by Joanna Wayne
To know he would never see his sons grow up, watch them ride their first two-wheeler, play their first game of baseball, catch their first fish. It was like saying he was ready to have his heart ripped from his body while he watched.
He had rights as a father. Jodie knew that as well as he did. She also knew he would never pursue them if it went against her wishes. She wanted a husband to share her life with, a dependable father for her boys.
It was no more than either she or his sons deserved. The question was the same as always: Was he man enough for the task? Or would he fail like he had so many times before when push came to shove?
The drive to Shreveport took an hour. It seemed like ten. The only consolation was that his dad had improved to the point that he was leaving the hospital today.
Ray would go back to New Orleans knowing Parker had recovered enough to take over his own cases, even handle Carl Baker’s defense. And Jodie was safe. Mission accomplished.
Yesterday’s events replayed in his mind, the way they had done dozens of times throughout the night and early morning, like a CD that never stopped. Only the CD seemed warped, and the distortions played havoc with the meaning. Ray’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
Greg Johnson was the type of man Ray would have taken as a client, a man being railroaded by a hungry cop and a frightened woman, the case against him built solely on circumstantial evidence. The snapshots they’d found in his room proved he’d taken pictures of Jodie without her permission. Nothing else.
If the pictures Ray had seen had been the only evidence, he would have attributed them to infatuation. And infatuation with a vivacious, beautiful woman did not make you a criminal. Infatuation with Jodie Gahagen only proved you were human.
But a police search of Greg’s room had turned up many more photographs, some showing Jodie in various states of undress, obviously taken without her permission. Shots snapped in New York, inside her apartment, around her office, shopping in the city, playing with the boys in Central Park.
An ironclad case against Greg Johnson. So, why couldn’t he accept their good fortune and let it go?
He swerved onto the exit ramp near the hospital, making a few turns and pulling into the covered parking lot. His dad was apparently up and talking. Like his old self, Mom had said.
Parker had requested that Ray stop by this morning. He had a few things he wanted to discuss, but Ray had a few things to say, too. He was a father himself now. It changed the way he looked at his own father, especially when he had come so close to losing his dad in an attack meant for him.
This time he hoped he had the courage to tell his dad what he’d never been able to before. A few minutes later Ray strode into the quiet of the hospital and through the door of room 619.
“Hello, son.” Parker’s voice was weak but steady. “I was hoping you’d stop by before you flew to New Orleans.”
“Mom said you wanted to talk to me.”
“I do.”
Ray pulled up a chair. “You’re looking good.”
“I look like a tomato vine in a Louisiana drought.”
Ray smiled. His dad’s statement was far more accurate than his own.
“But I’m alive. And that’s what matters.”
“You’re right. Look, Dad. I know my apologies don’t mean much to you, but I’m sorry about what happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault. If the swine hadn’t attacked me, it would have been you.”
Finally, a tragedy his father didn’t think was his fault. For a second, Ray was tempted to leave it at that. Conscience forced him to take a deep breath and plow ahead.
“It was my fault. The attacker wasn’t a chance burglar. I think he was waiting in the office to stab me with a knife we found under your desk. Apparently it slipped out of his hand when he hammered you with the chair. He must have heard me coming and ran before he could find it.”
“Why would someone want to kill you?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you some day when you’re feeling a lot better.”
“Did you catch the attacker?”
“Not then. But he’s in jail now. At least the police think they have the right man.”
“You don’t?”
Ray hesitated. “The evidence looks convincing.”
“Good. But that’s not why I wanted to see you. I’ve had time to think while I was in here, about a lot of things. Looking death in the eye makes you do that.”
Ray’s sentiments exactly. “I’ve given—”
“Wait. I want to finish what I have to say. Then you can respond or not.”
Ray leaned back in the chair, his body tightening into the familiar coils his father’s lectures always generated. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve made some mistakes in my life, costly ones. You and your mother have been the ones to pay.”
Now Parker had his serious attention. This lecture was significantly skewed, the starting point miles off center from the thousands he’d heard before.
“I wanted everything to be perfect, the opposite of what I grew up with. It’s no excuse, but I grew up in hell.” Parker’s voice grew weaker, and his eyes took on a vacant stare, as if all of him had turned inward.
“My father drank too much,” he continued, staring at his hands. “My mother was sick, what they would call manic-depressive now. Then I only knew she was sweet and loving one minute, screaming uncontrollably at me the next.”
Ray studied the pain in his dad’s face, surprised at the power of memories that had lived inside him for so long. “I always thought your parents had died when you were young.”
“No, but by the time Sara and I met and married they had died. My dad wrapped his pickup truck around a tree. My mom died of an overdose of tranquilizers a few months later. End of story. At least it should have been.”
Parker stretched to pour himself a glass of water. Ray started to help, but his dad waved him off, fiercely independent as always. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a long, slow drink before continuing.
“Not a pretty story but it’s life. I’m not telling it to you to make excuses, just to help me explain, and hopefully to help you understand why I turned into such a lousy father. I had spent my youth ashamed of my parents, embarrassed by our lives. I was determined to leave that all behind me.”
“But I didn’t let you.”
“I didn’t let myself. I pushed you when I should have been clapping you on the back, criticized when I should have been hugging.” His fingers tangled in the top sheet. “Turned against you when you needed support.”
Ray tried to think of something to say. No words came. Only a dryness in his throat and a stinging at the back of his eyelids.
“I knew I was pushing too hard, but I couldn’t stop myself. You and your mom were the best things that had ever happened to me, yet I couldn’t do the one thing she wanted most of all. Give you the support you deserved.”
Parker pulled himself up and sat on the side of the bed, his thin legs and bare feet dangling from beneath the wrinkled hospital gown.
“I know it’s years too late to make up for what we lost. But it’s not too late to tell you that I’m damn proud of you, Ray, and always have been.” His eyes misted. “And not too late to ask you to forgive me.”
“I guess I’d have to ask for the same forgiveness. I cost you the judgeship.”
“Did you believe that all these years?”
“Of course, you stepped down rather than face public shame and embarrassment for what I had done.”
“No, I stepped down because I wasn’t fit to sit in judgment of anyone. I succumbed to blackmail to protect my good name. I told myself that it was for you, but in my heart I knew it was for me. That’s why I had to learn again to live with myself.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I wouldn’t have blamed you a bit if you’d never spoken to me again after I accused you of ruining your mother’s and
my life. But you were a better man than I ever was. Every time I’ve ever needed you, you were there. Just the way you are now.”
“It looks like a day of confessions. I need to tell you something I should have said a long time ago.”
Parker stiffened as if preparing for a blow. “Go ahead. I probably deserve whatever you have to say.”
“It has nothing to do with deserving. It’s unconditional. I learned that from a very special lady.” He got up and stepped to the bed, wrapping his arms about his dad’s stooped shoulders.
“I love you, Dad.” The words were barely a whisper, but they were out and that was all that mattered.
Sara stepped into the room at that minute, and her gaze darted from her husband to her son, confusion spelled out in the lines of her face and the pull of her lips.
“Are you all right, Parker?” Her voice carried a ring of alarm.
“I’m fine. I was just telling my son that I love him. Now if the both of you would get out of here, I could get some rest.”
Neither of them missed the quick swipe of a finger across his eyes. Ray gave his dad’s hand a squeeze and backed toward the door, stopping only to give his mom a goodbye peck on the cheek.
“I’m out of here. Take care, Dad. You, too, Mom.”
Sara was still staring at them as if they were aliens who’d landed from out of space and taken over her husband’s and son’s bodies. She wasn’t far from wrong, Ray decided, opting for the steps instead of the elevator and taking them two at a time.
JODIE LIFTED BLAIR over the side of the crib rails and handed him his stuffed raccoon, his favorite out of his current menagerie. “You take a good nap, young man. When you wake up you’ll be going to your very first Festival of Lights celebration.”
Tonight she and the boys would go to the party at Selda’s daughter’s house. The house downtown, with grassy grounds backing up to the Cane River. From the comfort of Lydia’s huge yard, they would have prime seats for the night’s events.
They would watch the millions of Christmas lights burst forth in color at the same instant, filling the sky with their glow. Lydia’s guests would marvel as shimmering reflections danced over the surface of the river. The boys would delight as the music from dozens of marching bands wafted on the night air. And, finally, the crowning glory. The heavens would blaze with a dazzling fireworks display.
And tonight she and her sons would do it without the risk of danger. They would also do it without Ray Kostner.
“Grams, did I have any phone calls?”
“Phone calls? I don’t think so. Well, yes, Selda called to see if you wanted to ride with her to the party.”
“I know. I talked to her. I told her I’d take my car in case the boys get fussy and I need to bring them home early. Why don’t you go ahead and ride with her so she won’t have to go alone? We’ll meet you there.”
“You can’t wait too late, now. The first weekend is the worst. There’ll be thousands of people rushing around, all trying to get the best spot on the parade route.”
“But we won’t be in that crowd. We’re watching the lighting display and fireworks from Lydia’s backyard.”
“You still better get there early. Once that traffic backs up, it doesn’t budge. The whole town is deadlocked until after the fireworks. Even then it moves like molasses. One night Selda and I just gave up and spent the night at Lydia’s house. So you can forget any idea of leaving early.”
“I’ll still take my car. I need to stop at the store for diapers, but we’ll leave here as soon as the boys wake up from their nap.”
“What about that Kostner boy? Is he going to be tagging after you again?”
“No. He’s back in New Orleans.” Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. But she refused to give in to gloom. Not when the stalker had been stopped. “Besides, I think it’s you he’s tagging after, the way you wait on him hand and foot. Could be, it’s you he’s sweet on.”
A tinge of pink lightened Grams’s cheeks. “Don’t be teasing me like that, Jodie Gahagen.” She pushed her wire glasses up a little higher on the bridge of her narrow nose. “Only guy I ever let get close enough to get sweet on me was your grandpa, God rest his soul.”
Jodie gave her a warm hug. “My grandpa was a very lucky man.”
RAY EYED THE speedometer and cursed the traffic. Both lanes of the interstate were lined with cars, trucks, vans and a fair share of motorbikes, all heading for opening night of the Festival of Lights. And none of them getting there very fast.
The plane he was supposed to be on was probably touching down at the New Orleans airport about now. He’d driven all the way to the airport and then turned around.
Intuition, the sense of survival, too many years of defending men against criminal charges. Probably a little of all of the above. At any rate, in spite of the evidence Butch had collected, he was not convinced Greg Johnson was actually Jodie’s stalker. Which meant he wasn’t certain Jodie was safe. Until he was, he could never return to New Orleans. He’d spent the first part of the afternoon talking with an FBI agent. Another wasted effort. North Louisiana had more than its share of murders every year, but there was no record of the type of serial killer he was looking for.
Traffic slowed again, and Ray’s speed dropped to a crawling forty miles an hour on a new interstate system meant to go seventy. Three-thirty.
Reaching for the cellular phone, he punched in the Ga-hagen number. Six rings later he was about to hang up when Miss Emily said hello.
“Is Jodie there?”
“She’s upstairs getting ready for the big party at Lydia’s. If you were half smart, you’d be here going with her.”
“You give good advice. Tell her to wait for me at the house. I may be late, but I’ll be there to pick up her and the boys.”
The conversation dissolved in a fit of static, and Ray could barely make out Grams’s promise to deliver the message. That done, he called his dad’s office to retrieve his messages. He had to have something to fill his time while he watched the bumper of the car in front of him crawl down the highway.
The first call was a hang up, the second a woman wanting an appointment. The third was Cappan. Call at once. He even left his home number.
Ray made a mental note of it and then punched it in. Cappan answered immediately.
“Hello, Cappan. Ray Kostner. I got your message. What’s up?”
“A couple of things. I’m glad you got my message before you left town. I looked up Greg Johnson like you asked. He doesn’t have a record but he has an illustrious background.”
“Yeah. What’s the story?”
“It appears he’s a very aggressive photographer. Once he was arrested for tailing some city councilman in New Orleans. When the story broke that the guy was on the take, your guy Greg was there with a full supply of pictures of the man’s rich life-style.”
“Anything else?”
“Pretty similar. Only this time it was some big-name football player. He tended to like wild parties. Greg managed to crash them and wound up with the full story in pictures.”
“Sounds like a real charmer.”
“He has some legitimate credits, too. Some of them very impressive. Apparently he makes pictures talk.”
“So, if he expected that a story about a serial killer and his beautiful victim was about to break, he might be snapping pictures like crazy.”
“That’s what I was thinking, only that wouldn’t explain the snapshots of Jodie in New York.”
“The ones he claims he didn’t take.”
“But the police found them in his apartment.”
The static started up again. Ray waited until it cleared. “You put some legwork into this. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me. I’d hate to see anything happen to Miss Gahagen. She’s some woman, but I guess you know that.”
“Yeah. I definitely do.”
“Oh, and one more thing. Remember that story I told you about, the one about the psycho wh
o stalked his victims and then killed them?”
“The one who was too smart to get caught?”
“That’s the one. I kept asking around. It seems the fellow telling the story was one of the police officers from Louisiana, up here training with our community policing program.”
Static rumbled like thunder over the wires. Ray gritted his teeth and swallowed a curse. “Keep talking. I’m still here.”
“Well, one of our guys, a fellow named Lando, was out with a bunch of the trainees after a session. They started drinking. He said this guy told a bizarre tale about some man following women, sending them gifts and flowers. He claimed he was only trying to keep them pure. When he caught them with another man, he killed them.”
“Where was this?”
“The man didn’t say. According to the story, the killer was supposed to be too smart to get caught. But he must have slipped up somewhere if the cop knew about him.”
“What was the name of the man who told the stories?”
“Lando doesn’t remember. The only thing he knows for sure is he was with the bunch from Louisiana. They’ve been up here a half dozen times or more during the past few months. The training’s finished now, though.”
“Did Lando give you a description of him?”
“Tall, a little overweight, brown hair. Said his nose was a little crooked like it had been broken before. So if this killer was so smart he never left a clue, how do you think they caught him?”
Ray beat a fist against the steering wheel. “He made the oldest mistake in the book, Cappan. He couldn’t resist telling someone what he’d gotten away with.”
The phone connection faltered again, the static now overtaking the line. Ray hung up the phone. He’d heard enough. Now he just needed to get to Natchitoches. He glanced at the speedometer and cursed the snail’s pace he was traveling.
