The Assailant (29 page)

“Always good to be sure,” Hastings said. “Where is she now?”

“In her apartment. I told her you were going to be okay.” Klosterman smiled. “She calls you George. ‘How's George? Is George going to be okay? What about George?' Did you two become friends?”

“Shut up . . . God, I remember hearing something, shots, I guess, but beyond that . . . nothing. I guess I fucked up.”

“No, you didn't. We did. We shouldn't have lost him at the light. I'm sorry, George.”

“Forget it.”

“Listen, the band's all here. Wulf, Captain Combrink. The chief and deputy chief, all of the big brass.”

“So they think we got the right guy?”

“Well, don't you?”

“I have no doubt. But I want them to know it too.”

“Well, don't worry. Escobar called from County PD. They searched Sheffield's house and found Marla Hilsheimer's bracelet and Adele Sayers's earring. They were in his desk drawer. I guess he never thought he'd be caught. I'm sure there'll be additional confirmation.”

“Good.”

“Also, we found a leather strap in his car. It might have been part of a whip. Or a dog leash. Planning to use it on her, I guess.”

Hastings said, “He didn't know her.”

They kept Hastings at the hospital overnight for observation. He awoke at ten
A.M
. and was out the door by ten thirty. He met his ex-wife and daughter for lunch at Hershel's and told them that he was okay but didn't want to talk about the case or anything they had seen on the news. The lunch was quiet and surprisingly free of drama.

When they finished, Amy came over to his side of the booth and took his arm when he stepped out. She must've noticed the stiffness in his walk when he got to the restaurant. He steadied himself on her shoulder and she looked up at him and said, “He was a bad man, wasn't he?”

Hastings didn't like it when she read about murders in the newspapers. But she had a curious nature and she was too old for him to stop her.

“Yeah, honey,” he said. “He was a very bad man.”

 

•

After lunch, Klosterman drove him to his car, which was still parked by the Lindell Towers. The wrecked vehicles had been removed. There was no damage to the Jaguar.

Klosterman said, “George, don't come to the station today. Go home. Take a couple days rest.”

Hastings said, “You asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you. Anne wants you and Amy to come over Sunday for dinner. Can you make it?”

“I think so. I'll call you.”

He watched Klosterman drive away.

He looked around the area before he got in his car, trying to picture what had happened there only thirteen or so hours before. Dark, now light. Then he stopped, deciding it was better to put it behind him.

The Jag started on the first turn of the key.

 

•

That night, Carol brought him dinner. Over Chinese takeout, he told her most of it, or as much as he felt he should. At times she covered her mouth, but she didn't cry.

She said, “The papers say he was a doctor. He worked at an ER.”

“That's right.”

“These serial killers, aren't they usually sort of . . .”

“Losers? Yeah, typically. As typical as any serial killer can be. I don't know. He was educated. I think he might have even been a good doctor. But he was no genius.”

“Because he fell for your trap?”

“My trap pretty much blew up in my face,” Hastings said. “No, it's not so much that. He went for the bait, but he could have passed it by, and maybe we would have never been able to catch him. He came after Rita when he knew she would have access to a gun. My gun. If he didn't know, he should have known. I don't think that's the act of an evil genius.”

“He wanted to kill her,” Carol said. “Isn't that the mark of most lunatics? They want to kill even when it doesn't make sense to kill?”

Hastings said, “He wasn't a lunatic. He was a man who enjoyed doing wicked things. And he hated women.”

Carol smiled, giving in. She didn't want to have that argument again, or at least not until he was up for it. She said, “The conversation you had with him, the one-on-one, did it—did it creep you out?”

“I guess so. I was scared of him. But I'm scared of any murderer. But no, it wasn't like I could look in his eyes and see evil. He wasn't that obvious. He was pretty arrogant, very full of himself. But you could say that of most doctors.”

“Or homicide detectives.”

“Or lawyers.” Hastings smiled. “What he seemed like was a jerk. I couldn't read serial killer in him. It'd be nice to have that ability.”

“I don't think so.”

Carol McGuire regarded Hastings. She was a perceptive, sensitive woman and she knew there were times when he wanted to be alone. She said, “I can stay over tonight, if you want me to. If you'd like to be alone, that's okay too.”

After a moment, he said, “I think I'd like to be alone tonight. Get to bed early. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow morning?”

“Sure.”

Rita answered the door in a pair of sweats and a white V-neck undershirt. She wore no makeup. Her hair was down and damp from a recent shower.

Hastings thought of the first time he'd met her. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail. He had thought she looked plain then, like a college student. He didn't see her that way anymore.

Rita said, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Come in. Please.” He followed her into the apartment and she said, “Would you like something to drink? I don't have any tea.”

“No. Nothing, thank you.”

She went around the corner.

Hastings looked at the daybed. Saw clothes folded and luggage packed. He looked around the apartment. “Are you moving?”

He heard her voice from the kitchen. “Yeah, I think so.”

He walked to the kitchen doorway and looked in. She was standing in front of the sink, washing glasses.

Rita said, “Maybe you've heard. I've become famous.”

Hastings had seen it in the morning paper at the coffee shop and read it after Carol had left. On the cover of the
St. Louis Herald
:
CALL GIRL KILLS SPRINGHEEL JIM
. Her photo in a black dress and overcoat, near the front of Lindell Towers.

Hastings said, “I saw it in the paper. And on the news. I'm sorry.”

She shrugged and kept her focus on the kitchen sink. “What are you sorry for? I'm the most popular girl at school.”

“That's why you're leaving?”

She turned and gave him a look. “What do you think?”

“I think you've got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I see. Is that what you came here to tell me?”

“I came here to thank you. For helping us and for, well, for saving my life. And to tell you I'm sorry.”

“You already said you were sorry.” She turned off the taps. “It's like you told me the other night—you use what you can.”

“Yeah, I said that. And the truth is, I'd probably do it again. Well, I mean, I'd probably try to do it better.”

She smiled at him. “Yeah, I would hope so.”

For a few moments neither of them said anything.

Then she relaxed and said, “Oh, what the hell. I wanted to get out of St. Louis anyway. It's an okay town, but it's not for me.”

“Where will you go?”

“Chicago. I've got friends there and I can finish school there too. Start over.” She looked around the place. “You know, I'll miss this apartment, though.”

“It's a nice apartment.”

She walked out of the kitchen and into the living area, her shoulder brushing his as she went by. She took a seat on the daybed.

Hastings turned and leaned against the doorway.

She said, “I guess you'd tell me that it was worth exposing me to stop him from killing other women.”

“I didn't want to expose you.”

“I know you didn't. But at least you got rid of him.”

“
I
didn't.”

“Right,” she said. “Well, I'll accept the gratitude for helping you catch him. But I didn't save your life. I saved my own.”

“Okay,” Hastings said. “Well, thanks just the same.” He started moving to the door.

“Hey, are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I've got . . . stuff.” He turned to look at her. “I wish you the best, Rita.”

She smiled at him from her place on the couch, her legs tucked up underneath her. A smile he'd never seen from her before, a friendly warmth in her eyes. “Are you sure you don't want to stay awhile?”

Oh God, Hastings thought. For she had never looked more desirable to him than she did now. Her face and figure, real. The woman, real. Real to him now.

“Ahhh, I gotta go.” He opened the door. He turned to look at Rita Liu one more time before he went out.

“You know, George,” she said, the smile still in her voice. “You're not so cool.”