Dead Even (9 page)

Markham laughed. “So what? What the hell do you think that proves? Maybe the guy doesn't like sunlight.”

Mike shook his head. “No, I just have a gut feeling about this, Captain. Something isn't right. I know his alibi seems solid, but I would really like to dig a little deeper.”

“No, I can't spare you for a wild goose chase. I need both of you on the drug thing.”

“Oh, come on, Captain,” Mike said. “Bill and Harry can handle that. At least for a few days. What if this would turn out to be another Jeffrey Dahmer case? Look what happened because those officers didn't follow up on that guy! What happens if Simpson really
did
attack that girl—and others? We'd feel pretty stupid for letting him slip through our fingers.”

“Ramsey, you have a lively imagination,” Markham said. “And not for a minute do I believe you're going to get anywhere with this, but if you're that certain, I'll give you boys a week. But this is strictly off the record. As far as this department goes, Harold Simpson is not a suspect in this, or any other crime. Whatever digging you do is to be kept confidential. Is that understood?”

The two officers nodded, happy but a little confused. They had hoped for a day, possibly two, but a week? Markham must be having a gut instinct of his own to allow them that much time.

“And one more thing,” Markham said. “Don't tell Miss Delaney that you're still on the case. As far as she is concerned, the man had an alibi and could not possibly have been involved.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No use getting her hopes up that this might be the guy, when so much evidence points the other way. Also, we can't take a chance of her leaking the investigation to the press.”

“No, sir. We'll be careful,” Mike answered. “And thanks, Captain. We'll give it our best shot.”

Markham dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “See that you do.”

Chapter SEVEN

He opened the leather album and flipped through the pages until he found her sheet. He ran his hand back and forth across the plastic. So a new game had begun! He trembled with excitement.

She must live here, in his town—or at least in the vicinity. He would find her. There was no doubt in his mind about that! But he had to proceed carefully. Make no mistakes.

He knew the police would never release her name, not under any pretense he might use. He imagined they had alerted the hospital in Lawrence for inquiries, also. No, he would have to be much more clever, come at it from an angle they would never think to question.

He opened his trunk and removed the unmarked items—the only trophies he had that weren't attached to a name. He brought the matching lacy bra and panties to his nose and breathed deeply. He could almost smell her clean, fragrant body again. He remembered how the muscles rippled in her legs when she walked. She had been strong. Surprisingly strong.

He smothered a laugh into her undergarments. It was going to be fun to do it to her all over again.

*   *   *

“Miss Delaney, my zipper is stuck!” Audra looked up to see Jason Miller struggling with his parka. He was a tow-headed little boy of five who had a plethora of freckles sprinkled across his nose, a wide grin, and an annoying habit of missing his bus. Audra privately suspected he did it on purpose in order to catch a ride home in her car. She really should have clamped down on him long ago, but she always enjoyed the trip as much as he.

Jason was the youngest of eight children being raised in a run-down, two-bedroom apartment in the southwest corner of the city. As near as she had been able to determine, none of the eight children had the same father. His mother, Katherine Miller, was raising the children alone after being deserted by her boyfriend, whose name she had taken without benefit of a ceremony when Jason was a baby. She was a washed-out, tired old woman at the age of forty-three. She had little schooling, no work skills, and survived on public assistance. She also had a deep love for her children, and a determination that they would have a better life than the one she had endured. When someone told her about William's Academy, she had cleaned up her three youngest, walked the five miles to the school, and planted herself in the principal's office. Two hours later, Mr. Benson had entered Audra's classroom with Jason—a cocky, self-assured, ornery little boy who immediately disrupted the entire room. And Audra had fallen in love instantly with the child.

She walked over to him and began working on the zipper. “You know, Jason, you
could
have gotten on the bus and
then
worried about this zipper! I suppose your driver has already left?”

He looked at her and grinned. “I suppose so!”

Audra worked the zipper loose, then put her hands on her hips in a mock, angry stance. “What am I going to do with you, young man? You manage to miss your bus about twice a week. Don't you think that's getting to be a bit much?”

Jason cocked his head to the side and shrugged, his large periwinkle blue eyes dancing merrily. “No, two times is about right. You might get mad at me if I did it more!”

Audra burst out laughing. “Well you little rascal! All right, give me a minute to collect my things, then we'll go.”

She hadn't been surprised when the results of Jason's IQ test had shown the boy to be at a genius level. The little devil was usually about three steps ahead of everyone at the school, including some of the teachers.

He disappeared out the door to wait by her car, she guessed, as he always did. Audra began filling her briefcase with items she wanted to look over that evening, and glanced up, startled, when she heard Mike's voice.

“Hi, there, Teach,” he smiled at her, closing the door of her classroom behind him. “Got a minute?”

She had been nervous all day, wondering what they were finding out. Now that the moment was here, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Yes, certainly, Mike. Have you located the man?”

Mike tried to avoid her eyes. “He isn't the man, Audra. This guy had an alibi. He was giving a speech that night in front of three hundred witnesses.”

Audra sat down at her desk, not trusting her legs. “I don't believe it, Mike. I remember that voice. I
know
he is the one!”

“There is a videotape, done commercially, showing him on a stage with half a dozen people during the hours you were being attacked. The video store in Lawrence verified the date and time. Wednesday, January fifteenth, 1986. No question about it.”

Audra couldn't believe what she was hearing. “In
Lawrence?
Are you saying that this man was in Lawrence that night?”

Mike averted his eyes. “Yes, but he has an alibi. He—”

Audra interrupted him, shouting. “That man raped me, then plunged a knife in me not once, but four times, and you're going to let him get by with it because he says he was somewhere else?”

Mike wanted to tell her that no, he was going to do everything he could to disprove the man's story, but instead he said, “I'm sorry, Audra. I wish there was more I could do.”

“Who is this man? I want his name. I want to see what he looks like. Maybe once I see him, I'll be able to make an identification.”

Mike shook his head. “I can't tell you that. Our department cleared him, so we can't give you his name. I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry all right!” Audra yelled. “About the sorriest excuse for a policeman I've ever seen! And if you can't prove it was him, then by God I will!”

Mike took the insult without blinking. “First of all, I'm not a policeman, I'm a detective. And secondly, I want you to promise me not to do anything foolish. Leave the detective work to us. It could be dangerous for you, otherwise.”

“How could it be dangerous if this isn't the guy?” Audra snapped.

“Well, he—I—” Mike stumbled over his words.

Audra stared at him in surprise. “You
aren't
sure, are you? You think maybe his alibi is a phony, don't you?”

Mike stared down at the floor, annoyed.
Shit. This is not going to work!
When he finally spoke, his words came out more harshly than he had intended. “Just drop it, Audra. At this point there is nothing you can do.” He turned and headed for the door, stopping and turning to her at the last minute. “I want you to be careful—and don't discuss this with anyone. I'll be in touch.” He left the door standing open, resisting an urge to slam it.

At the back of the room, hidden by the cloakroom partition, Jason Miller stood clutching Miss Delaney's coat. He had planned on surprising her with it when she was ready to go. Quietly, he returned it to the hook, then tiptoed to the edge and peeked out. Miss Delaney was sitting at her desk, her head in her hands. He dropped to the floor and quickly crawled the few feet from the cloakroom to the classroom door. He kept his eyes on his teacher the entire time, praying she wouldn't see him. She never looked up.

*   *   *

That evening Audra stood staring into the full-length mirror attached to the door of her bathroom. Frumpy. That was the only word to describe her. She ran her fingers through her short, straight hair. Why was she wearing it plastered flat against her head? She used to spend hours messing with her hair—trying new styles. And makeup. She hadn't used a drop in the last ten years. Why? Why had she turned herself into a faded nonentity? To not attract any attention? Did she wear bulky clothes two sizes too large for her to disguise the fact that she was a woman? Did she blame herself for the attack? Perhaps secretly believe, in the deep recesses of her mind, that had she been a little less flamboyant, a little less enticing, the man would have chosen another victim?

She remembered the anger she had felt when reading about a judge who had commented on a rape victim's short skirt. But wasn't she somehow putting the blame on herself for the very same thing? Why could she see the injustice in that case, but not realize how stupid it was for her to think her dress or actions had anything to do with the crime? In her conscious mind, she knew they did not. But subconsciously, that man had terrorized her into disguising who she was!

Somewhere, in the last four days since hearing his voice again, she had stopped being a victim. What was it the psychiatrist had said to her?
At some point, Audra, you are going to get blind, furious, mad! Then, and only then, will the healing begin.

She was sick to death of being a victim! Nor was she going to be a victim of bureaucratic nonsense from the police! Audra looked at the drink she had prepared sitting untouched on the counter by the bathroom sink. Damn it all to hell, she didn't need
that
crutch either. She picked it up and dumped it down the drain.

She checked herself once more in the mirror, disgusted with the image looking back at her. If the old Audra Delaney were back, then she had better do something to start looking like her! Audra went into the living room and grabbed her purse, rifling through it until she found her bank's money card. The money was earmarked for wedding expenses, but it didn't matter to her. She had three hours of shopping before the stores closed, and if she remembered right, there was a beauty shop at the mall that took walkins.

*   *   *

Jason lay in bed mulling over the awful news he had overheard. He knew what rape was. Some man had done bad things to his Miss Delaney. He had even tried to kill her! Why would someone want to hurt his teacher? She was the nicest person in the whole world, except maybe his mother.

He was glad he had made it back to the car without being noticed. He wouldn't ever tell her he knew. He wouldn't tell
anybody!

But that man, the detective, had told her to be careful. Did that mean the bad guy might come after her again? No! He couldn't let that happen! He would have to think of something—some way to protect her. A glimmer of an idea began floating around in his head.

*   *   *

Mike had two choices. He could stop by Pizza Hut and pick up a deep dish supreme, or go to Mary K's for a hamburger. Either one would satisfy him, as he considered them both perfect foods. He opted for the Pizza Hut carryout and twenty minutes later placed the hot box on the seat beside him and drove home. The aroma filling the car was almost more than he could take.

As he unlocked the two-bedroom house he and Rebecca had shared for nine years, for once she was not in his thoughts. Instead, his mind was totally preoccupied with the delicate young woman who had taken him to task so zealously. He didn't agree with Markham. She needed to know they had not given up on the case.
Or do I just want to see her more? Do I not like the idea of her thinking less of me?

There had been no one special since Rebecca died. He had gone through the usual assortment of “available” women his friends had insisted on introducing to him. And he had awakened many a morning with a strange woman beside him in bed during the months he had been hitting the bottle. In the last two years, since cleaning up his act, he had dated sporadically. His blond good looks and quick smile made him the object of much attention from the female citizens of the town. Hardly an evening went by without his getting at least one call from some smitten lady. But in truth he was tiring of the whole singles scene. He wanted what he had had before. In truth, he might as well face it, he wanted Audra Delaney. The young woman with the porcelain complexion, big green eyes, and baggy clothing had gotten under his skin like no one since Rebecca. She had mentioned a fiancé. Just his damn luck. He finally meets someone he might be able to really go for, and she's already taken!

He set the pizza down and stood staring at it for a few seconds. “Oh, well. What the hell,” he said aloud. He went to the phone and dialed Audra's number. He was disappointed when her answering machine came on. He waited for the beep. “Hi, Audra, it's me, Mike Ramsey. Listen, I just picked up a pizza, and was wondering if you'd care to help me eat it? I could come by your place, or you could come over here. I'm sorry about this afternoon. We need to talk about this more. Give me a call when you get home.” He hesitated a split second, then added, “Please?”