Rusty Logic

by Robin Alexander

  “Oh, sure, go right ahead.”

  It took a minute or two, but they rewound the video to four thirty, then fast-forwarded until a figure flashed across the screen. Kirsten backed it up again and played the recording in slow motion. The figure was in darkness except for a few seconds when he ran past the Coles’ porch where they’d left the light on. Kirsten paused it and stared at their suspect dressed in black, hand atop the obvious wig, his arm blocking sight of his face.

  “Is that a woman?” Wade said from where he’d come to stand behind Kirsten and Terry.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Terry said. “Wade, we’re gonna need a copy of this.”

  *******

  Kirsten drove home, showered quickly, and put on her uniform. The whole time she was getting dressed, her mind was not on the turn of events that morning, but on the memories of the day and night before. She would try to mentally focus on the fuzzy image that she’d seen on the video, then Rusty would suddenly appear, and Kirsten’s skin would break out in tiny goose pimples as delightful chills raced through her body. Nirvana was on Chestnut Street, and she wanted to go back there.

  Her cruiser seemed to be on the same wavelength, or at least that’s how Kirsten saw it, when she blew past the shortcut to the station and rode past Rusty’s house. Temptation to stop there was almost unbearable. Kirsten bit her lip and forged on. She had delayed the shift change meeting, and her officers were waiting on her, so there was no time to stop even for a quick kiss.

  At the station, Kirsten was surprised to find all of her officers waiting on her. “What’re y’all doing here?” she asked when she spotted Mitch and Bryan.

  “Chucklehead here doesn’t live very far from the Dennison place,” Mitch said and thumped Bryan on the ear. “He saw Clint and Antoine spotlighting yards as they drove by and asked what was going on, then he called me. We’re all here in a show of solidarity in case the mayor comes in and tries to blow you shit.”

  Kirsten smiled. “Well, thanks, but I don’t think that’s gonna be possible in the face of the evidence we have.”

  “Plus we wanted to rag you over the shorts you were wearing on scene this morning,” Mitch quipped without cracking a smile.

  “I was jog—never mind,” Kirsten said and walked over to her desk. “Brainstorming time, everybody. Are we all up to speed on what happened this morning? Mitch, Bryan, you have the details?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bryan said excitedly. “We’ve got no prints, the door handle was clean. The guy was wearing gloves, we saw that in the video. He’s around six feet tall and wears a disguise.”

  Kirsten shared information on the incident that took place in nearby Rodney. “I believe this case is related to what’s going on here, but we need to look at just the facts we have right now. All the women who had filed reports are under forty and are considered attractive—”

  “Carla Danner ain’t.” Antoine raised a hand. “Someone should inform my wife that I did make that statement.”

  “Focus, man,” Kirsten said with a slight smile. “From what I can tell, these women have been targeted when they’re alone. Our guy knew when Ryan Dennison left for work. A little over a year ago, there was an attempted breakin at the Medinas’ house where Sharon Klienpeter was alone house-sitting and taking care of their dog. She let Fritz out in the middle of the night because he became agitated. Sharon thought he needed to pee. The next morning, she found that a screen had been removed from a window, and there was blood near it and on the dog too, but Fritz wasn’t injured. Of course, I’m speaking like all of these cases are related because that’s what my gut tells me, but they may not be. I need y’all to be objective and tell me if I’m off course.”

  “There’s an exception, and that’s Candace Jessup,” Mitch said. “Phil was home the night someone was at her window. I still believe that was Noah. Now the rest of these cases, I agree, they could definitely be related.”

  Antoine leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “Phil doesn’t work a regular shift. He grabs up all the overtime he can get at his job. We make plans to go fishing all the time, and he’s canceled a lot because his boss calls him whenever they have a slot to fill. Maybe our guy assumed that he’d be at work. That continues to confirm my suspicion that he’s a local.”

  “I don’t think this guy has actually gotten his hands on anyone yet.” Terry shrugged. “He just seems like a beginner to me. Take Sharon Klienpeter, for instance. The Medinas’ place is out in the country. She was probably outside by herself a lot fooling with those horses. If he was watching her, he could’ve had her then, but he waited until late at night and tried to come through a window. That says to me he’s not really committed to taking it to the next level yet.”

  “That’s a good observation, but the Klienpeter thing took place a while back,” Kirsten added. “I don’t think we can completely roll with that assumption.”

  Antoine raised his hand. “What makes him dangerous in my mind is that he can’t seem to control his impulses. Putting myself in his shoes, I would’ve waited a long time before making another move after I heard Noah had been arrested for my crime. This guy waited a couple of days and did something really brazen by trying the Dennisons’ door.”

  “Most of his face was covered by his arm in that video, you can see his nose, that’s about it. Did the image stir an inkling of recognition for anyone?” Kirsten asked with her brow raised. She sighed when no one had anything to offer. “So basically, what we have for a description is an approximately six-foot white male with a medium build. That’s pretty much half the men in town.”

  “It could be a woman. That new lady Rusty has long black hair, and she’s tall,” Bryan offered.

  Terry chuckled. “No, I was on patrol last night, and I know she was otherwise occupied.”

  Clint covered his face and started laughing too, while everyone else looked at them waiting for the rest of the joke to be told.

  Kirsten’s face flushed. “I’m sure it wasn’t her. Moving on… Anybody else got anything?”

  “Well, she is tall,” Bryan said, thinking he was the one being laughed at.

  Terry and Clint continued to guffaw like two teenagers, and Kirsten said, “She’s not close to six feet. Rusty is around five-seven or -eight.”

  “Okay, this guy had on a wig and makeup, could that be more than a disguise? Could he be a cross-dresser? Maybe he’s struggling with his sexual identity,” Antoine offered.

  “No, it’s a disguise,” Mitch said with certainty. “No self-respecting drag queen would be seen with green eye shadow, struggling or not. That went out in the seventies. It’s a fashion no-no even if he’d been wearing green clothes. A soft shimmering gold or even light brown would’ve been more appropriate.”

  The room fell silent, and everyone stared at Mitch. He shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that, I have a TV. My wife owns more beauty products than most movie stars. She thinks she’s some kinda expert and critiques every face she sees.” Then he started blurting out things as though he had Tourette’s syndrome. “She gives me a facial sometimes because I break out so bad when I shave. It makes my beard soft and soothes my skin. There’s nothing wrong with that. Turn around, assholes.”

  “Getting back…” Kirsten cleared her throat to keep from laughing. “Um, back on topic.”

  “I have an idea,” Terry said. “Let’s lure him out. We can put someone undercover, tell everyone she’s gonna be alone, maybe house-sitting like the Klienpeter girl. We could pick a place kind of remote, easy for him to get in and out of.”

  Antoine nodded. “I like that idea, but who’s gonna be the bait?”

  “My daughter will do it, but I have to be inside the house with her,” Terry offered.

  “Babe, she looks just like you,” Clint said. “That’s a no go.”

  “You calling my kid ugly?” Terry jumped to her feet.

  “Hey! Hey!” Kirsten put up her hands. “Chill. It can’t be anyone assoc
iated with the department. Going on the assumption that this guy is local, he’ll figure it out. I like the way you’re thinking, though, Terry. Let’s expand on that.”

  Antoine slapped his cheek with his hand and laughed. “I’m sorry, I just can’t get past the shimmering gold eye shadow and Mitch’s facials.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “…two…three…four…five…and that’s enough of that.” Rusty brushed her hands off as she got up from the floor after a round of pushups.

  She’d gotten out of bed when Kirsten did, thinking it was only fair. They’d fallen asleep sometime after midnight, and the five o’clock wakeup call was brutal. In a show of solidarity, Rusty began her day when Kirsten did.

  She was surprisingly energetic, though, fueled by lingering memories of what had taken place the day before. Every time Rusty strode past her sofa, the muscles in her stomach contracted. Sounds and sights filled her mind and made her wish Kirsten would come back over. Rusty fully expected to see her around noon, but that time came and went. She sent Kirsten a text and asked her if she wanted a late lunch, and dessert, but Kirsten’s reply was, Super busy, will call when I can.

  Rusty busied herself with cleaning the leather sofa and doing laundry. She felt a little creepy when she’d sniffed at the collar of Kirsten’s wet shirt, hoping to catch a scent of her before she stuffed it into the wash. Then she put on a pot of spaghetti sauce that would slow cook until evening just in case Kirsten joined her for dinner.

  She still wished that Kirsten would’ve sat down with her and had formally written out an agreement. Rusty felt by doing that she would know how many times a week she could expect Kirsten’s company. She figured that was why she seemed to be in a perpetual state of want since she awoke that morning. If she had known for sure that she wouldn’t see Kirsten that day, she wouldn’t be anxious and hopeful. That’s what she didn’t like about dating—the unpredictability.

  Rusty scrubbed her hands together, needing something to occupy her time. She grabbed her keys and stepped out into a gray day. She hoped the hardware store had something for her to work on.

  *******

  Kirsten’s self-doubt was gone. She was certain that she had a predator in Ancelet Bay, and she was going to explore every avenue until she found him. She’d expected a visit or a call from Ben Hoskins, but neither happened, and Kirsten decided that it would only be spiteful if she were to throw anything in his face. She wasn’t going to waste the energy. She hoped her next move wouldn’t prove to be wasteful, either, as she knocked on Stella’s door.

  “What have I done now?” Stella asked as she opened it.

  “Nothing. I need your help.”

  Stella’s face brightened, and she allowed Kirsten in. “What can I do for you?”

  Kirsten stared at the Ancelet Bay map on Stella’s wall, her attention drawn to one pushpin in particular. “Why is this here?” She pointed to the pin on Calais Street where the Dennisons lived. “Who told you about this?”

  “You did,” Stella said with a smile. “I was about to go to sleep this morning, and I made one last visual sweep. That’s when I saw you run outside in your panties and take off fast in your car.”

  “They were shorts,” Kirsten snapped.

  “I got into my car and followed you to the Dennisons, but I hung back and watched Clint canvassing the yard. Antoine caught me and asked what I was doing, then he was really firm about me going home. I knew y’all had something then. This cover-up thing y’all are trying to do isn’t working. Noah is a bad boy, but he’s not the peeper, and ol’ Tom is just carrying on business as usual. Sit down, you want coffee?”

  “No, thank you, I’ve been drinking it all day,” Kirsten said wearily as she took a seat on Stella’s sofa. “The reason I’m here is, before all of this went kind of crazy, you used to patrol at night. Do you remember seeing anything odd? Maybe someone you didn’t recognize out and about at night?”

  “Nope,” Stella said as she took a seat. “I can tell you who the peeper is, though.”

  Kirsten’s brow rose. “Who?”

  “Tom Portman,” Stella said with a nod.

  “Because his name is Tom?”

  “No! MMO, motive, means, and opportunity. Do you have any idea how much you can learn about your community by just taking a stroll at night? The Monsons sit down as a family every weekday evening at eight o’clock to play a board game or talk to their kids. I used to be able to set my watch by them before this peeper thing started and everyone began closing their blinds. Tony Meyers drinks two beers every night while he watches TV. These are things I see from the sidewalk. Can you imagine how much Tom sees when he goes to windows that’re more private? He begins his walk every night at eight, and there have been times I have seen him out as late as one in the morning.”

  Kirsten nodded. “You have opportunity in the bag, what about motive?”

  “He’s a pervert.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Stella started ticking off fingers. “He’s in his fifties, no job, he lives with his mother. That’s the profile of every serial killer I’ve ever seen in the movies. The same could apply to a pervert.”

  “But I think Tom’s circumstances are a little bit different. He moved back here to take care of his mother. Wasn’t he a pharmacist or something? He had a good job.”

  “That’s what I heard too, and he just up and quit when his momma got down? I could see that if he’d been selling shoes, but he went to school for his profession, invested a lot of time.” Stella nodded. “Something’s not right. As far as means goes in relation to MMO, he means to rape somebody. That’s my opinion.”

  “That not what means usually…means,” Kirsten said with a smile.

  “Don’t get smart, you and I are finally having a decent conversation. Don’t piss me off. Now I’ve given you my intel, give me yours.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Kirsten said seriously.

  “That ain’t fair.” Stella shook her head. “Not one bit.”

  Kirsten gazed at all the points on Stella’s map. “You might know more than I do.”

  Stella sighed. “Well, Tom hasn’t taken the Achmed bait. I figure that’s your fault because you’re always over there. I still watch her place, though. She’s a nice kid, and I’d hate to see anything happen to her.”

  “Well, I’d be grateful if you kept that up. My nights are going to be very busy until we catch this guy.”

  *******

  When Rusty returned from the hardware store, she was excited to see Kirsten’s car parked in front of her house, but Kirsten was nowhere to be found. Rusty assumed that she was paying Stella a visit and kept an eye out for her anyway. She decided to wait in her living room instead of the garage. She wanted to kiss and hold Kirsten, and she didn’t think Kirsten would be comfortable with that kind of display out in the open.

  Rusty’s heart pounded when she watched Kirsten walk out of Stella’s house and head across the street. She rested her hand on the door handle as Kirsten drew closer, then swung the door open when Kirsten was about to knock. In private, Rusty threw her arms around Kirsten and kissed her until they both began breathing heavily.

  “Stay tonight again,” Rusty said against Kirsten’s lips.

  Kirsten pulled back a little and met Rusty’s gaze. “I can’t, at least not all night. You know what’s so ironic? Normally, I have nothing but time on my hands, and now you’re here, and I have to deal with this peeper shit.”

  Rusty smiled. “That’s probably a good thing because we’d probably end up in a hospital. Dehydration, severe muscle fatigue is bad stuff. Can you stay for dinner?”

  “You can have me until about one in the morning.”

  Rusty grinned. “I’ll take you.”

  “I was hoping you would, that’s why I brought this bag with extra clothes.” Kirsten pulled it off her shoulder and dropped it on the floor.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I am,” Kirsten said with a gri
n as she backed Rusty toward the hallway. “You look delicious.”

  Rusty laughed as Kirsten continued to push her down the hall. “I was planning on having you for dessert. Dinner is basically ready.”

  “We’ll make this a quick appetizer then.” Kirsten kissed Rusty and backed her into the bedroom.

  “You’re going to have to take that gun belt off yourself. I’m afraid I’ll touch the wrong thing and shoot off one of your toes.”

  Kirsten took it off and laid it carefully on Rusty’s dresser. “I enjoyed sleeping with you last night, you were very cuddly,” she said as Rusty unbuttoned her shirt and kissed her neck.

  Clothes went flying in their haste to get into bed, but once Kirsten lay atop Rusty, she gazed at her for a moment. “You are really very pretty,” she said. “The more I look at you, the more I notice. I tried not to study you too closely before our deal because I didn’t want to become any more attracted than I already was.”

  Rusty licked her lips and felt a bit self-conscious under Kirsten’s intense stare. “What do you like the most? I’ll try to show it off,” she quipped.

  “Everything,” Kirsten said as she showered Rusty’s face with kisses. “I like your laugh, your crazy logic.” Kirsten kissed her lips. “These.”

  What started off as a quickie turned into hours of slow exploration. In her younger days, Rusty felt genuine affection for the women she’d dated, and it might’ve blossomed into more if she would’ve taken the time to allow that to happen. What she felt in Kirsten’s touch was very reminiscent of those days, and for a little while, she indulged in the fantasy that they weren’t just having a good time and what they were doing meant something.

  Kirsten noticed the change. Rusty’s kisses became even more tender, she met Kirsten’s gaze and held it. The faraway look one got when enraptured in extreme pleasure was replaced by something more engaging. Rusty fully opened to her, and all barriers of pretense were gone; Kirsten realized that they were actually making love.