"From who?" Keough asked.
"I've been getting calls all afternoon," McGwire said. "I heard from the Crestwood police, the Sunset Hills police, the county, I've heard from the mayors of both Crestwood and Sunset Hills, I've heard from several other agencies- you got around today, didn't you?"
"We were tracking our killer," Steinbach said.
"Did you ever have him in sight?"
"Well, no…"
"And yet you instituted a search of the South County Mall, frightening many of their shoppers."
"Well…" Steinbach said.
"I heard from them, too."
"Captain," Keough said, "our man was spotted in the Crestwood Mall-"
"By who?"
"His earliest victim."
"I thought his earliest victim was dead?"
"It was an early attempt," Keough said, "back in June-"
"Never mind," McGwire said, "I don't want to hear it. I've got some people I want you both to meet."
McGwire stepped to his office door, opened it, and said, "Would you come in, please?"
Two people entered the room, a man and a woman. The man was in his late twenties, clean-shaven and well-dressed, average height and weight. The woman was in her late thirties, built sort of blocky, with short black hair and very little makeup on a face that sported a jaw just a shade too big. She was wearing a gray suit with a white blouse. Her shoes, Keough noticed, were sensible.
"These are Agents Hannibal and Connors," McGwire said.
"Thomas Hannibal," the man said.
"Harriett Connors," the woman said.
"FBI." Keough spoke with obvious distaste. His past encounters with the FBI had not left him feeling good about the feds. In the past he'd lost cases to them. McGwire hadn't taken the case away from them, but how long would it be before the federal agents would take over?
Agent Connors frowned. "You say that like it's a bad word."
Keough did not reply. He remembered he was in St. Louis, not yet settled in to the point where he could complain to the captain. Hell, if he was going to complain about something it would have been having the Sanders case handed to Jackson.
Why complain about any of it? Why not just treat it all like a job, the way Steinbach did?
"I've called the FBI in to work with us," McGwire said.
"Cap-" Keough started.
McGwire held up his hand. "I want this guy caught."
Keough hadn't been about to complain. He was going to say, "Cap, that's fine with me," but he held it back now and waited.
"And you think they're going to catch the Mall Rat?" Steinbach asked.
"Mall Rat?" Connors asked.
"That's what Keough calls him," Steinbach said. "You think you can catch him?"
"We think we can work together on this, Detective," Harriett Connors said.
"Cooperate," Agent Hannibal said.
Keough and Steinbach exchanged a glance. Steinbach had never worked with the FBI before, but Keough had. It was his experience that they rarely worked "with" local law enforcement. They usually took over whatever case they were called in on, or they allowed you to "work" with them.
"Your captain has filled us in on the case," Agent Connors said, "and we've seen the files."
"What do you need us for, then?" Steinbach asked.
Keough noticed that Agent Connors met their gaze head on. It was obvious she was the senior agent of the two.
"There are usually things that are not in the file," she said. "Aren't there?"
"Are there?" Keough asked.
"Intangibles," Agent Hannibal said.
"Work together," McGwire said, giving both men a hard look. "Catch this bastard, and do it without disrupting the entire city."
McGwire turned, went back into his office, and slammed the door.
"That's a tall order," Agent Connors said. "I mean, about not disrupting the city."
Keough looked at his watch.
"Got an appointment?" Connors asked.
Keough looked at her. "End of shift."
"I thought this was a task force," she said.
"So?"
"I thought task forces didn't work regular hours."
"We don't," Steinbach said. "But we've had a hard day."
"We know," she said. "We heard."
Keough watched her closely for a smirk, but there wasn't one.
"Whose call was it?" she asked.
"Whose call was what?" Steinbach replied.
"Today," she said, "chasing this guy's trail."
"Trying to," Keough said. He still felt bad, as if he'd missed something. They couldn't have gotten to Crestwood any faster, though. As soon as they got the call from security they were rolling. It was a lucky thing they were in the office to catch the call. But still, they had little to show for it…
"It was Joe's," Steinbach said, "and I think it was a good call, right down the line."
"So do I," Connors said.
"You do?" Steinbach asked.
"From what I heard, yeah." She turned her attention to Keough. "I read your book."
"It's not my book." He was tired of telling people that.
"It's about you."
"It's about two killers in New York."
"Whatever," she said. "It was good work, what you did in New York-if the book's accurate."
"It's accurate."
"I think we'll be able to work together."
"We can try," Keough said. She seemed okay, Agent Conners. Time would tell, though.
"You've worked with us before," she said. "The FBI, I mean."
"I have."
"Did you run this guy through VICAP?"
"We did." It was one of the first things Keough did when the task force was formed. He had been surprised that the FBI hadn't flagged it and shown up earlier.
"Anything?"
"No," he said. "No match on the MO."
"Well," Connors said, "mothers with children in strollers? I wouldn't think so. That's sort of… specialized."
Everyone had settled down. Hannibal was leaning against a file cabinet, Connors had rested a broad hip on one of the desks. Steinbach had taken a seat behind his desk, and Keough was leaning against the door.
"What can you tell me, Detective Keough?" she asked. "I understand you were the first to see the pattern."
Keough hesitated, then did a mental shrug and laid it out for the two agents.
"Well," Hannibal said when Keough was finished, "our course of action seems clear."
"Does it?" he asked.
Connors looked at Hannibal. Keough assumed there was something in the look that gave him the go-ahead.
"Sure," Hannibal said, "we've got to stake out every mall in town."
"Tomorrow," Keough said.
"Of course," Hannibal said. "If he's in a panic for a victim, as you suggest, he'll have to go out tomorrow to find one."
"So you're going to organize this by the time the malls open tomorrow morning?"
"How long did it take you to seal off that mall today?" Connors asked.
"That was one mall."
Keough moved to the desk and looked down at the pink message slips sitting in Steinbach's in box. One of them was for him.
"So," she said, "we'll take them one at a time. With the cooperation of the local police, mall security, and the agents that we bring in to oversee each action, we should be able to do it." She looked at her partner. "You and I will take the smallest mall."
Hannibal simply nodded.
"Why the smallest?" Steinbach asked.
"Well," Connors said. "I don't think he'll go back to either of the ones he was at today." She was giving them the benefit of the doubt, assuming that he actually was at the South County Mall.
"That still leaves plenty of others."
"Didn't you say he hadn't been to that mall yet?" she asked Keough.
"Not that we have a report of."
She shrugged. "We'll try that one."
Keough tucked his message i
nto his pocket, then looked from Connors to Hannibal. It was the junior agent who had that We-are-the-FBI look on his face.
"Of course," Connors said, "we'll have your cooperation, won't we?"
Keough hesitated, then nodded and said, "My partner will be here bright and early tomorrow morning."
Steinbach's look asked, "And you won't?"
"I've got something else to do," Keough said, as if Steinbach had asked out loud.
"Something important?" Connors asked.
"Yes."
"More important than this?" She was frowning.
"I'll be around in the afternoon," Keough said. "If I'm lucky, you won't have caught him by then."
"We will have caught him by then," Hannibal said.
"Really?"
The man nodded.
"Going in," he said. "We'll nail him going in."
"I wish you luck," Keough said. "Al? I've got that thing in the car you wanted."
"What thing?"
Keough gave him a look.
"Oh, the thing!" he said, standing up. "Right. I'll come out with you and we'll, uh, put it in my car."
"Agents Connors, Hannibal?" Keough said. "We'll see you tomorrow."
"Detective?"
"Yes?"
Connors smiled. "We'll need one of you to let us know how many malls there are, and where they are."
"That'll be Al," Keough said. "I'm new in town. He'll, uh, be right back in. Just wait here."
Connors looked dubious as Keough and Steinbach went out the door.
47
"What's going on?" Steinbach asked, when they were outside.
Keough took the message slip from his pocket and handed it to Steinbach to read.
"This is what you'll be doing in the morning?" he asked, handing it back.
"That," Keough said, "and flying a kite."
"In Forest Park?"
"That's the place to do it."
"What about these FBI bozos?"
"What about them?"
"What if they actually catch our guy tomorrow?"
"They probably will," Keough said. "If they seal off all the malls, they probably will."
"If he comes out to play tomorrow."
"That's right," Keough said. "If."
"And if he doesn't?"
Keough shrugged.
"They can't keep the malls covered forever. It would tie up too much manpower."
"And if they do catch him?"
"Hey, that'd be great," Keough said. "I told you from the beginning, Al. I just want him caught."
"Seems to me, after all our work, you'd want us involved."
"I don't care who catches him," Keough said, putting his hand on his partner's shoulder, "as long as he's caught, and he doesn't kill any more women."
"Or babies."
"Right."
Steinbach sighed. "I guess you're right," he said. "That is the important thing, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"I'm just surprised you're taking this so calmly."
"You know," Keough said, "I'm a little surprised, myself. Maybe it's because they didn't come on like such assholes-at least, Connors didn't."
"She seems okay." Steinbach said. "The other one's a little bit of a prick, though, don't you think?"
"Maybe," Keough said. "You know, Al, I think you may be rubbing off on me."
"In what way?"
"You know, treating this as just a job."
"That's funny," Steinbach said, "I thought you were rubbing off on me."
There was an awkward silence between them that Keough broke.
"I'll probably be in a couple of hours after you, tomorrow. Just leave me a message telling me which mall you're at and I'll meet you there."
"Which one do you think he'll be at?" Steinbach asked.
Keough thought a moment.
"Well, not Crestwood, and not South County."
"Galleria?"
"I don't think so. That's where he first encountered Kate Fouquet. After yesterday, I don't think he's going to want to see her again."
"That leaves West County, Northwest Plaza, Frontenac-"
"Which is the smallest?"
"West County."
"The bird mall?"
"That's right-or maybe Frontenac."
"Tell me about Frontenac."
"It's the classiest mall in town, with Saks Fifth Avenue and Neiman Marcus." He went on to explain that the clientele there was usually quite well off, and that it wasn't a mall that catered to kids of any ages, unless they were teenage girls with money.
"He won't go there," Keough said.
"Why not?"
"It's beyond both his means and his thinking," Keough said. "It won't even occur to him to go there."
"How can you be sure?"
"I'm not sure," Keough said, "but that would be my bet. Why don't you go to the bird mall," Keough said, "and I'll meet you there, in the security office. That's where Agents Connors and Hannibal will want to be. You stick with them."
"I never worked with the FBI before."
"It could be an education," Keough said. "Just remember to watch your back."
"I hope they know what they're doing."
"They usually do."
"I thought they were supposed to be a bunch of fuck-ups."
"In the movies, maybe," Keough said. "In real life they're generally pretty sharp."
"But you don't like them?"
"They're kind of like little kids, sometimes," Keough said.
"In what way?"
Keough put the message slip back in his pocket and said, "They don't always like to share."
"Hey," Steinbach called out as Keough headed for his car.
"What?"
"One of us should find Ken Jackson," he said. "He should be in on this."
Keough waved his hand and said, "Go ahead. He's not going to want to hear from me, anyway."
"He doesn't want to work with you," Steinbach said, "what's he going to think about working with the FBI?"
Keough opened his car door, looked at Steinbach, and said, "I don't give a fuck."
48
Detective Ken Jackson was arrogant. He knew that. He was probably a prick. He knew that, too. What he also knew, though, was that he was a good detective. He had a natural aptitude for it, and he had hunches that usually panned out-as this one had.
He'd followed a hunch for the past couple of days, and it had led him here, to this house in the Shaw section of St. Louis. Shaw was filled with one family homes built in the twenties for middle-income families. This house was on Klemm Street, behind the botanical gardens and right along Tower Grove Park. It was an end house, which gave it lots of privacy. Ideal, Jackson thought, for a killer who wanted his comings and goings to go unnoticed.
Jackson's hunch had directed him here, and he had no idea what had gone on during the day, because he had not been in touch with either Joe Keough or Al Steinbach.
"Mr. Eric Pautz," he said to himself, "get ready for an unexpected visitor."
He drew his gun and made his way to the back of the house.
***
He got into the house with no trouble. The back door lock was not that hard to slip. It was too bad somebody hadn't broken into the house and killed the fucker already.
He found himself in the kitchen and stopped to listen for sounds of movement in the house. When there were none forthcoming, he continued through the kitchen and into the rest of the house.
There was a living room and dining room, but what he was more concerned with was what was upstairs-the bedrooms. He made his way to the stairs and went up slowly, just in case the asshole was asleep. If he was he'd just screw his gun into the killer's ear and wake him up.
He reached the upstairs hall and found that the house had two bedrooms. Both doors were open, and they were both empty. One appeared to be a master bedroom, with a queen-sized bed in it, but the room looked unlived in.
The bedspread hadn't seen a wrinkle in years, of that he was sure.
It was almost as if the room was being kept as some kind of shrine.
He went to the second bedroom and knew he had the right place. The bed was unmade, the sheets soiled with what he didn't care to think about. There was a TV and VCR setup at the foot of the bed, and a couple of stacks of tapes on either side. He put his gun away and took out his pocket flash. Using the light he read the titles of the tapes. The stack of the right were Westerns: Unforgiven, Wyatt Earp, Tombstone, and others. The stack on the left, though, had titles like Bad Girls IV, Wet Nurses, Spandex Sex, and others. One in particular caught his eye. It was on top, and instead of a box with pictures on it, it was in a black rental box, the kind you got from the video stores. The title stamped on the side was Strolling Blondes. The box was empty, and since there wasn't a tape lying around, he assumed it was in the machine.
He found the remote control, which operated both the TV and VCR. He turned both of them on, then hit the play button. Seconds later he was watching a blond girl with an incredible body pushing a stroller with a small child in it. Abruptly, she was stopped by a man who engaged her in conversation. There was a choppy scene change usually evident in these kinds of movies, and the man and woman were suddenly naked on a bed, apparently in a motel. While they were exploring each other avidly with hands and mouths the stroller was propped next to the bed. It was apparent the child in the stroller was a rubber doll, but of course, within the contents of the "plot" the woman was probably cheating on her husband with her child right next to the bed.
He turned off the VCR and put the remote down on the bed. He shone his flash around the room, preferring not to turn the lights on in case Pautz came home while he was there.
He started going through the dresser drawers. One was filled with porno magazines, another with underwear which he assumed to be clean. When he got to the bottom drawer, he found it filled with a different kind of clothing- ripped and torn women's clothing. He took some of it out and held it up to the light. There were panties, a sundress, a pair of shorts, all of which showed the stress of having been forcibly removed. This idiot not only kept souvenirs, he kept them right in his house. He was either arrogant or stupid.
Jackson dropped the clothing back into the drawer and closed it. He shone the flashlight around the room once again and stopped when he saw a door, presumably a closet. Lord knew what he'd find in there.
In the Shadow of the Arch Page 18
