Killer Among Us (2 page)

She had left her five thousand dollars in
cash. Sophie had read the note and run for the front door, her eyes
wide with shock. When she got home much later that night she was
stunned to find that the money was still there, still real, and she
had wept for hours, her tears soaking into the crumpled bills.

Leona Jackson had fainted when Susan fired
the gun. Later she told police she was sure the bullet had been
meant for her although she had refrained from telling them the
reason why she had feared her foster daughter wanted to kill her.
Sophie had sat silent in the cop car, her heart aching and tears
running down her face. She had gone straight to the house after
finding the note but she had been too late. Her only consolation
was that Susan had done it when the neighbors had been having a big
party, Leona could not hide the girl’s body, though Sophie had no
doubts she would have if she had the opportunity. Lord knew she had
been hiding her husband’s sins for years, even as she sang in the
choir while he preached every Sunday.

Some Sundays, sitting in the pews looking up
at the two of them, Sophie had felt a murderous rage in her heart.
She had not been the only one. They had rebelled by stealing: their
clothes were few because they were not allowed more than those;
they were required to know humility and to understand earthly goods
were just that. That didn’t stop the Jackson’s from cashing the
checks the foster system gave them every month and paying the
payments on their Cadillac however, just one of their many
hypocrisies.

They stole candy and sodas and small
trinkets: hair bows and pretty bracelets they kept in their desks
at school. As they got older they stole makeup and cigarettes. They
stole beer and a car. The Jackson’s had beaten them bloody the
night they had had to be bailed out of the Youth Detention Center
over that escapade. As they had lain in bed Susan had sobbed that
she wished they had just left her in there and Sophie had held her,
wishing the same thing.

“
You’re safe now,” Sophie
said into Sassy’s hair. The little dog wagged her tail and gave a
little sigh that could have been agreement.

Ten thousand dollars, the goal was closer
than ever and she could feel hope starting up in her belly. It had
been so long since she had felt it she was almost afraid of it. The
apartment in the city was rented, she had a lot of job prospects
and her record was finally clean. The last arrest she had gotten
had happened two days after her eighteenth birthday, she had
punched a guy who had grabbed her ass at the diner and he had
pressed charges. Coupled with her lack of higher education and lack
of skills that had been the final blow to her being able to get a
better paying job.

“
We can do anything we set
our minds to,” she said to the warm lump on her lap, “And we are
going to be happy.”

***

Kane paced the apartment, making sure not to
step inside of the taped off spaces. The place was big for the
city, at least a thousand square feet. It had a good view of
exactly nothing except the building across the alley but the
kitchen was full sized, another rarity in Manhattan, and decked out
with quality chrome appliances. The refrigerator alone would have
been worth a half month of his salary. Copper-bottomed pots and
pans hung above the added-in island that did double duty as a
breakfast bar.

The walls throughout had good, if not
incredibly expensive paintings, the sofa and ottoman were leather
and the bed was a tall oak number covered in designer sheets with a
thread count numbering in the high hundreds.

“
She had good taste,”
Lynette Pierce, the Coroner said as she watched him prowl. “She was
a model you say?”

Lynette pointed to a large framed print that
hung on the bedroom wall. The woman in it was sultry, sulky. Her
black hair hung over one incredibly green eye and her mouth was a
vivid scarlet flash against the monochrome black and white. It was
the face of someone living, not the battered remains of the women
in the bathtub.

“
Julia Storm, rising star.
“ Lynette said softly, “He likes them young and
beautiful.”

“
Why do you think he takes
their heads?”

“
Trophies I suppose, “Kane
replied.

Blake Forrester, his partner, gnawed on his
toothpick and grunted out something that was too low for Kane to
hear, or care about. If Blake ever got a single idea in his head he
had yet to share it with the rest of the force. He had been a good
cop once, or so the story went, but for the last five years he had
just been watching the clock and marking time toward his
retirement. Kane had never known the man before he went lazy, and
he didn’t want to know him right then either, being partnered to
him was like dragging a corpse around.

That analogy made him wince and he turned
away, only to come face-to- face with the green eyed beauty
again.

“
I wonder how they got just
her eyes and lips to show in color.”

Of all the things to wonder about at a
murder scene, Kane thought. Nobody answered Blake’s question and he
whistled as he leaned against the doorframe, his suit jacket
flopping open to reveal a pudgy waist hanging over the top of his
worn shiny slacks. A mustard stain marred his light blue shirt and
his gun looked like it had gotten glued into his holster. Kane
doubted that would be an issue, Forrester would likely drop dead of
a heart attack if he tried to chase down a felon and he was too
cowardly to put himself in the line of any kind of fire.

“
She’s ready for
transport.” Lynette said softly.

Kane gave her a smile; he appreciated her
calm demeanor and her sympathy for the people who came into her
life. She never referred to them as “the vics” or worse, “the
stiffs” like some did.

“
Good, I’m fucking
starving, let’s get some lunch.”

“
Do you think it’s possible
he has a heart below the surface?” Lynette asked,
wincing.

“
I doubt it,” Kane replied,
watching Forrester’s rapidly disappearing back, “I think his heart
left the job years ago.”

***

Sophie walked into the small bookstore with
a determined smile, and her completed application. She peered into
the gloom, looking for the desk, which seemed to have been moved
from the place it had occupied before. Closer inspection revealed
it had simply been buried under books.

“
Hello?” She called
nervously, “Anyone here?”

A frizzled mess of solid white curls
surrounding an oddly cherubic and yet dour face popped out from
behind a long shelf. “Depends on what you want.”

“
I brought the application
back.”

The man stalked toward her and she had to
suppress a giggle, his body was incredibly long and so thin he
looked as if he had a terminal case of tapeworm. His malicious
elven face seemed even more incongruous atop that frame. Dust motes
buzzed his head and he sneezed explosively.

“
Damn dust!” He roared. “I
just hit up a fabulous auction in the Berkshires. Got a lot of good
books. And an armoire. The armoire’s shit but some of the books are
pretty good. Except for that entire collection of Barbara Cartland
that I got. Those bastards tucked a few moldering paperbacks I
actually enjoyed reading on the top and wouldn’t let anyone dig
through the box. Cost me fifteen dollars. If you say you like her I
will fire you.”

“
You haven’t hired me,”
Sophie pointed out.

“
Well aren’t you the
stickler,” he muttered as he pulled inch thick glasses over his
light blue eyes and glared down at her application. “Nice
penmanship.”

“
Thank you.” Sophie wanted
the job badly, there were very few people she liked on sight but
she liked him. Besides, she was tired of working in diners and
pubs, she had enough money to get by for a while as long as she was
working and she could feel a warm feeling in her belly as he gave
her another long look.

“
Tell me, are you a
model?”

“
What? No.”

“
You could be, but not if
you want to work here; ditto for actress, singer, band member, mime
or any other variation of those things. I need someone who is going
to work, period. There will be no running off for open cattle calls
or getting calls from agents who just landed you an audition that
will get you into the role you have been waiting for your whole
life.”

“
I haven’t been waiting for
anything my whole life.” Her voice held sincerity.

“
Hmm, I see. What was the
last book you read?”

“
It was a collection of
short stories by Eudora Welty, I just finished them last
night.”

“
Death of a Traveling
Salesman was always one of my favorites. You’re hired. I’m Goeff
Fisher; your pay is twelve bucks an hour, thirty hours a week. I
can’t go higher than that. I’m so gay I make Liberace look straight
so don’t think your charms will get you a raise or even a day off
that wasn’t scheduled, unless it is an emergency. Are we clear?”
She nodded. “Good, your first job is to do something with those
damn Cartland novels.”

“
What do you need me to do
with them?”

“
I don’t really care what
you do with them, as long as I never have to see them again.” He
pointed to a dusty cardboard box and vanished once again, muttering
something about forms needing to be filled out.

Sophie glanced out at her car, parked at the
curb. She toted the box out and hurled it into her backseat, closed
the door and dusted off her hands, grinning with satisfaction.

The warm spring air had brought green to the
leaves of the trees that stood in the tiny park across the avenue.
Pigeons by the hundreds pecked along the red bricks, gobbling down
the crumbs from hot dogs and knishes. She stood there for a few
moments, engrossed by the street scene and the way people ate as
they walked, nonchalantly stuffing pretzels and other foods into
their mouths with one hand, their other hand on their phones or
holding shopping bags.

“
Are you running away?”
Geoff asked from the doorway. “Tell me now because these tax forms
are an absolute bitch and if I don’t have to bother I would rather
not.”

“
Absolutely not.” Sophie
replied with a flash of a smile, and went back into the
shop.

***

The eyes looked right past him, avoiding his
stern gaze. He stood there naked, letting them all see him for what
he was. A television droned in the background, its hazy dull light
flickering between scenes, and he moved so that they could see the
latest news report. Of course he was once again being featured. The
Creeper.

The name made him laugh, bringing to mind a
nineteen thirties villain. It was outlandish and yet it fit, he
crept up on his victims. They never saw him coming until it was too
late.

He stroked himself, feeling his organ
swelling under his fingertips. The eyes now watched him and he
began to work his hand faster, squeezing his groin fiercely. The
doorbell suddenly rang, a strident squeal that instantly broke his
concentration, interrupting his maddening desire to climax. His
hand came away slightly sticky from pre ejaculation and he
cursed.

The blue-eyes seemed to smirk at his
predicament and he stopped himself just in time, his hands itched
to rip those eyes right out of her head.

Buttoning his fly he left his trophy room,
calling out to the person ringing his bell to hold on.

***

Kane leaned against the kitchen counter in
his apartment, surveying the place with a critical eye. It was a
one bedroom in the East Village, a third floor walkup. He had moved
in after he had broken up with Janelle, his girlfriend of four
years. That had been two years earlier, and he had never really
bothered to unpack most of his things: cardboard boxes sat against
the walls, his desk was cluttered with papers and photographs of
crime scenes, the couch was a long lumpy thing that had come with
the place and bore the stains of too many previous owners and the
bed was not much better.

The kitchen and living room were essentially
one large open space, the kitchen itself held a tiny dorm sized
refrigerator, a small two burner stovetop, a coffee maker and a
miniscule microwave, as he rarely cooked that did not bother him.
He owned exactly one plate and two coffee cups.

For some reason he felt depressed at the
sight of it. He caught sight of himself in the window pane: tall
and well-built with wide shoulders and trim waist, long legs that
were filled with muscles due to his love for running and flat abs
that felt solid under his fingers. His black hair had a touch of
gray at the temples, odd for a man who was barely over thirty, not
so odd considering he was one of the youngest Homicide detectives
in the city. His brown eyes had tiny thin lines around them; laugh
lines that had had precious little reason to make an appearance
lately. He turned away, dumping his coffee into the sink.

I need a release. The thought surfaced and
refused to lie back down. He fought it; it had been years since he
had visited any of the dungeons or clubs around the city. He had
not had the time and what was more, he had not had the heart for it
either. Janelle had been a wonderful submissive but they had simply
not worked out, they had both been on the fast tracks in their
careers and busy with so many other things that they had lost a lot
of what had attracted them to each other in the first place. The
breakup had been amicable and they still spoke on the rare occasion
they ran into each other, but the fact that it had been amicable
had not made it any less painful.