Dead Even (13 page)

Suppose she was attacked just shortly after six, and the whole incident lasted only minutes? Could Simpson have gotten back to the motel and been on stage by seven? Would Audra have lived over four more hours with the massive injuries she had? Doubtful. The doctors credited the quick action of the two teenagers in binding Audra's wounds with saving her life. She would surely have bled to death if the attack had been hours earlier.

So where the hell did that leave him? If Audra was right about the voice, then she had to be mistaken about the time. If the time was right, she had to be mistaken about the voice. Too many people placed Simpson on that podium during the hours the attack was supposed to have taken place. They couldn't all be wrong.

Why, then, did he still feel in his gut that Simpson was involved? Why did he still insist on believing Audra Delaney when every shred of evidence they had compiled said Simpson could not possibly have done it? Was it just that he was attracted to Audra? No. He didn't believe that. It was something else. Something about Simpson. More specifically, something about his house. Did he keep it closed off like that because he was doing something in there he didn't want to risk his neighbors seeing? Could he be luring young women to his house, killing them, and disposing of the bodies? In a way similar to the Hillside Strangler?

Shit. He was starting to think like the plot to a bad B movie! Letting his imagination run wild like a first-year rookie! All the speculating in the world wasn't going to help him. He needed facts.

He picked up the telephone and dialed the Lawrence police department, and asked to speak to Captain Welling. In a few minutes Welling came on the line. Mike identified himself, the case he was working on, and then asked his question. “I was wondering if you would be able to give me an idea of about how long it would take to get from the vicinity where Miss Delaney's attack took place, to the Holiday Inn?”

He waited impatiently while Welling checked a local map, sighing deeply when the answer was given. “I'd say at least thirty to forty minutes. There's a ten-mile stretch of winding dirt road that leads into the area. That would be slow going, plus the Holiday is clear across town.”

Ramsey thanked him, and was surprised to hear Welling ask, “How is she anyway? The girl?”

He answered as best he could. “All right, I guess. Pretty shook up because she swears she heard the man's voice on the radio. And then this man turns out to actually have been in Lawrence that night. However, three hundred people place him at the Holiday giving a speech during the time she was assaulted.”

“I see. So you were thinking maybe the attack was earlier? Giving him enough time to get back to the motel?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“No chance of that,” Welling stated, bluntly. “She was really cut up. No way would she have lived long with the injuries she sustained.”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, wearily. “Yeah, I figured that. I was just grasping at straws.”

Welling heard the frustration in Mike's voice. “Is she getting to you?”

Mike was surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” Welling answered. “Is she getting under your skin? Do you find yourself wanting to solve this case more than any case you have ever worked on?”

Mike grunted, not committing himself.

“You don't need to answer that. I can hear it in your voice. I was the same way. I hardly slept for weeks after finally talking with Miss Delaney. I don't know what happened that night, but whatever it was, it scared the hell out of her. I've never interviewed a victim in all my years on the force who was so deeply traumatized. I wasn't certain she would ever be able to lead a normal life again.”

“To be honest,” Mike answered the captain, “I don't think she has led a normal life these last ten years. But in the last few days, since she thought she heard his voice, she has gone from terrified to just plain mad. Now, for some reason, I'm worried she is planning on going after the son of a bitch herself!”

“Does she know his name?”

“No. But she knows his phone number, and she's a bright woman—shouldn't be too tough for her to figure out how to get the name.”

“But didn't you just say you had eliminated this man as a suspect? Because of the alibi?”

Mike's answer sounded lame, even to himself. “Yeah, well you know how it is, sometimes you go with your gut, instead of your head. I haven't totally ruled him out yet.”

“If there is anything we can do to help you from this end, don't hesitate to ask,” Welling said. “I'd like nothing better than to mark that case closed.”

Ramsey thanked him and hung up. Another dead end. He pushed away from his desk and walked over to Butch. “Anything yet?”

Butch kept his eyes on the computer screen. “I did what you suggested and checked further than Kansas. Among other things, I'm picking up two or three unsolved rapes and murders a year in surrounding states, but so far, nothing to tie them together other than many were college students.”

“Any of the m.o.'s even similar?”

“Not really. Some were strangled, some shot, one had her throat slit, and so on. Those that were shot were not shot with the same make gun. One was a shotgun, one a forty-five, and two with a rifle. No reason to tie any of them together.” Butch scanned down the screen. “Hold on. Here's something. Omaha, Nebraska. Young college girl named Kimberly Asherton—savagely raped, stabbed repeatedly, body found in isolated spot.” He looked up at Mike. “Could be. This was two years previous to the attack on Audra, and very similar.”

Mike nodded. “See what else you can find out about it, then make me a printout of all the others. We may want to request files at some point.”

“On what basis do you want a printout? All women killed? All women raped and killed? Just college students? Just women under the age of twenty-five? What? I've had five states sending me info. I've got a lot of garbage in the computer now. We have to start eliminating somewhere.”

Mike grinned and shook his head. “How long have you been at this, anyway?”

“Three damn days. I had to get the material into the computer before I could start doing an analysis. And I've managed to piss off half the major police departments in this part of the country in the process! Looking up several years worth of unsolved crimes isn't high on their agendas, obviously! Not that I blame them—it's a hell of a lot of work.”

Mike took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and handed it to Butch. “Well, you're the computer expert. What would you suggest?”

Butch leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag. His eyes burned and itched from viewing the screen, his wrists were sore, and his back felt like someone had shoved a hot poker between his shoulder blades. “I say we eliminate older women—say over the age of twenty-five. And also victims who were raped, but not otherwise harmed—unless they have specifically mentioned the man's voice as being weird. Those two things, alone, would reduce our list dramatically. We could also eliminate those crimes where the victim identified someone, but it was never proven. Usually, the victim is right, even if she can't nail the bastard.”

“Okay. That sounds good to me. Then can you break down what's left into different categories?”

“Like what?”

“How about college girls, location of bodies, cities and dates, how they were grabbed, DNA if available, method of killing, and any other way you can think of.”

Butch let out a long groan. “Jesus, Mike. We only have a few days left! A DNA printing would only work on the latest crimes, anyway. Plus getting them all would be a trick in itself! There isn't a national clearinghouse for the DNA profile of sperm, you know!”

“Not yet, anyway. But the FBI is working on it. It's called CODIS—Combined DNA Indexing System. Once they have that set up, all this shit we have to go through will be obsolete. The database will link states together, so it will be easier to determine when a series of crimes are related.”

“What good is it going to do us to get the DNA profiles? DNA testing wasn't around when Audra Delaney was attacked.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah, but if we could tie any of these deaths together from the different states, and then tie Simpson to the states, we would probably have enough to force him to give us a sample. If the profile would
happen
to match, we'd have him, if not in Audra's case, then others. It's worth a shot. We have so damn little to go on, anyway.”

“You want the bastard, don't you?”

“Yes. I know the son of a bitch is sitting back laughing at us because of his alibi. I don't know how he pulled that off, but by God we're going to get him, one way or another!”

“He could be innocent, you know.”

“Yeah, and I could be the frigging tooth fairy!”

Chapter ELEVEN

Oh, no, Audra thought as she returned to her classroom.
I forgot all about Jason!
There he was in a fog of white, slapping erasers together, a scene right out of a Laura Ingalls Wilder book. Jason even looked like he belonged to that era, with his patched jeans and hand-me-down shirt a few sizes too large for his slight body.

“Are we ready, Teach?” he grinned mischievously at her.

“Teach?” she repeated, aghast. “Teach? Just where did
that
come from? It's Miss Delaney to you, mister!” Her smile let him know she had not taken the offense seriously.

“So what's for supper,
Miss Delaney?
” Jason asked as they headed for Audra's car. “I know how to make potato soup.” He stopped talking and screwed up his face, as if regretting owning up to the accomplishment. “But I'm actually a little tired of soup. On our budget, we make it a lot.” He looked knowingly at Audra. “Soup's cheap, and it's good when you're not feeling good.”

“
Well,
Jason,” Audra responded automatically. “Not feeling
well.
” She was aware that most five year olds would not even understand that she was correcting their grammar, but she never worried that Jason wouldn't catch on to what she was saying.

He grinned at her. “I know. I was just checking to see if you were paying attention.”

She boxed him playfully on the arm. “Think you're pretty smart, don't you, young man?”

He nodded his head, then spoke in a serious tone. “I don't let the other kids know how smart I am. You won't tell them, will you Miss Delaney? I want them to like me, and sometimes when kids are
too
smart, they lose their friends.”

Audra was surprised by his insight into one of the major problems facing a gifted child. And something told her neither she, nor anyone else at William's, knew exactly how gifted Jason truly was.

She stopped walking and knelt beside the boy. “Just how smart are you, Jason? And level with me, now.”

“If I tell you, do you promise not to put me in another class? Because I'm having fun in kindergarten, and I like helping the other kids.”

Audra smiled. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”

Jason squirmed, still not certain that he wanted to reveal his secret, yet at the same time, wanting to confide in the pretty teacher he liked so much. He decided to go for it. “Well, I read all the textbooks that my older brothers and sisters bring home from high school. And I always help them when they have to answer questions and stuff. I don't know, everything just comes real easy for me. I'm good in math, too. I can do algebra, trigonometry, calculus—”

Audra was stunned. “Am I to understand that you sit there in my class pretending to learn your ABC's, and to count to a hundred, when you can do all these other things?”

Jason looked embarrassed. “Well, I don't always listen. Sometimes I make up stories in my head, or work equations I've copied from a math book my brother brought home from high school.” He opened up his Big Chief tablet and showed Audra the problems he had copied. Audra couldn't even follow it on paper.

“Are you telling me you figure this all out in your head? Without writing anything down?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It's faster that way. The only trouble is, I don't have any way to check to see if my answers are right. I wish I had a book with the answers in the back, then I would know.”

“What you need is a teacher's edition, Jason. You tell me what books you want, and I'll get them for you.” Audra couldn't believe she was calmly discussing this with the boy. If what he was saying was true, then he was working at least on a high school level, maybe more, and was totally self-taught at that!

“How about pizza?”

“What?” Audra asked, unable to make the rapid transition.

“Instead of potato soup, how about pizza? We don't make that much at home. Too expensive. But I can do the filling, if you know how to make the crust.”

Audra winked at him, and stood back up. “I'm not much good at making crusts. How about if we go to Pizza Hut and just pig out!”

“Great,” Jason yelled. “But don't forget now, you promised.”

“Promised what, Jason?”

“That I could stay in your class!”

She nodded. “All right. But I'm going to make sure you have plenty of books to read, and enough math problems to keep your mind occupied. I needed to swing by the library, anyway, for some other information. While we're there, you can pick out some reading material, okay?”

“Sure,” Jason answered as he climbed in the car. “We're going to have fun, aren't we Miss Delaney!”

*   *   *

Neither Jason nor Audra paid any attention to the dark blue van on the street next to the school's parking lot. The lone occupant watched their every move, his face concealed behind a black ski mask.

It had been so easy. There had been only three possible names on the list. Only three of the girls who had quit school their freshman year resided in the area, and of those, only one lived in Hays. Harriet Slimmer had been most efficient. She not only had Audra Delaney's address, but the name of the school where she taught. Now that he had seen her, he knew he didn't need to check any further. She was the one. He remembered her well.