Givens hesitated, then nodded. „I kind of hate to say yes, you know? Your boy took down some very bad players. I hate to see him stopped.“
„But we have to stop him, ma’am,“ Abe said quietly and Givens sighed heavily.
„I know. But I don’t have to dance a jig over it. Records are in the back.“
Friday, February 20,
4:30 p.m.
„The Myers girl is here with her father, Kristen.“
Kristen looked up from her paperwork. The headache from hell was brewing behind her eyes. Lois was looking over her shoulder toward the waiting area with a frown.
The Myers girl was her newest sexual assault case, the one where the father was insisting they press charges. All she needed to make this day perfect was to have that young girl break down in her office again. „I don’t suppose they’ll come back later.“
Lois snorted her displeasure. „No, I don’t suppose. Kristen, that dad makes me nervous. He’s twitchy. You want me to call Security?“
„Yeah. Just tell them to be ready. Tell Myers I’ll see them in five minutes. I want to finish this first.“ Hell, she just wanted to finish something today. Her phone had been ringing off the hook since the press conference, every reporter in town wanting a comment.
„Okay, Kristen. Oh, here.“ Lois dropped a thick stack of paper bound with a big black clip on her desk. „E-mails from all over. Some want information, most are rooting for him.“ She sighed. „Don’t leave by yourself tonight. Call Security to walk you down to your car. I’m going home soon. I have a headache.“
Join the club, Kristen thought, staring at the bound stack of paper. There wasn’t a news service that hadn’t picked up the story since the press conference this afternoon. They’d been on CNN every half hour, and even the Yahoo! home page had a photo of Spinnelli and Alden at the podium. She massaged her temples wearily.
She’d see Myers and then she’d go home. After all, who needed an overworked prosecutor when they had a humble servant? Maybe she should just let him mop up the cases she lost, she thought sarcastically. She could work fewer hours.
Hell, she might even take a vacation.
Her mouth twisted at the image of herself on a sandy beach in a bathing suit, sunglasses on her eyes and an unread book on her lap. Like she’d ever take a vacation. Alden was always urging her to take one, but the few times she’d asked he’d always found a reason she had to stay in the office. She’d covered for him enough times when he’d gone on vacation, she thought, resentment making her head throb harder. So she drew a deep breath and let her mind drift, trying to let the image of crashing waves and crying seagulls relax her. It’s what the therapists recommended. She ought to know, she’d seen it on late-night cable when she was refinishing the hardwood floor a few months back.
Find your happy place and all your worries will just slip away…
So she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Then in her imagination opened them and rolled her head to one side to the lounge chair beside her.
Where Reagan lay, his body tanned, muscled… and perfect. As if sensing her stare, he turned those intense blue eyes her way and flashed a white smile. And covered her hand with his.
Kristen sat back up with a hard jerk that sent new waves of pain coursing from her head down her neck. Dammit. The man wouldn’t leave her alone, checking her closets, buying her dinner, ruining a perfectly good autopsy viewing. Now he was invading her mind. She rubbed her hand hard, trying to still the tingles caused even by an imagined touch. She cursed the hard beating of her heart and pushed away the feelings she’d be foolish to label anything but futile longing.
It wouldn’t do to long for things she’d never have. If she ever let Reagan close enough, he’d run so fast… He would.
But damn, he looked good lying there on the beach.
She frowned at her own idiocy. Face it, Kristen, you’ll never have anyone. You’ll never even get to a vacation on the beach.
Resolutely she picked up the phone. „Lois, send in the Myers girl now.“
Friday, February 20,
4:30 p.m.
The hat with the earflaps hid his face, and given the wind chill, nobody would think twice about it. Now, if he was able to evade the police and keep his work going until spring, he’d have to get a little more creative if he wanted to walk around undetected.
The thought made him smile, as did the brown box left neatly on Kristen’s front porch. The boy had done well. He imagined the surveillance cameras around Kristen’s house would capture the boy’s face clearly. Tracking him would give Reagan and Mitchell something to do for a day or two, but when they found him, the boy wouldn’t be able to give anything more than the most basic of descriptions. Any police artist sketch they got would be able to pass for 10 percent of the men in Chicago, at least.
The news would pick it up and the boy would be linked to, in the hire of, a serial killer. He’d chosen the boy carefully. If there were any negative repercussions to being involved with the „Vigilante Killer“ as the news was calling him, this kid deserved them. If nothing came of it, no harm, no foul. But if the kid got into some trouble, it would be a good thing.
Without slowing, he continued down Kristen’s street and obediently stopped at a stop sign, left blinker flashing. No bad behavior to make him memorable to anyone that happened to notice his white van, which today sported a sign for an electrical contractor. He thought the happy face on the cartoon electrical plug was a cute touch.
Leah would have been amused.
Friday, February 20,
6:50 p.m.
Spinnelli leaned his head back, weariness etched in his face. None of them had had a great day, but Spinnelli’s had been the most publicly bad. „So you’ve got lists of sharpshooters, hunters – duck and deer, florists and tombstone makers.“ He dragged his hands down his face. „Sounds like some kind of rabid children’s rhyme.“
Totally frustrated, Abe stared at the lists covering the conference room table. There were a hell of a lot of hunters in the Chicago area, and they’d only tapped a handful of the ammunition stores. „It will take days to get through all this, even if we had more people. Can the guys in IT help us out? Maybe scan the names in, look for connections?“
Mia stared at Spinnelli. „I heard somebody say today that we have the resources of CPD at our disposal.“
Spinnelli shrugged. „I’ll ask them. They should be able to do something with all those fancy computers up there.“
Abe pushed away from the table and walked to the whiteboard where they continued to note evidence that continued to be unconnected. „We’ve accounted for the whereabouts of all the original victims on the nights our new victims disappeared. The only ones with shakable alibis are Sylvia Whitman and Paulo Siempres, the stepfather of one of the murdered children.“
„Do you think either of them was involved?“
Abe shook her head. „Not Siempres. He wouldn’t have had the strength to strangle Ramey. His right arm is withered. Polio as a kid.“
„And Mrs. Whitman?“
„Nope.“ Mia crossed her ankles on the table’s edge. „She talks a big talk, but I don’t think she’s capable either. She might have paid somebody to off Ramey, but if she did, it was from a source nobody knows about. I’ve checked all their finances. Nobody’s made any large contract-killing-sized payments lately.“
„Besides,“ Abe said, „somebody had to know the names of King’s six victims to sandblast them into the marker, and there’s no reason to suspect Whitman or Siempres had access to that information.“
Spinnelli sighed. „I’ve got Kristen’s list of lawyers and cops associated with all three cases. Here’s the list of marksmen.“