When she first touched him, he jerked awake, struggling, until he realized nothing was wrong. She whispered in his ear over and over that everything was all right and that he was going to bed. In the sleep-induced stupor, he let her lead him, stumbling, to the bed. She laid him down, covering him with a quilt from the foot of the bed. She watched him for a while. Tears formed in her eyes as she watched the peace of sleep erase the lost haunted look he had. She wanted to be part of that peace. She climbed under the quilt and eased his head between her breasts. Cradling his head in a gentle rocking motion, she fell asleep.
James dreamed of warmth and rhythmic motion. He smelled woman, heard a throbbing heartbeat, felt the rise and fall of a chest. From the dark embrace of sleep, he struggled to wake. He couldn't quite escape the clutches of sleep. Instead, he woke enough to match the rhythmic movement of the breathing. His hand had somehow penetrated her clothing. The hand moved against the warm soft flesh in time to the breathing. The tempo of breathing increased. One hand moved to the breasts and the other between the legs. In the soft dark embrace, they both moved faster. She shuddered and then went deeper into a sleep-induced serenity with only her breathing and heart keeping any beat. He continued to try to get the warm soft rhythm back, but slowly strength slipped away and sleep took over.
Lori woke first. She left him sleeping. At four-thirty, she started a meal for her father and Jim. The smell of food cooking brought Jim out from sleep and into a dazed state. The rumbling of his stomach registered as an alarm bell, forcing his body to move. Crawling from the bed, he stumbled down the hall until he found a bathroom. He washed the crust from his eyes with tepid water. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror as he remembered the dream he had. Was it a dream? He heard a door open from downstairs and a greeting between Lori and her father.
Jim stood in front of the mirror trying to remember. A knock at the door and Lori's voice said, "Take a shower. You need it. Supper will be done in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."
James needed time to think. He looked at himself in the mirror and
realized his hair was matted from sleep. He decided that a shower would help. He was lathering up when he heard a noise from the other side of the curtain and a cool breeze penetrated the warm moist air. Lori's voice came from the other side of the curtain. "I've got some towels for you on the stool."
He poked his head out from the shower. She smiled and said, "Hurry up. My father is hungry." He opened his mouth to speak but he didn't know what to say. Instead, he watched her smile and leave. He pounded his head on the tile wall in frustration and tried to remember.
Downstairs the table was set. Lori pointed to a chair for him to take. He wanted to say something but her father was here. He sat and tried to eat.
Jeffrey watched. Lori was happy but James seemed confused. Oh, well, that was how Lori's mother had always made him feel. He had never realized it till after she was gone. He loved the way she made him baffled. She was never boring. He would have to talk to James if he could get him alone. Jim needed to realize it would always be like that with Lori. But now he had some news.
"I talked to the boys at the VFW. They'll be coming over later to help. Now, before either of you interrupt, hear what I have in mind. Marion was a force-recon Marine in Vietnam and John was an Army ranger. I figure on having them set up in Swedmark's tree house; their boy is in college now. From there, they can watch the backyard and most of the sides of the house. Ben and I were both just Army grunts, so we will stay in the house. Bob was in the command center of an Aegis cruiser and Betty was a controller for an AWACS. Those two will take care of communications."
Jeffrey raised his hand, stopping Lori when he saw her open her mouth to speak. "Lori, don't say anything. Jim feels the killer could be after you.
I believe him. You and I both know that Jim has been prowling the neighborhood at night. He can't cover everything. He needs help or he will get hurt." Jeffrey added the last to stop any arguments from his daughter.
"Jim, you know you can't protect the whole perimeter. You want Lori safe, don't you?" Jeffrey smiled. He saw both of them getting ready to argue. His comments about the other's safety stopped the possible altercation before it started.
* * * *
Henry walked up to Kawalski's door. He knew it would be empty, but a still clammy scent of evil seemed to emanate from the building. Behind Henry were a half a dozen BCA agents and sheriff deputies waiting to search the building. Henry had convinced Frank the he should enter Kawalski's home first. He had stopped by Kawalski's one time last spring to discuss a scheduling problem that came up with the county mandated D.A.R.E. program. Henry hoped that he could tell what the killer had touched or moved.
The front door was open. Henry stepped in and stopped. Only a few feet in front of the door a table lamp illuminated a huge dark stain on the carpet. Henry knew the killer had set the stage to display his work. Henry tried to examine the rest of the room without stepping in further. It didn't work. His eyes kept moving back to the only illuminated object in the darkened room. Finally, Henry went to the windows and opened the drapes.
Without the lamp being the only light source in the room, Henry was able to examine the room past the stain. He noticed that the furniture had been arranged as silent witness to the murder site. His hopes of finding evidence plummeted when he saw the vacuum cleaner with the open back and missing bag. Henry studied the scene. Kawalski was a big man. Except for the blood, there was no sign of a struggle. Gallea was a trained deputy and he was taken without a trace from a public school building with cops all around. How could the killer do that?
Suddenly it didn't matter to Henry. He removed his portable radio from his belt. "Base, this is Henry. Do you copy?"
"Henry, go ahead."
"Nancy, you contact everyone in the field. No one working on the case is to be alone. If you have to pull them in until we can get them a partner, do it."
Henry was about to say more when he noticed a flash of light coming from the stair's banister. He walked slowly over to it. The light had come from a gouge in the paint that had exposed the bare wood underneath. Henry noticed more scrapes on the painted surfaces and a few dark stains. He heard the noise of the forensic crew waiting to come in by the front door. When he turned to look, he saw the way the bloody stain and the doorway lined up with the scrapes. Something had been here, something to distract Kawalski. What could it have been? It was large, a good five to six feet of the banister and wall had scrapes on it. What would the killer use? Oh, my God! Al!
Henry rushed to the door. For the first time since his rookie year, Henry got sick. A couple of men from the forensic crew held his shoulders as he heaved.
After Henry emptied his stomach, he told the crew, "Sorry, guys. It shouldn't have happened. I just didn't expect..." He saw the worried look on their faces. He took a deep breath and continued, but this time as a professional.
"Kawalski was probably killed just inside the doorway. There's a lot of blood but no sign of a struggle. The killer took the time to arrange the furniture and clean the house. He used the vacuum cleaner and took the dust bag with him. You will need to check if anything useful got caught inside the machine or in the brushes. I think the killer was able to surprise Kawalski by tying something up to the stairway across from the entrance." The pause that Henry gave was unintentional. Somehow he needed a large breath before he could continue. "I think he tied Al's body there."
The somber crew entered the building. Henry turned to leave when a TV truck pulled up. He walked to his car, closed the door to the questioning reporter and drove away.