by Gary Ruffin
Cherry looked absolutely radiant in the light of the full moon as we walked the short distance to the Bentley. She took my arm, and asked me what I thought of her speech.
“Boss lady,” I said. “You were sensational, and I know Poppy is smiling down on you from heaven tonight. I couldn’t believe you didn’t use any notes. I’m extremely proud of you, and very impressed.”
She stopped me, stood on her toes, gave me a short kiss on the lips, and said, “Oh, Cooper, that’s so sweet of you. Thank you very much for saying that. I meant every single word I said, and truly felt every emotion. I just hope we raised stupendous amounts of money. I simply love the people here in Atlanta. The audience were so well behaved and attentive, I could have gone on for hours.”
I said, “And they would have let you go on for hours, believe me. Another thing, I don’t think you hafta worry about how much money you raised. I bet you set some kind of record for a single night in this town. It was a great night, any way you look at it, and you should feel very proud of yourself, young lady.”
“I must say, I feel like a million bucks. Maybe a billion!”
As we got to the car, I took hold of her hands, and said, “Well, you should feel that way. And I bet Poppy feels like a couple of billion herself.”
We had managed to avoid the TV news crews all night, which would not have been possible without the aid of the Atlanta police. The same officers who’d met us when we arrived gave us a police escort back to the Ritz, with two motorcycle cops in front of the Bentley, and two behind. Cherry and I had a ball cruising through all the red lights, acting like big shots. It was a cool way to end an extraordinary evening.
Back in the suite, Cherry changed into her usual jeans and a tee shirt, and I did the same. I called room service, and we both had her favorite midnight supper again. Steak and eggs, a pot of tea, and a bottle of ketchup.
We watched a bad old movie, but anything would have been better than to have seen all the news reports concerning Cherry’s circumstances. The amount of coverage had become ludicrous, but it was to be expected. How many movie stars have a cyber serial killer stalking them? Talk about hitting all the hot-button topics: Sex and Death and Fame and Fortune. It was fast becoming a true media-frenzy whirlwind on all of the news channels, and would soon dominate every entertainment news show as well. I don’t know the names of those shows, but Penny likes to watch them, so I’m aware of their existence through her.
Anyway, we ate and talked and watched the movie, and left the news to people who weren’t living right smack in the middle of it.
After we polished off our chow, I lay on the couch while Cherry made a few phone calls in her room. I thought about calling Penny, but decided against it yet again. I think I was still a little miffed at her for not being jealous when I told her about what I’d be doing in Atlanta. Hell, I know I was still miffed.
Like her, I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever grow up. Also like her, I’m not holding my breath.
I was beat to the socks, so to make sure I didn’t doze off on the couch, I got up and knocked on Cherry’s bedroom door, and said good night. I undressed down to the skin as usual, and climbed into my bed by the window, leaving the curtains cracked just a little. If someone got into the room during the night, I wanted to be able to see them before they saw me. That was the plan, at least. If someone actually had gotten in, I probably would have slept right through it. I sleep the sleep of the dead once I’m totally out, which is great for an off-duty policeman, but not so great for a bodyguard.
I was in that twilight state I go into right before I fall asleep when I felt the covers slowly pull up, and caught the light scent of peach shampoo. Was I dreaming, or was a beautiful British redhead climbing into bed with me?
Sleepily, I asked, “Are you by any chance a serial killer?”
Giggling, Cherry said in French-accented English, “No, I’m the French maid, come to make your bed, monsieur.”
“What are you doin’ makin’ my bed, and me in it?”
“Please don’t be cross with me, Cooper, but I just don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Especially after all that’s happened today. I just felt so alone in my room.”
Since I had my back to her as she got in the bed, her pajama-clad butt rubbed up against my naked one. She said in her accent again, “Ooh, la la. The police man sleep au naturel, oui?”
“No, the policeman is trying to sleep au whatever. And I’m unclothed because I usually sleep with my girlfriend, or alone, miss—miss whatever-the-French-word-for-Cherry is.” I yawned big, and asked, “Are you sure you can’t sleep alone?”
“Yes, I’m sure. No, I can’t. I’m a big chicken. I need a warm body to feel secure. Marlon usually has that job, but I didn’t bring him because of all one must do to get around that bloody quarantine business.”
“Your boyfriend has to be quarantined?”
Laughing, she said, “No, silly. Marlon is my big fat Persian cat. He sleeps with me at night, and keeps me warm. Well, sort of.”
“So, I’m nothin’ more than a warm body to you. Thanks a lot.” Another huge yawn.
“No, of course you’re more than a warm body,” she said as she snuggled her rear end closer to mine. “C’mon, Cooper, don’t be difficult. Come to bed with me, won’t you please?”
That got my attention, and the need for yawning disappeared suddenly. In my mind’s eye, I saw a picture of Penny hoisting me into Cherry Page’s bed with a forklift.
I said, “Well, okay, I guess. Your bed is a lot more comfortable, I’m sure. But no more talkin’. We need to get some sleep. You have another big day tomorrow.”
After being invited to share the bed of one of the most beautiful women in the world, it was hard to believe that I was saying those words, but I was.
“Oh, goody!” she exclaimed, and jumped out of my bed and ran towards hers.
I wondered how many guys would give their right arm to be sleeping with Cherry Page in a fancy hotel suite. I stopped mentally counting at 3 billion.
Checking to make sure that she couldn’t see, I quickly pulled on a pair of clean boxers, and a clean tee shirt as well. There was no way I was going in that bedroom without some form of defense.
The light from her bathroom was on, and it gave the bedroom a nice subdued lighting. Surely she wasn’t trying to seduce me, right?
She was sitting on top of the bedspread with her back against the headboard, dressed in the most ridiculous pair of oversized men’s pajamas I’ve ever seen. There was enough room in them for two Cherrys, and the print was some cartoon characters on a light blue background. What kind of man wears pajamas with cartoon characters on them to bed, I don’t know. But I do know this: sexy, they weren’t. I put all notions of seduction out of my mind, and climbed under the covers next to her in the spacious bed.
“Can we go to sleep now?” I asked.
She ignored me, and said, “Cooper, the entire cast and crew like you very much, you know. Will thinks you’re the ‘cat’s meow.’ He told me so himself while we waited for you at the Wiggly Piggly.”
“Piggly Wiggly.”
She ignored me again, and said, “Tell me your girlfriend’s name.”
I sighed deeply, and said, “Penny Lee Prevost.”
“How remarkable! My name is Cherry Leigh Page!”
“That is remarkable,” I muttered. “You must be related.” I couldn’t believe I was in Cherry Leigh Page’s bed, talking about my girlfriend instead of trying out my best lines. Not that I have any best lines, but I mean, come on. Thank God, there was no one there to witness my pathetic behavior.
Cherry asked, “And what does Penny Lee look like?”
Realizing I wasn’t going to get any sleep until she was finished interrogating me, I said, “Well, Penny is gorgeous, a real looker. She has long, straight black hair, and deep brown eyes. She’s maybe a little taller than you, but you two share the same body type. I mean, you’re both—voluptuous. Unlike you, she has a suntan all year
round, and like you, she makes men’s heads turn whenever she walks by. Is that enough?”
“You forgot the most important thing about her. She’s a very fortunate girl. She has you.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”
Cherry said, “You don’t have to say it. A woman knows these things.”
I said, “That’s very nice of you to say, but we’ve only just met, Cherry. You hardly know anything about me.”
“That’s not true. I know that you’re sweet, and smart, and funny. Not to mention good-looking. And I know that I feel safe and secure when you’re around.”
Okay, I admit that I’m sweet, and pretty smart, and that I can be funny at times, but good-looking? I’m average-looking at best, with a slightly crooked nose that I got playing high-school football, and my height and weight are average as well. My brown hair is always a little too long, except when there’s a gay hairdresser around, which is never, and my green eyes are nothing special. I guess you could feel safe with a guy who carries a weapon, but the rest of it was a little too much. I was beginning to think I had a woman with a schoolgirl crush on my hands, and an unmerited crush at that.
Sitting up and leaning back on the headboard beside her, I asked, “How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-seven November next—the tenth, to be exact. How old are you?”
“I was forty-five last January first.”
She said, “Oh, a New Year’s baby, yeah? That makes you what, a Capricorn?”
“Oh, no,” I groaned. “Don’t tell me you believe in all that stuff.”
“Lord, no. Only the good parts,” she laughed. “Like the part about us Scorpios being quite sexy, and all. The bad stuff I forget as soon as I read it.”
“Well, you’re definitely sexy. The stars got that part right.”
“I’m not all that sexy. When we know each other better, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said. “So. What are the characteristics of a Capricorn?”
“I have no idea, but you reminded me of a show I saw last year. This debunker guy—you know what I mean, he’s always tryin’ to expose frauds—debunk ’em, I mean—he did a test with a class of college kids, as I recall, maybe high schoolers—twenty-five or so. Anyway, he gave ’em all an astrological reading done expressly for each individual in the class. A single page describing what a person born on the same day as each one of them would be like. In other words, the girl born on June sixth got one for that day, the boy born on October twenty-fifth got one for that day, and so forth. Next he asked them to take their time reading the personalized information, and then tell him how accurate they thought the descriptions were. Somethin’ like eighty percent of them swore that the readings were highly accurate, and described them to a tee. There was only one thing wrong with the test.”
I paused for effect, and after a few seconds, she couldn’t stand it.
“Tell me!”
I chuckled, and said, “He gave them all identical information. Each page was exactly the same, and eighty percent of ’em bought it. That pretty much tells ya how accurate astrology is.”
“I love it!” she said. “We need a lot more debunkers, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, I would. And that concludes the astrology portion of the evening.”
Cherry said, “Not just yet. Do you think a Scorpio and a Capricorn might make a good match?”
“Cherry, even if they—we—did make a good match astrologically speaking, I’m old enough to be your—your—uncle. A young uncle.”
“So?”
“So? So. So, look, I know there’s a ‘so’ in there somewhere. You and I could never be, well, you know, together.”
Cherry turned to look me in the eye, and asked, “And why on Earth not?”
“Because we live in two completely different worlds. You’re always flyin’ off to some faraway part of the globe, and I’m a police chief in a drowsy little town in Florida.”
“Well, maybe you could come and be a part of it. My world, I mean. You could be my permanent bodyguard, and protect me from all the bad people in my world.”
“Cherry. Kiddo. Let’s get serious about this thing. I think you’re doin’ what the shrinks call ‘projecting,’ or ‘transference,’ or somethin’ like that. You’re makin’ me out to be some kind of knight in shining armor because I’ve been there to look after you during some scary moments. You’re projecting qualities on to me that aren’t really there. And, on top of all that, I already have a girlfriend.”
“Are you two engaged to be married?”
“Well, no, not exactly, but—”
“Well, there you go, then. If you’re not engaged, that makes you fair game. ‘All’s fair,’ and all that. Besides, if you were a knight, you certainly wouldn’t be in shining armor. I should think your armor would be slightly shabby,” she said, laughing her sweet laugh. “Cooper, my knight in shabby armor.”
“That’s not funny,” I said joining in on the laugh.
After a pause, I said, “You’re not really serious about this stuff, wanting me to stay on as your bodyguard, and whatever.”
“Oh, I’m quite serious. Truth be told, I’m seriously serious. Someday, you might grow to truly like me. One never knows with affairs of the heart.”
With that accent of hers, “heart” sounded a lot like “hot.” It was certainly getting warmer in that bed, lying next to her like that.
Keeping the heat on, Cherry asked, “Cooper? Seriously, now. Aren’t you attracted to me in the slightest?”
I looked at her as if she was nuts, and said, “Cherry, of course I’m attracted to you. What man in his right mind wouldn’t be attracted to you?”
“Ah, there’s the rub,” she said. “‘Right mind.’ Well then, if any man in his right mind would be attracted to me, and you’re not attracted to me, then it’s plain to see that you’re not in your right mind.”
I put my hands on my head, and moaned, “You’re givin’ me a pounding headache. And, just for the record, there are other reasons I could never be with you. Like, for instance, you wear really, really, ugly pajamas to bed.”
Reaching for the buttons of her pajama top, she said, “I can remedy that.”
“No! I mean, that’s not necessary, I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” she said, giggling. “I was only winding you up.”
“Whew. You’re gonna give an old man a heart attack. Now, how ’bout we wind down, and get some sleep?”
“Oh, you’re no fun a’tall, Chief Cooper.”
Lying back down, I said, “I know, I know, I’m a stick-in-the-mud. But you’re killin’ me over here. And tomorrow’s another busy day, ya know.”
She sighed dramatically, and said, “Oh, all right then. I’ll be a good little girl.”
Closing my eyes as I turned away, I replied, “That’s what I like to hear. That’s nice. Now, g’night, Cherry.”
“Night-night. Uncle Cooper.”
18
NEAL FEAGIN WAS IN HIS PHIPPS PLAZA OFFICE ACROSS THE STREET FROM the Ritz talking with special agent John Carver of the FBI’s Violent Crimes Unit. Neal was seated at his desk, and Carver was sitting in a chair beside the desk so he could see the television that was suspended several feet off the floor in the corner. They were watching the early-morning news reports on the Cherry Page stalker case, Neal switching back and forth between channels with the remote. Neal had arrived at the office at 5 a.m. in order to beat the traffic. Since his left foot was the one in a cast, driving was not too much of a problem.
He usually didn’t come in on a Tuesday, but Neal wanted to glean any information that Agent Carver may have had, and to ask him what the FBI profilers were saying about the stalker. Neal showed his thanks to Carver for meeting him so early by bringing some of Susan’s homemade cinnamon rolls and hot coffee from a thermos.
Neal opened the conversation by saying, “So, tell me. What do the legendary FBI profilers have to say about our killer?”
&nb
sp; Carver swallowed the last bite of his cinnamon roll, and said, “Their best guess is that it’s a white male, thirty to forty. Probably affluent, able to make his own hours. They also suggest that he may have ties to a satanic cult of some kind, or may be trying to join one. It’s entirely possible that the murders are part of an initiation rite. That narrows it down somewhat if the satanic stuff is true, but take that away and it could be hundreds of men in this city alone, not to mention the country. Truth is, we don’t have a make on this guy yet, due to the lack of evidence left at the crime scenes. Also, he may have a thing against homosexuals, or be one himself, since he targeted Daniel Cullen. Or, that could have just been a crime of opportunity. No one at the drag club where Cullen worked saw anything out of the ordinary. Nothing unusual at the flower shop, either. Add to all that the arson at the theater in broad daylight, and we’ve obviously got a nut job on our hands, a full-blown psychopath. But in reality, it could be any one of a thousand guys. That’s what’s so frustrating about the whole thing.”
Neal said, “Sounds to me like this case has more than a few unusual things about it.”
Carver replied, “It really does, and it keeps getting stranger by the minute, or at least by the killing. In a normal stalking case, you might have a perp show up at your home, or harass you at your job, something of that nature. Or, he may follow you around wherever you go, like the freak who attacked the female tennis player a few years back, right out in front of God and everybody while she was in the middle of a match. Then there are stalkers who want to be as famous as the people they stalk, or the ones who are jealous, or just plain crazy. But this guy seems even less human than most serial killers. At least serial types usually have some reason for killing, no matter how twisted it may be. This bastard is killing innocent people just so he can have access to their computers. It’s as if their lives are just a hurdle to be overcome. No rhyme, no reason, just people in the wrong place at the right time. That makes it really difficult because there’s no discernible pattern. And still another thing sets this one apart from the pack. Most serial killers take time off between killings, sometimes years, but this one is knocking off victims almost every day.”
