by Pat White
Adam clenched his jaw.
“Come on, mate,” Max said. “I’m trying to save a boy’s life.”
Adam sighed. “A few months ago, Lyle went to a party at the beach, without Beth. He didn’t come home until eight the next morning. He told me he drank too much and blacked out. Woke up in the back of his car. He couldn’t remember what happened.”
“Is that typical for him?”
“No, but he and Beth had had a fight, so he went out with some of the guys.”
“That’s it?”
He licked his lips again. “There was a dent in the front panel of his car. He didn’t remember hitting anything. We watched the newspaper, but nothing showed up about a hit and run. Anyway, a few days later Lyle started getting calls from a woman. She’d call, ask to speak with him, and hang up when he’d pick up the phone. She’d always call the house phone, never his cell.”
“Same time of day?”
“Yeah, around dinnertime.”
“No one recognized her voice?” Max said.
“No.”
“You boys thought it was related to what happened at the beach party?”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” He ran his hand through thick wavy hair.
“Why the guilty conscience?” Max asked.
“I should have stopped him.” He looked at Max. “When Lyle drinks it makes him like…somebody else. It’s a Jekyll-and-Hyde thing.”
“Is it possible he went drinking last night and he’s passed out somewhere in the back of his car?” Max asked.
“I doubt it. He wouldn’t miss his physics test.”
Max sensed there was more to it, that Adam was holding something back.
“Anything else?” Max prompted.
“No.” He stood. “I’d better get downstairs. Beth is a mess.”
“Cassie, my assistant, will give you our number. If you think of anything else please phone me immediately.”
Adam took the card, nodded at Cassie and left.
Agent Kreegan eyed him as he passed her in the doorway. “I’m heading back to the lab to work on the note,” she said to Max. “I’ll check in later.”
“Very good.” Max turned his attention to Cassie. “Phone Eddie, have him get records for incoming calls to the fraternity house for the past two months.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stepped toward the door. She put her hand to his forearm and he glanced into her eyes. “You okay?”
“Fine, why?”
“You had a strange look on your face before, when you held the coin. I thought, maybe you were having an attack.”
“I’m fine.” He pulled away from her and they went downstairs.
She knew. She knew his attacks were coming more frequently and with more intensity. What would she do? Tell Barnes? Phone a doctor and have the men in white coats take him away?
No, not before he took care of business and put C.K. behind bars.
“Thank you,” Barnes said to the girlfriend, standing and offering her a business card. “Phone us if he contacts you.”
In a daze, she took his card. Adam put an arm around her and glanced at Max. It would break her heart to know her missing boyfriend had gone to a beach party and possibly slept with a strange woman, a strange woman who might be his new stalker.
Max asked the college advisor a few questions about the boy’s classes and grades. The advisor seemed like a straight-up bloke.
“Thank you.” Max shook the advisor’s hand.
“If there’s anything else we can do to help…”
Max read concern in the advisor’s bloodshot eyes. He looked genuinely worried, as if he’d been up all night.
“We’ll phone you,” Max said.
Max led Cassie and Barnes out the front door.
“What do you make of it?” Barnes said, hesitating on the landing.
“This could be completely unrelated,” Max offered. “The boy had an issue with alcohol. He could have gone out last night, consumed a few too many pints and passed out somewhere.”
“He had a big test this morning,” Cassie reminded him.
He smiled at her. “You’re getting to be quite the detective.”
She shot him a perturbed look.
“The girlfriend said they had a disagreement,” Barnes added.
The three of them started for the car.
“The boy gets in a fight with the girlfriend and goes on a drinking binge? What you women do to us,” Max muttered, then looked at Barnes. “The roommate said Lyle went to a beach party a few months ago, got drunk and blacked out. Ever since he’s been receiving hang-ups. I’m going to have Eddie follow up on calls received at the house.”
“We should inform the local police,” Barnes said. “Maybe he’s asleep in his car somewhere and they can find him and put an end to this.”
“And there’s the coin.” He nodded at Cassie and she handed it to Barnes.
“Curious,” Barnes said, flipping it over and studying the reverse side. “You think it’s important?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Instinct,” Max said.
Barnes narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”
Of course Barnes would challenge him. Barnes was driven by facts and tangibles.
Max opened the car door. “That’s it.”
Barnes handed the coin back to Cassie and they got into the car, Barnes behind the wheel and Cassie in the back. Max slipped into the passenger seat. That’s when he noticed a piece of paper stuck between the wiper blade and the window.
“What, a bloody advertisement?” Barnes muttered, opening his door.
“Barnes!” Max called.
He hesitated and looked at Max.
“Use gloves.”
Barnes’s irritation turned pensive. He nodded and pulled latex gloves from his jacket pocket. He walked around the front of the car and slipped the note from the windshield wiper blade.
Max knew from Jeremy’s expression that it was penned by C.K.
Max swung open his door and went to the side walk. He glanced back at Cassie, who’d gone white with the realization that the killer had been dangerously close.
He glanced north, then south. “That cocky sonofabitch.”
MAX, CASSIE and Barnes had spent the better part of the morning walking the fraternity neighborhood. They knocked on doors and inquired as to whether neighbors had seen anything strange this morning, whether they’d noticed someone near the team’s rented sedan.
No one had seen a thing. It was almost as if C.K. was a ghost.
Once back at the command center, Max passed out copies of the note and read it aloud:
Two boys gone, another taken.
It’s right in front of you, clues you’ve forsaken.
I’ll give you another: from blue to red,
Like a copper’s uniform, to blood of the dead.
The clock is ticking; two days to go.
I can’t help but wonder, why are you so slow?
He paced the front room.
“Spinelli, get back to the fraternity and find me a connection between these boys. Eddie, how are you doing on the phone records from the fraternity?”
“Someone called from the same cell number, same time every day for a little over two weeks. I don’t have an ID on the number yet, but I’ll get it.”
“The bloody e-mails turned up nothing significant,” Max said. “Eddie, find out the meaning of the coin we found in Lyle Cooper’s room. Cassie, work with him on that, will you?”
Max didn’t miss Eddie’s puzzled expression that read, why’s the coin so important?
Because it was. Max knew it in his chest. Oh, right, like he should be trusting his own instincts, the instincts of a man on the edge?
“Sure,” Cassie said. “Oh, and about the Sterling brand of tea, it’s mostly sold in the U.S., but you could order it online from another country.”
“Fine. Back to forensics—anything on the first note we received this morni
ng?” Max asked.
“No prints,” Agent Kreegan said.
“Then move on. Take the note left on the car and analyze every fiber, every spray of ink. There’s got to be something here.” He glanced at his team. “Thoughts on the new poem?”
“It’s more like the original notes from the London murders,” Art McDonald said. “He’s challenging us—”
“More like mocking us,” Bobby said.
Max couldn’t believe the arrogance of the killer, nor could he forget the look of fear haunting Cassie’s blue eyes. The killer had been too close.
“How did he know we’d be at the fraternity this morning?” Max said, frustration burning low.
He turned to the group. “This is how it works. Agent Spinelli, focus on connections between the victims—habits, classes, interests. McDonald and Finn, contact Lyle Cooper’s parents, family members and friends. Get as much as you can on the boy. I’m sure he didn’t go off willingly with a serial killer. We need to know where he was last night. If he was stressed about a test, maybe he talked to a family member about it.”
He studied the copy of the note he’d been squeezing between his fingers. “What about this clue, ‘from blue to red’?”
“From cop to victim,” Spinelli offered.
“You think he’s a cop? Our killer’s a cop?” Eddie said.
“I suppose anything’s possible,” Max said. “Other theories on the blue to red reference?”
Brainstorming often provoked a new, fresh direction. “There’s no wrong answer here,” Max prompted.
“Roses are red, violets are blue,” Late Eddie offered. “Sorry.”
“What else?”
“Christmas red,” McDonald said.
“Valentine’s Day Massacre,” Agent Kreegan added.
“Red rubies,” Cassie offered, and shrugged.
“Red beer,” Finn said. “Sorry, guv.”
“Don’t be. Red beer. The boy’s roommate said he had strong reactions to alcohol. What if he had an allergy to wheat in the beer?”
“And he went to a pub to unwind before a big exam,” Barnes said. “Drank a pint and it threw him completely off balance.”
Amazing how Barnes actually followed Max’s train of thought. He snapped his attention away from his second in command. “The color red is the key.”
“Red hair,” Kreegan said.
“The red light district,” Spinelli shot back.
Bobby snorted.
“What?” Spinelli said.
“Wait, that’s a thought,” Max said. “What if our victims are lured by a beautiful woman?”
“Who wears all red,” Bobby added.
“But what’s her connection to the killer?” Spinelli asked.
“She’s a pawn,” Barnes continued for Max. “She’s paid a hefty sum to seduce the man, get him alone, and the killer takes it from there.”
“But she could identify the killer,” McDonald said.
“Not necessarily,” Barnes argued. “The whole exchange of money could be anonymous.”
“There’s a piece missing,” Max said. “Red, what’s red?”
“The Red Line?” Spinelli offered.
Max turned and stared him down.
“You know, the train?”
“Where does this Red Line travel?” Max asked.
“From 95th and the Dan Ryan up to Howard Street.”
“Within blocks of night clubs?”
“Yeah, sure, Rush Street, Lincoln Park.”
“Cassie, call the fraternity and get a list of favorite pubs. Eddie, I need pubs along the Red Line train route that would attract college types.”
“Why focus on the bars?” Spinelli asked. “The victim wasn’t a regular drinker and the red theme could be part of C.K.’s obsession with the color.”
“True, it’s part of the killer’s obsession. I also think drinking could be a contributor to these cases,” Max said. “The victim drinks, lets his guard down and the killer preys on his weakness. Alcohol will have passed through the bloodstream by the time the body is found. You have your assignments. Let’s get to it.”
He went to the window and glanced out onto the calm, peaceful street. Was C.K. out there? Watching him, laughing at him?
Sure he was. He got hard at the sight of Max looking blankly out the window, no closer to finding the killer now than he was yesterday morning.
But that would all change tonight. Max would follow his instinct about the pubs and become the aggressor. God, he hoped his instincts were true and not diseased by the madness infecting his brain.
He turned to call out to Barnes. His gaze caught on Cassie, speaking with Eddie. Had he found her mother and sisters? She hadn’t come to Max for help because she didn’t want to add to his burden. Max suspected it was something else. Fear. Fear he’d hurt her?
Damn it, man, you’ve already wounded her by bringing her into this investigation. An investigation that was moving at a snail’s pace.
“Barnes?” he said.
“Yes, guv?” Barnes looked up from paperwork on Art McDonald’s desk.
“Help them with the list of pubs. We’re going clubbing tonight.”
THEY’D SPENT the afternoon at the command center researching clues and following up on leads. Cassie put together a list of bars frequented by college students, especially the Sigma Delta Upsilon members, and then she researched the coin. She didn’t get very far, so she left it with Eddie.
She’d insisted on accompanying them to the bars. She wanted to be close in case Max had another spell. They hadn’t talked about his earlier episode. She wondered if they ever would.
And now, well past nine, she and Max were sitting at Kelsey’s, a popular bar in Lincoln Park. Jeremy and Bobby worked the other side of the street.
Max studied the bar, from the mirror-backed shelves displaying bottles of liquor, to the pool tables and big- screen television. She could tell he registered every detail, every nuance.
He motioned for the bartender and placed a photo of Lyle Cooper on the bar. “Did you see this man last night?”
“I was off last night. Mickey was here. He should be here within the hour.”
Max nodded, then looked at Cassie. “It’s late. You look tired.”
“Gee, thanks. Nothing like a compliment to brighten a girl’s spirits.”
“You didn’t have to come,” he said.
“But you’re glad I did.”
“Am I?” He glanced at the front door.
“Does that work for you? That whole denial thing?”
He looked at her through half-closed eyes.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” she challenged.
He refocused on the door. Was that a wry smile playing at his lips?
“It wouldn’t hurt to talk about it,” she added.
He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.
“Right, you’re a guy,” she said. “Forgot, you don’t talk.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“So to speak,” she shot back. It did no good for him to keep it inside. “What happens? Do you have panic attacks or headaches or…?”
He didn’t answer. A few minutes passed. She glanced at a couple in the corner, holding hands. She snapped her attention back to a group of men playing pool.
“It started with anger,” he said. “I thought it normal from having my life blown apart—” he glanced at her “—literally.” He studied patrons in the bar again. “Then I started getting headaches, dizzy spells, sometimes flashbacks. Medications don’t seem to help. I hate depending on bloody pills.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. So, it’s officially post-traumatic stress disorder?”
“According to the medical community. As far as I’m concerned, I’m going mad and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I disagree. But you might if you keep avoiding it.”
“What do you suggest? I go to group therapy and cry my eyes out?”
“No, but you could start t
he healing process, deal with the trauma head-on instead of pushing it back.”
“Right, and you’re the expert, Dr. Clarke?”
“Yeah, actually, I am.” She held his gaze, remembering the months of emotional recovery after leaving Karl.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Insensitive of me.”
“Hey, I’m used to it,” she joked.
“But you shouldn’t be. I’m a bastard boss and you should have left me long ago.”
“What, and miss out on a free trip to Chicago?”
“Some trip. We’re sitting in a pub waiting for nothing. Blast, even my instincts have been affected by this madness.”
“I don’t think so.” She touched his hand. “I may have been traumatized by Karl’s abuse, but I never lost my intuitive skills. You haven’t, either.”
“No? Then why are we sitting here wasting our time?” He waved a second bartender over. “Did you see this man last night?”
“Ah, I think so.”
“Think, or know?”
“I’m not sure, man, sorry. We were packed for the Harry Caray look-alike contest.”
“Thanks.”
Jeremy and Bobby entered the bar and walked up to Max and Cassie.
“Anything?” Max said.
“No, sir,” Jeremy said.
“The bartender thinks he saw Lyle Cooper here last night,” Max said.
Max knew canvassing the pubs was a long shot, but he’d thought the Red Line train route had been a solid lead, especially when a fraternity brother said Kelsey’s was Lyle Cooper’s favorite bar.
Another lost day, closer to an innocent boy’s death. Max glanced across the pub and something caught his eye—a red light above a door leading into a hallway.
Weakened with drink, lured into a killer’s trap.
Instinct drove Max toward the light. Blast, the boy was here last night, Max felt it in his gut.
“What is it, guv?” Bobby asked.
A darkened hallway leading to a back exit: perfect strategy to lure a man into danger.
He pushed open the back door leading outside. Glancing down the long alley lined with trash bins, Max knew that anything could happen in such a remote place. The blaring music of the pubs would drown out any cries for help. But where would C.K. hide the boy for two days?
Barnes’s mobile went off.
