Dear Maggie

by Brenda Novak

  Zachman: I’m sorry. I just talked to my mother. She’s afraid I’m never going to get married again. She’s going through her list of friends and calling in favors. She tried to set me up with a man who already has five ex-wives!

  Mntnbiker: What did she say about your article?

  Zachman: She wasn’t excited.

  Mntnbiker: And you’re disappointed.

  Tears brimmed in Maggie’s eyes at the simple statement. She missed her father, she regretted that she and her brother had never been close and didn’t keep in touch aside from a yearly Christmas card, even though that would probably never change, and she wished she and her mother could connect with each other. But she was also grateful to Aunt Rita for being the tether that held her to the family and her roots. Sometimes she thought that if Aunt Rita ever let her go, she’d just drift away.

  Zachman: Maybe. Since my father died, I occasionally feel a little lost. Do you ever wonder where you belong in this big world?

  Mntnbiker: Sometimes. But then I see something beautiful, something that moves me, like courage in the face of loss or despair or the incredible sacrifices a parent makes for a child, and I know I’m where I want to be—part of it all, trying to make a difference, slugging it out like everybody else.

  John’s answer eased the ache of Maggie’s loneliness. She was part of it all, too. Her work was making a difference in other people’s lives. And what she was doing at home, raising Zach, promised to make a difference, as well. For the second time, John had managed to soothe an ache inside her no one else could reach.

  Suddenly, her attraction to the handsome and charismatic Nick Sorenson no longer seemed so frightening because she knew she wanted what she was establishing with John—a mature, cerebral, nurturing relationship.

  Zachman: You know what?

  Mntnbiker: What?

  Zachman: Don’t worry about sending me a photo. I don’t need one.

  Mntnbiker: Why the change of heart?

  Zachman: I like you just the way you are.

  FOR A FEW SECONDS after signing off with Maggie, Nick sat staring at the text of their conversation. I like you just the way you are, she’d said. Unfortunately, he returned that sentiment much more intensely than he wanted to. She was vulnerable yet strong, direct, spunky, tenderhearted.

  But Dr. Dan was still out there somewhere. He had to be caught, and Nick was the one who had to do it. He needed to step up his search, move faster, work smarter. He had to use the information he’d gleaned from the murder scene to bring Dan down, and he hoped the composite Mendez and Hurley were working on would help.

  He clicked on the pencil icon and sent Tony an e-mail at the lab, informing him of the new evidence he was mailing. Before Maggie had arrived at the river, he’d had a chance to scour the crime scene and felt certain it was indeed where Sarah Ritter had been murdered. Why Dr. Dan would be so bold as to give up the true site of her death, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t unhappy with the results. He’d found a few strands of blond hair on a broken tree branch at the mouth of a narrow path. He guessed they belonged to the victim. He’d also discovered another size-twelve shoe imprint that matched the one outside the Ritters’ window and had since gone back to make a plaster mold of it and of all the tire tracks he’d found in the damp earth. Unfortunately, Dr. Dan had killed Sarah Ritter at the launch almost two weeks ago, so his tires weren’t the only ones pressed into the riverbank—but neither were there as many as would be, say, out at the lake, where recreationists launched scores of ski boats on any given day.

  Nick had also collected bags full of leaves and twigs, hoping the lab would find a drop of blood or a strand of the killer’s hair or something else in it. But the bracelet hadn’t yielded anything. Dr. Dan had handed it to Mendez and Hurley in a plastic bag, already wiped clean of prints.

  At least, they’d have their composite soon. Mendez and Hurley had spent hours with the police artist yesterday, and were meeting with her again this morning to put on the finishing touches. They’d circulate Dr. Dan’s face as soon as it was finished and hope for some leads from the general public.

  The big question now was whether or not Dr. Dan was really driving a Geo Metro. Nick suspected he was. He was having the lab check into the possibility that the fibers they’d gleaned so far were compatible with the carpeting in that type of vehicle. But he was still puzzling over why Dr. Dan had killed Sarah at the river, then hauled her body all the way to the Midtown Dumpster. Had someone surprised him?

  He pinched his lips, picturing the scene by the river and going over the story “Bates” had fed Mendez and Hurley. Maybe, just maybe, someone had interrupted Dr. Dan that night and caused him to panic and flee. If so, that person could very possibly be the real security guard, or maybe a biker or jogger.

  Picking up the telephone, Nick called Mendez at the station. “Did you get in touch with the security company that locks the bathrooms?”

  He heard Mendez draw a bolstering breath, as though the answer to this question was painful for him. “Yeah. It’s like you thought. They’ve never heard of Bates.”

  “Did you trace the phone number he gave us?”

  “It goes to a prepaid cell phone. Dr. Dan bought it at a kiosk in the mall by giving them the same fake name and address he gave us. They didn’t even ask him for I.D.”

  Just as Nick had suspected. “They wouldn’t need that information if he bought the phone outright and paid for his minutes upfront. The whole package would cost about a hundred bucks total, which isn’t out of most people’s price range. Dr. Dan probably pitched the phone in the river after he left you, but if we can find it, we might get some prints. Do you know who has the route Dr. Dan claimed to have for Solid Security?”

  “Name’s Steele. He’s been with the company two years.”

  “Was he working the night Sarah Ritter was murdered?”

  “The person I spoke to on the phone wasn’t sure. Rather than wait for her to look it up, I told her I’d come down and take a peek at the records myself. She’s expecting me anytime.”

  “Get me Steele’s number while you’re there. I want to talk to him.”

  “Okay. I sent Hurley over to your place with a copy of the composite. He should be arriving any minute.”

  “How’d it come out?”

  “The artist did a great job. Looks just like him.”

  “Good. Call Maggie Russell at the Trib and get her a copy. Contact the smaller papers, as well. I want this loser’s mug circulating as soon as possible.”

  “Right. Did you see her article in the paper today, by the way?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That chick’s incredible. She calls me night and day, pumping me for information. I tell her as little as possible, but somehow she’s getting the facts, anyway.”

  “I told you. She’s getting her facts from the dispatchers.”

  “And I put a lid on that. Which is why she’s hounding me again and it’s driving me crazy.”

  Maggie was driving Nick crazy, too, but for entirely different reasons. After their last conversation on the Internet, he was beginning to wonder how long he could keep her at arm’s length. Worse, he sometimes forgot why he wanted to.

  It was a bad sign.

  “She’s just doing her job,” he told Mendez.

  “Wow, I never expected you to defend the press.”

  “I wasn’t defending her.” Fortunately, the doorbell rang at that moment and Rambo started barking, saving Nick from having to voice any more hollow denials. “I gotta go, Hurley’s here.”

  “Get ready for your first glimpse of Dr. Dan,” Mendez said.

  Nick knew he was more than ready.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you didn’t tell me about John.” Darla sat on the couch eating ice cream out of the container and scowling at Maggie. It was Monday, one of her days off, and she was spending the afternoon with Maggie and Zach.

  Maggie glanced up from the living room floor where she was help
ing Zach put together a puzzle. They’d just had a lunch of veggie burgers and apple slices. Zach had finished off his meal with a frozen juice treat, traces of which were still evident on his face. Maggie was eyeing Darla’s ice cream with interest, thinking that this might be a good time to splurge. “I didn’t imagine it would amount to anything,” she said. “I’m still not sure. We’re just trading e-mails.”

  “And going on cyber-dates.”

  “Tonight’s only our second.”

  “But you like him?”

  “Look, Mama. I did it,” Zach interrupted.

  Maggie admired her son’s completed puzzle, then pulled him onto her lap and rested her chin on his head before responding to Darla. “Yeah. John’s easy to talk to. He’s thoughtful. He seems intelligent.”

  “And he’s sending you a present. That always helps.”

  Maggie smiled. “I don’t expect gifts, but I have to admit I’m dying to find out what it is.”

  “Do I get one, Mama? Do I get a pres-s-sent, too?” Zach demanded.

  “We’ll see, babe.”

  “Where does John live?”

  “Somewhere in Utah. We haven’t exchanged that kind of detail yet. It’s crazy. On the one hand I’ve revealed some things about myself I don’t tell anyone. On the other hand, I haven’t even told him where I live.”

  Darla propped her feet up on the coffee table. “Better safe than sorry. It won’t hurt to know him a little better first. There’s no rush, right?”

  Maggie agreed—but she wanted to chuckle at the fact that it was Darla who offered this advice. Especially since she’d let Reese, the guy who’d stuck her with the long-distance telephone bills, move back in last night. “I actually think this is a great way to get to know someone. You say things on e-mail you wouldn’t say otherwise. It seems to me people play fewer games when you’re communicating online.”

  “I think that depends on the people. I’m sure Reese would manage a few games no matter what the forum.”

  “If you think that, why’d you let him back in?”

  “I’m hoping he’ll pay the damn phone bill.”

  Maggie laughed. “Well, John seems sincere.”

  “What about the other part of getting to know someone?” Darla asked. “The touching, the kissing. Won’t you miss not having that?”

  When she was around Nick Sorenson she missed it. But Maggie wasn’t going to let herself think about that.

  She offered Zach his crayons and settled him in front of a coloring book featuring animals and their babies, then slanted a grin at Darla. “That’s probably the real reason you let Reese move back in, isn’t it?”

  A contented smile curved Darla’s lips. “He’s better at some things than others.”

  “I hope you’re protecting your pocketbook this time.”

  “I disconnected my long-distance service. If I have to make a long-distance call, I just use my cell phone, which I keep with me. He can’t hurt me on that bill. All I have to worry about now is the dozen or so movies he rents at one time on my video store card.”

  Maggie shook her head. “The more I listen to you, the more convinced I become that there are benefits to an online relationship.”

  “Only if you think saving a few bucks is better than having a warm body in your bed at night. It’s all a matter of priorities.”

  “That warm body stuff will happen later, if it ever comes to a commitment. For now, I think we’ll continue as we are. Where is Reese by the way?”

  “He’s at the gym where he works.”

  “Last I heard he didn’t work.”

  “That was one of the stipulations of getting back together.” Darla took a big spoonful and let it melt in her mouth. “Just think, if you and John end up married and with a dozen kids, you’ll owe it all to me,” she said. “I’m the one who dragged you to that chat room.”

  “Cows say mooo. Pigs say oink oink,” Zach announced.

  Darla gave him a reproving look. “No oinks, kid, I’m eating ice cream here.”

  Used to Darla’s sense of humor, Zach ignored her and kept talking happily to himself.

  “What if John becomes my next ex? What if he kills me in my sleep?” Maggie teased.

  Darla grimaced. “Don’t mention murder. That article of yours in the paper today is pretty gruesome stuff. It’s hard to believe anyone could be so sick. Cutting out his victims’ tongues? Where did you learn he did that?”

  Maggie checked Zach’s face to make sure Darla’s words had flown over his head. Sure enough, he was completely absorbed in coloring a zebra. “Not from the police, that’s for sure. I think they’re really worried about this guy, probably because they’re having such a hard time catching him. I have another article going in the paper tomorrow, about the tennis bracelet that was found. One of my dispatcher friends came through on that one. Looks like Sarah Ritter was murdered near Sunrise at the American River.”

  “Oh, good news,” Darla responded. “He didn’t kill anyone down the street from you. He just dumped the body there. Gives you a whole new sense of security, doesn’t it?”

  “Not if you’re sleeping with your windows open,” Maggie said, ignoring her sarcasm.

  “Maybe you and Zach should move in with me until he’s caught.”

  “Are you kidding? You have a studio apartment, three cats and Reese is back. We’d all hate each other in less than a week.”

  “At least you’d be alive for Reese and me to hate.”

  Maggie shook her head. “No. That would make my baby-sitting arrangements more difficult, too. We’re all set up here, living next to Mrs. Gruber. Besides, this creep moves around a lot. He might have gone to Texas or somewhere else by now.”

  “And he might not have.”

  “Come on, Darla. Think positive. We can’t give in to fear. We have lives to lead, jobs to do.” Maggie got up from the floor. “Speaking of which, I should check my voice mail at the office. I didn’t make it in to work last night. For all I know, another body’s been discovered.”

  “Wouldn’t want to miss that,” Darla muttered.

  “Eighteen messages,” Maggie said when her voice mail informed her of the status of her mailbox. She took the cordless phone with her to the kitchen counter so she could jot down names and numbers, quickly skipping from one to the next out of long habit. But then a man’s voice came on the line, a husky, raspy voice that made the hair on the back of Maggie’s neck stand on end.

  “Maaagggiiee…Maaagggiiee…where are you Maggie? This is Dr. Dan. If you don’t know me yet, you will. I liked your article, by the way. Front page. Nice job. We’re both there in the limelight, aren’t we, Maggie? There’s something so arousing about that.” A pause. “Well, we’ll be there together again, you and I, provided you’re not like Lola Fillmore. If you are, you might not like losing your tongue any more than she did.”

  The voice faded away and the computer informed Maggie that she could save, delete or repeat the message by pushing the appropriate keys on the number pad.

  More than anything, Maggie wanted to erase it, from her mailbox and from her memory. Knowing the killer’s name, hearing his voice, made him so much more real. She wished she could make him disappear as easily as his message. But she couldn’t destroy it. The police might need to use it as evidence.

  Her hand shaking, she saved it.

  “What is it?” Darla asked, getting off the couch to come toward her. “You look a little pale.”

  Maggie swallowed. Goose bumps tingled all down her arms and legs. She felt as though she was going to be sick. Lola Fillmore had worked for the Seattle Independent. Lola Fillmore was dead.

  “I just got a message from the man who killed Sarah Ritter.”

  Darla’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God, Maggie, what did he say?”

  Maggie couldn’t bring herself to repeat Dr. Dan’s message. Not yet. All she could say was, “It doesn’t sound like he’s leaving town any time soon.”

  NICK STARED at the composite dr
awing Hurley handed him. Dr. Dan appeared to be an everyday sort of man, not particularly handsome, but not particularly fiendish-looking, either. Hurley described his coloring as dark, his build as average, and his size as about five feet eleven inches tall, two hundred pounds. The artist’s rendition revealed the rest—eyes that bulged slightly beneath a prominent brow, hollowed-out cheeks, a neatly trimmed goatee and fine, straight brown hair combed across a sloping forehead. Wong, the FBI’s profiler, had guessed he was Caucasian because serial killers rarely kill outside their own race, and she was right. But Dr. Dan was older than expected, closer to his late thirties than his twenties. With Dr. Dan’s presumed education, Nick had expected someone who looked more…refined.

  “What was his demeanor?” Nick asked.

  Hurley jammed his hands in his pockets and nodded at Rambo. “Dog doesn’t bite, does it?”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. A lot of people were afraid of dogs, but he wouldn’t have pegged Hurley as one of them. “Only if I tell him to.”

  “Then I’m glad we’re on the same side. He looks like he could wrestle a bear and win.”

  “What was Dr. Dan’s demeanor?” Nick repeated.

  Hurley gave Rambo one last nervous look before he answered. “Seemed awed by our jobs. Kept asking questions about how we got on the force. Typical cop wanna-be, I thought at the time.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I think it was an act. I think he was pandering to our egos.”

  See? Hurley wasn’t as dumb as he looked, Nick told himself. “You think he was trying to alter his appearance with the goatee?”

  “Didn’t pay much attention to his face, to be honest. I was more interested in what we might find at the crime scene.” He glanced around, apparently noticing Maggie’s pictures for the first time. “Isn’t that the Trib reporter who’s been following this case?” he asked.

  Nick considered explaining, then decided against it. There wasn’t any reason the photos were still up, except that he liked looking at them. To claim otherwise would only make him seem defensive. “Yeah, that’s her,” he said and went back to the composite. “This guy’s got a pretty generic face, no moles, no scars. Was there anything else that might help identify him? Any birthmarks? Tattoos? What was he wearing?”