Dead Even (19 page)

Hunter started laughing. “Well, I'll be damned!”

Mike looked at Jason suspiciously. “And how did you just happen to have all this stuff with you? And what made you think there was a need to booby-trap all the windows and doors?”

Jason looked down at his feet. “I heard you and Miss Delaney talking—uh—in the parking lot. I thought maybe this bad guy might come after her so I rigged this up.”

Mike knew there had to be more to the story—Jason had to have already had his cache stashed away when he overheard them at Wal-Mart—but he let it drop. “Well, I'd say your teacher is mighty lucky she had you spending the night!” he said. “Is that what awakened you? The screamer?”

“No,” Jason answered. “I think I heard him at the window. I was trying to find my flashlight when I heard a little pop. Then I heard the window start up and the screamer went off.”

Hunter interrupted. “The pop he heard was probably when the guy tapped out the section of glass he had cut. Looked real professional—a small circle right above the window lock. He would have gained entry in seconds.”

Mike looked down at the pint-sized, complex boy. “Was the man making a lot of noise, or are you just a light sleeper?”

Jason gave the question serious attention. “Probably, the latter. I don't recall hearing anything I could identify, until the window was raised. And yes, I am a light sleeper—a characteristic not uncommon in children like me. I also don't require an overabundance of sleep. Usually, five or six hours is sufficient.”

Jack Hunter raised his eyebrows and threw Mike a quizzical look. “Is he five years old, or a fifty-year-old midget?”

Mike laughed. “I've been wondering about that myself. I suspect the
latter!
”

Jason's eyes twinkled at the exchange. He grinned up at the two men. “No. I'm sorry, but it's the
former!
”

“What are you, one of those ‘whiz kids'?” Hunter asked.

“I guess so,” Jason answered. “But the big words come because I always ask my older sisters grammar questions when they are studying for tests. I don't know why, but they just sort of soak into my brain and I remember them.”

Hunter nodded, grinning. “How would you like to go back to the station with me when it's time to fill out my reports? I think I could use you.”

Joe Dickenson came back into the apartment, rubbing his cold hands together. “Two cars have been dispatched to Simpson's house, Butch is on his way, and the lab boys just pulled up. Anything else here I should know about?”

Hunter answered. “No. We just need to get a formal statement from Miss Delaney and the boy.” He turned and grinned at Jason. “And if you have any trouble with the big words, Joe, the kid here can help you!”

*   *   *

Butch shined the searchlight over the yard and driveway. The smooth, glistening snow was undisturbed. He turned back to Mike. “Doesn't look like any vehicle has left the garage since it quit snowing—about midnight.”

“I'm going to drive down the alley in back. Check the yard there with the light.” They pulled around in back of the house on Castlebury, both noticing that the alley was also undisturbed. No vehicle had entered since the snow stopped.

Butch let the searchlight play back and forth over the yard. “There are footprints leading out to the trash and back—that's it.” He moved the light ahead of the car, shining it on down the alley. “Nothing disturbed out here that. I can see. I'd guess Simpson hasn't returned. Our guys said no one has been in or out since they arrived.”

“All right,” Mike said. “Let's go check.” He drove on through the alley and circled back to the front of the house. “I'll check the house, Butch. I know the bastard can't be in there, but I suppose we better verify that. Why don't you see if you can get a look in the garage window. If he has more than one vehicle, we'll need to know which one he's using to put out a bulletin.”

Butch grabbed up a large flashlight and stepped out. Mike crossed the snow-packed yard to Simpson's front door. He rang the bell and waited. No one answered the door and he turned to go just as Butch came around the corner of the house.

“There's a van and a car in the garage, Mike. He must be in another vehicle.”

“Shit! Are you certain?” Mike blurted, then realized the absurdity of his remark.

At that moment, the porch light came on, startling both officers.

“Who is it?” There was no mistaking Simpson's voice. The two men stared at each other.

“Police!” Mike shouted. “Open the door, please!” He drew his gun.

Simpson obliged immediately. The door swung open and he stood there in pajamas and robe. “What is it, Officers?” he asked.

Mike resisted an overwhelming urge to just kick his teeth in and be done with it. Instead he stepped up. “Turn around. Hands over your head and against the door.”

“What the hell is the meaning of this, Officer?” Simpson snapped.

Mike repeated his order. “Hands over your head and against the door—sir!”

Simpson looked at Mike's hard face and did as he was told. Mike quickly ran his hands over the man's slight body. Satisfied that he was concealing no weapon, Mike turned him around. “Where were you approximately an hour ago, Mr. Simpson?”

Simpson glared at him. “Where does it
look
like I was? In bed, of course. It's the middle of the night in case you haven't noticed.”

Mike ignored the sarcasm. “Do you have any vehicles except for the two in your garage?”

“No. I own a Lincoln Towncar and a Dodge van. That's it.”

“Do you own a pair of boots? Heavy duty—like hunter's boots?”

“No. I do not. And just what the devil is this all about? I have been in bed since ten o'clock, and that's the truth.”

Mike stepped past Simpson into the foyer. “Well, then, you won't mind if we look around a bit, will you?”

Simpson seemed startled and positioned himself back in front of Mike. “Look around? What do you mean?”

“I mean we want to search your house. If you have nothing to hide, you surely won't object to us looking around will you?”

Howard Simpson put his hands in the pockets of his robe. “Actually, I
would
mind. It's the middle of the night and I'm tired. Unless you have a search warrant, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“No, sir.” Mike answered. “That isn't the way it works. I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to get dressed and come down to the station for questioning. By morning, we'll have our warrant.”

Simpson surprised the two officers with his reply. “All right, then. If that's the way it has to be, I'll go with you. But I'm warning you, I'll have your jobs before this is over!”

“
I'm
scared,” Mike said pleasantly. “How about you, Butch?”

Butch smiled lazily. “Quaking in my friggin' boots, sir,” he said to Simpson.

Chapter SEVENTEEN

Captain Markham glared at the two officers standing in front of him. “Now let me see if I have this right. The Delaney woman couldn't identify the man attempting to break into her apartment. No vehicle had left Simpson's garage since it quit snowing, and it didn't look like anyone left on foot. The officers stationed at the house saw no one leave or enter. And the print we picked up at Delaney's house was a size eleven, and Simpson wears a size nine. Did I leave anything out, gentlemen?”

“No, but—” Mike began.

“No damn buts about it, Ramsey! You boys don't have shit! Certainly not enough for a search warrant! Release him. Now!”

“No!” Mike yelled. “You can't release him. Give me two more hours, that's all I ask.”

Markham removed his bifocals and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And just what do you think you can prove in two hours? Give it up, Mike. I think you had better just face the fact that you have the wrong man.”

“Captain,” Butch interrupted. “We haven't shown you what we came up with on the computer.” He laid the printouts on Markham's desk. “Mike had me run checks not only in Kansas, but in surrounding states. We just got this last night, so we haven't had a chance to follow up on it, but if Simpson
is
involved, he could be responsible for at least twenty-three deaths, and probably many more.”

“What?”

Mike walked around behind Markham's desk and spread the papers out in a pattern. “We came back to the station last night and worked until about midnight. Now remember, there is still a lot of information we
don't
have, because it was too late to get the additional data last night, but we think we have established a chilling pattern.”

“What we have,” Butch said, “is an average of two deaths a year of young college girls, spread out over at least five states and twelve years. The pattern is almost always the same, except for the method of killing—which explains why no correlation was drawn between the deaths.”

“And they all occurred in winter months,” Mike added, “and all in a rural area outside a reasonably large city. Furthermore, we think the killer took the victim's clothing. Some of the initial reports were sketchy, so we will need to confirm that today with a request for the complete files. We also are going to have the autopsy reports faxed to us to see if there is anything else to tie the murders together.”

Markham studied the printouts. “What about the DNA report? All of these girls were raped. We should be able to determine if it was the same man by a DNA profile of the sperm.”

Ramsey noted Markham's “we” and smiled. “Butch is going to call for that information also. It won't be available on the earlier killings, but the last several will have it.”

Markham took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “This is good work, gentlemen—damn good! But we still have nothing to hold Simpson on, that I can see. His lawyer is on his way down here, and unless we have something concrete, I'm afraid I'll have to release him.”

Mike checked his watch. “Can you stall for a little while? His home office in Seattle should be open by now. Audra Delaney was attacked when Simpson was in town for an insurance convention. There's just a chance that maybe
that
is the pattern. Perhaps he goes into a large town for a meeting, and kills while he is there. We have only one attack occurring in Kansas—Audra Delaney. Maybe he wanted to stay away from his home state for the most part—keep the killings far removed from him, or something.”

Markham nodded. “All right. I'll see what I can do. If nothing else, I'll bring Simpson and his lawyer into my office and apologize to them for two hours—but get cracking, I won't be able to hold him too long.”

The two officers gathered up the computer printouts and started for the door. “Mike,” Markham said. “You check with the insurance company, and Butch, you get on the phone to convention centers in the cities where the deaths occurred. We don't have much time, but if you can place Simpson in only two cities at the same time a girl was killed, that would be enough to hold him.”

*   *   *

Audra awakened and looked at the small mound under the covers beside her. Jason was sleeping soundly. She inched her way out from under the covers, remembering his assertion that he was a light sleeper. He didn't stir.

She grabbed up her robe and hurried into Bess's small kitchen. “Bess!” she said to the old woman. “Why didn't you wake me? I'm late for class!”

Bess handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “Relax child. Ain't no school today. We got nine inches of snow last night. Ever'thing's closed.”

Audra sank down in a chair at the table. “Oh, good. I don't know how I could have made it, anyway, and I'm sure Jason is beat.”

Bess reached across the table and clamped her gnarled hand over Audra's. “Now listen to me, child. I don't think you should plan on doing
anything
until that man is caught. It's too dangerous. We need to just hide you away for a while.”

Audra shook her head firmly. “No. I won't let him turn my life upside down again, Bess. I'm not going to risk my job at William's by an extended leave. I'll just have to take extra precautions.”

Bess took a deep breath. “Child, I know this is going to come as a shock to you, but take my word for it, you won't be riskin' your job none. I—uh—I own William's Academy.”

Audra stared blankly at Bess. Had the old woman lost her mind? She went around the table and hugged Bess to her. “Oh, Bess. Don't worry about it. I'll be just fine. And if it's that important to you, I won't teach until Mike tells me it's safe. Okay?” She kissed Bess on the cheek. “My goodness, you don't need to tell a whopper like that to get me to do what you want! You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world!”

Bess patted Audra's back, then pointed toward her chair. “Child, maybe you better go sit down. I have a little story to tell you.”

*   *   *

Mike drummed his fingers nervously on the base of the telephone.
Come on. Come on.
The receptionist at System Insurance had no idea about the information he needed. She was checking with a supervisor. At last she came on the line. “Ms. Younkin will be right with you. She is looking up the information you requested.” The line went dead, then a bad rendition of “Stranger in Paradise” started blaring in Mike's ear. He held the phone away, swearing softly.

Three songs later, Ms. Younkin put him out of his misery. “Thank you for waiting,” she said. “It took a few minutes to collect the dates going back twelve years. But I believe I have what you want.”

“If you could give me the dates, the city, and the facility where the meeting was held, that would do it,” Mike said. “I'll jot it down, then I would like for you to fax me the copies themselves.”