In the Nick of Time (85 page)

It called to him, drew him in. He looked about to make sure no one was around, then zoomed his sights on it. From a distance, he could see bits and pieces of faces, missing persons… the girls. He couldn’t make out the words written in various colored ink, but he did see the maps and vibrant pushpins all over, indicating specific locations along the winding grid. The culprit had been busy…
too
busy. More disappearances had happened in the last few weeks, drawing the attention of national news.

No one cared about one, two, or three missing black girls or even Latina girls for that matter—all hailing from an impoverished, long forgotten part of town. Yet, the world took notice when a pattern developed and spread like wildfire through the tattered, ghetto streets. This happened not because creation suddenly developed a consciousness, a beating heart that cared about children—you know, those little people adults make, then forget about—but because the nightmare case was turning into a fucking epidemic. Epidemics spread, poured over the ‘innocent’ like sauce until they were drenched in it. The shit became bigger and more grotesque, feeding off the frenzy, and one day, the monster behind the mayhem may no longer be satisfied with poor little girls wearing brown skin wrapped around small limbs… One day, the soulless man may break the serial kidnapper code and step out of his M.O… snatch himself up a pretty little white girl, one from a nice part of town, and that simply couldn’t happen…

It was already believed that a third white girl had been grabbed, so certainly pandemonium was spreading like a bastard on a diet of nothing but fried donuts and mayonnaise. These concerns were denied, squelched by law officials and so-called experts alike. Besides, the police still believed the fucker didn’t have a type.

Bullshit.

Nick stood out there staring, scrutinizing from afar, like some Peeping Tom. His eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher the puzzle from a distance… He took a step, and then another, until he was able to read some of the notes pinned on the thing.

‘Two more white girls went missing’, said the heading above two photos…

Damn. Still doesn’t sit right with me… And those two girls are not from Brownsville. One of them is really tall for her age. That’s not his type. He might cross over race, he might cross over body type, but he won’t do both… impossible.

Nick trusted his hunch. Those weren’t the perps and in one case there was the strong possibility of the girl being a mere runaway—yet, the trappings looked clean, connectable. He sucked in air and made his way over to the open door, daring himself to walk inside, but then, he paused right outside of it. His sixth sense screamed that he didn’t know the half of it, and if he could get just five minutes in that room, to gather the intelligence, the truth would somehow be revealed to him. But… there were far too many people around, the coast wasn’t anywhere near clear, and the last thing he needed was a warning or reprimand.

Think, motherfucker… think…

“Goddamn it! That’s it!” He turned his back, grabbed his keys off of his desk, and high-tailed it out of there. Clutching his phone, he made a mad dash to his cruiser, hopped inside and dialed.

“Yeah, we need to have a little talk. I’m coming to see you.”

“Is this Nick?”

“You
know
who the fuck it is… Sit tight; we have some things to discuss, and they can’t wait…”

He sat there
with his jaws full and his puffy hand wrapped around a small blue plastic cup covered in tiny white flowers; such a contrast to the cold, sterile environment. He’d filled out quite a bit since he’d last laid eyes on him and Nick was certain that in this case, it was a good thing. He marched toward him, arms swinging like pendulums. The guy looked up, his brown eyes syrupy and soft as if he’d been crying. Nick pulled out a chair, set it across from the man, and plopped down in it, crossing his arms as he leaned slightly forward.

“Don, Mr. Oliver… what’s up, man?”

“Hi Nick,” he said in a mild mannered voice, nothing like the arrogant nemesis that almost got the beating of his life before Frieda sounded the alarm. “You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yeah, I need your opinion about something. I won’t waste any time, just get right into it. Look, I’m working on something, an important case.”

“Congratulations on being reinstated.” He smiled, showing a missing tooth. “…And you can call me Oliver in here. I’d prefer it, actually.”

Someone fucked him up in here… Jesus…

“Thanks… Hey, before we get started.” He looked around the place, trying to peep out the motherfucker that caused him fear. “Uh, is there a problem, man? What’s going on?”

Oliver’s eyes drifted down to his lap. He clasped his hands together on the table.

“Just a little disagreement is all,” he said. “Had nothing to do with what was, you know … going on before… I mean Trey.”

Nick scratched at his pocket, digging his fingers inside to reach for something… so strange.

I was itching for a cigarette?! What the hell?! I haven’t smoked in months!

Something about Oliver made his damn skin crawl; nothing had changed. Even time itself couldn’t rub the creepy sensation away. Yet, he felt drawn to the man as he would to an intriguing and terrifying haunted house he’d be compelled to explore. Oliver represented the walking macabre, a scientific study with a smile; hence, the reason he was there in the first place….

“How’s treatment here been going?”

“Pretty good. I’m on medication, so don’t mind my attitude… I don’t feel a whole lot right now.”

Nick sat back and sucked his teeth as he looked the man over.

They’ve killed his sexual libido while he’s in intensive therapy…

“Okay, well.” He ran his finger under his left eye, taking care of an itch. “Do you mind if I pick your brain for a minute?”

“No, please do.” The weirdo’s lips made tiny jerks at the corners.

“There is someone kidnapping little girls in Brooklyn.”

“Yeah.” He yawned. “I’ve seen it on the news.”

“So.” Nick sat back, crossed his legs. “What do you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you think he, or even she, wants? The news has already been given too much information. I know things like this interest you, Oliver…”

I read your journals, remember? You savored news stories like this… remembered every single detail…

“I think the better question Nick is, what do
you
think?”

…There’s the Oliver I know, the one I came here for…

He grinned and looked up at the television mounted on the wall, showing The Price Is Right, then back at the man.

“I think it’s a white guy…”

“Okay, but that’s too easy. Everyone knows the statistics say that more white men than black men commit these sorts of crimes.” He shrugged. “Try harder. What else?”

He turned back towards the television, still wearing his smirk, and wearing it proudly.

“I think he’s from Brooklyn. He knows the area too well, can do this shit in broad daylight, and not cause any raised eyebrows. I believe he’s intelligent and likes to collect things, sees children as dolls, if you will, figurines of some sort. I believe he has chosen little black girls not because he finds them particularly appealing, but because he trusts they won’t be missed. He turns them into projects, just like an investor would.”

“Hmmm, interesting.” Oliver lifted his cup from the table and took a gulp. “Anything else?”

“He doesn’t like the attention, the media coverage. He doesn’t believe they are being accurate, and accuracy is important to him. He is trustworthy; people look at him and don’t see a kook, an insane man. That means he is probably above average in the looks department, doesn’t look intimidating, and has a naturally calm demeanor. He is soft spoken, but turns very angry quite easily if things don’t go as planned. He has viable employment, too. Collectors need income to support their habit. He’s been doing this for a while; it’s just that now people are beginning to notice.”

Oliver gave a slow handclap, showcasing a toothy grin… minus the one someone knocked the hell out.

“Okay, so now you want the
rest
of the picture, right? You want me to help you?”

“No.” Nick rolled his eyes. “I drove all the way to Long Island to play a game of chess with you! Why the hell else would I be here, man?!”

“What do I get in return?” Oliver asked smugly.

“To keep all the rest of your goddamn teeth…”

Oliver’s smile quickly faded.

“Very well.” He cleared his throat, sat a bit higher. “Yes, I’ve been watching the case as we’ve already established. So, I have the background on the events; at least, whatever’s been broadcast by the media. You’ve figured some portions out but, as usual, the police don’t look deep enough in the mind of the perpetrator.” His eyes narrowed, as if he were amongst the company of an idiot. Nick let the shit slide…

“So, let’s begin where you started, and I’ll work my way through your bullet points. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He took another sip from his cup, then looked austerely into Nick’s eyes.

“It’s more than likely a man between the ages of thirty and forty. I say that because he isn’t sloppy, is financially stable and is physically capable of overpowering all these girls. The eldest was thirteen I believe, and though she was small, it didn’t mean she wasn’t able to put up a fight.” He nervously cleared his throat. “Secondly, I agree that he is from New York. Not necessarily Brooklyn though, and I’ll tell you why. You see, you mentioned the collector aspect. I’m familiar with such a phenomenon. We don’t normally wish to shop where we drop, if you follow me…” The fiend’s eyes darkened, as he undoubtedly relived his own predatory actions.

“Yes… I understand.”

“Because of the collector aspect that you guessed more than likely correctly, you missed an important key.” He leaned in a bit closer. “Collectors don’t like messes. He is less likely to kill his prey unless they cause him trouble. He likes things to be quiet and calm, so… he will do what is necessary to keep things peaceful and relaxed… short of death.”

“Binding, taping, placing in areas no one would look…”

“Precisely.”

“Drugging, too.”

“Yes, but he would be very careful with drugs, Nick, because some could cause the collector item to defecate on herself, slob, things like that. He’s going to be a tidy freak. Did you notice most of the girls’ faces were void of make-up, even lip-gloss and their hair nicely combed? He wants to do it himself, get them all dolled up, but he needs a good platform. Now, he may be a sexual predator, the chances of that are high, but it may not be his main draw, his reasoning. At least not in the way you suspect.”

Nick leaned across the table, intrigued.

“Tell me…”

“He may not be sexually attracted to his collection in the least, Nick.”

Nick’s heart began to beat a mile a minute. The notion had never even crossed his mind. The victims were girls,
young
girls at that.

“But… why then? What the…” He threw his hands up, speechless.

“To collect… there are some people who collect trains, others that collect rare coins. If he is taking young girls, wants to dress them up, own them so to speak, what is he collecting, Nick?”

“…Dolls. He’s collecting dolls.”

“That’s right,” he said. “You were correct earlier when you implied such. Now, there is an awful stereotype that all homosexual boys play with dolls. Many did not… some did. I did
not
.” He pursed his lips in annoyance, as if the mere mention of it caused him distress. “However, if I were a doll collector, I would have in fact played with them in the past, when I was a child. So, this would not be new behavior for me. In fact, I may simply want to
be
the doll. So, this person may have even had a mannequin fetish; it is not out of the question. Now, I agree that he is meticulous, and looks unsuspecting.

“I also agree that he is more than likely deemed attractive. He also struggles with his sexuality, pretty much as I have. Thus, he takes the girls, thinking in some way it proves his virility when in fact the sexual attraction to them is either fleeting or nonexistent.”

“So, who am I looking for, Oliver? Give me the CliffsNotes on this twisted motherfucker.”

“White, male, attractive, lives near Brownsville but not
in
Brownsville. Lower middle class. Lives alone. Is not in the limelight but doesn’t shy away from it. Prefers attention from afar. Stiff, stern, violent when expectations are violated. Will hide and hide
very
well if he suspects anyone is on to him. Nick, that point is imperative. You have only ONE chance with a man like this, and each minute that passes, he gets farther away from you instead of closer. He gets better over time, less sloppy. He has a chance to perfect his approach. He will not easily break…keeps his cool under pressure with anyone but the ‘dolls’, should they disappoint.’”

“You know.” Nick’s heart beat a bit faster. “Little girls grow into women. He can’t keep them doll-like forever. What happens, Oliver? What does he do with them after they’ve grown out of their ‘cuteness’?”