Midnight Caller (7 page)

Erin knew her emotions were in danger of flaring out of control but she didn’t care. How could he talk with Jack about a problem at school and not tell her? And why did Jack go to him in the first place? Does he miss having a dad more than she thought?
What should I do, Lord? I know what I want to do. I want to tell Tony to mind his own business
. She glanced at the man sitting quietly, waiting for her decision.
No, I don’t. He grew up without a dad. He understands better than me how Jack feels
.

Erin lowered her gaze and nodded permission.

Tony heard muffled crying behind the door. He rapped lightly and, without waiting for an invitation, entered the room. The boy lay facedown on the bed, his face buried in a pillow.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Go away.”

Tony pushed the walker to the side and sat on the bed.

“Tough day at school?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Go away.”

Tony picked up a box of tissues from the dresser and saw Jack peeking at him from beneath his folded arms. He dumped the tissues in the trash, reached into his back pocket, withdrew a clean, white handkerchief and offered it to Jack. “Here. I think it’s time you had your own grown-up handkerchief.”

Jack’s hand reached out for the folded cloth and a ghost of a smile touched his lips. He sat up, swiped at his nose and stopped crying. “Men use handkerchiefs, not boys.”

“That’s right.” Tony smiled.

The boy’s expression darkened as he seemed to be remembering the events of the day but he didn’t cry.

“Did your friends dump you again today to play ball?” Tony asked.

Jack shook his head side to side.

“What, then?”

A tiny whisper filled the room. “They went bike riding.”

Tony’s heart seized at the pain vibrating in Jack’s voice. He knew he shouldn’t be letting himself get attached to the boy. It was one thing to play a video game or spend a day at a theme park. It was quite another to be offering advice and comfort like he was his real dad.

“I can’t play ball. I can’t ride bikes.” Jack’s shoulders sagged. “I hate being different.”

“Everybody’s different.”

Jack looked at Tony, doubt, anger and disappointment all scrunched together on his face.

“It’s true,” Tony assured him. “Every person on earth is a one-and-only model. No two alike.”

“Uh-uh. Twins aren’t different.”

Tony grinned. “Uh-huh, even twins.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Twins might look alike, but they’re different people with their own feelings and their own talents and their own way of doing things. Just because people look alike or even dress alike doesn’t make them the same person, does it?”

Jack shook his head.

“Let me ask you a question. Did those boys walk with you to class today?”

Jack nodded.

“Did they sit at the lunch table with you?”

He nodded again.

“See, Jack. They’re your friends. Just because you can’t do
everything
with them doesn’t mean they don’t like you.”

Tony rested an arm across the boy’s shoulders, cradling
him gently against his side. “There is only one you, Jack. Your friends like you just the way you are.”

Jack lowered his head. “But I wanted to go bike riding with them.”

“I understand, buddy. But sometimes we don’t get everything we want.” He lifted the boy’s chin. “We’ll just have to come up with other things you can do together.”

“Like what?”

“Like go to a movie or have a sleepover.”

“What movie?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to look in the paper and see what’s playing.”

The boy’s shoulders sagged again.

“Or I could borrow a police car and take your friends for a ride. I might even run the siren.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “A real police car! Can we, Tony? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

Jack grinned. “Wait until I tell Mom.” He grabbed his walker, today’s disappointment already forgotten, and headed for the bedroom door.

C
arol weaved through the cafeteria crowd like a drunken sailor on the
Titanic
. Arriving without spillage, she placed the tray on the table and plopped down beside Erin. “People are so inconsiderate.”

“Sounds like someone woke up on the grumpy side of the bed today,” Erin said.

“Don’t start. I’m not irritable.”

Erin’s eyes widened, but she knew better than to speak.

Carol looked at her friend. “What? Okay, maybe I’m a little grumpy.”

Erin laughed and slid her chocolate pudding onto Carol’s tray. “Here, you need it more than I do.”

Carol grinned. “That bad, huh?”

“How can I help?”

Before she could answer Lenny approached with tray in hand. “Hi, Erin. Mind if I join you?”

“Sorry, Lenny,” Carol interjected. “These seats are saved. We’re waiting for friends and there won’t be room today.”

Erin blinked in astonishment at her friend’s comments.

Lenny glared at Carol, then turned his attention to Erin. “I guess we’ll have to make it another time.”

Erin opened her mouth to speak, but Carol spoke first. “Another time would be good.”

Lenny’s expression darkened. He made a point not to look in Carol’s direction. “Bye, Miss Erin.” As he turned, he tripped over his own feet and fell on the floor.

Erin jumped up from the table. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” She squatted beside him and swept her napkin over the spilled food. Mr. Peters, the janitor, rushed over, grasped Lenny’s arm and helped the man to his feet. As Lenny shuffled toward the door, Mr. Peters shot a disapproving glare at both Erin and Carol and went back to emptying the cafeteria trash cans.

Erin’s cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment. She turned on her friend with a vengeance. “Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry. I really am.” Carol bowed her head. “I can’t help it,” she mumbled. “The guy gives me the creeps.”

Erin fought to keep her voice down. “I didn’t think you had a mean bone in your body. You deliberately hurt him. What’s going on?”

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” Carol played with her food.

“That’s your excuse?” Erin placed her fists on her hips.

“I know. I shouldn’t have spoken to him like that.” An angry expression twisted her mouth. “Even if part of me feels he deserved it.”

“No one deserves to be purposely embarrassed,” Erin said. “What’s going on with you?” She recognized guilt in Carol’s eyes. And there was something more. Fear?

“I’ve been getting anonymous phone calls,” Carol said.

Erin drew in a deep breath. “You never told me about any calls.”

“In the beginning, I thought it was just a prank. I let the
answering machine handle the calls. It didn’t work. Eventually, I changed my number.”

Erin took a hard look at her friend and noticed for the first time the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her jumpiness and irritability started to make sense.

“The calls started again on my unlisted number,” Carol said. “They’re worse than before. Now…”

“Now?” Erin prodded.

“He whispers. It’s almost like a sick game. The harder you try to listen, the lower he speaks.”

Erin slid her hand across the table and caught Carol’s fingertips with her own.

“It’s a creepy whisper,” Carol said. “Sends chills down my spine. I hate myself for listening.”

“What does he say?”

“He says his name is Death and he is right behind me.”

A sharp pain seized Erin’s chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her own calls, the dead rose and the sick poem flashed through her mind. Should she tell Carol? She took one look at the haggard expression on her friend’s face and decided not to add to her stress. “What does this have to do with Lenny? Do you think he’s making the calls?”

“He has to be. Only a handful of friends have my new number. And none of them would do this.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Lenny isn’t your friend. How could he get the number?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he got it from Personnel. He probably made up a sob story about needing to get in touch with me about a blood specimen or something.”

“Listen to yourself. That’s crazy.”

“It has to be him,” Carol insisted. “I bet he gets his kicks
scaring women because he can’t find one who will give him the time of day.”

“That’s a pretty big leap. I admit he’s a loner and I’ll even admit he’s a bit odd. But if that’s your only reason—”

Carol raked both hands through her hair. “A few weeks ago, Lenny walked into the nurse’s station with two cups of coffee. He plopped one of the cups and himself on the edge of my desk. I thanked him but told him I wasn’t interested. Instead of getting mad, he just smiled.” Carol visibly shuddered. “It was a creepy smile. He looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Maybe you’ll have more time for me if I call first.’ The anonymous calls started up again right afterwards.”

“Have you called the police?” Erin asked.

“You? Recommending the police? Now I know the world is ending.” Carol took a bite of her salad. “Yes, I called them.”

“When?”

“About two weeks ago for all the good it did me. Seems prank calls aren’t a priority.”

Erin chewed on her bottom lip. “Let’s run it past Tony. He’ll know what to do.”

Carol’s lips curved in an affectionate smile. “Tony, huh? I heard he’s a hero with the neighborhood kids. The line was two deep waiting for a turn to ride in a police car.”

“Does Tess give you daily updates on all my business?”

“Don’t be mad at Tess. We both love you and have your best interest at heart.”

Refusing to get caught up in this discussion, Erin changed the subject. “I still think you need to tell Tony about the calls and your suspicions about Lenny.”

“I will,” Carol assured her. “But tomorrow’s Amy’s birthday. I’m not going to let anything put a damper on it. She’s so excited about having a party, she can hardly sleep.”

Both moms chuckled. Conversation turned to children, birthdays and balloons. For the moment, telephone calls, sleepless nights and fear faded away.

“Give me good news, men,” Sergeant Greene addressed the morning briefing.

“I wish I could, boss,” Winters said. “Cynthia Mayors’s husband is back from Iraq. I met with him yesterday. He’s taking both kids to his mother’s in Idaho. The guy’s so grief-stricken he’s operating on autopilot. These two ran off to Vegas, eloped, had a weekend honeymoon and then he shipped out. Now he’s got no wife. He’s gonna be raising two kids he barely knows and one of them is a seven-year-old autistic boy who doesn’t understand what happened. Keeps asking for his mother. Life’s a poke in the eye sometimes, Sarge.” He paused for a moment and genuine empathy showed on his face.

Winters shuffled through the pages of his notepad. “The neighbor, who spray-painted Anne Morton’s house with obscenities after she called the cops on him for his loud parties, has an ironclad alibi. We’ve tried offering a reward on Crime Line for any new information, but nothing yet.”

“Ditto for Leigh Porter,” Spence added. “No suspects. No leads. No nothing.” He saw Sarge eye his cigarette, so he ground it out.

Sarge chewed on a yellow pencil.

“I spoke to Leigh Porter’s pastor,” Tony said. “He told me she’d been getting harassing phone calls. I pulled the phone records. Most of them were made using a prepaid disposable cell phone. We traced the cell phone order, but the name and address were phony. Others came from pay phones in public places. Nothing helpful.”

Following a light knock, a woman entered the room, stopping further conversation. Sarge gestured for her to join him in the front of the room. “I want you to meet Special Agent Jackie Davidson. She’s here at my request. She’s worked up a profile on this guy.”

The front legs of Spence’s chair hit the floor with a bang. “Sorry,” he said when all eyes turned toward him. “I get overexcited about FBI help.”

“Shut up and listen,” Sarge said. “You might learn something.”

Davidson, nonplussed by Spence’s outburst, opened a manila folder and said, “Good morning, gentlemen. I’m sure you know by now that you’re dealing with a serial killer.”

“Ya think?” Spence ducked the glares tossed his way.

“Most serial killers are motivated by a variety of psychological factors,” Davidson said. “Dysfunctional families, abuse in childhood or maybe a humiliation.”

“You’d make a great witness for the defense,” Spence mumbled. “The pervert couldn’t help himself. He killed the women because his mama hit him with a belt or kids in school called him a sissy.”

The sergeant’s eyes bulged. “Spence, can it or you’re outta here.”

Spence glared in the sergeant’s direction but remained silent.

“What can you tell us, Agent Davidson?” Tony asked, trying to get things back on track before Spence and Sarge came to blows.

“I made a careful analysis of all three cases,” Davidson said. “You have a disorganized killer on your hands. Probably in his late thirties, early forties. Socially inadequate. Has few, if any, friends. When you do catch him, you’ll hear acquaintances describe him as a loner, eccentric, possibly creepy.”

Winters muttered under his breath. “Creepy? Spence, where were you the night of April 10th?”

Spence sneered at his partner but remained silent.

“Why disorganized?” Tony asked. “His crime scenes are clean. He hasn’t left any clues.”

“Because the location of the body is not your crime scene. Locate his car or his home and you’ll find enough evidence to lock him up for life.”

“What about the victims? Is this guy just pulling women off the street? No connection between them? No planning for the big event?” Winters asked.

“This is definitely not random. There is a strong connection between these women. The killings are his emotional signature. His choices may not be logical to us, but all these women satisfy the emotional reasons he kills. And it’s possible, even probable, he watches them for days, weeks, maybe even months before he strikes. But the crime itself is opportunistic. He may be watching several women in the same time frame. When the urge to strike becomes more than he can handle, he doesn’t plan it out. He snatches the one most accessible at the time.”

Davidson made eye contact with each man in the room. “Remember, this man is socially inept. These women aren’t cooperating. He’s doing a blitz attack and overpowering them.”

“You don’t happen to have his home address?” Spence asked.

Davidson smiled. “Wish I did, Detective. I understand your frustration. And I know you’re racing the clock. He will kill again, soon.” She poured a glass of water and took a sip before continuing. “This man stalks his victims, watches them, learns their routines, their habits. When he gets the opportunity to strike, he overpowers them, takes them to another location and tortures them for a prolonged period of time. The actual murder scene is a familiar location where he feels safe.”
Davidson sipped her water. “Rage is his motivation. He’s punishing them.

“Your killer knows these women or, at least, thinks he does,” Davidson continued. “They’ve angered him. Notice that he doesn’t use a weapon. He uses his fists.”

Tony’d like to get this guy alone in a dark alley and show him what fists feel like. A quick glance around the table showed he wasn’t the only one affected by the agent’s words.

“How is he choosing his victims?” Tony asked.

“Your suspect believes these women have committed unforgivable sins against society. Let’s consider the Green River killer. He killed over ninety women before he was caught, almost all of them prostitutes. It’s the same idea. In his mind, these women need to be punished for something each one of them did, the same crime.”

Winters leaned back in his chair. “These women weren’t prostitutes. Just moms trying to live their lives.”

“Nonetheless, in the killer’s mind there is a strong, logical link between all of them,” Davidson insisted. “Remember, the link you’re seeking isn’t something as obvious as attending the same church or living in the same neighborhood. These women probably never even met. But to him they all committed the same
sin
. Discover the common sin and you’ll find your killer.”

Sergeant Greene shook hands with Davidson and escorted her to the door. When he returned, he said, “This investigation needs to focus on finding the common thread. Where did their paths cross? How did they meet this lowlife? Leigh Porter is the only black woman. Is that significant or coincidental? Winters, I want you to—”

Winters cleared his throat. “Sarge, we’ve been working around the clock for weeks and haven’t turned up a thing. There’s no link.”

A pregnant pause hung in the air.

Sarge stared hard at each of them. “You’re right, Winters. We’ve been working hard. And we don’t have anything to show for it.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “Look, I understand. You’re tired. Frustrated. I get it. But you heard Davidson. This guy is socially inept. He doesn’t have family or close friends. Loneliness might be his trigger and sends him on the prowl. So we’re going to work a little harder and a little longer to save the next poor woman’s life.”

Erin’s hand trembled. She lowered the receiver into the cradle.

“It’s him, again, isn’t it?”

Erin, startled at the sound of her aunt’s voice, spun around and forced a smile on her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I don’t know when you started to think it was all right to lie to me.”

She sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“What I want to know is what you’re going to do about the calls?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Erin shushed her aunt. “I don’t want Jack to hear us.”

“Jack is sound asleep.” Tess poured two cups of coffee and placed one in front of Erin. “No more stalling. The way I see it, these calls started back up about two days ago. Am I right?”

Erin nodded.

“So much for havin’ a private number. Have you told Tony?”

“No. He’s been busy with a case. But I did file a complaint with the police.”

Tess stared at her. “You don’t believe these calls are teenagers and neither do I.”

“No, I don’t. Worst of all, I’m not the only one getting them.”