There was a pattern. Of that, Jack was certain. He just hadn’t found it yet. Pamela and Aaron’s lives depended on his doing so quickly. It didn’t help that the newspapers were contributing to the rising tide of alarm in Atlanta. The Constitution’s headline read, “Is It Happening Again?” Beneath it was a photo of a body bag being carried out of Underground Atlanta by the medical examiner’s assistants.
For the last two days and most of the morning, Jack had been formulating a theory about how the killer was thinking, about what he would do next. Albert Lemon was central to that. But, there were still large gaps he needed to fill in before he shared it with the others. He took a breath and continued walking.
*
Throughout the day and late into the afternoon, Jack searched through the stacks without success. In the back of his mind, he recalled seeing a reference an author had made to Howard Pell and the patterns serial killers tended to follow. Unfortunately, that had been years ago, and he couldn’t remember whether it was in a book, a magazine, or perhaps a newspaper article. It was nearly six o’clock when he quit. He called Beth to say he might be a few minutes late for dinner. The phone rang four times before going to her answering machine.
“You’ve reached Beth and Peeka’s house. I’m not in right now. Please leave a message.”
It took a second for him to remember Peeka was short for her cat, Peekachu.
“Hi, this is Jack. I was doing some research and let the time get away from me. I may be a couple minutes late. I need to stop at my house and take care of Marta. See you later.”
He disconnected and immediately second-guessed himself for not leaving something a little friendlier.
*
The Soul Eater stood in Beth’s kitchen and listened to the message. Beth and Clever Jack together. What could be more perfect? When it was through, he played it again.
Getting past her burglar alarm was easier than he thought. Facebook and her cat did her in. The private information people were inclined to put out to the public never ceased to amaze him—everything from their birthdays to the places they were born and the names of pets and family members. It was beyond stupid. He conjectured that social media was the rough high-tech equivalent of carving your initials on a tree. Once, when he visited Stone Mountain, he was astonished to see how many people had gone to the trouble of using a hammer and chisel to tell the world they were there. The names and initials went back to the mid-1800s. Basically, it came down to this: no one wanted to disappear. It took only two tries to find the password to Beth’s burglar alarm using her cat’s name.
The Soul Eater wandered through the house looking at this and that. Interesting woman. Her taste in books was eclectic, running the gamut from historical fiction and memoir to romance novels. In her bedroom, he examined her dresser drawers. Her lingerie was in the top drawer.
The second and third drawers contained sweaters and slacks, all neatly folded. As he was browsing, a large, gray cat with green eyes came into the room and sat watching him. He didn’t like cats, and he didn’t like being watched.
“Scat.”
The cat’s tail flicked, but it stayed where it was. The Soul Eater gave it a sour look and continued to browse. In the bottom drawer were several nightgowns and teddies, which he thought were more for show than function.
Atop the dresser was a photo of Beth and another woman he took to be her sister. Their facial features indicated as much. Both were extremely photogenic. He could change that. Her closet held no surprises, save for a box of photographs. He went through them one by one. Past lovers? Odd that she’d kept them. He’d have to ask why when they met.
The work on his basement was nearly complete, which was good. The sarcophagi had taken up more space than he thought. They were beautiful and elegant and the occupants looked serene lying there. No more cares. No more worries. All safe and secure with him to watch over and protect them forever. Elizabeth would make a shining addition.
The annoying cat approached the closet door and continued to watch him. He could feel the pressure building in his chest. The cat was beginning to get on his nerves. Very slowly, so as not to spook it, his hand crept to the scalpel in his pocket. But the moment he took a step toward it, it darted away. Fine. Back to business.
The good detective’s bed had antique head- and footboards and a queen-size mattress. He lay down and held the pillow to his face, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. On the nightstand alongside the bed was an anniversary clock, its pendulum turning first one way and then the other. The time was 6:05 PM. Not much longer to wait. Not much longer until the pressure was released.
The bedroom was cool and lit by ambient light from a window. Above him, a fan with blades shaped like palm leaves moved air around in a desultory fashion. In a small garden just outside the window was a fountain with a lion’s head that poured water into a bowl from the lion’s mouth. The stupid cat apparently found a way outside and jumped onto a table, then stretched out in a square of sunlight. That didn’t matter either. He’d deal with it, too, in due course.
Chapter 45
Despite his fondness for beer and Scotch, Jack knew almost nothing about wine. They all tasted the same to him. Even though Beth said not to bring anything, he thought a bottle wouldn’t be out of place. She hadn’t mentioned what she was making, so choosing the right one now presented a problem. He knew red went with meat and white went with fish, but that was about it. The salesman wasn’t much help either.
“How much do you want to spend?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “It’s an informal dinner with a colleague.”
“Hmm. Fifteen dollars should get you a nice selection,” the salesman said. “Do you prefer something fruity?”
“Aren’t they all fruity? They come from grapes,” Jack said.
A quick explanation followed on the merits of fruity versus dry wines and light versus full-bodied wines, which went in one ear and out the other. The salesman remained tolerant. This was followed by the inevitable question about whether he wanted a white or red. Jack admitted he had no idea what Beth was serving. Even the salesman was stumped now. To solve the problem, he suggested a rose, which apparently fell somewhere in the middle. Jack decided to purchase one bottle of each. The salesman wished him good luck.
*
Beth lived in a subdivision of detached townhomes called Garland Square. All thirty-two of them were situated around a small, well-landscaped park with a gazebo at the center. The gazebo’s roof was green and its sides were white. According to directions sent while Jack was in the library, her home was at the end of the first street. She told him to park in the driveway.
The house was three stories high. Each of the windows had plantation shutters rather than shades. As Jack approached the front door carrying his bottles of wine, he noticed the purple and orange pansies growing along her walkway. They added a nice welcoming touch. On either side of the door, a low English Ivy hedge and azaleas lined the foundation wall.
He knocked.
After several seconds, there was no response. He knocked again and waited some more with the same result. This time he tried the doorbell. Still nothing. He listened for any sounds coming from the inside and heard none. Perhaps she was also running late. But if that were the case, she would surely have called to let him know. There were no messages on his cell phone.
Uncertain what to do, Jack called Beth’s cell and then her house phone. He could hear it ringing inside.
“You’ve reached Beth and Peeka’s house. I’m not home right now. Please leave a message.”
“This is Jack. I’m outside your door. It’s six fifteen. Call me back if you’re stuck someplace.”
Jack stepped away from the door and looked in the window. Toward the rear of the house, he could see a light on. Beyond that, there was no indication anyone was home.
There wasn’t much option other than to wait.
Jack returned to his car and placed the wine on the driver’s seat
then leaned against the fender. Except for a single white cloud, the sky was blue and clear. While he was waiting and trying not to look suspicious, a neighbor walking her dog passed by and smiled at him. He gave her a small wave in return. The woman continued down the street.
Random thoughts came and went in his head. She and Pappas had gone to see Howard Pell, and that made him uncomfortable. He tried never to dwell on Howard Pell. Without warning, an image of his ex-partner surfaced in his mind as she lay dying in her bedroom, the victim of Pell’s insane surgery. To this day, it remained the single most horrific sight he’d ever encountered. In the years that followed Connie’s death, he’d often lay awake into the early hours of the morning staring at the light seeping through his curtains. That was preferable to the nightmares and the events he pushed into the recesses of his mind.
Before he was conscious of the fact, Jack’s breathing began to increase. His heart was now thumping heavily in his chest. Instinctively, he reached for his pills only to find that he’d left the bottle at home. Next, he went through the mental exercises Morris Shottner had shown him in an effort to calm down. After a minute or two, they began to work. He took a deep breath and looked up. The cloud was still there, just over the edge of Beth’s rooftop, only it had moved higher and there was a tinge of gray at the bottom.
Fearful that she would come home and find him in the throes of a panic attack, he decided to distract himself. Pushing off the car’s fender, Jack walked to a narrow path that separated Beth’s home from the one on the right. Her backyard was visible from where he stood. Like the house, it also looked deserted. He was nearly to it when he heard a man curse. That was followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Metal scraped against metal. Jack immediately drew his weapon and broke into a run, rounding the corner at full speed.
“Freeze!”
A startled man in jeans took one look at him and the sight of his revolver and yelled, “Jesus!” Throwing his hands up defensively, he stepped backward and tripped over a toolkit lying on the ground. He landed heavily on his rear.
“Jack!” Beth yelled. “It’s my air conditioning man.”
“What?”
“It’s Rudy Volkmann, my air conditioning man,” she said, stepping between them. “It’s okay. I called him.”
Jack finally let his breath out, holstered his weapon, and shut his eyes. He now remembered the Cool-Tech van parked in the visitor spaces as he drove in.
“I’m sorry,” he said, offering a hand to Rudy.
Rudy pushed his hand away and said, “Are you crazy?” He got to his feet and turned to Beth. “What kind of people do you hang out with?”
“This is Lieutenant Kale,” she said contritely. “Jack, Rudy Volkmann. Rudy’s the owner of Cool-Tech.”
He apologized again. This time the technician shook hands, though not with much enthusiasm.
“Everything should be good, Ms. Sturgis,” he said, keeping his eye on Jack. “The system’s completely charged.”
“Thank you for coming out so quickly,” Beth said in a small voice.
“No worries. I was in the neighborhood.”
Rudy snapped his toolkit shut and shook hands with Beth. He nodded to Jack and headed back to his van, shaking his head.
When they were alone, Beth moved closer and kissed Jack lightly on the lips.
“You came to my rescue,” she said.
“I feel like the village idiot. For my next trick, maybe I can break down your neighbor’s door and let their pets run loose.”
Beth’s efforts at remaining somber were in danger of collapse. She was trying desperately not to laugh and not succeeding.
“You looked so serious. Ferocious, actually,” she said, struggling to get the words out.
“Thank you,” Jack said, blandly.
“I’m sorry Rudy didn’t stay longer. He’s really nice.”
“Probably had to go home and change his pants,” Jack muttered, which caused Beth to lose it completely.
When she regained her composure, she took him by the hand and led him inside. The gesture was wholly unconscious, but it surprised him in a good way. As they walked, the sound of her laughter remained on his mind. Pure unrestrained glee. What would it be like to make a woman like this laugh all the time? Could he allow himself to be with another person? These thoughts made him uncomfortable. Would catching the killer earn him a chance at redemption? He had no answers.
Beth informed him they were having veal scaloppini and pasta, which sounded great. Italian food was his favorite and he was famished. In view of the late start, she asked if he would lend a hand and cut up some tomato and mozzarella slices for their appetizer. Jack came into the kitchen and set about the task. When he was through, he drizzled a little olive oil and balsamic vinegar over them. Beth paused to inspect his work, nodded her approval, and returned to the veal preparations.
“I bought some wine,” Jack said. “With all the excitement earlier, I nearly forgot about it.”
“That was thoughtful.”
“Be right back.”
When he returned carrying three bottles, she looked at him quizzically.
Jack told her, “I wasn’t sure what you were making tonight, so I bought one of each to be safe.”
*
Beth came into the room carrying their dishes. She’d changed into a light-blue cotton dress that buttoned up the front and came nearly to her knees. They were joined by Peeka, who sat under the table and occasionally rubbed against their ankles to let them know he was there. Basically, an advanced form of begging.
“Do you feed him from the table?” Jack asked.
“Never,” Beth said, pinching off a tiny piece of veal with her fingers and handing it to the cat. Jack stuck his lower lip out and followed suit with a piece of his own. Peeka grabbed it and dashed off to another part of the house with his treasure.
“Well,” Beth said, “I have to say I’m surprised.”
“Oh?”
“Peeka likes you. He’s usually not fond of my dates.”
For some reason, the idea of her dating rankled him.
“Do you date much?” he asked.
“A little,” Beth said. “You?”
“Not really,” Jack said. “At least not for a long time.”
Beth took a sip of her wine and processed this without comment.
Jack added, “After the divorce, I tried a few times. It . . . they didn’t work out. It was mostly me.”
“Haven’t you been lonely?”
“Some.”
Beth was becoming attuned to his one-word responses. They were generally accompanied by a wooden expression because the topic made him uncomfortable. It was frustrating because he’d begin to open up, approach the ledge but then pull back, like sticking your toe in a pool before diving in. His reaction only served to make her more curious. But if she pushed, he’d only retreat further.
“So, did you find what you were looking for in the library?”
Once again on familiar ground, Jack said, “Not really. But I did locate a few more references to Albert Lemon and his crime spree. One article mentioned the author had used Lemon’s diary. That would be a gold mine if I could get my hands on it.”
Beth agreed. She then informed him of Pell’s reaction when she brought up Lemon’s name.
“Did he say anything that might help locate the victims?”
“He claimed not to know anything about Lemon or the other bodies. Nothing. Just a bunch of lies.”
“Actually, that’s helpful,” Jack said. “Because I know he’s lying.”
“What good does knowing he’s lying do us?”
“Ask yourself this: Why do people lie?”
“To cover something up,” Beth said.
“Or because they believe the lie will benefit them.”
“Because the consequences of telling the truth will be unpleasant,” Beth said.
Jack smiled. The girl had a quick mind.
Beth sat back in
her chair and looked at him. “Do you ever get tired of being a teacher?”
Jack smiled and took a sip of his wine. “That depends on the student, Miss Elizabeth.”
*
The Soul Eater was frustrated. Everything had been working out so beautifully. Beth Sturgis was just pulling into her garage. Clever Jack was on his way. Even the miserable cat had come back inside. Then the air conditioner man showed up. Of all the rotten luck.
There’d be other chances. He was a patient man, and there were always other chances. The basement still had a way to go, and the delivery from the antiquities dealer wouldn’t arrive for two more days.
He sat in his den studying the book again, marveling how history had a way of repeating itself. What was that expression? Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it?
Clever Jack was doomed. So were Pamela and little Aaron. He did feel rather badly about the boy. Well, life wasn’t fair, was it? Time was running out for all of them.
Chapter 46
Beth’s eyes felt dry. She and Jack had wound up staying up late, talking about what seemed like everything under the sun. She loved the sound of his voice and wanted to know more about him as a person, which was why she suggested meeting at her house, where it would be natural to touch on things other than the case. And it seemed to be working—almost.
At one point, he asked what she liked to do when she wasn’t being a cop. She told him she was taking ballroom dancing lessons at a little place in Sandy Springs. That seemed to surprise him almost as much as he surprised her when he said he wouldn’t mind learning to dance. The talk continued with Jack growing more comfortable by increments when they touched on personal subjects. But no matter what the progress, he always shied away when it got too personal. Beth finally gave up and went back to talking about business.
One thing she and Pappas had agreed on was that there was no way Pell could have gotten past the cameras, key cards, and personnel on duty. Which meant her theory that he was working with someone on the outside had hit a wall. Over the past thirty-six months, he’d only had two visitors: his mother and some college student writing a paper about him. His mother had passed away the following year and the college student had graduated from the University of Georgia and was now doing a fellowship at a New York hospital.
Once Shadows Fall Page 20
