by Joanna Wayne
She sighed and huddled under the covers. Life had to go on. That was what Dr. McKnight said. Fortunately, the doctor had done more than talk. She’d recruited Lucy’s help, and that had been the one blessing the year had brought.
Tending Rebecca and Timmy during the day had turned her life around, given her a reason to wake up in the morning. Now the days rushed by, the way days were meant to do. But the nights were still the pits
Except when John came around. He’d never replace Stephen, but he took her to dinner occasionally, and he made her laugh. Best of all, he never pushed for affection she couldn’t give him. He accepted the truth. She’d been Stephen Carmichael’s woman for twenty-five wonderful years, and that was enough happiness for any woman.
And that was exactly what Susan McKnight needed, a man like her Stephen had been. Bigger than life, as cuddly as a teddy bear but tough as a Louisiana alligator when he had to be. It would take a man like that to get Susan to loosen up and let herself fall in love.
The wind picked up, whistling and groaning its way around the corners of the French Quarter apartment. Lucy pulled the covers tighter around her and closed her eyes, hoping sleep would return. It didn’t. And counting sheep had never worked. That left warm milk or reading. Just to be on the safe side, she’d try both.
Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she wiggled her toes into a pair of tattered slippers and turned on the lamp. The kitchen was downstairs and to the rear of her roomy apartment. It was bright and airy by day, opening onto the sheltered courtyard, but by night it was dark and cold. One hand following the wooden railing, she made her way down the stairs, not stopping until she stood in front of the back window.
She stood quietly, staring into the shadows of a moonless night. The only light came from the background of a city that never slept. Leaves tumbled in the wind, and water from the fountain sprayed a fine mist over an azalea that had no more sense than to bloom in December.
Something moved in the shadows, a figure low in the bushes. Too big to be a cat or a dog. Why, it looked like a person. Lucy went to the door and eased out into the brisk air to get a better view. It was a person, near Rebecca’s window. The figure rose to standing position. It was someone tall, a man, with some kind of dark cloak over him.
Lucy stepped back inside and grabbed the phone. Fingers flying, she punched in 911 and gave them the address, her voice shaking so that she could hardly speak.
But the police might be forever in getting there, and someone was breaking into Susan’s apartment. Someone would hurt those precious children. She bent over, reaching into a bottom cabinet and pulled out a heavy iron skillet.
“Help me, Stephen,” she whispered, easing out the back door again. She took a few steps. “Get away from that window!” Her scream carried easily across the courtyard. The man turned. For a minute, she thought he would come after her. But he didn’t. Instead, he threw something at Susan’s back door and took off running. He went up and over the brick wall holding on to a rope of some kind that disappeared when he did.
Lucy ran across the courtyard, banging on the back door just as the lights came on in Susan’s upstairs bedroom. Lucy waited in the cool night air. When a policeman in uniform opened the door, she cast a grateful look to the sky. “Thanks, Stephen,” she whispered.
“Who are you?” the policeman asked.
“The woman who called you. You certainly got here fast.” She stooped and picked up the white envelope from the walkway by Susan’s back door.
Susan squeezed past the cop and took Lucy’s hand, pulling her inside. “What happened, Lucy? I woke up to your banging on the back door and a policeman ringing the front doorbell.”
Lucy told her about the man at Rebecca’s window and then handed her the envelope. That’s when she knew something serious was going on. The color drained from Susan’s face as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Susan read the note and then dropped it to the counter as if it might burn her fingers. “Get Detective Jack Carter,” she said to the policeman. “Now!”
9:00 a.m.
“WELL, LOOK WHAT the cat dragged in. What brings you to the precinct of stale coffee and fresh murders this time of the morning?” Casanova rolled into Jack’s cubicle, the morning newspaper under one arm and a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Business. The McKnight killer struck again. At least he claims that he has. We haven’t found a body yet.”
“Another note?”
“Yeah. He’s consistent, if nothing else.”
“Serial killers usually are. At least he’s not including souvenirs yet. Do you have the note?”
Jack picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “The original’s being checked for prints. I copied the message.”
Casanova read the note out loud. “Dear Dr. McKnight, I hope you’re enjoying your surprises. You’ll find the next one soon, I’m sure, or at least one of your patients will. She was a lovely woman and strong. She put up quite a fight. You would have been proud of her. Until next time, Happy Holidays.”
Casanova dropped the paper onto Jack’s desk. “The man’s a real charmer. How did he deliver this one?”
“Walked up to a downstairs window at Susan’s apartment and cut the screen. He’d planned to make a house call. Fortunately, Susan’s babysitter, who happens to live across the courtyard, woke up and saw him. She called 911.”
“How did that happen? You have a guy posted there.”
“There were actually two cops there at the time, but they were in the front of her place. You can’t see the back side of the apartment unless you’re inside the courtyard. You can get there through the covered parking area if you have a key or you can come through a side gate the same way.”
“Don’t tell me this creep has a key.”
“No, he came over the brick wall off the side street. He used a rope that he’d anchored to a No Parking sign. He left the rope so we could see how ingenious he was.”
“Fingerprints?”
“They’re still checking.”
“So what’s next on the agenda?”
“These computer printouts.” Jack picked up the stack and let them fall back to his desk. “Every unsolved murder case involving a young woman for the last five years. The name of every known murderer in the city who’s free to prowl the streets because some judge decided jail was not criminal-friendly.”
“So you’re checking out the city’s naughty, not nice. That has to be a long list. Any new developments?”
“Yeah. But not from that list. I also had a guy checking out Bobby Chambers.”
“I thought he didn’t have a record.”
“He doesn’t, but he does have a gambling problem to the time of about $20,000 and his creditors are the you-no-pay-we-breaka-your-leg type.”
“But how would killing young women help him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s working off his debt by taking care of someone’s hit list. In that case, the notes could be a plan to send us off on a wild goose chase and keep us away from him.”
“That’s pretty strong stuff. Do you think Chambers is the killer type?”
“That’s one of the unanswered questions. I’m not sure he’s involved in any of this, but I know he’s not perched on the pedestal Susan thinks he is. I want him tailed.” Jack picked up a dart and hurled it at a dart board on the back wall. It landed a few centimeters off dead center.
“You’re losing your touch,” Casanova said. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a jade-handled dart, the one he’d won as state darts champion a couple of years ago. He took careful aim and let it fly. “Bull’s-eye,” he said. “Some of us just have it.”
“So you better enjoy it. That’s the only thing you can beat me at.”
“Yeah, yeah, dream on, good buddy.” Casanova dropped into a chair. “Did you have Gabriel tailed last night?”
“I tried. He’s apparently disappeared, at least temporarily.”
> “So the real questions are still unanswered. Who is the killer and how is he choosing his victims?”
Jack drew a big question mark on a sheet of paper and then punctured it with an angry jab of his pencil. “And when does our psycho get around to his victim he’s had in mind from the beginning?”
“The dragon lady?”
Jack nodded, his gut wrenching at the thought
“How is she handling all of this?”
“Unbelievably well up to this point, although the last note has her really shaken. She doesn’t know about her secretary’s gambling problems, yet.”
“At least, not from you. He may have hit her up for money if he’s that desperate.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. She trusts him implicitly.”
“So, what’s next?”
“The Chief is on his way over for a briefing. I want more men, lots more, and I need them now. He’s just going to have to pull them off of other assignments. And I want complete protection for Susan and the children. Every second of the day.”
“I’d be careful on this one, Jack.”
“I’m not afraid of the Chief. He’s always backed me when I’m right, eventually. And I’m always right.”
“Yeah, and modest. But I wasn’t talking about the Chief. It’s the killer you’d best be careful of. A man like that won’t hesitate to take out anyone who’s in his way.”
“That’s exactly why I’m taking matters into my own hands. I don’t want another body on my conscience.”
“Then you’d better move fast. You know I’m here if you need anything.”
“Yeah, then how about taking care of this for me?” Jack presented him with the task of tracking down every man who’d been at the Potter-McKnight Center when Susan was there and who wasn’t there now.
“I can handle it.”
“Good, now I’ll go tackle the Chief.” And after that he’d have to pay another visit to Susan. This morning’s note had pulled her patients back into the equation whether she wanted them there or not. She could give the records freely or he’d take her to court. Lives depended on fast action. Hers included.
He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. Someone walked into the main office whistling “Jingle Bells,” and Jack picked up a wad of paper and hurled it at the sound. His favorite time of the year had suddenly turned sour on him.
11:00 a.m.
JACK STOPPED a minute to talk to the police officer who was reading the newspaper in Susan’s front office, before barging in. Susan was all but buried behind a stack of sky-high files on her desk.
“Do you work twenty-four hours a day?” he asked, straddling a chair on the other side of her desk.
“I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been here in my office since right after you left this morning, going through these files and trying to find some connection between the notes and my patients.”
“Have you uncovered anything?”
“Nothing.”
Her voice dropped in disappointment, and Jack stared at her across the desk. Dark circles surrounded her eyes. He considered reaching across the desk and taking her hands in his. He’d like to ease her fears, promise her everything would be all right.
But Susan McKnight wouldn’t be convinced by empty assurances. And he couldn’t protect her or anyone else if he let emotion rule his brain. So, he might as well get down to the dirty business at hand. “I know how you feel about confidentiality,” he said, bracing himself for her argument. “But I have to be able to look at your files. Time may be running out on our next victim.”
“I agree.” She tapped her pen on an open manila folder at her fingertips.
“What do you say we get started?” he said, standing and walking around the desk to get a better look at the file she had open in front of her.”
“Pull up a chair, and I’ll show you what I have. I’ve pulled the charts on all my married female patients that even remotely mesh with the clue about valuing relationships. I’ve developed a hierarchy based on potential.” She moved over to make room for the chair he’d retrieved from the other side of the room.
Jack picked up the nameless file on top of the stack. He opened the file and perused the contents. All identifying information had been blacked out. His pulse jumped sky-high on a new wave of agitation.
“I’m sure you didn’t ruin your original files, Susan. That must mean you spent hours and packs of paper copying everything so that you could make them sterile enough for me to examine.”
“I’ve given you the information you need.”
“No, you’ve given me the information you think I need. That’s not necessarily one and the same.”
“I have to protect my patients.”
The frustration of the last few days built up inside him like a dam ready to burst. Last night she’d kissed him as though she never wanted to stop. Today she treated him like a two-bit voyeur.
“Why did you go to all of this trouble, Susan? Do you really think I give a damn what your rich clients do with their own time? Do you think I care who they sleep with or what they do behind closed doors in fancy hotels? I’m trying to stop a raving lunatic from wrapping a cheap silk scarf around some innocent woman’s neck and pulling until she can no longer struggle for that last breath of oxygen.” He stood and shoved his fists into his pocket.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Jack.”
“You didn’t.” He paced the room. “I’m too thickskinned to be offended by psychological indelicacies. I’m just weary of fighting the good people and the bad people. You, the Chief, the press.”
“I’m not fighting you, Jack. I’m just doing what I have to do. I thought you understood that. Do you think you’re the only one who’s upset by this?” Susan’s voice was shaking, but her chin jutted out defiantly. “The man was at Rebecca’s window last night, a few feet from her bed. Don’t you know that I would do anything I can to stop him?”
Regret balled in Jack’s gut. It wasn’t enough that Susan had to deal with a lunatic who filled her life with terror; it wasn’t enough that she was working day and night to stop the man before he killed again. Now she had to deal with accusing tirades from the cop who was sworn to protect her.
“I’m sorry, Susan. I was out of line.” He touched her hand.
She pulled away. “No need to be sorry. You said what you were thinking. The events of the past few days have us both on edge. We can’t trust any of our emotions at a time like this.”
The phone on her desk rang. She put her hand on the receiver but didn’t pick it up. On the fourth ring, the answering machine started to hum and a shaky male voice filled the room.
“Dr. McKnight, this is Gabriel Hornsby. I need to see you at once.”
Susan yanked the receiver from the cradle. “Don’t hang up, Gabriel. I’m here.”
Jack punched the button that let him listen on the other phone.
“It’s Sherry, Dr. McKnight.”
“What about her?”
“I was right about her all along. She finally told me that she was in love with someone else. She was never coming back to me.”
“People sometime say things they don’t mean.”
“Not Sherry. She always said exactly what she meant. She just didn’t value relationships like you told me I had to do.”
Susan struggled for breath as Gabriel’s words rolled through her brain. The same words as in the note. “Where are you, Gabriel?”
“I’m here, in Sherry’s town house.”
“Is Sherry there?”
“Yes, but you can’t talk to her. No one can.”
“I’m coming over there, Gabriel.” The phone went quiet. “Gabriel, are you there?”
“I’m here.” His voice broke into a shuddering sobs.
“Tell me Sherry’s address. I’m coming over to be with you.” She kept her voice calm in spite of the dread that knotted inside her. She scribbled down the number and street
“Hurry, Dr. McKnight. I need you.”
>
“Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way.”
Chapter Seven
Susan was only a step behind Jack as he rushed up the walk to Sherry Hornsby’s new town house. He’d ordered her to stay at her office when he’d dashed out the door.
She’d ignored him, and she hadn’t caught her breath since. Not even in the car, when he’d swerved through traffic at breakneck speed, the portable siren and blue emergency light in his unmarked car attacking the Sunday drivers with a shrill vengeance.
A woman was dead, and one of Susan’s patients would find her. Was Sherry victim number two? Had Gabriel killed her? Susan’s mind reeled with the frightening possibilities.
Jack banged on the door. It flew open almost immediately, and Gabriel stood just inside. His hair was scattered in wild disarray, and blood drizzled down the side of his face from a jagged scratch across his forehead. Susan’s gaze went from him to Jack’s hand, which was resting on the handle of his gun.
She tried to push between them, but Jack held her back.
“Where’s your wife?”
“You don’t want to see her.”
Jack yanked open the screen door. “Step aside, Dr. Hornsby. We’re coming in.”
“What happened to your forehead?” she asked.
Gabriel wiped his hand across the wound. “I don’t know.” He stood stolidly, as if in a trance.
Susan left him to follow behind Jack as he walked into the living room. “Sherry!” Susan called her name, but there was no answer.
Fear engulfed her, catching her breath and sending blood rushing to her head. She watched and listened as Jack searched the living room and kitchen, opening and slamming doors, looking for some sign of Sherry, or her body.
When he found nothing, he headed for the second floor, taking the stairs two at a time. Jack opened the door at the head of the step and pushed inside. Susan stepped in right behind him.
The bed was made with a flowered coverlet and Sherry lay beneath the covers, her head resting on a laceedged pillow. She was still, but not sleeping. One arm hung off the side of the bed, lifeless. And her face…
