Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (79 page)

Chief Champlin held a news conference, hoping to ease some of the intense media pressure. He explained that there wasn’t a lot of information he could give them, because of
the ongoing investigations. But logic was a useless weapon; it didn’t satisfy the voracious appetite for facts, for stories, for airtime and column space. It didn’t sell newspapers or jack up the ratings numbers. The reporters wanted juicy, gory, frightening details, and were frustrated when none were forthcoming.

Carroll Janes watched the news programs and read the newspapers, and smiled with satisfaction. The police couldn’t give the media much information because they didn’t have much. The stupid saps were overmatched, just as all the others had been. He was too smart for them to catch—ever.

A
LL IN ALL,
C
ARROLL
J
ANES
was pleased with the frenzy. Just two punishments, and look how he had taken over as top story. Of course, he would have to take back his insulting thoughts about the Orlando PD; they weren’t as stupid as he had feared. Though the second punishment
had
been rather obvious, a lot of departments wouldn’t have made the connection between the two, for after all, he had left the fingers intact on the second one. It had irritated him when the Vinick bitch had scratched him and he had been obligated to go to the extra trouble of removing her fingers and disposing of them, but at least fingers were small and easy to get rid of. Dogs had no trouble with them at all, and the tiny bones, if any remained, were unidentifiable.

There was no way the cops could catch him, but at least they
knew
about him; it added an extra fillip to the process. It was nice to be appreciated, rather like the difference between an actor performing in an empty theater and one performing before an awestruck, standing-room-only
crowd. He enjoyed the details so much more, knowing that the police would be amazed at his intelligence, his inventiveness, his absolute perfection, even while they cursed it. How gratifying it was to know one’s opponents were properly respectful of one’s talents.

He had been frustrated in his attempt to find another transgressor, for experimental purposes, but Janes considered himself a patient man. What would be, would be. It would be cheating to rush things; it would take away from the power of the moment. He had been more content since the news had broken, for of course, it was always exhilarating to read about oneself, to be the topic of conversation on everyone’s lips. Even Annette, at work, had talked of little else. She had told him about all the elaborate precautions she was taking, as if he would ever be challenged by her, the little sow. But it amused him to commiserate with her, to feed her fear and drive her to even more ridiculous safety measures. She refused to even walk to her car by herself, as if he had ever dragged anyone off the streets. How pedestrian that was—he chuckled at his own wit—when the real challenge was to take them in their own homes, where they felt safest.

Annette was at lunch on Wednesday when a tall, buxom brunette sailed up to the counter, her face tight with anger. “I want to speak to someone about the service in this store,” she snapped.

Janes gave her his best smile. “May I be of assistance, ma’am?”

The crux of the problem was that she was on her lunch hour and had stood for fifteen minutes in the clothing department trying to get someone to exchange a blouse for her. She still hadn’t been waited on, and now she wouldn’t have time to eat lunch. Janes controlled a thrill of anticipation as she ranted on, fury in every line of her body.

“I’ll call the clothing department and make certain you’re taken care of immediately,” he said. “Your name is . . . ?”

“Farley,” she said. “Joyce Farley.”

He glanced at her hands. No wedding ring. “Do you have an account with us, Miss Farley?”

“That’s
Ms.
Farley,” she snapped. “What difference does that make? Does a customer have to have a charge account before this store is interested in her?”

“Not at all,” he said politely. It was simply easier to get vital information if she was in the computer bank. She was one of those prickly, man-hating feminists. The anticipation grew stronger; he would enjoy punishing her. He slid a form toward her. “If you don’t mind, would you fill out this complaint form? We like to follow through on all complaints, and make certain the customer is satisfied with our action.”

“I really don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late back to work already.”

“Then just your name and address will do. I’ll pencil in the details myself.”

Hastily she scribbled her name and address at the top of the form while he phoned the clothing department and spoke with the head clerk. He smiled again as he hung up. “Mrs. Washburn will be waiting personally to make the exchange.”

“This shouldn’t have been necessary.”

“I completely agree.” He slid the form off the top of the counter.

She turned to go, took a step, then abruptly stopped and turned back. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have a terrible headache and I’m angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It wasn’t your fault, and you’ve done everything you can to help me. I apologize for being so nasty to you.”

He was so taken aback that it was a moment before he could say, “Think nothing of it. I’m glad I could be of service.” Conventional reply, one that was mouthed thousands of times a day by thousands of bored salespeople, because it would mean their jobs if they said what they
really wanted to say. Ms. Farley gave him a brief, hesitant smile and walked away.

Janes stared after her, fury rising in him. Viciously he crumpled the complaint form and threw it in the trash. How dare she apologize! She had ruined everything. That wasn’t the point. Punishment was the point. He felt cheated, as if a ripe prize had been dangled in front of him and then snatched away. He had already begun to feel the flow of vitality, and known the hunger to let his power have free rein. Now he was left with nothing! He should kill the bitch anyway, to teach her that she couldn’t act any way she wanted and then escape the consequences by whining an apology.

No. Rules were rules. He had to obey them; it would ruin everything if he didn’t. There were certain criteria to be met, standards to be upheld. If he couldn’t maintain those standards, then he would
deserve
to be caught. No matter how much he wanted to discipline her, he had to save himself for the true lessons.

•  •  •

Marlie sat very still at her desk, trying to control her trembling. Thank God it was lunchtime, and almost everyone had gone out to eat. She had brought her lunch and a book, intending to spend a quiet hour reading. She had been happily engrossed in the book, absently munching an apple, when a dark sense of mingled anger and anticipation had filled her. It hadn’t been as overwhelming as a full vision, but she had recognized the source. There was no mistaking the cold evilness at the core. And then, suddenly, the anger had intensified, but the anticipation was gone, and she sensed disappointment instead.

She had come to know him. His mental force hadn’t been strong enough for her to “see” the events, but she knew without seeing. He had selected his next victim, and something had happened to deprive him of his sadistic pleasure.

He was out there. And he was hunting.

•  •  •

“He’s looking for someone,” she told Dane that night. She prowled restlessly around the room. “I felt him today.”

He put aside the newspaper he had been reading—which was full of slightly hysterical and mostly erroneous stories about the Orlando Slasher—and focused the full intensity of his attention on her. Even the planes of his face hardened; she had grown accustomed to that roughhewn face, seeing it through the eyes of love, but abruptly she perceived him again as she had seen him the first time they had met: Dane Hollister the cop, the Dane Hollister who was dangerous.

“What happened?” he asked, a bite in his tone. “
When
did it happen? Why didn’t you call me?”

She shot him a brief glance and resumed her aimless pacing. “What could you have done?”

The answer was “nothing,” and she saw he didn’t like that. “It was during my lunch, about twelve-thirty. All of a sudden he was there. I could feel his anger, but he was excited, too, like a kid anticipating a treat. He had picked her out, I know he had. Then something happened, I don’t know what, but she got away and he was disappointed.”

“And then?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t feel him anymore.”

He was watching her closely. “But you can tell when he’s choosing his victim?”

She shrugged. “I did this time.”

“Anything else? Could you tell anything about the victim?”

“No.”

“The slightest detail would help—”

“I told you, no!” she suddenly shouted, wheeling toward the bedroom. “Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

He moved like a tiger pouncing, springing up from the couch and catching her before she could reach the bedroom and close the door between them. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her tightly against him. Now he could feel the slight tremors running through her,
the shaking that hadn’t completely left her since lunch. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing his rough chin against her temple. “I know how hard this is for you. Are you okay?”

She hesitated, then reluctantly admitted, “I’m a little spooked.”

He rocked her back and forth for a minute, letting her absorb the security of his presence. She had been living with the stress for almost a month now, and it had to be much worse for her than for him. She needed a break. He brushed her hair back from her face, thinking hard. “Want to go see a movie?”

“That was your solution last time,” she said tautly. “Going somewhere.”

“Did it work?”

Involuntarily she relaxed a little. She was so tired; it felt good to lean on him. “You know it did.”

“Then let’s go to a movie. Isn’t there something you’d like to see?”

“I don’t know.” She was hesitant. “I haven’t been to a movie since the first murder.”

“Then it’s time. I haven’t seen a movie in a couple of years. What interests you?”

“I don’t know what’s playing.” She turned to face him, and managed a smile. “I’d rather just go for a drive, I think.”

He was relieved to feel the tension easing out of her. He would have preferred to take her to bed, but knew she was too tense to enjoy it. “Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said.

The twilight air was thick and heavy when they left the house, the heat lingering even though the sun had gone down, and thunder rumbled dully in the distance. Dane rolled down his window, hit the interstate highway, and turned the car’s nose toward the Gulf Coast, straight into the approaching storm. The cloud bank loomed overhead like a great beast, streaks of lightning darting across its purplish black underbelly.

The air blasting in through the open window became
cooler, almost cold, and carried with it the sweet, dusty scent of rain. Marlie sat silently beside him, her eyes on the storm. The first raindrops splatted on his windshield. He had time to roll up his window and turn on the wipers, and then they were plunging headlong into the torrent sweeping toward them.

He had to slow down to almost a crawl, while the thunder boomed around them and lightning cracked. Other, more prudent drivers pulled off the highway completely, seeking shelter under overpasses or simply getting out of traffic. A few daring souls continued into the heart of the storm, as darkness crashed down and the puny efforts of headlights could illuminate only a short distance in front of them.

Marlie was motionless. The fierceness of the storm emptied her, sucked out all sense of self and filled her instead with its own raw power. She knew she should have been afraid of electrical storms, but she wasn’t. The magnificence of it filled her with awe, and the energy unleashed somehow replenished her.

Dane always drove with his interior lights extinguished, and the car was a dark cave. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. She felt no need for words. She was safe and dry while the fury thrashed around them, battering the car with sheets of rain and gusts of wind that rocked it from side to side. Dane held it steady, his powerful forearms rippling with muscles as he fought to counteract the storm’s fury. Marlie didn’t feel even a second of uneasiness; she was safe and she knew it.

Eventually they drove out of the storm, leaving it flashing and rumbling sulkily in the distance. It continued to rain, but it was a light, steady, ordinary rain. They rolled their windows down a couple of inches and let the sweet air flow around them.

He looped around on the next exit and headed back toward Orlando, this time chasing the storm.

She leaned her head back. The storm had intensified
everything; she had never felt quite like this before. Her heartbeat was slow and heavy, a silent drum; her body felt heavy and ripe, pulsing with life. She wanted him, wanted his hardness and passion inside her. She could feel him beside her, taut with sexual awareness. His eyes were on the road, but his attention was focused on her; she knew that he was acutely aware of every movement she made, of the slight rustling of her breathing, the warm, faint scent of her body.