"Two months between Kates, Breen, and Maplewood. If he sticks with that schedule, I'll have him before he kills another one."
"Shut it down, Lieutenant." Roarke drew her in so her head settled against his shoulder. She rarely had the dreams when he kept her close. "Shut it down, and sleep." "I'm close. I know I'm close," she murmured and drifted off.
He was waiting for her. She would come. She always walked this way. Briskly, her head down, her steps nearly soundless in her gel-soled shoes. She'd have put them on after her shift, after she'd taken off the whore shoes she wore to serve the men who leered at her over their drinks.
Whatever she wore, she remained a whore.
She'd walk by, head down, and the streetlights would shine on her hair. It would look almost gold. Almost.
People would think: That's a pretty woman, a nice, quiet pretty woman, going about her business. But they didn't know. He knew what was inside the shell. Bitter, black, and dark.
He could feel it rising in him now as he anticipated her.
Rage and pleasure, fear and joy. You'll look at me now, you bitch.
And we'll see how you like it, see how you like it.
Thought she was so pretty. Liked to parade and pose in front of the mirror without her clothes. Or parade and pose for the men she let touch her.
Won't look so pretty when I'm done.
He slipped a hand into his pocket, felt the long length of ribbon.
Red was her favorite. She liked to wear red.
He saw her, as he once had. Screaming, screaming, naked but for the red ribbon she'd worn around her throat. Red as his blood when she'd beaten him. Beaten him until he'd passed out.
Only to wake in the black. In the dark, in the locked room.
She'd be the one to wake in the black now. Blind in hell.
There she was… there she was now, walking along in her brisk way, head down.
His heart thundered in his chest as she came closer.
She turned, as she always did, through the iron gates and into the pretty park.
For an instant, just one trip of that heart, her head came up. And there was fear and shock and confusion in her eyes when he leaped out of the shadows.
She opened her mouth to scream, and his fist broke her jaw.
Her eyes rolled back to white, to blind, as he dragged her away from the lights.
He had to slap her several times to bring her around. She had to be awake for it, awake and aware.
He kept his voice down he was no fool but he said what he needed to say as he used his fists on her.
How do you like it now, bitch? Who's the boss now, whore? And there was both shame and unspeakable delight in ramming his body into hers. She didn't fight, only lay limp, and that was a disappointment.
She'd struggled before, and sometimes she'd begged. That was better.
Still, when he pulled the cord around her neck, when he yanked it tight and saw her eyes bulge, the pleasure was so keen he thought he, too, might die of it.
Her heels drummed, soft little thumps on the grass. Her body convulsed, and brought his at last, at last to completion.
"Go to hell." He panted it out while he stripped off her clothes. "Go to hell now, where you belong." He stuffed her clothes in the bag he'd brought with him, then hooked the strap crossways over his massive chest.
He picked her up as if she weighed nothing. And he reveled in his strength, in the power it gave him.
He carried her to the bench he'd selected, so lovely under the big, shady tree, so close to the dignified fountain. There he laid her out, carefully bringing her hands together, tucking them up between her breasts.
"There now. There now, Mother, don't you look nice? Would you like to see?" He was grinning, a mad grin that all but burst through the thick layers of sealant he wore. "Why don't I help you with that?" So saying, he took the scalpel from his pocket, and set to work.
CHAPTER 10
When her bedside "link signaled, Eve rolled toward the sound, said: Shit, crap, damn it, when she fumbled in the dark.
"Lights on, ten percent," Roarke called out.
Eve dragged a hand through her hair, shook her head to clear sleep. "Block video," she ordered. "Dallas." "He's killing her. He's killing her." The voice was so thin and breathy, Eve needed the readout to identify. "Celina. Pull yourself together. Pull it together and give me a clear report." "I saw… I saw like the other. Oh, God. It's too late. It's already too late." "Where?" She leaped out of bed, tossed her voice toward the "link as she raced for clothes. "Central Park? Is he in the park?" "Yes. No. A park. Smaller. Gated. Buildings. Memorial Park!" "Where are you?" "I I'm at home. I'm in bed. I can't stand what's in my head." "Stay there. Understand me. Stay where you are." "Yes. I-" "End transmission," Eve snapped, and cut off Celina's wild weeping.
"Will you call it in?" Roarke asked.
"I'll check it out myself first. I should say we'll check it out," she amended as he was up and dressing as she was.
"Celina?" "She'll have to deal." Eve strapped on her weapon. "We all have to deal with the stuff in our heads. Let's move." She let him drive. It might have irked that he handled a vehicle any vehicle with more skill than she, but it wasn't the time to quibble about it.
It wasn't the time, she admitted, to quibble about psychics either. She yanked out her communicator and requested a patrol to report to Memorial Park to check out a possible assault.
"Look for a male, between six four and six eight, muscular build. Approximately two-seventy. If found, detain only.
Consider said individual armed and dangerous." Eve leaned forward, as if to give them more velocity as they streaked toward southern Manhattan. "She could be seeing something that's going to happen, not that has. It could be what do you call it?" "Precognition." "Yeah." But there was a heaviness in her belly that told her otherwise. "I'm close. Goddamn it, I know I'm on the right track." "If he's killed tonight, he didn't wait two months." "Maybe he never has." They chose the west entrance, off Memorial Place, and pulled up behind the black-and-white snugged to the curb.
"How many ways in and out of this?" Eve asked. Three, four?" "About that, at a guess. I don't know for sure. It's only about a block square, I think. One of the smaller and more tasteful of the original WTC memorials." She crossed the sidewalk and, drawing her weapon, moved through the stone archway that led into the green.
There were benches, a small pond. Big trees, plots of flowers, and a large bronze statue depicting firefighters raising a flag.
She moved past it, and heard the retching.
Swiveling toward the sound, she walked quickly south and saw the uniform on his hands and knees, puking into a bed of red and white flowers.
"Officer-" But she saw the bench a few feet away, and what was on it. "Deal with him," she told Roarke and walked to the second uniform who was holding his communicator.
She had her badge up. "Dallas." "Officer Queeks, Lieutenant. Found her just a minute ago.
I was about to call it in. We didn't see anyone. Just her. To ascertain death, I checked her pulse. She's still warm." "I want this scene secured." She glanced back. "Is he going to do us any good?" "He'll be okay, Lieutenant. Rookie," he added with a small, pained smile. "We've all been there." "Get him on his feet, Queeks. Secure the scene and do a sweep of this park. Carefully. This isn't where he killed her.
There'll be another site. I'll call it in." She drew out her communicator. "Dispatch, this is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve." "Acknowledged." "Homicide, single victim, female. Location Memorial Park, southwest sector. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia, and crime scene." "Acknowledged, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Dispatch out." "You'll want this," Roarke said from behind her, and offered her a field kit.