Slices of Night - a novella in 3 parts

by Alex Kava; Erica Spindler J. T. Ellison

  That’s the word a reporter used, “besieging,” like the protesters were soldiers in dugouts coming under attack. He shook his head at that. He was sick of seeing the protesters in every city he traveled to. Thankfully he hadn’t had to deal with any of them in Kansas City or here in Omaha. Another good sign that he was finally back on track.

  Sales were up. Bosco’s new laser-guided scalpel was a huge hit. Omaha’s medical mecca was like putty in his hands on Thursday and Friday at the Qwest Center conference. He had exploded past his sales quota. Still, it had taken this morning’s kill to renew his confidence.

  He looked around the suite and rubbed his hands together. Checked his watch. Maybe he would shower, dress and go down for the breakfast buffet. He had the whole day off. He didn’t have to leave until tomorrow morning. Tonight he was looking forward to the Holiday of Lights festivities. The Old Market would be filled with people again and sounds of the seasons. Now with his newfound confidence he wouldn’t need to go far at all to find target number two.

  7:26 a.m.

  Omaha Police Headquarters

  Nick Morrelli crushed the paper cup and tossed it into the corner wastebasket. He’d had enough coffee. He was tired. He wanted to go home. He rubbed his eyes and paced the room, a poor excuse for an employee lounge with a metal table and folding chairs, a row of vending machines, coffee maker and a sagging sofa along the back wall.

  The door opened and his captor came in, shirt sleeves rolled up, shaved head shiny with perspiration. Detective Tommy Pakula handed Nick a black and white print-out, a copy of a driver’s license.

  “Do you recognize this guy? Maybe seen him around any of your properties?”

  The license had been enlarged which only made the photo blurred. The guy looked pretty ordinary, could be anybody.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Pakula sat down in one of the folding chairs. Pointed to one across the table for Nick to sit down. They’d already done this. What more could he ask? But Nick sat down. Tommy Pakula was one of the good guys. Four daughters. Still married to his high school sweetheart. Nick had been questioned by him before a couple years ago. Another case. Another killer.

  “You were a sheriff not so long ago,” Pakula said, getting Nick’s attention. That was true. Nick had been a county sheriff. Got his fill after a killer almost claimed his nephew as his next victim. Just when Nick thought Pakula might finally cut him some slack, the man came in with another verbal punch. “You should know better. So tell me again why you thought you should be touching this dead guy before you called us?”

  “If he wasn’t dead I wanted to help him.”

  Pakula raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s Gino,” Nick said, almost a whisper.

  He watched Pakula sit back, pull in a long deep breath. Rubbed his jaw.

  Everybody loved Gino. Nobody knew his last name but he was a familiar face downtown, part of the landscape. Years ago he used to sell Italian sausage and peppers out of a rickety stand he’d set up on the corner of Sixteenth and Douglas, right in front of the Brandeis Building. Suddenly he was living on the streets. Tall, thin – a little bent over as he grew old – with friendly brown eyes that sparkled despite his situation. Security guards, police officers, even the guys on the newspaper’s loading dock, they all loved Gino. Took care of him. But they hadn’t taken care of him last night.

  “Is this the guy you think stabbed Gino?” Nick asked and held up the print-out.

  Pakula nodded. “FBI thinks so, too. He’s done it in other cities. We’ve been keeping an eye out ever since he hit Kansas City about two weeks ago.”

  “Mind if I keep this?”

  “Go ahead. Maybe check with your security people. You said your company has how many buildings downtown?”

  “Nine. Plus three in the Old Market.”

  Nick folded the print-out. Tucked it in the back pocket of his trousers. He’d get this bastard himself if he had to. Then he tried to decide if he should tell Pakula that the Rockwood Building had security cameras on every corner. Before he decided, the door to the lounge opened again and a young cop stuck his head inside.

  “Sorry to interrupt. A woman’s here to see you, Detective Pakula. Insisted I tell you that she brought you doughnuts all the way from Kansas City?” The cop’s face flushed a bit, like he wasn’t sure if he should be delivering what sounded like a personal message.

  Pakula smiled and stood up. “Send her in here.”

  The cop disappeared. Pakula shot Nick a look. Another smile.

  “FBI,” he said. “First time I met her I was eating a doughnut. Had a cup of coffee in my other hand.” He shook his head, but the grin hadn’t left yet. “She’ll never stop busting my chops about that.”

  Nick should have figured it out, but he was totally surprised when the lounge door opened again and Maggie O’Dell walked in, carrying a white bakery box that she meant as a joke for Pakula. From the look on her face when she saw Nick, he figured the joke was probably on her. But only for a second or two.

  “Nick Morrelli,” she said. “I haven’t seen you since you drove off with that blonde bomb expert in Minneapolis.”

  Nick winced. Damn, she was good.

  10:57 a.m.

  The last time Maggie had worked with Nick Morrelli they spent hours watching security footage. Mall of America. The day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday became bloody Friday. Three college kids set off backpacks filled with explosives.

  Here they were again, sitting in a small room in front of a wall of computer monitors.

  “How’s Timmy and Christine?” she asked. She and Nick had a history that went back further than Minneapolis. They’d worked on a serial killer case when Nick was a sheriff. And again, years later when the killer returned.

  “Timmy played football this year. Christine’s good.”

  They sat side by side in captain’s chairs like pilots in a cockpit. Pakula would join them in a half hour or so.

  “How’s your doctor?” Nick asked, keeping his eyes on the computer monitors but unsuccessful in keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.

  Instead of telling him that Benjamin Platt was not hers, she simply said, “Ben’s good.” She didn’t ask whatever happened to the blonde bomb expert. That was over a year ago. She knew Nick probably didn’t even remember the woman’s name anymore. And therein lay the reason that she had never seriously considered a relationship with Nick Morrelli.

  Simply put – he wasn’t relationship material. Maggie had too much drama in her professional life to put up with it in her personal life.

  But charming, yes. Handsome – God, he was still gorgeous. Dark eyes and dark hair. He had managed to keep his college quarterback physique. She didn’t deny that there had been chemistry between the two of them. Just sitting next to him she could still feel it. Annoying as hell.

  She tried to turn her attention to the monitors. She was exhausted from lack of sleep. Her back was tight and tense from a slippery three-hour drive in a small rental car because everyone else had the good sense of renting the SUVs before the snow hit. Somehow she needed to focus.

  She pulled up the chair. Planted her elbows on the table in front of her.

  “Who are you this week?” she said aloud, like the Night Slicer might answer.

  “Pakula gave me a copy of the driver’s license.”

  “That’s all we have.”

  “You think he changes his appearance?”

  “He must, but I’m guessing it’s subtle. He definitely changes his name. He has a normal life somewhere. I think he travels the country on business. Different cities. A new group of people each time who don’t know him. We have that picture from the driver’s license out to every metropolitan police department. We haven’t gotten a hit yet.”

  “But you’ve been tracking him?”

  “Only by his M.O. He’s right-handed. Uses a double-blade stiletto. At least seven inches long. He does a blitz attack. It’s probably no more than an incidental bump
. Slips the blade in just under the breastbone where he knows he won’t have any bone chattering. And the angle of the knife is interesting.”

  She paused while Nick tapped buttons on a keyboard and started the film footage from a camera labeled: Northwest corner of Rockwood.

  “His image was captured on a security camera at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center. Actually it was only his back but it was enough to give us some idea of how tall he was compared to his victim. He has to angle the blade—”

  She pushed out her chair and stood. “It’s probably easier if I show you.” Fact was, she was too exhausted to talk about it. He glanced up at her, paused the monitors and stood up in front of her.

  She grabbed a ballpoint pen from the table and held it in her right hand the same way she believed the Night Slicer did.

  “He holds it low. Probably has the stiletto up his sleeve until he needs it.” She stepped closer. “He always slips it in just below the rib cage.” She put her left hand flat against Nick’s abdomen to show him where and immediately she realized this was a mistake when she felt him shiver under her touch. Her eyes met his and she felt the heat rush to her face.

  Thankfully exhaustion pushed her into professional mode. She took a step back as she moved her hand with the pen and her arm in the same motion the killer must use.

  “He shoves the knife in at an upward angle. Usually pierces the heart. Sometimes the lungs. Sometimes both.”

  Finished with the show and tell, she avoided his eyes and took her seat again. Waited for him to do the same. He was slow about joining her and she wanted to kick herself. There was obvious still too much between them. She glanced over at him. Wanted to tell him she couldn’t afford any of the emotion she was seeing in his face right now.

  “Gino was a good guy,” he said, surprising her. “He didn’t deserve to die this way.”

  She was wrong. The emotion wasn’t about her. Maybe she was a little disappointed that it wasn’t about her.

  “He’s been killing two victims in each city. Usually within a period of twenty-four hours.” Maggie sat back. Ran her fingers through her hair. “Then he disappears. Gone. Like he never existed.” She looked at her wristwatch. “In less than fifteen hours he’s going to kill someone else.”

  1:39 p.m.

  He had been watching the old woman for over an hour. Following her around but keeping in the shadows and back far enough away that she’d never even noticed him. Though he wondered if she noticed much about anything around her.

  He’d gotten close enough to hear her muttering. Not just talking to herself but arguing as if with some invisible friend. She had to abandon her shopping cart behind a Dumpster, tucking it away to hide it as best as she could. The snow made it too difficult for her to shove it over the crusted piles left by the snowplows. He almost helped her once. Wanting to touch the fringe of her gray knit hat to feel whether the fringe was actually part of the hat or actually her hair.

  Her territory seemed to be within the Old Market area. Interesting, since he didn’t see any other homeless people without venturing several blocks of the cobble-stoned district. She wandered the streets quite fascinated by things no one else saw. Once he watched her stop abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and wave pedestrians around her to avoid stepping on something smashed in the snow. No one else stopped to give it a look. Most people ignored her or scowled and went wide.

  That’s when he realized she had to be the next one. She was perfect. Someone no one would miss. She was virtually invisible to these bastards even as they had to walk around her as she protected whatever the precious item was that she found so fascinating. And suddenly he couldn’t wait. He wanted to cut her right now. Right here in the freezing cold sunny daylight in the middle of the crowd that couldn’t see her.

  Except he hadn’t brought his knife. And so, he’d wait until tonight. His fingers fidgeted. He was feeling antsy.

  He walked toward her. She was bent over, touching the object. He’d walk past and see what it was. He’d go back to his hotel suite. He’d enjoy the anticipation. He already knew where he could find her. And as he got closer he saw her wrapping her ragged knit gloves around the object that had captured her attention and sent her into protective mode. The object was a long icicle that had fallen from the awning above the sidewalk. A frickin’ icicle.

  He smiled to himself as he passed by and glanced at her. Her eyes flitted up to meet his and he wanted to tell her that he’d see her later. That it would be his pleasure to watch the surprise in those same eyes as her life spilled out of her.

  4:57 p.m.

  It was already getting dark by the time Maggie and Detective Pakula started walking the streets. There were crowds gathered at the ice rink and around the outside mall that stretched several city blocks long. Tonight was the lighting ceremony when hundreds of thousands of lights in trees and bushes and along rooftops would be turned on, marking the beginning of the holiday season.

  “We’ve pulled in everybody on this, looking and talking to people since five this morning,” he told her as they strolled the cobblestone streets, looking more like an old married couple than a couple of cops.

  Pakula wore an old camouflage parka but nothing on his shaved head. Maggie kept on her leather jacket and added a red Huskers ballcap that Pakula had given her.

  “It’ll help you fit in,” he told her about the cap.

  She didn’t argue. She was getting restless. Exhaustion had given way to the adrenaline that had taken over. Too much time had passed. Why did she ever believe they’d find this guy? It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  She and Nick had wasted two whole hours pouring over the security tapes only to come up empty handed. At one point they saw Gino enter the frame. According to Nick it looked like he was headed around the corner to the front door where he always came to meet Pete, the Rockwood Building’s night security guard.

  But then Gino stopped and turned as if someone had called to him. The camera didn’t record sound. They watched Gino cock his head. He grinned and said something before walking back in the direction of whoever had stopped him. He disappeared from the frame. Maggie didn’t say it but she knew Gino had most likely headed right over to his killer.

  Nick was taking this man’s death personally and she didn’t quite understand. Maybe it was because it happened outside one of his buildings. He had wanted to come with her and Pakula but they stopped him. He told them he had a license to carry. Pakula told him to go get his hand looked at.

  “You should have had stitches,” the detective told him, pointing to the wrapped hand that Maggie had noticed immediately but stopped herself from asking about. “You already bloodied up one of my crime scenes.”

  Pakula bought a hot chocolate for Maggie and a coffee for himself. The steam felt good on her frozen cheeks. She wrapped her hands around the cardboard cup and let it warm her fingers. She only had thin knit gloves. Why did she always come to this part of the country unprepared for the weather?

  “You two married?” An old woman came up from behind them. She was trying to push a shopping cart filled with an odd assortment of junk.

  “No, we’re not married to each other,” Pakula answered. “How are you doing tonight? Do you have someplace warm?”

  The woman didn’t look like she heard him. Instead she muttered something to herself. She struggled to hike the cart over the curb that was still snow covered. Pakula grabbed the front end and lifted it easily onto the sidewalk for her.

  “They’ve got some extra beds over at Saint Gabriel’s,” he tried again.

  This time she blew out a raspberry at him. “I don’t need no Saint Gabriel. Lydia and I have been taking care of each other for years.”

  Both Pakula and Maggie looked around at the same time, looking for someone named Lydia. There was obviously no one with this woman. People went around them, even stepping into the street to do so.

  “Can I help you find Lydia?” Pakula asked.

  Th
is time the woman stared directly into his eyes, her brow creasing under her dirty gray cap. She looked from him to Maggie then back at Pakula.

  “You a cop?” she whispered.

  Pakula was good but Maggie heard him clear his throat to cover his surprise.

  “It’s okay,” the old woman reassured him, her face softening. She reached up and touched his arm, almost a grandmotherly gesture. “We’ve all heard about Gino.” She shook her head. “A damned shame.” Then she straightened and waved her hand like she was swatting at a fly. “Oh stop it, Lydia. You know who Gino was.”

  Pakula looked over at Maggie and raised his eyebrows.

  The woman probably shouldn’t be left on the streets. She obviously needed help but Maggie liked her feistiness and her spirit. As long as she had the shopping cart she was probably safe from their killer. He’d never be able to bump and slice her without having the click-clanking of that shopping cart in the way. It would draw too much attention.

  Pakula was pulling out what looked like a business card. He handed it to the old woman.

  “You know Danny at the coffee shop on the corner?”

  Another raspberry but she took the card. “My God, who doesn’t know Danny. That son of a bitch will talk your damned ear off. I take the coffee he gives me just to shut him up.”

  “You need anything,” Pakula insisted, “You hand Danny that card and have him call me.”

  “What would I need? Me and Lydia we got everything we need right here.” She tapped the shopping cart and the contents clanked and shifted.

  They watched her rat-tat-tat down the street.

  Maggie shook her head when Pakula glanced over at her.

  “You can’t lock them up,” she told him. Though it would be easier to protect them if they were behind bars.