Cereal Killer (29 page)

“He’s left the kitchen window and is working his way around to the living room. Your shrubs are in his way.”

“If he smashes my new lilac bush, I’ll kill him for sure,” Savannah muttered. Turning back to Marietta, she plastered a fake smile on her face and said, “Did you dial 911 like I said?”

“No! You’re acting weird, Savannah, and you’re getting me spooked. Cut it out.”

“Marietta. Do what I’m telling you, girl. Hang up that phone and call 911. Tell them that we have a prowler at 217 Rosebriar Lane. Tell them to send a patrol car, to get in touch with Sergeant Dirk Coulter and get him over here, too. And I want you to go upstairs to the guest room, go inside, and lock the door. And you don’t come out till I come and get you. You got all that?”

Marietta’s mouth fell open; then she seemed to recover herself and began to punch buttons furiously on the phone. “Yeah, okay. What’re you gonna do?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just make that call and walk upstairs like nothing’s going on, okay?”

For once, Marietta actually did as she was told and with remarkable efficiency. Once she was upstairs and locked into the guest room, Savannah tucked her purse under her left arm and walked around the living room, straightening a cushion, rearranging the magazines. “What’s he doing now?” she asked Tammy. “Watching you. Taking your picture.”

“Taking my picture?”

“Yes, he’s got some sort of a little camera with him.”

“Now isn’t that lovely,” she said through gritted teeth. “I think I’ll take that camera away from him and use it to perform a colonoscopy on him.”

She left the living room and walked into the window-less foyer, where she would be out of his sight for a moment. Placing her purse on the entry table, she reached inside and pulled out her Beretta.

Before walking back into the living room, she slid the gun into the waistband of her slacks and covered it with the tail of her shirt.

“He’s still looking in the living room window,” Tammy said.

“Okay, here’s what I’m going to do,” Savannah told her. “I’m going to act like I’m going into the kitchen again, but I’m going to slip out the back door and through the garage before he can figure it out.”

“Gotcha. Go. And good luck.”

Less than two minutes later, Savannah pressed the barrel of her Beretta against the back of Ronald Peeping-Tom Tumblety’s neck and said, “If you move, I’ll blow your head off. And I’d hate to have to do that; I just cleaned the outside of my windows.”

He jumped and started to turn around, so she jabbed the gun even harder against his neck.

“I’m not kidding,” she said. “I’ll kill you. Drop that camera on the ground and put your hands on top of your head.”

After a couple of seconds, he complied.

“Lace your fingers together.”

Savannah was still holding the phone in her left hand. “Tammy, you still there?” she asked.

“I’m listening.”

“Get up here and bring those handcuffs I gave you for your birthday.”

She tossed the phone onto the grass, reached up, and grabbed the little finger of his right hand. She pulled it back just enough to cause him some minor discomfort—and enough to remind him that it could become major pain very quickly.

Lifting her leg, she shoved her knee into the small of his back while pulling on his hands. He leaned backward, off balance—just the way she wanted him.

“Don’t you even twitch, you peeping perv,” she said, lowering her leg but keeping him in his uncomfortable position. “Look in
my
window, will you? I oughta shoot you just for trompin’ down my flower beds.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice quivering. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I saw you at the shoot the other day, and I really like you.”

“Gee, why don’t I find that flattering?”

“I think you and me could get along really good if you just knew me. If we went out a few times and spent some quality time together...”

“Oh, we’re
going
to spend some time together. But we’re not going to be watching a movie and sharing a popcorn.”

Tammy came running up, holding a pair of handcuffs out in front of her. “Here they are!” she said.

Savannah gave Tumblety’s pinkie a tug. “Put your right hand behind your back,” she told him. “Do it!” She told Tammy. “Cuff him.”

Tammy stared at Savannah, mouth open. “Me?” she asked.

“You’re the one with the cuffs.”

“Oh... okay.” Her hands were trembling, but Tammy quickly snapped the first cuff around his right wrist and held it tightly.

Savannah tugged on his left hand. “Now this one. Bring it down.”

In seconds, Tammy had that one secured as well, and Ronald Tumblety was in the unofficial custody of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency.

As though on cue, a radio car came around the corner and stopped in front of her house, lights flashing. A uniformed patrolman got out and came running up to them.

‘You want to pat this guy down and stick him in the back of your unit?” Savannah said. “He’s a suspect in several murders, and I just caught him looking in my windows. Detective Coulter will be along in few minutes. And I’m sure he’ll have some questions for Ronny Boy here.”

When Dirk arrived, Savannah and Tammy quickly filled him in on the situation. He talked to Tumblety a few minutes, then instructed the patrolman to take him to the station and put him in a holding cell.

‘You tailed him all day?” Dirk asked Tammy as they watched the radio car pull away with the unhappy Tumblety in the rear seat.

“Sure, just like you told me to,” she replied proudly. “Exactly what did he do from the time he left his house... er, van?”

“He went to a liquor store, then to that porn shop down on Chaparral Street. Next he went to a photo lab—the one on the east side of town between the McDonald’s and the Taco Bell. Then he drove out to Arroyo Verde and sat in his car in front of a house there for over an hour.”

“It was Desiree La Port’s place,” Savannah said. “I went out there myself and talked to her. He must have been watching her place and saw me when I arrived.” ‘Yeah, and when Savannah left the house,” Tammy added, “he followed her all the way home. He parked over there.” She pointed to his car, parked half a block down the street. “Then he got out, snuck up to her house, and peeked in the windows. He had a camera and was taking pictures, too.”

“The camera’s lying over there, in my flower bed,” Savannah said. “And my cell phone, too.”

They walked over to the window and retrieved both items from the dew-damp lawn.

“You say he went to a photo lab?” Savannah asked as she wiped her wet phone on her shirt.

“Yes.” Tammy nodded eagerly.

“Could you tell if he was dropping off or picking up?”

“I didn’t see anything in his hands when he went in, but he was carrying a little plastic bag when he came out”

Savannah and Dirk gave each other a knowing look.

Dirk turned and headed across the grass toward Tumblety’s car. Savannah and Tammy followed close behind him.

“If he didn’t go home, the pictures are probably still in the car, right?” Savannah asked Tammy.

“Yes, I guess so. Why? Do you think there would be anything good in them?”

Savannah sniffed. “Anything good? With any luck at all, it’ll be something bad.”

“I thought you said you aren’t photogenic,” Dirk said. He picked up one of Tumblety’s pictures and studied it closely. Too closely, as far as Savannah was concerned.

She snatched it out of his hand and placed it back on her kitchen table, along with the other twenty-three shots they were perusing.

“I’m just saying you look pretty yummy in that blue swimsuit,” he added, reaching for it again. “Can I have a copy of this one? I want to tape it to the inside of my locker at the station.”

“Oink, oink,” Tammy said with a snort.

“Business,” Savannah told him. “Keep your mind on business, boy. And stop gawking at my hooters.” She reached for another picture that showed off her curves even more than the first. “Here. If you’re gonna decorate your locker, do it right.”

Meanwhile, Tammy was shuffling the photos around on the table, grouping them in some manner that only she understood.

“What are you doing there?” Savannah asked her. “Trying to decide who old Ronald liked best, you or Tesla.” She pointed to a row of pictures that she had arranged in a column. “Out of the twenty-four shots, four of them are of the whole group of models. Eight of them feature you in the center and up close. And twelve of them have Tesla as the main focus.”

Savannah suppressed a shudder. “Good. That’s one beauty contest I’d prefer
not
to win.”

Dirk dragged several of the pictures across the table and lined them up in front of him. “These are the ones I’m interested in,” he said. “The ones he took as you girls were leaving.”

“Why those in particular?” Tammy asked.

“Good point,” Savannah said.

“What?” Tammy looked from Savannah to Dirk. “What are you looking for?”

“To see who he’s fixated on at that point,” Savannah said. “Right, Dirk?”

Dirk nodded. “And just as I figured—it’s Tesla. Look at this....”

He pointed to the central figure of the four photos that were taken of the driveway area as the women were getting into their assorted vehicles to leave the shoot. Tesla was the star of each picture. Front and center. Savannah felt a tug at her heart when she saw Tesla stepping into her car, the same black Mitsubishi that they had found abandoned in the coffee shop parking lot.

Studying Tesla’s expression, captured in the photo, Savannah could see that she was troubled, as she had been during the shoot. But Savannah couldn’t help wondering if Tesla had any inkling that within a very short time, her life would be threatened... or worse.

“That’s what I thought,” Dirk said with a smug look on his face. “Tumblety was after her even then. I’m telling you,
he’s
the one who nabbed her in that parking lot. Not some guy in a white van.”

Tammy picked up one of the photos off the table and held it only a few inches from her nose as she peered at it “A white van?” she said.

“Yeah,” Dirk replied. “Tumblety’s mysterious, disappearing dude in an old white van.”

She plunked the photo down in the center of the table and placed her fingertip on an object in the background. “You mean an old white van like this one? With a rack on the top?”

Savannah felt a shot of adrenaline hit her bloodstream, more potent than any caffeine or sugar hit, as she looked down at the picture. Tammy was right. There in the background, parked about a block away from the beach house, was an old panel body van—white with a rack, just as Tumblety had described.

She pointed to another vehicle in the background, even farther away than the van. Only the fender was showing, but it was enough for a tentative identification. “And isn’t that Tumblety’s El Camino?” she asked Dirk.

He frowned and nodded. “Yep, I’m afraid so.”

“He drove to the shoot location in his own car,” Savannah said, thinking aloud. “Maybe it’s a coincidence that there’s a van like he described in this picture.”

Tammy tapped on the photo again. “Looks to me like somebody’s sitting in the driver’s seat, too,” she said, “but you can’t see any more than just a dark outline.”

“And the license plate number is there,” Savannah noted, “but it’s too blurry to do us any good.”

“How could you tell?” Tammy said, picking up the photo and grinning at them. “You both need glasses and are just too proud to admit it and buy some. Let
me
take a look.”

“I do
not
need glasses!” Dirk snapped.

“Me either.” Savannah reached over and thumped the side of Tammy’s head.

“Naw, I can’t see it either.” Tammy sighed and laid the photo back down on the table.

Savannah jumped up and ran over to the counter in the kitchen where the telephone sat. Opening the drawer beneath the phone, she pulled out a glasses case.

“Here,” she said as she returned to the table, pulled out the glasses, and put them on. “Let me take another look at that picture.”

“Don’t need glasses, huh?” Tammy muttered. “Then what are those things on your face?”

“They’re magnifying aids, which I use to read the phone book these days. They’re printing the names in those things smaller every year. I tell you, it’s a Communist conspiracy.”

“Medicine bottle directions and maps, too,” Dirk grumbled.

“I’m telling you, it’s a plot against baby boomers.” Savannah squinted, staring at the photo for ages. Finally, she tossed it back onto the table. “Nope,” she said, “nothing but fuzz.”

“That’s too bad,” Tammy replied. “It could be exactly what we need to break the case.”

“Too bad we don’t have the kind of fancy equipment that the feds have,” Dirk said. “You know, the kind you see on TV that can take pictures and... do whatever they do to them.”