He glanced at his watch. “I asked one of the Bureau’s specialists to meet me here,” he told her. “I want you to talk to her.”
Jess started to shake her head. “You’re wasting your time,” she said. “I don’t know anyone who could possibly be a serial killer.”
Except Rob.
Now where did that thought come from? It had just popped into her head, unannounced. And it was ridiculous, too. Of course Jess didn’t really think that Rob could be the man they were looking for, the man who had brutally murdered all those women. Not after last night. And this morning…
I’ve done some terrible things, Jess.
“I know that’s what you believe, Ms. Baxter,” Parker Elliot said evenly, taking off his sunglasses. “That’s why I want you to talk to Dr. Haverstein.”
His eyes were so piercing, Jess wished he would put the sunglasses back on. “Dr. Who?”
“Dr. Haverstein is a psychologist whose area of expertise involves serial murderers and their victims,” he said. “I’ve asked her to talk to you, to give you a better picture of the man we’re looking for. She should be here any minute. May we go inside?”
No. Jess didn’t want Parker Elliot and his serial murderer specialist inside her house. She didn’t want their questions and insinuations and suspicions. She didn’t want to be forced to think about Rob and wonder what this awful thing was that he’d done. It was a thing so haunting he couldn’t tell her, something so horrific that there were people after him, hunting him. Or so he believed.
It was driving her nuts. Why wouldn’t Rob talk to her, tell her, explain…?
Meanwhile, Parker Elliot was standing there, waiting to be invited into her house. Jess knew that the FBI agent wasn’t going to go away even if she shut her door in his face. He’d come back, probably with a subpoena, and then she’d have no choice but to talk to him.
“All right,” Jess said. She opened the screen door, and Elliot followed her inside. “I need to talk to Kelsey first,” she added. “Excuse me for a minute, please.”
Kelsey was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, worry creasing her forehead. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said. “But he said—”
“It’s okay,” Jess reassured her. “This time. But next time a stranger comes up to you, what are you going to do?”
“Say ‘Excuse me, I need to get my mom,’ and run and find you?” Kelsey said.
Jess kissed her daughter. “Correct for twenty points.” She opened the freezer. “How about an ice bar?”
Kelsey nodded, but still didn’t smile. “How come that man asked me about Rob?”
Jess froze, staring into the dark, coolness of the freezer. Her blood was running just as cold as the frozen treats she was touching. Parker Elliot had asked Kelsey about Rob? She forced herself to move, to breathe, to take out a Popsicle and close the freezer door.
“What did he ask you?” Jess asked, hiding the sudden tension that made her stomach churn. Elliot had asked about Rob. She tore off the paper wrapping and handed Kelsey the pop.
“He asked if Rob ever came over—if you and Rob were friends,” Kelsey replied, searching Jess’s face, her light brown eyes still so worried.
“And you told him yes,” Jess said.
“Yeah.” Kelsey’s face was so anxious. She hadn’t even given her pop one single lick. “Was that bad?”
Jess shook her head vehemently. “No, it was good, Kel. You told the truth. It’s important always to tell the truth.”
“I agree.”
Startled, Jess looked up to see Parker Elliot standing in the doorway. “Please,” she said coolly. “I’ll join you in the living room in a minute.”
He nodded and disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, Jess smiled at Kelsey. “We’ll talk more later about strangers, okay?” she told her.
Kelsey nodded.
“Now, why don’t you take that pop outside before it drips all over the kitchen floor?”
The kitchen screen door bounced shut, even before Jess had finished her sentence.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and went into the living room.
Parker Elliot was sitting casually on the couch.
Except Jess knew he was feeling anything but casual. There was an undercurrent of tension that ran through the man, and it never let up. He could create the illusion of being laid-back by putting his body in relaxed positions, but his eyes were always alert, always watching, picking up every little detail.
“You really think the serial killer might be…someone I know?” Jess couldn’t bring herself to use Rob’s name, even though Elliot had already asked Kelsey specifically about Rob.
Elliot nodded. “I certainly hope so,” he said. “Because right now, you’re the only lead we’ve got.”
“If…someone I know…is the killer,” Jess said, “then why hasn’t he…killed me?”
“There could be a number of reasons,” Elliot replied. “But I’m going to wait and let Dr. Haverstein explain. She’ll be able to answer all of your questions.”
“So that’s why you’re here?” she asked. “So this doctor can try to talk me into believing that a friend of mine is a serial killer?”
“I’m here because I think you have a solid connection to this man,” Elliot finally said. “I want to find him before he kills again, Ms. Baxter. I think you hold the key to his identity. But to be perfectly frank, I’m aware of my limitations, and I feel Dr. Haverstein’s presence will aid the questioning process.”
“Nicely said.”
Jess looked up to see a short, rather stout woman with graying hair smiling gently at her through the screen door.
“I’m Selma Haverstein.” The doctor nodded at Parker Elliot as Jess rose to her feet and opened the door. “Hello, Parker dear.”
Elliot started to stand as the older woman came inside. “Selma.”
“Oh, don’t stand. If I know you, you’ve been on your feet for the past thirty-odd hours.” Dr. Haverstein put several paper bags on the coffee table and joined Elliot on the couch. “I brought some coffee and donuts with me,” she explained as she began to unpack paper cups with lids from one of the bags. “Would you like some coffee, dear?” This last was directed to Jess.
Jess shook her head, no.
Dr. Haverstein was wearing a dress with a long, flowing skirt that reached almost to the floor. It spread around her on the couch like the gown of a queen. As Jess watched, she handed a paper cup of coffee to Elliot, then peeked into the smaller bag. “Jelly, cruller, cream-filled or honey-dipped,” she said, turning to Jess. “You pick first, dear.”
“No, thank you, I’m not hungry.”
Dr. Haverstein looked at Elliot. “Did you have lunch?”
“I’ll take the jelly donut,” he said.
“You didn’t, did you?” She sighed with exasperation, and looked at Jess as she said, “He’s going to eat this on an empty stomach, and in about twenty minutes he’s going to be very cranky from all that sugar. Just watch.”
Elliot flashed Dr. Haverstein a smile. “If I get cranky, Selma, you have permission to say ‘I told you so.’”
Selma gazed at Jess. The young woman really was as lovely as Parker Elliot had said, and she felt a flash of disappointment. Parker had used words like gorgeous, and luminous to describe her eyes, and Selma had thought perhaps the young FBI agent was infatuated with this girl. She sighed. No such luck. What she’d taken for romantic description had been mere facts. She was beginning to think maybe Parker wasn’t human, after all…. Except they had spent an awfully long time last night discussing the color of Jess’s underwear.
Selma smiled as she remembered Parker asking her what she thought about the fact that Jess had been wearing a green bra.
“You mean, like is she a member of the Green Bra Brigade?” she’d asked him back.
He’d looked at her blankly until he realized she was joking. Then he laughed. “Very funny, Selma. But I’m serious,” he had said, waiting patiently until she�
�d finished chuckling. “I mean, red or black lingerie,” he’d added, “implies a certain moral—”
She had swiftly cut him off. “Don’t you dare go Stone Age on me, Parker dear. These are the 1990s. Women can wear whatever color underwear they want. Do you know why this young woman was wearing a green bra?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to tell me.”
“I’d guess one of two reasons. Either she happens to like green, or it was on the sale rack in the store. A bargain’s a bargain, whatever the color.”
Jess became aware that the older woman was looking at her, scrutinizing her, from the top of her short, dark hair, to her sleeveless red T-shirt, her worn-out denim miniskirt, her unstockinged tanned legs, red sport socks and white sneakers.
But Selma Haverstein’s eyes were gentle, warm, and she smiled kindly at Jess. “You are very pretty, dear,” she said. “How long have you worn your hair in that style?”
Jess looked at Elliot. “What is it with my hair?” she asked. “I’ve worn it this way, I don’t know, two years? Maybe longer. Since my divorce, actually.”
Dr. Haverstein nodded. “Uh-huh.” She took a big sip of her coffee. “One of the reasons I’m here, dear, is because we know how very difficult it is for you to believe that a friend of yours could be a serial killer.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Jess said, crossing her arms. “I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.”
The doctor nodded again. “I’m going to start by describing a man I met once. He was handsome, strong, clean. He dressed well, he held down a job, did volunteer work for the community. People who knew him described him as friendly, maybe a little on the quiet side. What they didn’t know about him was that every two or three weeks, he would follow a pretty young woman, charm her, drive her to a secluded spot, rape her and kill her.” Selma took another sip of coffee. “Sometimes he’d kill her first, then have sex with the body.”
Sickened, Jess closed her eyes.
“I want to talk to you this afternoon about your friend Rob,” Selma continued.
No. Not Rob. Jess’s heart was pounding and she felt herself start to sweat. Still, she forced herself to speak calmly. “Rob’s not a killer. Not Rob.”
Selma sighed and took a file from her briefcase. “That’s what this other man’s friends said. ‘Not George.’ I met him on death row, here in Florida. He confessed to countless murders. Perhaps you’ve heard of him—George Franklin? Also known as the Ocala Killer?”
“Of course I have,” Jess said. “But—”
Selma opened her file. “Your friend Rob fits our description of the Sarasota killer pretty accurately,” she said. “He’s the right age, the right social class. He’s not flashy or loud—he doesn’t let himself stand out in a crowd. And according to your neighbors, even though he’s only been your tenant for a few weeks, he’s lived in the neighborhood for the past six or so months. He’s been seen frequently at your performances….” She paused, looking through her notes. When she looked back at Jess, she smiled kindly. “I know this can’t be easy for you. But perhaps you can help fill out our file on him. Did he talk to you at all about his childhood?”
Jess hesitated. “His mother died when he was about six, and his father, I guess, wasn’t…very nice.”
Selma exchanged another look with Elliot and Jess knew that she had given them more fuel for their fire, despite her vague description of Rob’s father.
Parker Elliot sat forward. “Serial killers generally come from abusive households. They grow up in an atmosphere of anger and violence.”
“Rob hasn’t told me that much about his childhood,” Jess said stiffly.
My father was a beast, and it’s his blood in my veins….
“Sometimes neglect is enough to trigger the social aberrations that—”
Jess glared at Elliot. “I’m sorry, I just don’t buy it,” she said, cutting him off. “All abused or neglected children couldn’t possibly become serial killers.”
“Good thing,” Selma said calmly as she jotted down some notes. “Let’s get back to Rob. Did he say anything else about his mother? Was he angry with her?”
“No,” Jess said, annoyance in her voice and in her eyes. “He wasn’t angry with her.”
Dr. Haverstein looked up, her face crinkling apologetically. “I know. I’m sorry. I hate having to ask questions like that. It always makes me feel like a cartoon caricature of a shrink.” She adopted a thick German accent. “’Vat did he say about his mutter?’” She smiled wryly at Jess, and went on in her regular voice. “This is important, though. Think hard. If you can remember what he said word for word, that’s even better.”
“He said he loved his mother more than anyone or anything— I can’t remember which—in the world. He said…” She looked down at her hands.
“Go on,” Haverstein urged. “Jess, you’re not betraying him by telling us this. You’re helping him. If he is the killer, he needs to be stopped. He wants to be stopped.”
Jess took a deep breath, glancing over at Elliot. He was watching her steadily, sitting absolutely still, like a powerful animal about to pounce on its prey.
“He said I reminded him of her,” she said. “That I wore my hair sort of the same way she did. But he said it was more than the way I looked—it was the way I treat Kelsey, the way I love my daughter.”
Dr. Haverstein had stopped writing and was looking at Parker Elliot.
Elliot finally moved, glancing at Selma and nodding. “Bingo,” he said.
Chapter Thirteen
“What?” Jess asked, looking from the FBI agent to the psychologist. “Bingo…what? Because I remind Rob of his mother, that makes you think he’s the killer?”
Dr. Haverstein turned her warm eyes back to Jess. “A few more questions, then I’ll explain. Tell me about your relationship with Rob.”
Jess shifted in her chair. “I don’t know what you mean,” she hedged. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You just said that you reminded him of his mother, whom he loved very deeply. Does Rob love you?” Dr. Haverstein’s voice was calm, soothing.
“I don’t see what that has to do with—”
“Oh, but it does.” The psychologist nodded, wide-eyed. “If Rob has decided that you are an appropriate substitute for his mother—”
“Oh, come on,” Jess said, skepticism in her voice.
Elliot cleared his throat. “Dr. Haverstein holds three different doctorate degrees,” he informed her. “All of her studies have focused on serial killers—who they are, what makes them the way they are, how they behave. Maybe you should start listening to what she’s saying, Ms. Baxter, instead of rejecting it out of hand because it doesn’t fit the way you want the world to be.”
Selma made tsking sounds at Elliot. “I told you the sugar would make you cranky, Parker,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you go away, dear, and stop glowering at us that way?”
“I’m not glowering, Selma.”
“Maybe not externally,” Haverstein replied with a sweet smile. “But internally you’re in a positive snit. Go on. Shoo.”
Parker Elliot stood up, his gaze lingering on Jess. He opened his notebook and wrote a brief note, then tore out the page, folded it, and handed it to Selma Haverstein. “I’ll meet you back at the office.” He looked at Jess again. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Baxter. Again, I’d like to stress the importance of your keeping this information confidential. Don’t tell anyone that you’ve been talking to us. Particularly not Carpenter. Do you understand?”
Don’t tell Rob that he was the FBI’s main suspect in the Sarasota Serial Killer investigation?
“I’m sure she understands, Parker,” Selma stated calmly. “Goodbye, dear.”
She waited until the FBI agent went out the door and closed it tightly behind him. Then she glanced at Elliot’s note, folded it again and put it in her file.
“So. Rob loves you,” she said to Jess.
Jess shook her he
ad. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You also don’t have to tell me that you love him. I can tell that quite clearly from the way you sit, the way you react when he’s mentioned, from a dozen different things. What we need to talk about, dear, is sex.”
Jess stood up and started to pace. “This is unbelievable. Do I have to answer your questions? Am I allowed to ask you to leave?”
“Well,” Selma said slowly, “I suppose you could refuse to cooperate. At that point, Parker would get an order for you to appear in court, whereupon you’d be asked these same questions in front of a large group of people. It’s easier for both of us this way.”
“But answering these questions here like this,” Jess argued, “just gives me the illusion of privacy. I’m well aware that every word I say is going to show up in some report that dozens, Lord, maybe even hundreds of people are going to read.”
“I can’t deny that,” Selma admitted.
“I can’t believe Rob is the man you’re looking for,” Jess insisted. “I’m sorry, I just don’t buy it. He’s not a killer. Maybe you should investigate my next-door neighbor. Stanford Greene. Or…or…my ex-husband. Ian Davis. He’s been acting peculiar lately—and he’s never been particularly stable to start with. Why don’t you go check him out?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Selma said, folding her hands over her pad. “Sit back down, and answer my questions, and then I’ll tell you my theory. I’ll tell you why, from just the little bit of information you’ve given me today, I’m more convinced than ever that Robert Carpenter is the Sarasota killer.”
Jess sighed, then slowly sat back down. “It’s a deal.”
Selma took a deep breath, glancing down at her pad. “First question. When did you first have sexual intercourse with Rob?”
Jess shook her head, hiding her indignation under a very calm voice. “Shouldn’t the first question be, ‘Have I ever had sex with Rob?’”
“We already know that you have,” the doctor said, with an apologetic smile. She took out the note that Elliot had given her and waved it at Jess. “Apparently Parker asked your daughter if Rob ever spent the night with you, if she ever saw him in your bed.”
No Ordinary Man Page 16
