Dead Even (17 page)

Audra was having a wonderful time. Mike was funny and boisterous, warm and giving. His laugh was infectious. Both she and Jason had laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks as Mike checked each popper for “lid popping ability,” going through an exaggerated test with each machine.

Audra looked up at the tall lights in the parking lot, mere blurs now with the increasing snowfall. She started to tell Jason to notice how pretty the lights were with the snow swirling around them, but as she glanced back from the lights, she saw a figure running across the lot, a few yards from them. It was a fleeting image, yet she felt as though someone had just landed a heavy blow to her midsection.

Audra stopped walking, released Mike's hand, and pointed, her breath coming in short gasps and her voice ragged when she spoke. “There, Mike! That's him! That's the man that—” She stopped talking. No. This was a boy—a teenager. Several other young men were joining him now, throwing snowballs and yelling. But there was something.…

She turned to Mike. “The face mask! I remember now! The man was wearing a mask that night! I came around a corner, and he was running toward me. I thought he was just a jogger! But when we passed, he grabbed me—threw me into a—” The memories began flooding back, tumbling fast in her mind. “—a
van!
It was a van!” Audra's hands began to shake violently. “My face! He put a cloth over my face! I couldn't breathe!” Audra grabbed the front of Mike's coat. “I remember that! My God, Mike. It's coming back. I remember!”

It had been a bitterly cold night, with a hint of snow in the air. When she saw the man coming toward her she gave no thought to the mask covering his face. She often wore the same protective apparel when running during the frigid winter months. Then, just as they passed, she felt his arms go around her, nearly knocking her to the ground. At first she thought the man had just accidently bumped into her, but as she righted herself, his arm went around her throat and he shoved a cloth over her face. She had fought against the fumes as he forced her into the van, then she must have succumbed to them, because that was all she remembered until—until what? What had happened after that?

Mike put his arm around her. “Keep going, Audra. Can you remember anything else about the van? About the man?”

Audra stood there, trying to force the rest of the evening into her memory, but it was all just bits and pieces, like awakening terrified from a nightmare but not being able to recount the actual happenings. Finally she shook her head. “No. That's it. I can't remember anything after that.”

Mike's words were encouraging. “But you are starting to remember. I'll bet it will all come back to you in time.” He made his mind up quickly. “Tomorrow I'm going to have you watch the tape we have of the suspect—the one where he is giving a speech. Maybe when you see him, it will unlock the rest of that night.”

Jason looked up at his teacher. So they
haven't
caught that man yet! And why wasn't Miss Delaney telling Mike about the other van? The one that went into the garage at the house they were watching? Did he know about that? Was it important?

He thought he had seen that van somewhere else during the day—and wasn't the driver wearing a face mask? Or was that just his imagination working after hearing his teacher?

Where
had he seen the van? If he could only remember
that,
maybe he could recall the driver more clearly. He worked backwards in his memory, retracing the places they had gone during the evening. The library? Pizza Hut? Nothing came to him. Whatever he thought he remembered, it had obviously not made any impression on him at the time.

Audra suddenly became aware that Jason was watching her intently. She looked at Mike, horrified that she had spoken of that night in front of the child. He understood immediately what her stricken face entailed, and reached down, scooping Jason up in his arms. “Well, now, young man, you'll have to forgive us. Your teacher was just trying to remember something from a long time ago. You know how it is with we old people! Can't remember a darned thing when we get past twenty!”

Jason was torn between telling Mike what he knew, or just continuing the charade. If he told, they would probably find out his mother wasn't sick at all, and insist he go home. Then he couldn't help protect Miss Delaney. Anyway, it didn't matter about the van, did it? He couldn't remember where he saw it, anyway, and Miss Delaney knew where it was now. It was at the house on Castlebury Road. If it were important, surely his teacher would tell Mike.
She probably just doesn't want to talk about it in front of me.
He decided not to say anything.

*   *   *

Jason noticed the blinking light on Audra's answering machine the minute they opened the door to her apartment. “You have a message,” he hollered. “Want me to check for you?”

“Sure, if you know how,” she smiled at him. “And of course I imagine you do!”

Jason went to the machine and reversed the tape, then pushed the play button. They listened as the first caller hung up without leaving a message, and then heard Butch's voice. Audra and Mike exchanged glances without saying anything. The next caller was Gerald, insisting she pick up the telephone. He sounded annoyed. The next three messages were also from Gerald, and there was no mistaking the increasing anger in his voice as he ranted about her paying for the cancelled wedding plans.

Audra walked over to shut off the machine, but one last call started playing. It was Gerald again, only this time his tone had changed dramatically. “Audra, I love you, and I'm sorry for the foolish way I have been acting. Bess is a wonderful woman, and of course she will be in the wedding. She can even live with us if that is what you want. I'm going over to talk with her now. I only want you to be happy, dear. Please call me.”

Audra punched the machine into silence, surprise registering on her face. “My goodness. What a flip-flop!”

“I'd better get hold of Butch,” Mike said, embarrassed that he had heard the intimate message, and painfully aware that he had dropped right into the middle of a lovers' quarrel and had no business being there. “All right if I use the other phone?”

Audra nodded. “Certainly.”

Mike went into the small bedroom and shut the door behind him. The room was pleasant and cozy, with an assortment of artifacts scattered around. He smiled when he noticed the stone buffalo on the end table by her bed. Pete Felten's work. He had several of his pieces, also. At least they had something in common.

The bed was covered by a thick down comforter, and a quilt rack stood in the corner of the room, with two patchwork quilts folded neatly in place. For a minute he felt like he had stepped back into his mother's bedroom, years ago, on the farm. It was a good feeling.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and punched in Butch's number. His partner answered on the first ring.

“What's up?” he asked.

“You are not going to believe what I came up with on the computer. Looks to me like we have a whole rash of killings going on over several states.”

“What?”

“Twenty-three to be exact, and probably more. Those were just the ones I isolated. All college girls, all between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five, all raped and murdered.”

“And you're telling me that no one has picked up on this yet?” Mike didn't believe it. Not if the deaths were related in any way.

“That's just it, Mike,” Butch answered. “The deaths were not similar enough to trigger any warning, and they have occurred over a twelve-year span, and in at least five different states.”

Mike felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “My God, Butch. Sounds like we're on to another Ted Bundy!”

“My thoughts exactly! And if Simpson's our man, then Audra may be our main hope in nailing the son of a bitch!”

Mike thought about his promise to let Audra look at the tape of Simpson speaking. He had better rethink that. He certainly didn't want to get into court with a case this big, and have it thrown out because he furnished the eyewitness a picture of the suspect beforehand.

“There's more, Mike,” Butch said. “Can you come over? I'll show you the printout, and then there's something else I need to talk to you about.”

Mike started to say he would be right there, then thought of Jason and changed his mind. “I have a little boy waiting for me to make popcorn. I don't want to disappoint him. Can you give me about forty minutes?”

Butch laughed. “The biggest case of our life and you're stopping to make popcorn? Are you nuts?”

“Yeah. Probably.” Mike answered.

Chapter FIFTEEN

Jason waited until he could hear the slow, even breathing of his teacher that told him she was finally sleeping soundly. He threw back the covers and sat up on the edge of the couch. The faint smell of popcorn still wafted through the tiny apartment, comforting him somehow. He liked Mike. He was an all right guy. He felt a twinge of guilt that he had not told him that he knew what was going on, and about the van. He hoped it had not been a mistake.

One thing was clear to him. He had heard enough to know that if the man was still out there, Miss Delaney might still be in trouble. It was time for him to act.

He reached down, picked up his duffel bag, and placed it on the coffee table. He unzipped it slowly, so as to minimize the noise and felt around in the dark recesses of the bag for the flashlight he had packed. The only light in the small apartment was coming from the open door to his teacher's bedroom. It was only a soft glow, not nearly enough for him to complete his job.

His fingers finally closed around the flashlight, and he pulled it out triumphantly. He pushed the plastic button on the side and felt relief as a thin shaft of light burst forth.

Holding the flashlight over his bag with one hand, he used the other to carefully lay out his clothing on the table. Then he removed the items from the bottom of the bag and started to work.

He made no sound as he slowly tiptoed his way around the apartment from window to window, making his adjustments. He had already fixed the one window in his teacher's bedroom earlier, when he had placed the call to his mother.

It took him only minutes to finish the job, then he crept quietly to the back door. He really didn't think anyone could possibly get in through either the front or back door because of the abundance of locks, but he was taking no chances. He would just have to make certain he was up before Miss Delaney. The drapes hid his handiwork on the windows, but the doors were a different story. She would notice what he had done, and question him.

The wood on both doors was harder than the frame of the windows, and he had to use all his strength to get the tacks in, but at last he completed the job.

He went back to the coffee table and lined up in a neat row some of the other items he had brought, then turned off the flashlight and placed it on the floor right next to the couch. Satisfied, he crawled back into the bed Miss Delaney had prepared for him, and was asleep in five minutes.

*   *   *

Across town, the man heard the steady ping, jerked awake, and pushed a button, shutting off the alarm on his wristwatch. He looked at the time. Two-thirty. It was time to get going.

He threw back the bed clothing, got out, and carefully made the bed back up. He didn't need to get dressed, just put on his shoes. He had remained in his clothing, knowing it would cut down on time and noise.

He laced up his snow boots, grabbed his coat and face mask, and headed for the utility room. He opened up a cupboard and took out the small black bag he had placed there earlier in the evening. Unzipping it, he removed a pair of plastic gloves, and carefully slipped his hands into them, stretching his fingers until the fit was right. Next, he pulled heavy woolen gloves over the plastic ones.

He didn't need to check the bag for the other items. They were all there: an assortment of screwdrivers, a crowbar, wire cutters, rope, wide tape, glass cutters, two knives, chloroform, rags, and a revolver—just in case. He had gotten his pleasure from them once already. He could still remember the thrill that had entered his body as he caressed each item before packing it. Anticipation. That was half the fun.

He zipped the bag shut, picked it up, and let himself out the back door, wishing he could take the van but knowing the risk was too great. With all the fresh snow, it would be too easy to trace him back to the house.

He looked down at his boots as another thought hit him. He went back into the house, removed two towels from a rack in the utility room, and wrapped them around his boots, tucking the ends into the tops. Next, he picked up a sack of trash and headed back outside. He crossed the yard to the alley, put the trash in the can, then walked back and picked up his bag. If anyone
did
check, it would only look like someone had carried out the day's garbage. The smooth layer of snow was unbroken all around the house, except out to the trash bins and back. And the towels had assured there would be no tracing boot prints back to his house.

He stood at the back door and looked around. Had he thought of everything? He couldn't afford to slip up now. His eyes darted back and forth behind the face mask as he concentrated. Finally satisfied, he headed back toward the alley, this time stepping carefully in his footprints. At the trash bins, he made one long jump into the middle of the alley, then one more to the trash bins belonging to the people in the house directly in back of his. He then let himself in their back gate, and walked through their yard to the street.

He emitted a long sigh, his breath forming a cloud of mist in the cold night air. He had made it. He bent down, removed the towels from his boots, stuffed them in the bag, and checked his watch. It had taken him longer than he had allotted to get away. He wanted plenty of time to complete his task. He began jogging.