by Brenda Novak
“He was wearing a long-sleeved blue button-up shirt and a pair of jeans. So if he’s got tattoos, I couldn’t see ’em. But maybe that’s why he was dressed so warmly in hundred-degree weather.”
Somehow Nick didn’t picture Dr. Dan as the type to get a tattoo. “Maybe one of his victims scratched him or bit him, and he didn’t want you to see it,” he said.
Hurley shrugged. “No way to know.”
“Anything else you can remember about him? Anything distinguishing about his speech, like an accent?”
The detective took a moment to ponder this question but finally shook his head. “No accent. Talked a lot, though. On and on. Once we got the facts, I tuned him out. Now I wish I hadn’t.”
So did Nick. “All right. Let’s get this composite circulating. Dr. Dan will be feeling pretty full of himself after what he pulled off at the river. He’ll be looking for more prey, if he hasn’t targeted someone already.”
Nick’s cell phone rang. He dug it out from beneath the case files on his desk and hit the talk button.
“Nick Sorenson.”
“Nick, it’s Mendez. I just got a call from Maggie Russell. Sounds like Dr. Dan has contacted her.”
Nick’s heart skipped a beat. “He sent Maggie a letter?”
“He left a message on her voice mail.”
That bold sonovabitch. The validation that Nick’s hunch had been right was small consolation in the face of the risk to Maggie. “Have you heard it?”
“No. I’m on my way over there right now. I wanted to let you know first.”
The mutilated bodies of the seven victims flashed across Nick’s mind, and the temptation to drop everything and drive straight to Maggie’s house was almost irresistible. But he couldn’t afford to blow his cover. Especially now that Dr. Dan was contacting the paper. For the sake of the investigation, he had to sit this one out. “Get me a copy of that message as soon as you can, and get her permission to put a tap on her phone, at home and at work, just in case he calls again.”
“You think the Trib will give us their phone records so we can trace the call?”
“No way. You know how it is with papers. Because of the privacy issues involved, the owners would never agree. We’d have to get a warrant, and there isn’t a judge out there who’d give us one, not for a newspaper’s phone records. But Maggie’s office phone has a direct line. They might let us tap it—if she will.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hurley will meet you at Maggie’s.”
Nick disconnected and glanced up at Hurley.
“What’s up?” the other man asked expectantly.
Taking a breath to ease the stranglehold of fear clutching his stomach, Nick focused on the photograph of Maggie and Zach hanging over his desk. “Dr. Dan may have found his next target.”
“The reporter?”
“Yeah.”
“Good thing we know who it is.”
“Yeah, now all we have to do is catch him,” Nick muttered. But it was difficult to feel very excited with Maggie’s life hanging in the balance.
MAGGIE COULDN’T pull her eyes away from the composite drawing Detectives Mendez and Hurley had left with her. Long after they were gone, she sat on the couch, holding the picture in front of her and memorizing every contour of Dr. Dan’s face.
This was the man who’d stalked and killed seven women. This was the man who’d just left her a telephone message promising future contact.
How could such a terrible monster live inside such a plain, average-looking face? It didn’t seem fair that there was nothing to mark him, nothing that warned of the evil within….
“So that’s him?”
Maggie turned around to see Darla standing behind her, gazing over her shoulder. Her friend had played with Zach in the backyard while Maggie met with the detectives, but now Zach was down for his nap and, for the moment, she and Darla were alone.
“What’s amazing is that this guy probably has friends and family somewhere who’d be shocked to find out what he’s done,” Maggie said.
Darla shoved her hands in her pockets and scowled. “That’s pretty creepy, Mag. Makes me feel like I can’t trust anyone.”
“I know.” Maggie was seeing threats everywhere. Though Dr. Dan had obviously altered his voice, the intimacy of his half-whispered syllables stayed with her like a song she hated but couldn’t get out of her head. And now she had the image of his face to haunt her, as well….
“The police want to tap my phone,” she said, putting the composite on the coffee table.
Darla crossed the room and sank into the opposite chair. “But the message was on your voice mail at work, not your home phone.”
“I know. They want to tap my office line, too.”
“So what do you think? Are you going to do it?”
Maggie shook her head. “I can’t. The people who call me, especially at work, have a right to privacy. I’d feel completely dishonest accepting a tip from someone who doesn’t know the police are listening in, that his or her call might be traced. Besides, I’d have to get permission from the paper, and I doubt they’d give me that—for the same reason I’m not going to ask.”
The worried look on Darla’s face intensified. “But what about you? What if this guy comes after you?”
Maggie shivered. “The fact that he’s calling the paper and not the house tells me he doesn’t have my personal information and—”
“Or he’s too smart to use it. Maybe he doesn’t want to show his hand just yet.”
What Darla said was possible, but it was a possibility Maggie didn’t want to consider. She was already spooked enough. “I’m unlisted,” she said.
“That doesn’t matter. You have phone service, don’t you? And electricity? He could find you if he really wanted to. Let’s face it, it wouldn’t be that hard.”
“Thanks for making me feel so safe and secure.”
“I think you should come home with me tonight.”
Maggie tucked her hair behind her ears and went to stand at the window, staring out at the shimmering heat. “That might be a little hasty,” she said. “I really don’t think Dr. Dan knows where I live. Besides, the police are going to be watching the house.”
Darla made a sound of irritation. “Come on. Don’t be like those stupid bimbos in scary movies who always walk into the forest alone. I’m really not difficult to put up with.”
Maggie bit her lip. “Reese won’t be happy about it, and I don’t want to come between you two.”
“Don’t worry. The phone bill will probably do that.”
Maggie chuckled in spite of herself. “You’re wonderful to offer,” she said. “And I’ll keep it in mind, but Mrs. Gruber and I agree that Zach should spend his nights at her place until Dr. Dan’s caught, and I feel pretty safe here during the day. I doubt anyone who does what Dr. Dan does to his victims would attack me in broad daylight, especially with the police periodically driving by the house.”
Darla shook her head. “I wouldn’t take anything for granted with this guy, Maggie,” she said.
Maggie crossed her arms and resumed staring out at the empty yard. If she thought staying with Darla would keep her safe, she would’ve moved immediately. But she knew that if Dr. Dan wanted to find her badly enough, he could find her at Darla’s as easily as he could find her at home. All he had to do was talk to someone who knew them. It came down to whether he wanted her badly enough—and whether the police were good enough to stop him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NICK STOOD AT THE EDGE of the bike trail with Rambo on his leash, surrounded by trees that blotted out what little light the night’s sliver of moon managed to shed. A cool breeze kicked up off the river, rustling leaves on every side and making him wonder if he should have brought a lightweight jacket. Evidently the delta breezes he’d heard so much about since coming to Sacramento had finally deigned to appear, and they made a big difference in the stifling heat.
But he wasn’t out
to enjoy the evening. He was looking for a witness. Joggers and cyclists were creatures of habit. It was a long shot, he knew, but he was hoping he’d come across someone who’d seen something at the boat launch the night Sarah Ritter was murdered. The only way to do that was to spend some time at the trail in order to see who used it at night. He needed someone to verify the blue Geo Metro, for one, especially since he hadn’t been able to talk to the security guard, Steele. Solid Security said Steele had taken his family to a reunion in New Mexico and the man’s neighbors had confirmed it. Nick wouldn’t be able to reach him until next week.
A squirrel scrambled up the closest tree as cicadas chirped a chorus in the surrounding vegetation, but the area seemed empty of people. Nick had passed a crusty old fisherman when he’d crossed the footbridge at nine-thirty, but he hadn’t seen anyone since, and that was half an hour ago.
Using his flashlight, he watched the wide, shallow river on its journey to the sea, then went over the crime scene a third time. He spotted nothing of interest until a light glimmered several hundred feet up the trail. A cyclist was coming, riding fast as he pumped his way west.
Nick stepped into his path, Rambo at his side, and called out, giving the cyclist plenty of time to stop. He didn’t want to frighten anyone. He only wanted answers.
The man slowed, obviously unsure whether or not to get off his bike, especially when he saw Rambo.
“I’m a police officer,” Nick called. “Don’t mind the dog. He won’t hurt you. I just have a few questions I’d like to ask.” He shined his flashlight on his ID, and the cyclist finally came close enough for Nick to make out the shape of a tall, gangly man.
A high school teacher in Folsom, he told Nick he rode the trail fairly often, but hadn’t been on it much in the past few weeks; he’d been home the night of Sarah Ritter’s murder. Nick thanked him and let him move on, then questioned another cyclist who rounded a bend, coming from the other direction. The second one told Nick he generally rode in the mornings. Tonight was an exception.
Another dead end.
Nick let the guy go, turned off his flashlight and tied Rambo’s leash to a sturdy branch, allowing him to poke through the woods while Nick sat on a fallen log. Earlier he’d called to make sure Maggie had made it safely to work. She was surrounded at the paper now, by the Trib’s security, but he hated the thought of Dr. Dan lying in wait somewhere, stalking her. He had to find the sonovabitch…had to put him away for good. Which would be easier if he wasn’t so exhausted. Fatigue, along with the cool, quiet night and its noises, lulled him toward sleep. His head nodded several times, then bumped his chest, and a brief period of oblivion fell before he was awakened by Rambo’s bark and the rumble of a car’s engine close by. At least it sounded close. It was difficult to tell with the quiet ripple of the river at his back and the steady warp, warp, warp of tires running over the car bridge overhead.
Pulling himself out of sleep, Nick took Rambo’s leash and jogged with him to the parking area, where he found the same two empty cars he’d seen on his way in. Nothing had changed there. But he’d been right about hearing an engine. It was coming from across the river. Headlights appeared, reflected off the water, then dipped as what looked to be a Jeep Cherokee crossed the footbridge.
Nick checked his watch. The security company had locked the bathrooms on both sides of the bridge more than an hour earlier. So who was this and why was he driving his vehicle on the bike trail? Certainly, Dr. Dan wouldn’t be stupid enough to return to the same spot….
Nick gently tugged Rambo into the cover of the nearby trees to watch. But when the SUV came even with him he saw the writing and emblem on the door—it was a park ranger.
Snapping on his flashlight, Nick flagged him down.
“Evening,” the ranger said through his open window. He was a white-haired man of fifty or so, and although his voice was amiable enough, his eyes held suspicion. “Park closes at dusk, I’m afraid. You need to walk your dog before that, young man.”
Young man? Nick hadn’t been called that in a while. He showed his identification. “I’m not exactly walking my dog. I’m investigating a murder.”
The older man blinked, then squinted as if wanting to get a better look at him. “FBI, huh? This have somethin’ to do with that crime scene up the trail a ways? The Ritter murder?”
“It does.”
“Read about it in the paper, and I saw the taped-off area, of course. Name’s Davis, Larry Davis.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Nick offered his hand, and the older man clasped it in a firm shake. “How often do you make the rounds down here?”
“Every night.”
“What time?”
“Varies. I try not to be too predictable.”
“What part of the trail were you on at ten-thirty on May 16th?”
Davis hesitated. “I’m not sure I can say with any accuracy. That was two weeks ago.”
“It was a Friday night,” Nick said, hoping to nudge his memory.
“Hmmm. Let’s see.” He rubbed his chin. “I think I was down by Watt Avenue at ten-thirty.”
“Which means you’d already been past here?”
“No, I was coming upriver.”
“Did you see anything strange when you reached the Fair Oaks Bridge?”
The instruments in the ranger’s Jeep glowed green and Davis’s radio crackled. He turned it down. “Can’t say I did. If it’s the night I’m thinking of, I stopped to use the Porta Potti, but I didn’t see anyone around. The lot had a single car parked in it, though.”
“Do you remember the make or model?”
“It was one of those small trucks, maybe a Nissan or a Toyota.”
So no Geo Metro. “At any point on your rounds did you see Solid Security?”
“No, but we miss each other a lot. They lock up at dusk.”
“Doesn’t their man ever run late?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you know Weston Steele?”
“Not well. We say a few words when we happen to cross paths. That’s about it.”
Disappointed that he hadn’t found the witness he’d been hoping for, Nick nodded. “You haven’t found a blue blanket discarded anywhere, have you? A cellular phone, a knife, duct tape…” Body parts?
“No. The past two weeks I’ve found the same kind of trash I always do—food wrappers, beer and soda cans, forgotten shirts and lost sunglasses.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye out and contact me if you come across anything.” Nick handed him a card that listed his cell phone number.
“Sure thing.” Davis gave the Jeep some gas and started to pull away, but Nick hailed him again.
“Mr. Davis?”
Brake lights flashed. “Yes?”
“Where do you put the sunglasses and T-shirts you find?”
Davis hitched a thumb toward the back of his vehicle. “I throw ’em in a box in the back of the Jeep here, then turn ’em over to the Lost and Found at the Parks and Rec office.”
“When was the last time you emptied that box?”
Davis shrugged. “A few weeks ago, I guess.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Not at all.” Davis parked the Jeep in the lot a few feet away and opened the back. Nick used his flashlight to go through a large box containing bathing suits, T-shirts, bottles of suntan lotion, water guns, a snorkeling mask—and a dressy white blouse with ruffles around a wide neck. He paused when his fingers encountered the silky material because it was so inconsistent with the other items in the box, and because Sarah Ritter’s husband had described her as wearing something similar when she disappeared.
“Do you remember where you found this?” Nick asked, pulling the blouse out from beneath the articles on top of it.
The ranger slid his hands into his pockets and rattled his loose change. “Steele gave it to me a week or so ago. Said he found it in one of the bathrooms.”
Nick took a closer look at the garment. It was
obviously expensive, which was probably why the security guard hadn’t simply thrown it away. But the buttons had been ripped off and two drops of a brownish substance marred one sleeve—a substance Nick guessed to be blood.
“WHAT A NIGHT,” Maggie muttered, unlocking her front door at five in the morning. She’d spent more than eight hours at work and had managed, through close attention to her scanners, to catch the tail end of a drug bust going down in one of the seedy motels of Sacramento’s red-light district. But despite the mad rush to reach the scene in time, despite the adrenaline that had coursed through her as she’d watched the DEA agents in action and the effort involved in writing her article, she hadn’t been able to escape the haunting fear Dr. Dan’s message had left with her. For the first time in her life, she heard steps behind her, glanced repeatedly over her shoulder and shrank from entering her own house.
“Hello?” she called, sticking her head inside the living room. Her voice seemed to echo back at her. The shadowy interior was dark, hot and quiet. When she’d headed out, she’d locked everything up tight and hoped it remained that way.
Fortunately, she’d asked Mrs. Gruber to watch Zach until mid-morning so she could catch up on her sleep; it was a relief to know they were both safe next door. Maggie considered joining them instead of braving the empty house alone. The composite sketch published in today’s paper made Dr. Dan feel that much more menacing. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see him staring at her with his dark, close-set eyes. Maybe he was already following her, stalking her…
No, fear was playing tricks on her. The police were keeping an eye on the house. And she didn’t want to wake Zach and Mrs. Gruber at this hour.
Slipping inside the front hall, Maggie closed and locked the door, then quickly turned on every light in the house, checking to make sure nothing had been disturbed.
