Sandman (4 page)

“This is
not
a discussion.” The captain returned to his chair and sat down. “I’ll put you on a desk so fast your head will spin if you don’t get your head out of your ass and I’ll make you ride that desk until I see a complete one-eighty. Got it?”

“Fine, whatever, but I need to talk to you about this case. You know we may have a serial killer on our hands. The MO is too close to the Hooper case to be ignored. I’ll know more after the autopsy, but I’m certain the rest will follow suit. And I don’t think these women are the first. Everything is too clean, too precise.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He looked down, drew his hands through his buzz cut, then looked back at Thomas. “I do
not
want to hear this shit right now. Not now, not ever.” Then after a short hesitation, he leaned on his desk. “Fine. See what you can dig up. But keep it on the QT. I’m serious as a heart attack. I don’t want the media in on this. You got that?”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, sir. That lady from Channel Five caught me as I was leaving the scene. She’s already asking if there’s a connection between the two cases.”

“Shit. I’d better call the chief and get it over with. Dammit!” He hit the desk with his palm. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

Thomas nodded, then stood. He’d made it as far as the door before he heard the captain yell behind him.

“Wait!”

He turned back, Harris was rifling through his desk drawer. His hand came out with a business card and handed it to him.

“You’re going to need this.”

Thomas took the card and read it. “Oh, joy.”

“Make that appointment ASAP.”

Thomas shoved the card into his jacket pocket, and left without another word.

FIVE

The little boy was on a beach with his mother, giggling as they played tag. He ran toward the water, then as soon as a wave approached, he’d run back and his mother would chase him.

He wished the day would never end.

She caught him around the waist, pulled him down in the sand, and tickled him until he thought he would pee his pants.

His mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world. Her yellow hair was long and when the breeze picked it up, she looked just like the angel in the picture above his bed.

Suddenly the tickling stopped, her laughter died. The boy followed her gaze; a dark figure loomed above. The sun was so bright that the boy saw nothing but a large shadow. The ominous figure growled.

The boy screamed.

His mother stood quickly. A large hand appeared out of thin air and slapped her across the face. She snatched the boy up into her arms and ran. Her tears soaked the top of his head.

The man awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. His heart beat out a quick staccato. He got up to take a leak, the nightmare a tangle of confusion. On his way back to bed, he noticed a shock of light that crept around the edges of the well-worn curtains.

He sat on the edge of the bed, picked up a roach and lit the end. Drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs, he held it until he began to cough. He took another hit, then dropped it back in the ashtray when it burned the ends of his thumb and finger. He lay back down and covered his head with a pillow while he waited for the pot to take effect. Soon his brain was numb, the fear gone, and hopefully sleep would not be far behind.

SIX

Returning home, Meagan pulled out the key that hung on a shoestring around her neck. The second she got the door open, Godzilla pushed her aside, almost knocking her down. While she locked the door, she could hear him behind her slopping up water from his industrial-sized bowl.

Meagan followed him into the kitchen and pushed the button on the coffeepot, then opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. As she drank, she looked out at her garden through the window above the sink and inspected her camellia bushes, which were pregnant with blooms.

Her garden was more than just a hobby. Everything in it she’d planted herself. It had all her favorites; giant bird of paradise, hibiscus, jasmine, gardenia, hydrangeas, ferns, and of course the two camellia bushes. It was her own little rain forest. She loved sitting out there with a glass of wine and a good book. It was her idea of Zen.

Meagan lived in a duplex with only one adjoining wall, no one above or below, so it was more like a house than an apartment. She loved to keep all the windows open so she could enjoy the cool ocean breeze. That was something she had dared to do only recently, thanks to Brad.

Her home was filled with plants and dark wood furnishings. Her couch and the overstuffed chair with ottoman were covered in a retro tropical design featuring bird of paradise. Candles of all shapes and sizes surrounded the room in lieu of a fireplace. Her china cabinet was filled with photos of loved ones.

She loved her little beach cottage in San Clemente; she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She moved here after her divorce and loved the fact that she got to make all the major decisions. Godzilla was a great roommate, too. He never complained about her music; he also liked Joni Mitchell. He didn’t care about her scented candles, incense, or whether or not there were dirty dishes in the sink.

Meagan glanced at the clock and kicked it into high gear. After her shower, she chose a brightly colored skirt, simple black top, and her silver hoop earrings. Her red curls were nearly dry, so she decided to wear her hair down today.

She ran into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and grabbed one of the fat-free bran muffins to eat in the car. While juggling her purse, keys and coffee, she stuck the muffin in her mouth so she could get the door.

Suddenly the phone rang and she stopped to stare at it. She turned her hand to look at her watch and spilled her coffee on the floor in the process. “Shit!” Godzilla ran over and lapped it up.

“Thanks, Godzilla, I knew I could count on you.” He always had her back. She glanced once again at the ringing phone, and deliberated. In the end she continued out the door and slammed it shut behind her. She ran to her frosty mint-green Honda CRV and jumped in. Soon she was speeding up Interstate 5.

Meagan’s license plate holder read;
Get in, Sit down, Hold on and Shut up!
She liked to drive fast. It wasn’t because she was always late, although she usually was. She just loved the rush, the feeling of power it gave her.

She looked at the ocean on her left and sighed. Her life’s motto was
Life’s a Beach, and Then You Die
. That’s why she chose San Clemente; the Pacific Ocean was so readily accessible. It was visible from the freeway all the way to work.

Meagan zipped into a parking space behind the salon and jumped out. She was ten minutes late and knew she was going to hear about it. Dropping her stuff off in the back room, she rushed onto the floor. The minute she cleared the back door, Jerome’s voice came bellowing across the room, “You’re late, Red!”

“I know, sorry.” She walked into the reception area and called her first client.

It was a mystery to her, but none of her clients seemed annoyed at waiting for Meagan. They forever complimented her on her talent and many appreciated her humor. Above her station hung a sign that read:
For your own safety, please remain seated at all times.
She got it from a friend who used to work at Disneyland.

After she put her first client under the dryer, she went up to the front of the salon to say hello to her friend Lilah, the receptionist.

Lilah was a college student putting herself through school. She stood five feet, five inches, wore her blonde hair in a chin-length bob, had blue eyes, and looked like a model of innocence. The only thing keeping this angel from getting her wings was the nose ring.

“Jerome’s been chomping at the bit,” Lilah said as Meagen slid beside her. “I swear he watches the clock and the minute you’re late, he comes to me and starts bitching about it.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll try to do better in the future.” Meagan flipped through the scheduling book’s pages as she checked out her appointments for the week.

“I don’t know what his problem is with you, but he doesn’t have me call any of the other stylists when they’re late.”

***

Meagan started back to work five years before after going through a bitter divorce. Her ex-husband made her quit her job. He was a bit old-fashioned that way, and she was too young and too in love to know any better. Now she did.

After a few short years in the business, her creativity was stifled by that fateful trip to the altar. So when she started at this salon, she had to build her clientele from scratch. She advertised like hell, practically giving her services away, and before long was able to support herself. Not a good way to win friends and influence people in her highly competitive field.

However, that wasn’t Jerome’s problem. It just made him one more person to jump on the I Hate Meagan bandwagon. No, Jerome’s problem with her was personal, and for Lilah’s sake, Meagan had decided to keep it that way. It was better not to put her in the middle. She was a faithful friend, and Meagan didn’t want to be the cause of any problems for her at the salon. She needed this job just as much as Meagan did.

***

The problem with Jerome started back when Meagan was new to the salon. Sandy, the owner, had asked her to work one evening at her other salon on the lake in Mission Viejo. They had three girls out sick and only one hairdresser trying to cope with a scheduling nightmare. Meagan was more than happy to oblige, so she packed up her tools and made the thirty-minute drive.

The minute she entered the salon, she observed the waiting area and it was not pretty. Lots of angry faces. The receptionist looked like she was ready to quit. Her stress was almost palpable. The phone rang incessantly. She juggled answering it, with calling clients to tell them not to come in and rescheduling them.

Meagan listened as she patiently waited to get the girl’s attention. Finally she disconnected the phone and Meagan jumped in to introduce herself. The girl was noticeably relieved. She pointed out the station Meagan was to use.

She was bent over trying to feel underneath the counter to plug in her blow dryer when she carelessly looked up into the mirror and stopped. Three chairs down stood the ebony version of Adonis, with chiseled features and a bald pate. Meagan held her breath, eyes riveted. He was well over six feet, more like six-two.

He definitely lifted weights. The bulk of his chest strained against the buttons of his white dress shirt. He wore a paisley print brown tie, pleated brown slacks and expensive-looking alligator shoes with a belt to match. He could have been a lawyer in that getup. He looked ridiculously out of place in a hair salon.

Meagan watched as he shamelessly flirted with the elderly woman in his chair. She giggled and covered her mouth like a schoolgirl. The corner of his mouth went up in a kind of half-smile; the glint in his eye was mischievous.

Damn, he was sexy as all get out. Something stirred between her legs as she imagined him slamming her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist and her holding on tight for the ride of her life. Yah Whoo!
Down girl, he’s probably gay.
Her eyes roamed down to his left hand where she spied a gold band glittering with tiny diamonds.

Oh, well, it never would have worked out anyway. Men like that usually had an ego the size of Texas. But I bet the sex would have been great.

The fantasy slipped quickly from her mind and reality reared its ugly head when her eyes slid up his arm and looked at his face. He was staring right at her. A slow smile came to his lips. Meagan felt her cheeks flush, she stood up abruptly.

In an effort at recovery, she quickly blurted out, “Hi, I’m Meagan. The relief crew that was sent in.”

The man’s deep baritone filled the room, “I’m Jerome, glad you could come. I’ve been working as fast as I can, but I was already booked with my own appointments. It’s just too much for one person to handle.”

His voice made her quiver.
Stay focused.
Meagan turned away and called her first client.

The evening flew by and Meagan enjoyed every minute of it. She and Jerome joked and laughed, and even sang to the Motown hits that rang through the salon speakers. That’s why she didn’t flinch when he asked her to go for a drink after work. By then her jets had cooled. The man was obviously spoken for, so she figured the invitation was innocent enough.

SEVEN

Meagan followed Jerome to a nearby sports bar where everyone greeted him by name. He led her to an open table.

Once seated, he took her drink order and headed for the bar. She passed the time watching the big screen TV, feigning interest in the football game.

Jerome returned with a pitcher of beer and two glasses. They sat and talked for a couple of hours. Meagan told him about her divorce and moving from her four-bedroom home in Dana Point to the one-bedroom duplex in San Clemente. How she didn’t have any children, but would like to one day. She told him of her return to the hair business and how much she enjoyed the ocean and boogey-boarding.

He told her he had two children, each with different women. He hadn’t married either one of them. But he did pay child support, which took a good chunk of his pay. He told her he had been married for nine years, but he and his wife now slept in separate rooms.
They wanted to divorce, but couldn’t afford it. So they co-existed under the same roof. He lived his life and she hers.

Gee, like I’ve never heard that one before.

All at once she put two and two together.

It was in the way his arm rested on the back of her chair, the way he leaned in close and spoke intimately into her ear. It actually wasn’t that loud in there. She turned her head from the TV and looked at him, really looked at him. His expression was not that of a fellow co-worker, but of a man in the midst of seduction.