the men's room in Forest Park. Are you working on that?"
"No, I'm not, but I was there."
"What did she look like?"
"She was blond, in her late twenties or early thirties-"
"In other words, she looked like me."
"A bit, yes."
He didn't bother telling her that other young, blond mothers had been reported missing, along with their children.
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