Dead Even (5 page)

Police still have no clues in the rape and attempted murder of a young K.U. coed last month. The victim is still hospitalized, and has not been able to aid the police in any way. Captain Miles Welling issued a statement early this morning confirming that because of the extreme trauma suffered by the victim, she has—at least temporarily—blocked most of the horror from her mind, and can give them no physical description of her assailant. Captain Welling hopes when the victim recovers fully from her wounds, she will be able to work with a court-appointed psychiatrist and perhaps unlock some memory that will aid in their investigation.

His hand reached down and kneaded the brown corduroy slacks he was wearing. Up and down. Over his thighs. It wasn't until his hand grew warm from the friction, that he realized what he was doing. He stopped, looked at his reddened hand, and swore.

It always made him a little nervous when he thought about the girl. The girl who got away. The girl who tricked him, pretending to be dead.

But it was all right. She had never remembered. He was positive of that. And so what if she did? They would never be able to track him down. Not in a hundred years. He laughed out loud. Stupid people. Stupid, stupid people. He was smarter than them all. They would never catch him. He had an airtight, ironclad alibi.

He turned to the back of his book, noting as he did so, that he had only two more pages to fill, then he would need to start another scrapbook. He hoped he could find one of this quality. People didn't seem to take as much pride in their workmanship nowadays. He studied the last two entries.

OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA

DECEMBER
1995

Police today unearthed the body of seventeen-year-old Sheila Cartwright in a wooded area near Lake Hefner. Miss Cartwright had been missing since November, and her parents had spearheaded a massive search effort in and around the Oklahoma City area for the last few weeks. Sheila was the daughter of Congressman Griffith Cartwright. Preliminary results show that Miss Cartwright had been raped, and the cause of death was a single shot to the head. Sheila was a freshman at Rose State College.

It was so clever of him to vary his techniques. He had no desire to leave a calling card announcing to the world that one man was responsible for the killings. He had never even used the same gun or knife twice. Sometimes he was tempted. Just to see if anyone was smart enough to track him. But better sense always prevailed.

His hand trembled as he caressed the last clipping. Lisa. What a darling young woman she had been. A joy. He had chosen well for both of his last kills. Important families. Important young women.
Dead
important young women.

COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

JANUARY
1996

The townspeople of Colorado Springs are in mourning today with the discovery of Lisa Grimsley's body. Never in the history of this city, has the disappearance of a young woman captured the hearts of so many.

Lisa, the eighteen-year-old daughter of Doctor and Mrs. Harold Grimsley, had been missing for eleven days from Colorado College. Hundreds of people had participated in the massive search for young Lisa, who suffered from a serious heart defect, which required daily treatment.

We are saddened to report that Lisa Grimsley had been brutally raped, and the cause of death was multiple stab wounds, including a wound to the heart.

This city will not soon forget the beautiful young woman who had struggled all her life to live, only to have her life snuffed out in so horrible a fashion.

Yes. Lisa. Lisa the psychiatrist, the social worker. She had been different from all the others. She had even tried to convince him that her father could help him. He had enjoyed being with her. They talked for several hours before he raped and stabbed her. She had been surprised when it happened, as if she really thought her words could deter him. He remembered her scent—that light musk perfume that had radiated from her naked skin. He wanted to smell it again.

He crawled over to his chest and raised the lid. Carefully he rummaged around until he found the plastic sack with Lisa's name.

Chapter FOUR

A look of consternation crossed Gerald's face when Audra informed him that Bess was going to accompany them to the radio station. “There is really no need for her to go along, Audra.” He spoke through clenched teeth when Bess left the room to get her coat. “For God's sake, will you
look
at her? Those clothes look as though she has been wearing them for a week, and you can smell the rum a mile off!”

Audra glared at her fiancé fiercely but didn't have a chance to respond before Bess entered the room. Instead, she went over to the old woman and hugged her. “I'm so glad you're going with us, Bess. I'll feel better, knowing you're there.” She cast a long, smoldering look in Gerald's direction, defying him to challenge her. She surprised herself with her courage.

“I still think this is a waste of time, Audra,” he said, angry now, but controlling it as he always did. “Even if you think this man sounds like your attacker, what is that going to prove? You can't have someone arrested because you don't like the sound of his voice.”

“That's hogwash, Gerald,” Bess exclaimed before Audra could respond. “Pure and simple! How do you know but what she might remember, once she sees him? Have you thought about that? And the police, they ain't no dummies. They got ways of checkin' up on people, quiet like. They won't just run out and arrest the guy, if that's what you're 'fraid of.”

Gerald gave her a withering glance. Stupid old windbag. He could hardly stand the sight of her. “I'm not
afraid
of anything,
Miss
Truman. I just think we should use our heads a little here. This whole thing could get completely blown up in our faces if we aren't careful. What if the press got hold of what we're doing?”

“And so what if they did?” Bess shot back. “Wouldn't be the end of the world, now would it? And it's
Mrs.
”

“What?” Gerald looked confused.

“It's
Mrs.
Truman. My Billy's been gone for twenty years now, but I ain't forgot him none. You can call me Bess, or you can call me Mrs. Truman, but you can't call me Miss. Ain't fair to Billy.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake!” Gerald snapped. “I've had enough of this. Let's just go and get it over with. I have an important meeting this afternoon, and I can't miss it.” He stomped to the car, not bothering to open the door on the passenger side for the two women, and hoping his ramrod stiffness would let Audra know how displeased he was with her.

It had become more to him than just a dislike of Bess. He absolutely couldn't tolerate the old biddy. Where did she get off giving Audra advice? He was going to have to put a stop to this friendship once and for all. He had pussy-footed around the subject long enough.

They rode in silence to the station, Gerald going over in his mind the lecture he was going to deliver to Audra, and she in turn irritated with both Gerald and Bess for their squabbling. She didn't need that now.

Gerald pulled up in front of the building on Hall Street, and Audra found herself suddenly wishing she had never started the whole thing. Perhaps Gerald was right. It was ludicrous to think the voice on the radio was the same. She must have been light-headed. Giving blood. Not eating. That had to be it.

She rubbed her clammy hands over the drab woolen coat she was wearing, then closed them into tight fists, her fingernails digging deep into the palms of her hands. She wanted to scream, but instead she forced her voice to take on a conversational note. “Listen,” she began, tentatively. “I've been thinking—maybe you're right, Gerald. This is ridiculous. Why don't we just skip it.”

He turned and smiled at her. “Now, that's more like it. I'm glad you finally came to your senses.” He reached to turn the motor back on, but Bess was too fast for him. She leaned over, yanked the keys from the ignition, and got out of the car. Her words were quiet, determined. “Child, you have to face it. You need to know if you were right—or wrong. Either way, you'll be the better for knowin'.”

Audra nodded her head slowly, dispirited. “I know. God help me, I know.” She reluctantly slid over and stepped out of the car, taking Bess's arm for support.

Gerald followed behind them as they entered the station, silent for once. His main concern at this point was that no one important see him with the toothless Bess in her thrift shop clothing. He breathed a sigh of relief when they were immediately ushered into a small room by a mere office girl.

The young woman showed them how to run the recorder. “You wanted only the Party Line show, isn't that right?”

Audra nodded.

“It's all set, then. Just push ‘play' when you're ready. And don't worry about erasing anything if you want to jump around a little. This machine is taped so that won't happen.” She pointed to a small piece of gray tape covering a knob.

After she left the room, the three people stood looking at each other for a few seconds. Gerald put his hands on Audra's shoulders, trying one last ploy. “You don't have to go through with this, dear. If it's going to be too hard on you, just say the word, and we're out of here.”

She shook her head. “No. Let's do it.”

They seated themselves around the table, and Gerald pushed the play button. They didn't have long to wait. Her man was the third caller, and Audra turned cold as she heard the low, raspy voice again.

I'm looking for a small accent table, no more than two feet high. I would prefer oak, or a really good quality wood, and I want a nice piece, not junk.

The announcer's voice spoke back at him. “All right, sir. Any particular price range you need?”

No. I'd be willing to pay a good price, if the table is what I'm looking for.

“All right then, we'll see what we can do for you. Can we have your phone number, please?”

Yes, certainly. It's 555–2343. And thanks for your help.

“Thank
you,
sir. Hello, this is Party Line, go ahead, please.” The announcer's voice trailed off into nothingness, drowned out by the roaring in Audra's ears.

“It's him,” she whispered. “My God, it really
is
him.”

Bess put her arm around Audra's trembling shoulders. “Are you certain, child? No doubt in your mind at all?”

Audra stared at the machine, mesmerized. “It's him, Bess. I know it.” She looked over at Gerald. “Reverse it. I want to hear it again,” she ordered.

Gerald took in her shaking hands and ashen face. Damnit! He had been right about this all along. He knew Audra. She was a timid little soul. All this nonsense was going to be too hard on her. “No. I don't think we should play it again, Audra,” he said. “You look like you're about to collapse.”

Bess nodded her head. “For once I happen to agree with Gerald, honey. I don't think you could take listening to it again.”

Audra spoke slowly, in cold control. “Play—it—again!”

Gerald swore softly, but reversed the tape, starting it over. They all sat silent, listening.

This time Audra concentrated on the man's words.
An accent table! He is looking for an accent table! I have spent ten years trying to pick up the pieces of my life, afraid of my own shadow, and that bastard is looking for an accent table!

“We need a copy of that tape,” Bess said as soon as the short segment was over. “Why don't you two go on out to the car—get some air—and I'll see if they won't make me a copy.”

Audra stood, surprised that her legs would support her leaden body. She moved mechanically toward the door, obeying Bess.

“What are you planning on doing now?” Gerald said to Bess. “I think we need to talk about this before any decision is made about contacting the police.”

Bess looked at Gerald, weary with the vapid young man who had somehow captured her Audra's heart.
What a prick you are.
She said, “Don't worry about it, Gerald. I have an idea or two on that score.”

*   *   *

Detective Lieutenant Michael Vincent Ramsey was having a bad morning. “Shit,” he exploded to his partner. “Two damn weeks of stakeouts and the son of a bitch walks!”

Butch Jinkens kicked the door shut and stood looking around the empty house. “How did they get out of here without being seen, that's what I'd like to know. And who the hell tipped them?”

The two men eyed each other warily. This had been their baby. The only other people on the force who knew about the operation were on their relief team. And Captain Markham.

“Must have skipped during the night,” Butch said sardonically. “You'da thought Bill and Harry would've noticed a moving van being loaded, wouldn't you?”

Mike looked down at the faded gold carpet covering the living room floor. “Doesn't look to me like they had any furniture in here.” He walked into a back room. “Just a couple of old mattresses thrown on the floor. They were ready to fly in case their hand was tipped.”

Butch walked into the small bedroom. “What now? Any chance of catching them on the road with the stuff?”

“Shit no. They'll be to hell and gone by now—clean as a whistle. And Markham is going to have our butts for breakfast!”

“We still have the video of the buyers. We should be able to at least get
them
on possession.”

Mike looked at his partner and snorted. “Right. We have pictures of two dozen people walking in this house—and walking out. I'm sure the courts will fucking
hang 'em
with
that
evidence!”

Butch was more optimistic. “Well, at least we have the names so we can start over, and we
will
be starting over. You can bet your sweet ass on that!”