He remembered Casey Jordan from her days as a student. He knew then that she deserved to fill his needs. But back then, he was inexperienced in his method of killing. He went to great lengths to make sure there was never a connection between him and his victims. Now, as he had proved with Marcia Sales, even if he were caught, he would go free. Because the law was his domain, he could commit the perfect crime, making it impossible for a jury to convict him. With his intimate knowledge of the law, he could take the life of another human being without leaving the evidence necessary to prove that he'd done so. More than anything else, almost more than his sexual escapades, Lipton took great delight in his mental brilliance.
There might, however, be one final step before it was Casey's time. Tonight, he believed, was a sign. While his impotence enraged him, he was intelligent enough and calculating enough to realize that he needed to claim one more victim before Casey Jordan got her due. Another easy prey was the next step. Then it would be Casey's turn. The signs were all there. Lipton's manic laughter filled the inside of the van. The thought of Patti Dunleavy delighted him. She was his next victim. He should have known all along that he needed to ingest the essence of the protege before he devoured the master.
He wouldn't waste any time. He would go to his dead aunt's summerhouse, his perfect haven, and rest for the night. Tomorrow he would have her. He already knew she lived alone. During the long days of preparation leading up to his trial, he had slowly but diligently extricated a tremendous amount of information from her. Everything he needed, anyway, to subdue her with very little effort.
It was clearly her destiny as well. She was a bossy little bitch who, he felt certain, took secret pleasure in emasculating him. Oh, he'd seen her grinning when Casey gave him one of her authoritative instructions on how to conduct himself at the trial. Well, Patti Dunleavy was too damn smart and too damn smug for her own good. He would subdue her and take total control. He would bind and dismember her, saving her sexual essence for himself. He would take her gall bladder and slowly bake it until it was crisp and dry. He would crush it into powder, and by Tuesday night, less than forty-eight hours from now, he would have his little whore and drink the powder and…
Lipton felt a remote sensation in his groin. With a smug grin, he turned on the radio and began quietly whistling along with one of his favorite love tunes from the seventies.
CHAPTER 28
After his bout with the hooker and the ensuing commotion, Unger was sober enough to haul Johnson into the car and bully him into helping find the way to the address in Selton. Although Johnson slept on the long, wet drive up the interstate, Unger was able to waken him with a jab in the ribs as he rolled off the exit. With the help of a map, Johnson grumpily assisted in finding their way through the maze of rural roads. After several wrong turns, they found a muddy lane that led them to a long gravel path whose mailbox bore the faded name Lipton. Unger flipped off his headlights and slowly swung the car into the drive. Their way dipped down through the woods and then back up before ending at a tall gray Victorian lake house that rose dripping out of the rainy gloom. Never in his life had Unger felt more alive.
There was a white van parked on the side of the house, and several lights were on. Well short of the house, Unger pulled the car off the drive and killed the engine. He opened his door a crack, illuminating the gloom of the wet woods with the weak light from above the car's rearview mirror.
"What are you doing?" Johnson hissed at the sight of his friend checking the load in his Glock.
Unger gave him a deadpan look and, as if he did it every day, said, "Loading up."
"But what are you going to do?" Johnson asked, his voice slightly strained with panic.
"I'm going to check it out," Unger said coolly, "make sure it's my guy before I call in CNN."
"CNN?"
"Them and whoever," Unger said casually, shutting the door and returning the two of them to nearly pitch darkness while he explained the situation to his friend. "I'm not going to pull off a big arrest like this without some advance publicity. That's how careers are made in law enforcement, my friend. I've seen it happen. It's all about publicity. If this guy is the nut the local police are saying he is, I'll be the one to bring him in. But there's no sense hauling him in unless the media is aware of at least a few of the choicest gory details of the case.
"I've seen it done a hundred times," bragged the emboldened agent. "First, you let the media know that there's this psycho professor out there cutting the guts out of his students all across the land. Then, you have a big outcry to find the guy, and presto! It's James Unger to the rescue. Through my brilliant investigative powers, I apprehend the most diabolical criminal mind since Charles Manson. They'll make a movie out of it.
"But first," Unger said, opening the door again, "I've got to make sure that this is where the guy is hiding out, and not just the home of this Sarah, who for whatever reason is paying this guy's sex bills."
Johnson snickered and asked, "How are you going to explain your little trip with me to the club?"
Unger glared and, pointing a finger at his friend, said, "For the record, the only reason I went in that place was because I deduced that a pervert like Lipton might be getting off on his fantasies with a prostitute. He's got money, so I used my connection with you to find the highest-class place in town and went to investigate. That's how I explain it, and that's how you explain it if anyone asks. This is my chance, Dean…"
As he quietly slid out of the car into the downpour, he added, "It was brilliant detective work. That's how you sell it."
"Should I come with you?" Johnson asked eagerly.
"No, you sit tight," Unger told him, and he softly shut the door.
With the light shining brightly from the house and the cloud cover over the moon, Unger didn't bother skulking around in the bushes. He simply walked up the drive and peered in through the lofty kitchen windows. Dressed in a satin smoking jacket and slippers, Lipton was making himself a cup of tea. Unger watched as the tall, elegant professor poured his tea and sat down at the kitchen table with a bag of shortbread cookies.
Unger smiled to himself and returned to the car amid the steady fall of rain. His shirt was soaked and sticking to his skin.
"Is it him?" Johnson asked excitedly.
"It is," Unger said, firing up the car and turning around. "And he's not going anywhere. This place is home sweet home."
"What now?"
"Now," Unger said, casting a sideways look at his friend, "we go get a couple hours of some well-earned sleep. Come morning, I go to work for real."
CHAPTER 29
Casey opened her eyes and smelled coffee. By the time she was out of the shower, there was a bacon smell in the air as well. In the kitchen, Sales met her with a broad if somewhat embarrassed grin. She glanced into the living room to see that the pillows on the couch looked undisturbed. Had she not seen him drop down on his back and fall instantly asleep, she would have doubted that he'd even slept.
"I used the shower down the hall," Sales said, "and I found a razor under the sink. I hope you don't mind."
"No," she said absently. She had insisted that he come inside the house last night rather than sleep in the cab of the pickup truck. The concern she had about Taylor showing up and creating a scene was outweighed by her fear of staying in the big house alone.