Blood Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 8)

by Melissa Bowersock

  Lacey tossed aside the paper. She and Sam had made two decisions last night: they would visit the last two locations this evening, and they would avoid going down to the PD if at all humanly possible. Whatever they communicated to the captain, Tommy, or Win would be via phone or email.

  Decisions aside, however, that left her with little to do about the case. She prowled the apartment, did some vacuuming and some laundry and glared at the clock that went too slowly.

  Finally she decided to switch gears completely. She called the apartment office to talk to the community center manager about scheduling their reception. It just so happened that Saturday, May 5th, was open. Lacey grabbed it, realizing this put a definite deadline on their plans. No backing out now. Not that she wanted to, but it just felt weird to think about being… married. About having a husband.

  She sighed. Thought about how fortunate she was to find a man like Sam, so in tune with her hopes and dreams. She was so lucky.

  Not so the women who encountered the dumpster man. She thought again of Sam’s impressions; how they thought him a naïve victim of their own sexual experience—until he turned the tables on them.

  In Lacey’s mind, it was obviously apparent that some woman had at one time taken advantage of his innocence. Stolen it away for her own pleasure. And created a monster.

  ~~~

  That evening they drove down to the Stiletto Club. Lacey parked on the street, eschewing the lot she knew was in the back.

  No, thanks.

  The club was not in full swing yet, but it was on its way. The traveling neon lights that spelled out the name flashed yellow and white. The air outside throbbed with the music that was barely contained by the brick building. As Sam and Lacey approached, two young women opened the door to go in, releasing the head-banger music to the rest of the world.

  “We’re raising multiple generations of deaf people,” Lacey noted wryly.

  Sam slowed as they neared the door that had swung closed again.

  “He doesn’t like it here,” he said abruptly. Lacey dug in her pack for her phone and started recording.

  “Why doesn’t he like it?” she asked.

  Sam shook his head. “It’s too loud, too… busy. He likes the quieter places. It’s easy to get lost in here, but it’s harder to… make that connection.”

  He stood just a few feet outside the closed door, staring down at the ground. The blinking yellow and white lights shimmered in his dark hair, pulled back tight in a ponytail.

  “This was the only time he was here,” Sam said. “He got lucky, but he never came back.” He looked over his shoulder at Lacey. “Which one was this?”

  “The second one, Stephanie Haise, UCLA student.”

  He took a step backward and glanced up at the camera mounted on the building next door. “She offered to drive back to his place, said her car was out back. He gave her some excuse, said he’d be right out and meet her there. But he went the other way to avoid the camera.”

  Of course, that was exactly what they’d seen on the surveillance video, but Sam’s impressions made it abundantly clear that the killer was well aware of his surroundings and was taking all precautions. Lacey had been right in her initial assessment; this guy was very, very careful.

  “Do you want to go inside?” Lacey asked.

  “No,” Sam said. “Let’s go to the next one.”

  It was only a block and a half away. Lacey parked on the street again, but several buildings away. This place, Rafferty’s Bar, was the kind of place that had a regular clientele, and they filled up all the closer parking spots. Junker cars and battered pickups lined the street. No loud music here. The one window revealed the horseshoe-shaped bar stretching back into the dim recess of the building, the patrons lit only by beer signs scattered on the walls.

  Again, Sam took up a stance just outside the door. “This was the first one, right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Joyce Augustine, the waitress.” Lacey started filming.

  “He didn’t set out to do this,” Sam said. “He’d come down occasionally and just watch people; watch the byplay. Once in a while a woman would hit on him, but at first he shut them down. Then he began to play with them, manipulate them. He found out the more he played the innocent, the more eager they became. The more eager they got, the more his rage built up. He only had a… loose idea of what he was going to do with this one. She made it easy. She was older, rougher. Put her hand on his crotch. What she took as awkward inexperience was actually disgust.”

  Sam turned to Lacey. “He hates women. He’s more asexual than anything else, but if he went in any direction at all, it’d be gay. He absolutely abhors women.”

  Lacey concurred with a nod. That made sense.

  “Do you have a photo of the sketch on your phone?”

  “Yes, I do.” She quit recording and found the photo.

  “Let’s go inside. I want to ask around.”

  The light level inside was only slightly better than outside. Sam and Lacey stood inside the door and looked around. A handful of bar patrons glanced over at them, but then just as quickly looked away.

  “Come on,” Sam said, heading for the bar. The bartender had seen them as well, but was busy filling a beer glass from a tap. Well-used kitchen towel over his shoulder, he delivered the beer and rang up the sale before coming to the place where Sam and Lacey stood.

  “Help you?” he asked. He wore a plain white shirt with an unexpected red bow tie. The hair on the top of his head was so thin as to be nonexistent.

  “We’re private investigators,” Lacey said, flashing her license. “Just want to ask you a few questions.” She dropped her wallet in her pack but held her cell phone at the ready.

  “We’re wondering if this looks like anyone you’ve seen here in the bar,” Sam said. He nodded to Lacey and she held the phone up so the picture was clearly visible.

  The bartender studied it quickly. “Don’t think so,” he said. “Looks kinda young.”

  “Have you carded anyone lately? Anyone that looked too young but wasn’t?”

  The man’s eyes flicked from the photo to Sam, then back again. “Don’t think so,” he repeated.

  Lacey swiped through several pictures on her phone and found one of Joyce.

  “Do you recognize her? She might have been a regular.”

  The man’s eyes hardened. “Yeah. Is this about that murder? I already talked to the police.”

  “We know,” Lacey said. “But do you recall her being with anyone here at the bar? Anyone who looked a lot younger than her?”

  The man’s eyes shifted uneasily. “No. I don’t keep tabs on my customers. What they do or who they’re with is their own business.”

  Lacey glanced at Sam. He shook his head minutely.

  “Okay,” Lacey said. She put her phone away. “Thanks.”

  Sam moved away, but not toward the door. He walked to the far end of the bar, where it butted up against the back wall.

  “What’s he doing?” the bartender demanded. “Hey, is he that medium guy?”

  “Just looking,” Lacey said. “No law against that, is there?”

  The bartender closed his mouth and tightened his jaw. Sam came back to the front, then continued on around the opposite arm of the bar. A few of the patrons eyed him as he walked behind them, but no one said anything. Finally, he rejoined Lacey.

  “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

  Outside on the sidewalk, Lacey fell into step next to him. “Anything?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know how often he goes there—I don’t think it’s real often—but he always sits in that far back corner. From there, he can watch everyone in the place.”

  “Do you think the bartender recognized him? Think he was lying?”

  “Mmm, not sure. The sketch might not be accurate enough. Or the killer may not reveal his face anymore than necessary. He definitely keeps a low profile.”

  “It’s so frustrating,” she said. “We know so much about him, but we
don’t know who he is. It’s like we’re this close.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, just an inch apart.

  “I know,” he said. “And we are close.” As they approached the car, he caught Lacey’s eye. “We’ll get him. I just hope we do it soon enough.”

  ~~~

  Lacey dreamed about walking down a dark street with darker driveways and alleys leading off into a sinister mist. Her footsteps echoed off the featureless buildings that lined the sidewalk. She couldn’t see, but felt that creatures scurried in the darkness, furred or scaly, scuttling into cracks and holes…

  She was startled awake by a loud gasp from Sam, who sat bolt upright in bed. He held his hands to either side of his head and shuddered.

  “Sam?” She touched his arm, and he flinched away. She sat up. “Hey, it’s me. Are you okay?”

  “He’s killing again,” Sam whispered harshly. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. “He’s killing… stabbing… Jesus.”

  “But… when? How? Sam…”

  “Now,” he bit off angrily. “Right now. Jesus.”

  Lacey glanced at the clock radio—2:05a.m.

  Her mind raced, but her body was paralyzed. She wanted to break the connection for Sam, but how? She wanted to call for help, but who? Finally she moved up carefully behind Sam, slipped her arms around him, laid her head against his back. She didn’t talk, didn’t squeeze, just held him gently.

  She could feel the tension in his body, feel the quivering tightness in his muscles, the halting, shallow breathing. His entire body was taut, as hard as a fist, resisting. He was fighting, still and silent, but fighting with all his might. She held him softly, gently, offering an open, accepting love in place of the tense conflict that racked him.

  Finally, after several long minutes, she felt him pull in a deep, ragged breath, and when he exhaled, the muscles relaxed, softened. His shoulders sagged. He put his hands over hers, held them against his chest.

  “Is it over?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Thank God.”

  She released him, moved to his side so he could lie back down. She pressed her body all along the side of his. He gathered her to him and pulled her close.

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  He stroked the soft skin of her arm. “No. I don’t know where he is. I can’t… get that. But he’ll be disposing of the body soon.”

  “Another dumpster.” She pulled away and sat up. “I should call Tommy. Have him put out an alert.”

  “That’s a lot of area to cover.”

  “I don’t care.” She reached for her robe. “I’ll be right back.”

  She felt only marginally sorry about waking Tommy up. When he answered his phone, his voice was a little rough, but fully awake. “Belvedere.”

  “Tommy, it’s Lacey. I’m sorry to call so late, but Sam just got a… an impression. The guy just killed another woman.”

  “What? When? I don’t—”

  “Just now, at 2:05. It woke Sam up. He can’t zero in on where the guy is, but we’re assuming he’ll be disposing of the body shortly. Can you have all your night guys prowling dumpsters in the midtown area? Back lots, service entrances, loading docks? Anywhere that would normally be hidden away, and out of range of cameras.” She paused, racking her brain for more. “You know he favors that dark jacket and dark pants. I—I can’t think of anything more.”

  “No, it’s okay, Lacey. I got it. Let me call it in, then I’ll go on down.”

  “I’d say we’d meet you, but Sam’s pretty shaken up. He… witnessed the whole thing, I think.”

  “Christ,” Tommy swore.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’ll touch base with you later. But if you—if Sam—gets anymore...”

  “We’ll call you,” she finished.

  She ended the call and tossed her phone down, drew her knees up to her chest and sat quietly on the couch. She still felt the panic that first indrawn breath of Sam’s had caused, and her skin crawled with the implication. This connection was a terrible two-edged sword. If it helped them catch this guy, that was great, but having Sam at the mercy of the killer’s whims was… totally unacceptable. But how were they going to break the communication?

  She had no idea. And she didn’t know if Sam did, either.

  There was nothing more they could do tonight. She got up and padded back to the bedroom, hoping Sam was calm, hoping they’d both be able to go back to sleep. She slid into bed and inched over to his side.

  He was already asleep. Thank God.

  But sleep eluded her for most of the night.

  ~~~

  TEN

  The morning was normal except for the invisible cloud that followed each of them around on their usual routines. Lacey made coffee while Sam dressed; he got the morning paper while she did. They met in the kitchen; each got a cup of coffee and sat at the table. They sipped the hot liquid, gazing at each other over their cups, the paper lying forgotten between them.

  “You slept okay… after that?” she asked.

  “Sort of,” he said. “I think I dreamed a lot, but I can’t remember what about. I don’t think I want to remember.”

  Her green eyes reflected her sympathy. “I know you said before you don’t know where this comes from, this… connection. Have you ever had anything like this before?”

  Sam shook his head. “Never. And I sure as hell don’t want it now.”

  “I understand. We’ll just have to get this guy as soon as we can.” She set down her cup. “I was hoping to hear from Tommy soon, but if not, I’ll call him.”

  “I just wish I could pinpoint him, get a fix on his location.” He stared at the big map on the wall. “I can feel it; it’s right there in the middle, but…”

  Lacey followed his line of sight and tried to guess how many blocks were included in that “middle.” A lot, she guessed. Too many. And with only a partial description, no name, no address, no car plate, it was impossible to narrow it down any further.

  Sam turned his eyes to her. “Something I did get last night—he’s trying to kill his mother.”

  Lacey’s jaw dropped. “Kill his mother? Do you mean…?”

  “Metaphorically,” Sam said. “That’s who it feels like when he’s doing it. That’s who he’s thinking about.”

  Her phone chimed. Annoyed yet somehow grateful for the interruption, she strode to the counter and grabbed it. “It’s Tommy,” she said after checking the screen. She punched the button as she slid back into her chair.

  “Hello?”

  “Lacey, it’s me. We found it. Can you guys come down here? Since it’s fresh, we’re hoping… you know.”

  “Just a sec.” Lacey muffled the phone against her shoulder. “They found the body. They want us to come down.”

  Sam pushed his coffee cup away. “Let me call in to work, then we can go.”

  “What’s the address?” Lacey asked Tommy. Once she had it jotted down, she rose to her feet. “We’re on our way.”

  The dumpster was way out back behind a Home Depot, out past the lumber yard and garden center. Lacey didn’t have to guess which one it was of the several there; the four squad cars and yards of crime tape gave it away.

  She pulled up next to Tommy’s unmarked car. As she and Sam got out, Tommy strode over to them.

  “We’ve already got the body out, but we’re still sifting through,” he said. “This way.” He led them under the tape and toward the dumpster.

  “You’ve got all the parts already?” Lacey asked.

  Tommy glanced back. “No parts this time. The body was whole. Cut all to hell, but whole.”

  “Whole?” Lacey looked over to Sam. He didn’t seem surprised.

  “He was in a hurry,” he said. He scanned the scene and approached the dumpster carefully.

  “Why?” Lacey asked.

  Sam might not have heard. He was studying the ground. The pavement was covered with a fine silt. In this far corner of the lot, there wasn’t
enough traffic to keep the ground clear, and the dust from the busier areas settled here undisturbed.

  “Can you ask the others to stay away for a minute?” Sam asked Tommy. “Let me check the ground here. It looks like your guys have already walked all over a lot of it.”

  Tommy called away the few cops who were closest to the dumpster. They stood back in an uneven line, not happy about the interruption.

  Tommy conferred with Sam. “Can you not touch anything? Disturb anything?”

  “Don’t worry. I want this to be in as pristine a condition as you do. I’m going to walk around, but I’ll start wide and then close in slowly to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

  True to his word, Sam walked to the back fence, a good twenty feet from the dumpster, then began to carefully search the ground. He placed every step slowly, mindfully.

  Lacey joined Tommy and the other cops to watch.

  “What’s he looking for?” Tommy asked in a low voice.

  Lacey snorted. “What are you guys looking for? Clues. Except he’s looking in two different dimensions.”

  Sam had walked behind the dumpster, not yet completing his first circuit, when he stopped and called out. “You guys know about the car tracks back here, right?”

  Tommy stood up taller, as if he could see from where he was. “Car tracks.” He swung his gaze to his fellow officers. Those men looked at each other questioningly. Some shook their heads or just shrugged.

  “We hadn’t got back there, yet,” one man said.

  “It’s a small silver car; the tires aren’t very wide,” Sam said. “You can probably find out what kind by the tread pattern.”

  Lacey heard the other officers murmuring to each other. “How can he tell it’s a silver car by the tracks?” one man asked.

  Tommy broke ranks and walked carefully to where Sam stood. Lacey saw him hunker down and examine the ground. He and Sam conferred quickly, then Tommy stood up again.