"Well," she said, "I was in the laundry room and when I came out I saw this man looking in the kitchen window. I didn't say anything right away, just watched him. When he went to the kitchen door and tried to open it-well, I'm afraid that's when I yelled."
"Then what happened?"
"He ran off."
"And what did you do?"
"She called me," her husband chimed in, "and I called the police."
"Mrs. Goodman," Keough said, "can you describe the man?"
"I'm afraid I can't," she said. "Oh, he was white, and had dark hair, and I had the impression that he was about our age, but that's all. I didn't get a very good look at him, you see."
"I understand."
"Why are you here about this, Detective?" Mr. Goodman asked.
"As I told you, sir," Keough said, "I wanted to check on the boy."
"We don't know all the particulars about Brady's case, Detective," Mr. Goodman said. "We know about you finding him, and we know that he calls you Detective Keyhole, but that's about all. Is there something else we should know?"
"I'm sure if there was, Mr. Goodman, Mrs. Speck would have told you."
"Is there anything for us to be… concerned about?"
"No," Keough lied. "I don't think so." Keough didn't want to say anything to them without talking to Valerie first. He was of the opinion, however, that they should have been told more before they took Brady in.
"Can I see Brady before I go?"
"Of course," Mrs. Goodman said. "He's in his room. I'll get him."
"Why don't I just go and see him there?"
Brady's foster parents exchanged a glance and then Mr. Goodman said, "Well, I don't see why not."
"I'll show you his room," Mrs. Goodman said.
"Thank you."
She led Keough down a hallway and stopped at the first doorway they came to. Inside the room, which was furnished for a child Brady's age, the boy sat on the floor, playing with some interconnecting plastic blocks.
Brady looked up, saw Keough, and said, "Keyhole," with no expression, or particular inflection.
"Thank you," Keough said to Mrs. Goodman again, and she was intimidated enough by him to withdraw and return to the living room with her husband.
Keough moved into the room and crouched down on one knee.
"Hiya, Brady."
"Hi." The boy's eyes did not leave the blocks, which he was laboriously building into something Keough wasn't sure he'd recognize.
"What have you got there?"
"Legos."
"Ah." Keough had seen commercials, so although they had not been immediately recognizable to him, he did know the name when he heard it.
"How are you, Brady?"
"Fine."
"Brady," Keough said, "did a man come to school to see you today?"
"No."
"Did you see your daddy today, Brady?"
"No." The boy was still working on the blocks.
"Have you seen your daddy, uh, lately?" He wasn't sure the boy would know what "lately" meant. He didn't know how a child perceived time.
But the boy answered, "No."
At that point Mr. Goodman appeared in the doorway.
"Detective?"
Keough held up a hand.
"I'll see you soon, okay, Brady?"
At this point Brady looked at him and, without a smile, said, "Keyhole."
"That's right, Brady," he said, "I'm your friend, Keyhole."
Brady turned his attention back to the blocks.
"Detective?"
''Yes, sir." Keough stood up and followed Air. Goodman back down the hall to the living room.
"Mr. and Mrs. Goodman," he said, before they could speak, "what school is Brady in?"
Mrs. Goodman answered immediately, before her husband could stop her.
"Florissant Nursery."
"Detective Keough," Mr. Goodman said, "this doesn't feel right to me. I don't think we want to answer anymore questions."
"That's fine, Mr. Goodman," Keough said. "That's your right."
"And I intend to call Mrs. Speck about you."
"Please do, if it will put your mind at ease."
"Please leave now."
"Frank-" his wife said, but he silenced her with a look.
"Of course," Keough said. "Thank you for letting me see Brady."
Keough went out the front door and walked to his car, realizing that he was leaving behind a very suspicious Mr. Goodman. He hoped that he hadn't caused problems for Brady with his foster parents.
38
"I went to the school, not expecting to find anyone. Luckily, they have a conscientious director. She was working late."
"And?"
"She said the nursery school has very good security, because they've had to deal with divorced parents grabbing children in the past. She said that if anyone had been around the school looking for Brady, she would have heard about it."
"And do you think she would have?"
"She likes to think she has good security, but what she probably has is a couple of tired, retired cops, or worse, a couple of security guards with no experience at all."
"Is that what schools like that had in Brooklyn?"
"Was that my Brooklyn attitude coming through?"
"It was. In my experience, though, you hide it quite well most of the time-better than your Brooklyn accent, anyway."
"What's wrong with my accent?"
"Nothing," Valerie Speck said. "I think it's charming."
They were sitting across a table from each other in a chain restaurant called The Black Eyed Pea, which Keough had never heard of before he moved to St. Louis. This one was on Watson Road, in Crestwood, and served country-style food. Valerie had recommended a baked potato smothered in pot roast, as well as a vegetable he'd never had before: fried corn. She'd chosen this place because it was near her home, which he now knew was in Sunset Hills.
He'd never before had anyone tell him that his accent was "charming."
"Anyway," he said, "the school saw no one, Mrs. Goodman can't identify anyone, and Brady says he hasn't seen his father."
"Do you think Brady's telling the truth?"
"I think they're all telling the truth," he said. "I also think I may have caused some trouble for Brady."
She remained silent. "Did I?"
"I'm afraid you did-although it's not your fault, Joe. I asked you to go out there."
"What happened?"
"They want to give him up."
"Can they do that?"
"They can."
"What happens now?"
"I'll have to find another home for him."
"And where will he stay in the meantime?"
She sighed and said, "He has to go back to a shelter. I'm going to pick him up tomorrow."
"Damn!"
"Not your fault, Joe," she said, again.
"Ah, I probably could have been more discreet." He was disgusted with himself.
"Families do this a lot, Joe," she said. "They take in children, then discover they didn't really want them, or they don't really want this one-"
"Or maybe some cop comes in and screws it up…"
"Try your corn."
He picked it up and bit into it, and was surprised at how good it was. It was a small ear of corn on the cob with a fried coating on it.
"Good." He put it back down on the plate.
"Do you think it was Brady's father?"
"It could have been," he said, "but how would he have found him?"
"I don't know."
"Could he have gotten the address from someone in your office?"
"I suppose that's possible."
"Well, if it was him he got it from somewhere, and if it was him it means he's still around."
"What can you do about that?"
"I can tell the detective in charge."
"Nothing more?"
"I've been reassigned, Valerie," he said, and went on to tell her about the new case.
"That's… disgusting," she said, when he was done.
"Yes."
"And the third woman, has she shown up yet?"
"No."
"Do you think she's… dead?"
"Yes."
"Those poor children… that poor baby."
He saw that her eyes were tearing up.
"Hey, hey," he said, "you're a professional, you deal with kids everyday."
"Not dead ones," she said, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. "Bruised and battered ones, abandoned ones, but they're still alive. This poor child won't have a chance to grow up…"
"That's not necessarily a bad thing."
She stared at him.
"Sorry," he said. "Attitude, again."
"I know some children turn out to be… people you wouldn't want to know."
"That's such a nice way of putting it."
"But I think they all deserve the right to grow up."
"I agree, Valerie," he said. "I'm just as sick about that dead baby as you are."
"I hope you find the bastard," she said, fervently, "and I hope he suffers for what he's done."
"We'll find him."
Slowly her features relaxed and her eyes cleared. He wondered if that was what she'd look like when in the throes of passion.
"What about Brady?"
"I'll give Detective Jackson the information," he said, and then trailed off.
"What is it?"
He had just realized that if he'd been pulled off all of his cases to work on the Mall Rat case and Steinbach had also, then the same had to be true for Jackson.
That meant he didn't know who was working on the Sanders case, if anyone.
"Joe?"
"Just a thought, that's all."
"Must have been a heavy one."
He smiled.
"I'll talk to the detective working Brady's case, Valerie," he said. "And I'll keep an eye on it."
"You care about him, don't you?"
Keough hesitated, then said, "Yeah, I do. I care what happens to him. I also care about what happened to his parents."
"If that was his father out in Florissant, then where's his mother? Dead?"
"Maybe."
"Why hasn't her body been found?"
"I don't know."
"Poor you," she said, suddenly.
"Why?"
"You're waiting for two more women to show up dead," she said, reaching across the table and putting her hand on his. "That must be hard on you."
"Well… it isn't easy."
She left her hand there for a few more moments, then removed it.
"I appreciate being able to talk to you about this, Valerie."
"I'm glad you feel you can, Joe."
Aside from their business dealings, Keough quite liked this other game they were playing. It was more fun than just rushing to bed the first night they had gone out.
***
In the parking lot they stood by her car.
"I have to get up early," she said.
"So do I."
He kissed her, and she clung to him for a moment. As if she was a mind reader she said in his ear, "I like this game."
She got into her car quickly, and drove away.
39
"Where were you yesterday afternoon?" Steinbach said as Keough walked into the office the next morning.
"Had to run an errand," Keough said.
"Did it have to do with our case?"
Keough made a face. "Not exactly."
Steinbach gave him a look and said, "Maybe you should let me in on it."
Keough sat down and accepted the container of coffee Steinbach offered him. He proceeded to tell him not only about the errand, but about his whole day. The other detective listened intently and did not interrupt.
"So?" Keough said, when he was finished.
"So what?"
"So, who's taking Jackson's cases while he's working with us?"
"That's a good question."
"How do we find out the answer?"
"Well," Steinbach said, dropping his feet down off the desk, "we can ask him, or we can look at the files."
"Let's look at the files."
Steinbach went to a file cabinet against the wall-one of three-and opened it. He pulled a file out, opened it, and scanned it. His eyebrows went up and he looked at Keough.
"What?"
"The case is closed."
Keough sat straight up. "It can't be."
"It can, and is," Steinbach said. "No progress, he says. No body. Closed until farther evidence arises."
"How can farther evidence come to light if he's not looking for it?"
"You want to take a look?" Steinbach offered Keough the file.
"You bet I do."
He got up and took the file from Steinbach. "Shit," he said, and dropped the file on top of the file cabinet. Steinbach retrieved it and returned it to the drawer.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"He closed it prematurely," Keough said, "probably because of this task force thing. First he didn't think there was a serial killer, and now he wants the credit for catching him so bad that he'll shitcan some other cases."
"It's not some other cases you're talking about," Steinbach said. "It's this one in particular, the Sanders case."
"You're right."
"Is it the little boy?"
"Yes… partly."
"What else?"
"I want to know what happened," Keough said. "Don't you? Isn't that why we became detectives?"
Steinbach studied Keough for a few moments before replying.
"Joe, this is not New York. We don't have unlimited manpower. Sure, I'd like to know what happened to the Sanderses. I'd also like to know what happened to half a dozen other people who are missing, or who were killed. The simple fact of the matter is, I don't and I probably never will. I'm sure the same is true of you."
"In spades," Keough said, "but this is different."
"Why? Because it involves a little boy?"
"Because there are still avenues of investigation to be pursued, that's why. It's not ready to be closed."
"Take it up with Jackson, then."
"Sure," Keough said. "He'll welcome my input."
"The boss, then."
"I don't like Jackson," Keough said, "but I'm not ready to go over a fellow officer's head."
"Then what do you intend to do?"
Keough thought a moment, then said, "I don't know."
"If this task force thing is going to work we need to work together," Steinbach said. "I need to know you're with me on this, one hundred percent."
"I am," Keough said, "but what about Jackson?"
"He's the flavor of the month, Joe," Steinbach said, "the prima donna. He's off on his own, and if he catches the guy, fine, but I think it's you and me, working together, who are going to catch him-that is, if we're both committed to it."
"I'm committed, Al."
"All right, then," Steinbach said. "Let's work on it."
Working on it meant some brainstorming while they waited for a sketch of the suspect from Marie Tobin and Kate Fouquet.
"What have we got so far?" Steinbach asked.
"We've got a guy who has a mother fixation."
"I thought you didn't like psychobabble?"
"I don't," Keough said, "but hear me out."
"Go ahead."
He went through it all again. The young mothers who were pushing baby strollers, the mothers turning up dead. Was the Mall Rat killing his own mother? Was the third baby killed by accident?
Steinbach nodded during all this and waited for Keough to go on. Unlike Jackson, who resented Keough for his New York experience, Steinbach thought he could learn a lot from a man like Keough. He himself had rarely been out of St. Louis.
"We know he's working malls, and we know he prefers the surface parking lots to the covered lots."
"We know that?"
"I think we know that," Keough said.
"So we've go
t a guy who likes blond mothers, has sex with them, and kills them-"
"Sometimes he has sex with them after he kills them."
"-and takes the babies and leaves them someplace relatively safe."
"Right."
Steinbach shook his head. "He thinks a Dumpster is someplace safe?"
"Well, two out of three times, it was."
"Joe," Steinbach said, "how do we know he'll do it again? After all, we only found two women."
"There's another one out there, Al," Keough said. "Three babies, three mothers. She just hasn't turned up."
"And she might never," Steinbach added.
"I know."
"Maybe he'll just stop."
"I hope not."
"What would be so wrong with that?"
"I want to catch him, Al," Keough said, "that's what would be so wrong."
"You take being a detective real serious, don't you?"
"Don't you?"
"It's a job," Steinbach said. "That's all. All I ever wanted to be was a policeman. When they promoted me to detective I took the job because it paid more. To tell you the truth, I'd rather be riding around the street in a car."
"Then why aren't you?"
"I've got a wife and two kids, remember?" Steinbach said. "My life's not my own."
They stared at each other for a few moments, then around the room, each alone with his own thoughts for a short while.
"Not much to do before we get the sketches," Steinbach said.
"I know," Keough said. "If the sketches match we'll be able to start showing them in malls."
"And if they don't?"
Keough shrugged.
"Lunch?" Steinbach asked.
"It's not lunch time."
"Let's fake it."
Keough shrugged. He'd eat something, only because there was nothing else to do-for now.
40
He was back at Crestwood. Mid-Rivers had been a flop. He hadn't seen one woman there who had attracted him, let alone started his heart pumping the way it did when he really wanted one of them. Oh, there were plenty of women with strollers, but none of them were right.
So, back to Crestwood, to see if he could find the one who got away.
Crestwood had a Dillard's at one end, and a Famous-Barr at the other. Right in the center was a Sears. Crestwood resembled two shopping centers that had been connected and covered and made into one large mall.
In the Shadow of the Arch Page 15
