Detective Tower strode toward them, his sport coat drenched. As he drew close, Ridgeway saw that the detective’s hair was matted against his head.
“Any luck?” Tower asked them.
Both officers shook their heads.
Tower muttered a curse. “Well, hopefully someone that wasn’t home right now saw something and will call it in. I left my card in about ten doors.”
“Most witnesses don’t even know when they see something,” Gio said. “I doubt anyone will call.”
Tower shot him a scowl. “Don’t mess with my mojo.”
“It’s true,” Gio said. “And on top of that, most witnesses who think they saw something important didn’t see a thing at all or what they saw really doesn’t matter for much.”
Tower looked at Ridgeway. “What is this, Instruct The Detective Day?”
Ridgeway shrugged. “Not like you dicks don’t need it, right?”
“Ha, ha.” Tower hunched his shoulders and looked up. “I hate the rain.”
“I kinda like it,” Ridgeway said.
Tower looked at him flatly. “That figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tower snorted. “Gee, I don’t know. I’m only a detective.” He thumbed toward Gio. “Why don’t you ask Casanova over here?”
“Let’s just hope it stops soon,” Gio said. “Because I’m sick of it already.”
“It messes up your perfect gigolo hair, Giovanni?” Tower asked.
Gio reached up and touched his wet mop. “Nah. Let’s just hope the wet look is in.” He glanced over at Ridgeway. “It doesn’t work for you, though, Mark.”
Ridgeway shrugged. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t make your boy go out and rape again, huh, Tower?”
Tower’s eyes narrowed. “My boy?”
“This rapist.”
“Oh.” Tower eyed him suspiciously. “Why would the rain make him do this again? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ridgeway glanced at Gio, who laughed.
“You don’t listen to the news?” Gio asked Tower.
Tower shook his head. “Not if I can help it. Why?”
“They’re calling this guy the Rainy Day Rapist.”
“Who they?”
“The media. All of them.”
Tower stared at him for a long moment, then dropped his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered. After another moment, he lifted his jacket upward and gave it a shake. “Let’s get out of here.”
The three men turned and made their way toward the street where Tower’s unmarked detective’s vehicle sat behind the officers’ marked cruiser. On the way, Ridgeway could hear Tower muttering but couldn’t make out the words. Once at his car, the detective got in without so much as a thank you and pulled away.
“What’s up with that?” Ridgeway complained. “We just walked around in the rain for an hour knocking on doors and he can’t even say thanks?”
“He’s probably under the gun over this. I imagine Crawford is all over him.” Gio opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.
Ridgeway slid into the passenger seat. “I’m sure it helped that you brought up the Rainy Day Rapist thing.”
“I didn’t bring it up.” Gio fired up the engine. “The media brought it up. I just passed it on.”
“Whatever,” Ridgeway said. Although he knew Gio was right. “My guess is that it was that fluff head from Channel Five.”
“Shawna Matheson?” Gio dropped the car into gear. “She’s hot.”
“She’s an idiot,” Ridgeway answered, but he knew it didn’t matter which of the newscasters actually said something first. Once one of them has it, they were all like a bunch of parakeets anyway, with no sign of an original thought.
Gio turned onto Lincoln Road. “Whatever pressure he’s under now, it’s nothing like what he’ll be facing now that the media is hyping this story.”
Ridgeway didn’t answer, but he knew Gio was right.
1301 hours
He cruised through the East Sprague corridor, eyeing the prostitutes that posed in the doorways. None so far had been willing to venture out from protective cover when he slowed down to examine them. The drizzle of cold rain kept them huddled like drowned cats in the doorways, staring bleakly out at him.
He decided it was too much work today. Perhaps he could save it up and spring it on some other bitch later tonight or tomorrow.
He reached for the car radio, turning to the news station for the top of the hour coverage.
“Police continue to search for clues,” the polished male newsman’s voice intoned, “in the brutal rape of a woman on River City’s north side last night. This is the second such rape by the man now dubbed The Rainy Day Rapist.”
His jaw dropped.
The Rainy Day Rapist?
He shook his head in disbelief.
How could they call him that? It was a stupid name. It made him sound like some wimp in a musical or something. There was nothing powerful about a name like that.
He pulled into a convenience store parking lot, where he stopped the car and took a deep breath. He knew that part of what he was doing was compulsion. He couldn’t stop it, even if he wanted to. He’d read about it in college, at least in the couple courses he managed to take at the community college. He understood the concept intellectually. But it was a different story when it became a reality. When the urge to dominate came over him. When these bitches need him to put the whammo down -
He stopped. What good had it done him, though? To end up with a name like this?
He gripped the steering wheel and took stock of his career. He’d raped three women already, not counting whores. Well, okay, maybe the first one didn’t count, either, since he didn’t exactly seal the deal. And the cops must not be counting it, since the media didn’t report it. Or maybe the stupid bitch didn’t even call the cops. But number two and three called the cops. They definitely counted. And the last one got the whammo good. She figured out exactly what kind of man she was dealing with.
And yet, when his crimes finally go public, they saddle him with a ridiculous nickname like this? What level of respect was that?
He wondered if he should respond. There was a payphone across the parking lot. He could call in and muffle his voice. Or better yet, maybe he should send a letter into the newspaper, like the Zodiac Killer.
That thought stopped him cold.
The Zodiac…Killer.
No one ever called a killer by some stupid name. They respected a killer because they feared him. Only women feared a rapist. Everyone feared a killer.
A sudden calm washed over him. He realized he had found his answer.
His purpose.
His destiny.
1317 hours
Tower shook the rain off his jacket as soon as he entered the police station. Without pause, he made his way straight toward the Crime Analysis unit. He intentionally chose his route to avoid the door to the Major Crimes bullpen, just in case Lieutenant Crawford was watching out for him.
“Hey, girl,” Tower said as he stepped through the door to the cramped Crime Analysis office.
Renee looked up from a stack of reports with bleary eyes. “Hey back,” she said. “Did you find anything on your canvass?”
Tower shook his head. “Nada. I need your help.”
Renee yawned and rubbed her eyes. “All right,” she murmured.
“Don’t get too excited,” Tower said.
“I won’t,” she assured him.
“Am I pulling you off something big?”
Renee shrugged. “Just trying to figure out this Rainy Day Rapist.”
Tower frowned. “That’s a stupid name. Where’d it come from?”
“I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say good old Channel Five.” Renee stood and walked to the nearby coffee pot. She filled her cup and held the pot out toward Tower, offering.
Tower considered, then shook his head. “Naw, I’m coffeed out.”
“Suit yourself.” Renee shuffled back to her seat and sat down lightly. She curled her legs to one side in the giant, black chair and sipped from her cup.
Tower let his head dropped forward toward her expectantly. “So?”