The Ripper Gene (21 page)

“Sure thing, Dad,” Terry said, and Woodson and he both laughed. I laughed, too, but I’d also seen what could happen when you immersed yourself too deeply into a case. I’d come out on the wrong end of a nervous breakdown during the Richmond Slasher case.

I turned to the still chuckling Woodson. “Same for you. No weekend-long study sessions. Get outside, get some air, do whatever reminds you to enjoy being alive. I’m serious.”

“Same to you, Dr. Madden.”

“Well, all right, now that that’s settled, what are your next steps?”

Woodson blew a strand of hair from her face. “We still need to go back to the medical examiner reports for the first three victims and find out about the pinpricks. Also St. Clair and Harmon should go over their receipts, interview family members, whatever it takes to identify any common link between the victims that hasn’t surfaced yet.”

“We can start on Monday and I’ll help you. For now I’ll phone Shelly and find out if she has any ideas about what a tan cat can or can’t do. Whether it’s a message or a code or a quote, if she can break that, we’ll be in a lot better shape.”

I glanced at the clock: it was almost three thirty. “Okay. We all have some things to do before end of business today, so try and get the hell out of here by five or six. Have nice weekends, and I’ll see you both on Monday.”

Terry said good-bye and went back down to the labs, leaving Woodson and me to gather our things. I opened the door for her as she walked out. “And nice work again, by the way, Woodson. We’re finally making some headway here. We’re going to nail this guy.”

Woodson smiled and winked as she walked past me. “You’re damn right we are.” She headed down the hallway, but then stopped and looked back. “And I really did mean what I said, too.
You
make sure that
you
have a nice and relaxing weekend, too, Madden.”

TWENTY-THREE

At five thirty, Woodson stopped by my office before leaving. “So Madden, what are your big plans for your mandatory, glorious weekend, anyway?”

I leaned forward in my chair and shut down my laptop. “Have a seat for a second, I’m closing down myself. What am I doing? I’m heading to a high school football game with my sister and nieces tonight.”

Woodson’s face broke into a smile. “Oh my god, I haven’t gone to a high school football game in years. Not since I was a senior in high school, at least.”

“So. What are you doing tonight?”

Woodson shrugged. “Me? Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about wandering in the French Quarter for a bit, then calling it a night.”

“Well,” I said, “instead of wandering around the Quarter all by yourself, like a big loser, why don’t you come to the game with us? You’ll get a kick out of it: popcorn, cotton candy, hot dogs, screaming kids, and good football. If that’s your thing, I mean.”

Woodson tilted her head, with an odd expression that seemed halfway between a smile and a frown. “I don’t know. Maybe. But only if,” she added, “you let me stop by my place so I can change.”

I looked at the clock. It would be tight, but we’d make it. “Deal. I’ll meet you in five minutes downstairs.”

*   *   *

We pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Picayune Cougars’ football stadium an hour later. I found a space to park out near some old giant cypress tree, and we walked through rows and rows of tightly packed cars toward the thundering stadium in the distance.

Woodson spoke as we walked. “So. High school football is a big deal down here, huh?”

I laughed. “Understatement of the year.”

The ticket taker for the Cougars games was Bill Kimball, a tenth-grade history teacher at Grace and Ally’s school. He grinned as we approached. “Well how you doin’, Dr. Madden?” he asked, leaning over the small ticket stand next to the stadium opening.

“Fine, just fine, Bill. Hey, how are
we
doing?” The crowd cheered anew and the band began to play a fight song with vigor.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t get a chance to check the score until the second half, once we stop taking tickets.” He accepted my six dollars and handed me two pink tickets. “Oh, I almost forgot. Principal Smith wanted me to give you this.” He reached into the booth and withdrew a small manila envelope. “Somebody asked him to give this to you tonight when you got to the game.”

“Who’s it from?”

Bill shrugged. “No idea. Smith said it just showed up on his desk. A letter wrapped around the envelope said it was from an old friend hoping to catch up with you.” He grinned. “Maybe an old girlfriend, eh? No offense, miss.”

Woodson waved her hand. “Believe me, none taken.”

“Highly unlikely, Bill.” I waved the envelope. “If it was from an old girlfriend, it would have been in a box, ticking.”

“Ha! You got that right!” Bill laughed until he coughed, then pointed toward the gate to his left. “Okay, y’all have a nice evening, now. See you around, Dr. Madden!”

With that, Woodson and I pushed through the turnstile and entered a darkened area underneath the stadium bleachers. The single entrance funneled all game-goers under the stadium, past the various, delicious-smelling food concessions, then back up sloped walkways to the open air, through a series of exits into the bleacher sections along the football field, much like a college stadium. The smell of hot dogs, pretzels, and popcorn filled the air, and the sound of trumpets and drums pounding out marching band tunes echoed all around. A cheer went up from the crowd above and an auditory cascade of feet stamping on aluminum bleachers descended upon us.

While Woodson waited on popcorn, I opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

“What does it say?” Woodson asked over her shoulder, just as another roar went up from the crowd above. The sound was deafening.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light underneath the stadium, two short sentences appeared centered in the middle of the white page in block letters:

A TAN CAT CANT WHAT, MADDEN?

GO COUGARS!

I stared at the page for a second without speaking. A moment after that, the “GO COUGARS!” at the bottom of the message registered in my mind as well.

In the seconds that followed, my pulse pounded, and the sound of blood rushing through my head filled my ears and drowned out the crowd above. I should have known, I told myself, as soon as SWK went after Mara. I’d bent over backwards to convince everyone that the details of this case were just coincidence. But all along it hadn’t been about Mara; it had been about me.

There were no such things as coincidences.

Woodson shook me by the arm. “What’s going on?”

I ran away without speaking, up the concrete ramp leading into the open air and the bleachers and crowd above. I could hear Woodson pounding up the pavement behind me.

“What’s going on?” she yelled again.

We burst through the bleacher opening, immediately awash in a sea of people screaming and making noise on all sides. I ran down the remainder of the bleachers, taking two at a time toward the field below, just as a football player tumbled out of bounds and sent the cheerleaders on the ground scattering in a flash of pom-poms, megaphones, and high-pitched screams.

I leaned over the railing at the bottom and searched frantically for Ally in that chaotic scene on the field, desperate to see her long brown locks. But she wasn’t among the cheerleaders who’d been spilled.

Finally I spotted her, another fifteen yards away, as a gush of relief washed through my body and flowed along my spine. Ally was okay. She stood suspended in midair, held up by a boy cheerleader, and she led the fans in a cheer. Standing atop his hands, she exhorted the crowd to build itself into an even greater frenzy, her blue-and-gold pom-poms flashing furiously above her like screaming heads.

I turned around to find her mother and sister in the stands behind me, but quickly realized the futility of trying to find Kate and Grace in the bleachers from my position. I could see better from the field.

I leaped over the railing down onto the field, still without having uttered a word to Woodson, just as she called behind me to wait. A chain-link fence separated the field of play from the stands, and I ran full tilt toward it, grabbing the smooth circular railing along the top as I jumped. I landed awkwardly on the turf, but stayed upright, and in the next moment began making my way toward Ally and the boy at full speed, surprised by the intensity of the floodlights shining down on the field. To my left, a man dressed in a brown windbreaker and a cap that read “Security” crossed quickly into my path. I didn’t even bother pulling my badge.

I knew he was just trying to do his job, but I had to get to Ally. He stopped ten feet ahead of me and held up his arms. “Stop, sir!”

I kept going, driving my fist into his solar plexus just as he prepared to tackle me. Not as hard as I could, but hard enough to paralyze him for a good five seconds while his brain tried to figure out where all the oxygen had suddenly gone.

I skirted around him as he sank to his knees behind me, and kept running.

By this time Ally and the boy had seen me coming, and she jumped from his shoulders to the ground. “Uncle Lucas, what’s the matter?”

I put both hands on her shoulders and leaned against her, gasping for air. “Ally,” I said, pointing to the crowd. “Where are your mother and sister? Where are they?”

“What’s the matter, Uncle Lucas?”

I faced her and shouted above the noise of the crowd, shaking her shoulders. “Ally. I don’t have fucking time for this! Where are they? Now!”

She blinked back tears, lifted her finger, and pointed. “They’re up there, in the high school section.”

“Come on.” I grasped her hand in mine and we ran back across the field toward the fence. I realized I’d lost Woodson when I left the bleachers. Once Ally and I made it back to the fence, I lifted her over by the waist and quickly scrambled over behind her, scanning the crowd.

“Which way, Ally?”

“This way. Follow me.”

I followed her through another chain-link fence and up some side steps leading back to the stadium bleachers from the left. I tried to assimilate the faces flying past on every row, but it was impossible. I had to trust Ally, trust that she would take me to Katie and Grace. Our shoes clanged against the metallic steps.

“Kate! Grace!” I screamed their names. Ahead of me, Ally looked back at me once, her face twisted in fear and questioning. But she continued up the steps.

“They’re up here, Uncle Lucas. I saw them earlier.”

I looked up and down the rows as we ran. Women, children, and men stood all around, but there was no sign of my sister or niece. “Kate! Grace!” I jerked around as a tremendous gunshot rumbled through the air. I caught sight of a large plume of gray smoke rising from the end zone. A cannon had fired. The home team had scored.

And then the crowd rose to its feet all around us, clanging cowbells, cheering, whistling, and screaming.

I yelled at the top of my voice, “Ally! Do you see them?”

“No!”

I started to wade into the crowd when Ally pulled me back. “Wait, there she is! There’s Mom!”

I followed Ally’s finger. Sure enough, there stood Kate, laughing and talking with another lady her age, clapping along with the rest of the crowd, which seemed far too enrapt with the game on the field to have even noticed my on-field antics yet.

“Come on!” I clambered up the remaining steps, taking Ally by the hand before I called to her mother again. “Katie!”

Finally she heard us above the noise of the crowd and turned her head. She waved, and her face broke into a smile that lasted only a second before dissolving into a look of sheer terror. She pushed her way through the crowd and met us on the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Gracie, Katie?”

“She went to get sodas and popcorn, downstairs. What’s wrong, Lucas?” She repeated the question and gripped me by the lapels of my jacket as I turned. “What’s wrong, goddamn it?”

“I just have to make sure she’s safe right now. Come with us.” I turned to Ally. “Take us down to the concessions.”

The three of us ran back down the bleachers as the radio announcer declared that the score was home team 14, visitors 7. The crowd once again roared around us. At the bottom of the stands I searched for Woodson for a split second, but she was nowhere to be found. After another moment, I turned and followed Katie and Ally into the darkness beneath the bleachers.

Underneath the stadium a few dozen people milled around the dimly lit concession stands. The single bulbs hanging intermittently from the ceiling shimmered in unison with the vibrations in the bleachers above. The three of us ran along the dusty concrete floor. The bleachers pounded above us as another chant rose from the crowd outside.

“There she is,” Katie said and pointed. There Grace stood, a few dozen feet away, safe and sound, waiting in line with a group of two other girls and three boys. She lazily tore off a piece of pink cotton candy and poked it into her mouth, laughing at something one of the boys said.

The last reserve of adrenaline released inside me as I realized all three of them were safe. I started to run toward Grace just as a man wearing a black beret and black overcoat appeared under the stands from a different stadium entrance, approaching Grace and her friends in the distance. Something about him set off my creep meter and I knew what it was: the way he walked quickly, with purpose.

“Gracie! Gracie!” I screamed her name and broke into a full-fledged sprint. Katie and Ally ran behind me, too, frantically yelling for Grace along with me, but without knowing why.

Grace looked up as she heard us. Just like her mother, she smiled at first, surprised to see me. But her smile dissolved just as quickly as she watched me continue to run recklessly toward her and scream her name over and over.

I watched as the man in black continued to approach her, and pulled out my Luger and held it up, aiming. “Stop!” I screamed.

The man kept walking, and reached into his coat.

At that moment I stopped running and lined up the beaded sights of the Luger on the man’s head. As Grace and her group of friends finally saw what was happening, they screamed and fell sprawling to the floor.