AVING PUT IN AN eight-hour shift by three-thirty, Don hung around the front desk until four. He stepped out in the shipping area, where Ryan was frantically trying to get ready for UPS pick up.
“Give you a hand?” Don asked.
“Sure could use it.”
In less than half an hour, Don and Ryan had cleared the board of
orders. The UPS driver pulled up as they were filling out the final form. Don helped load the pile of buckets and packages onto the truck. Then it disappeared out the gate and down the dirt lane.
“That’s two I owe you,” Ryan said.
“No. Just trying to pass the time.” Don wandered back to see how Rex was doing. The old guy was a talented mold maker and moved with a steady pace. It was fascinating to watch him work.
Five o’ clock was at hand. “I’ve got to go ask Ralph for an advance before I go home,” he told Rex.
Rex nodded and held up a warning hand. “He’ll give it to you one time. Just don’t ask again.”
Don mustered up the courage to step into the office. “Ralph, can I talk to you a sec?”
“Sure. What can I do for you?”
“I found a place to live, but I don’t have any money for a deposit and was wondering—”
Ralph cut in. “How much do you need?”
“Six hundred will pay the deposit and put some food in the fridge ’til payday.”
“I have a one-time policy. I figure if you can’t manage your financial affairs with one advance you’ll never be able to manage them. We can take it out of your next three or four checks so you can survive.” He pressed his phone’s intercom button. “Cecily?”
When Cecily had come and gone, Ralph leaned back in his chair. He looked right past Don as he reminisced. “Cecily....She’s one of the best hands I’ve ever had around here. I knew her dad when we were young; worked on the same construction crew. He couldn’t afford to stay in school because he was helping support his mother and siblings back in Colorado. That was almost thirty years ago, but it seems like yesterday.”
Cecily stuck her head back into the office. “Here’s the check.”
He waved her off. “Go ahead and sign it for me.”
Don stood to leave. “Thanks, Ralph.”
By five-thirty Stacey and Barker had finished with the messages. Stacey decided to start on the last eight hundred names he had yet to review on the N.C.I.C. Barker began straightening his desk. “I’m beat,” he announced. “I need to go home, see my family, get some rest before I kill someone.” Stacey silently agreed.
Barker was usually soft-spoken, laid-back. He had four children, two older girls from his wife Debbie’s first marriage and two young boys together. Debbie was an attractive woman with dishwater blond hair cut to shoulder length. Frequently beaten by her first husband, she’d gotten out of the relationship after three years. Barker married her a year later; he treated the girls like they were his own. Debbie kept trying to line up Stacey with her little sister, though he always refused.
“I think I’ll stay and go through these records for a while.” In actuality, it was an above-average excuse to stay late so he could search through the captain’s files.
Soon the office was empty, except for the captain working in his office. Maryann was taking calls up front, behind the security glass. Stacey recalled the parameters he’d been working on from home and picked up where he’d left off. He clicked through file after file, combing for details: city, state, age, mode of death, hair color, family. So far nothing rang any bells. These girls’ deaths were all of the same pattern: death by strangulation. If the killer had struck before, it probably would fit the pattern. One at a time...one more.
“What are you working on?”Stacey almost toppled from his seat. He’d been concentrating so intensely he hadn’t heard Bingham come up behind him.
“I’ve been going through the N.C.I.C. the last few days, looking at all the unsolved cases.”
“You’re wasting your time,” the captain said matter-of-factly. “The best criminologists in the country have been through those cases— haven’t found a thing. Go home, get some rest. We need to be ready if it happens again.”
“If you don’t mind, Captain, I’m off the clock and it makes me feel better doing something.”
“Your time....See you tomorrow.”
Stacey watched him exit the station and drive away. When he felt it was safe, he went to Deek’s desk and opened his top drawer. Notes and Post-its were strewn everywhere. “How in the world does he keep track of these?” he mumbled to himself, sifting through the mess. He noticed that each note was short and to the point. No one but Deek would have a clue as to what they meant.
“Let’s see,” he continued. “The shooting was on the ninth....Sometime before eleven o’clock.”
The back door clicked. Stacey, startled, turned to see the captain stalk back in the room.
Don and the Jensen family were just finishing their meal, amid an avalanche of chatter. Jake spoke excitedly of the new track-hoe Bryce’s father had bought; Danny was explaining to his father one of the myriad of ways he could stop outsiders from accessing the files on his server; and school was Christina’s favored topic.
“How was your first day in sales?” Kate asked Don, who hadn’t spoken a word all meal long.“It was good. I haven’t got a clue how to work the computer system, though.”
“Maybe Danny could help you.”
“Sure, Uncle Don!” Danny’s head bounced as he spoke. “I’ll have you computer-literate in no time.”
Don hesitated, but spoke anyway. “I think I may rent the apartment we looked at Saturday.” He was enjoying the time he spent with Kate, Alan, and their kids. But he and Christina needed a place of their own.
His mind wandered to his own boyhood years. It was as if the words to a sad song came flooding into his mind. His mother had been borderline manic-depressive, abusive—almost impossible to live with. Nothing anyone ever did was good enough—damned if he did, beaten if he didn’t. She practically pecked his father to death, until they separated. She never would give him a divorce. He sued her for three years until the courts granted his request.
Amid this marital discord, Don’s childhood had been filled with grief. And Christina hadn’t had it much better in his home when Monica was around. This would be his chance to do better.
“We’ll miss you,” Kate was the first to say. Alan nodded in agreement. The children let out a moan. “How soon do you think you’ll move?”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Kate asked, “Is it furnished?”
“It has a washer and dryer, kitchen table, chairs,” he answered. “I figure we can camp out on the floor a few weeks.”
“We might have a few things in the attic you can use,” Alan offered.
“You’ve already done so much...” he began.
“I insist. We don’t need it anyway. You can use my bike until you get your car back. By the way, where’s your truck?”
“Impounded for expired registration. Left it parked in the street the day I went to court. I’ll get it out as soon as I can afford it.” Don felt surprisingly little resentment when he pondered his situation. After all, he’d come out ahead, in the long run. “You know, I was telling my story to Rex, this old guy at work, whose wife died a few years ago from cancer....” Don’s thoughts momentarily turned to his father. “He pointed out that it was because of losing my job and the money drying up that Monica left. Maybe it was meant to be, so ‘Tina and I can be together again.”
“That sounds like a blessing,” Alan agreed.
Just then Christina came back into the kitchen. “Daddy, Cecily’s here.”
Don glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” He began to pick up the dishes.
“Leave them for me,” Kate said, shooing him out the door.
Before hurrying from the room, Don turned back. “I want you to know how much I appreciate both of you. Christina’s a wonderful, well-mannered girl because of the time she has spent with you all these years.”
Kate returned the compliment. “You’re a great father. She’s lucky to have you....Now hurry, you don’t want to keep that pretty friend of yours waiting.”
“I forgot my coat,” said the captain, dryly. He shifted his ample bulk side to side, an uneasy, odd look in his eye.
Stacey wasn’t sure what to do.
Bingham glanced down at the open drawer. He spoke gruffly, accusingly. “What’re you doing in Deek’s desk?”
“He asked me to look for a note he put in here the night he was shot. I can’t seem to find it in this mess.”
“What’s the note say?” the captain insisted.
“Something about a call earlier that evening.”
“Good luck.” Bingham unhooked his coat from the rack, then walked over and closed and locked his office door. Stacey turned to watch him leave, his prized mohair overcoat draped over his arm. Bingham claimed the hand-woven garment was a gift from a Nigerian tribal chief. Stacey watched him pace across the parking lot and out the back drive entrance to his car, parked on the street in the shadows. No wonder he hadn’t heard him drive back in, and now he’d sneaked up on Stacey for a second time. And how long, Stacey wondered, had the man been spying on him through the glass? Stacey returned to his search. There it was: 4/9 5:42 p.m., it read. Peeling it away from the two notes stuck to it, he turned to see the captain pull from the curb. Stacey went up front, where Maryann sat at her desk, polishing her nails.
“Maryann, I need a favor. Deek got a call the night he was shot. Can you look it up and see what number it originated from?” She plugged the polish brush back in its bottle. “What was the day and time?” she asked, changing the screen on her computer. “April ninth, at five forty-two.”
The cursor flashed, and the calls for that day flashed up on the screen. Stacey peered over her shoulder as she scrolled down through them. Maryann was first to locate it. “Looks like it was a cell number. US Sprint. Doesn’t have a name. Does Deek know who it is?” “I think so,” Stacey lied. “Thanks, Maryann, I’ll let him know.” She looked at him, then peered out the window into the fading evening. “How much longer will you be here?”
“An hour or two, I guess.”
“I get off at eight. I was wondering if you’ll be here to walk me to my car?”
“Sure. I thought you worked until eleven.”
“No, Captain Bingham thinks it’s better if I don’t stay so late, at least ’til things calm down around here. But it’s not going to be easy to make ends meet without the extra income.”
Maryann was a single parent with two teenage boys who’d come close to the law several times. Because their mom was the part-time dispatch, they hadn’t been hauled in. She didn’t know how to handle them—so she didn’t. Her husband had moved to Washington after the divorce. He’d walked out on her after meeting up with his old sweetheart—at his high school reunion, no less. The woman he left Maryann for had been married five times before, and dropped him as soon as his divorce was final. So he’d ended up marrying some other woman—“on the rebound,” according to Maryann. It seemed he never sent any child support or alimony. Stacey avoided asking how things were going at home, because if he did she’d inevitably launch into the whole sordid soap opera all over again.
“Thanks, Maryann.” He’d have to wait until morning to call the phone company. Returning to his desk, he found the note about the hotel in Levan and dialed the number. He’d wait until Maryann was gone to look through the files on the captain.
“Motel Levan,” the clerk answered.
“This is Officer Rick Stacey. You called the Mapleton police department earlier today.”
“It was Friday when I called,” the man said testily. “I thought you folks could’ve used a little help catching the cop shooter.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get back sooner. We’re shorthanded—”
“It’s probably all the same. You caught him without my help.”
“Caught who?”
“The big guy that came in here to meet his ‘knockout’ woman the other night,” the clerk clarified.
Stacey’s hopes soared. “Did you get a good enough look at him to identify him?”
“Nah. He stayed out by the cars. She came in and paid. Have you talked to her yet?”
“Can you describe the two vehicles?” Stacey knew he’d dig up more information by peppering the man with question after relentless question.
“Well, let’s see. He was in a dark, broken-down, full-size Chevy. Had to fill the radiator with water before he left. She was driving some sporty little foreign job. They all look alike to me. The foxiest little thing we’ve seen here in a long time....No, honey, I’m talking about the car, not the woman,” the muffled voice was heard to say. “Sorry. My wife thinks I’ve been pining over the woman the last several days. Let’s see, where was I?”
“Can you describe the woman?”
“I’d love to, in every detail—but I might get in trouble with the Missus,” he said in his country accent.
“Try to keep it clean, and you’ll do fine.”
“She’s probably five-foot-ten, a hundred and ten pounds...” Stacey heard someone’s voice in the background. “The Missus says one hundred twenty-five to one hundred thirty-five pounds. Blond hair...” He paused again. “Weren’t her real color, though. Wife says the breasts weren’t real either....She was wearin’ this tight little blue dress that showed her legs all the way up, and everything else all the way down.” Stacey could hear the man put his hand to the phone. “No, honey, I wasn’t lookin’ at ‘em all the time.”
“Is there anything else you think might help?” queried Stacey.
“Nah, they were here about an hour and then they left. Paid in advance. Cash. Gave me a tip when she said she didn’t have a credit card.”
“I’ll be in touch in a few days. You’ve been a big help.” Stacey could hardly wait to share the new information with Deek.
Cecily pulled up in front of the apartment. She, Don and Christina got out and started for the door. Before they were halfway up the drive, Melvin sauntered around the corner, drink in hand, flashing a sheepish grin.
“Evening, folks,” he greeted in his characteristic whine. “All set to move in?”
“I think so. We’d like to look the place over one more time, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing,” Melvin said. He turned and hobbled down the steps. He drew out the group of keys on the return chain attached to his belt and unlocked the door. “It’s all yours.” He stepped aside to let them pass. “I cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the carpets. Saw no need to shampoo, since the other folks weren’t here long enough to get them dirty.”
“They look fine.” The three of them made a quick pass. Nothing had changed. In less than a minute they were in the kitchen. Melvin sat at the table, slumping to one side, sipping from his mug.
“I have the contract right here.” He produced a folded document from his shirt pocket. “You can review it if you want.”
Don slid out a chair and started to read.
“So where do you go to school, Christina?” Melvin had remembered her name.
“Brookside. I’m in sixth grade.”
“That’s nice. What’s your favorite subject?”
“Reading, I guess—and English.”
Don interrupted. “This says it’s a one-year contract?” Cecily, who’d been reading over his shoulder, paused to hear what Melvin had to say.
“Don’t worry, it’s the only contract I’ve got. I never hold anyone to it.” He swirled his drink as he spoke. Don and Cecily returned to their reading, while Melvin’s eyes returned to Christina.
“Reading was one of my daughter’s favorite subjects, too. I read to her every night when she was little,” he reminisced.
“You must miss her a lot.”
Don interrupted again. “It says here we need to do a walk-through inspection.”
Melvin’s voice rose an octave; he was becoming agitated. He’d never had anyone review the contract so carefully. “Like I said, it’s the only thing I’ve got. It came from an apartment complex where I lived a long time ago. The only thing that really matters is the space where we put in the monthly amount. If you decide you don’t want to stay, let me know and you can go. After the place is clean, you get your deposit back.”
“Sounds good,” Don said. Anyway, he’d grown tired of trying to read the dingy document, a sixth- or seventh-generation copy. “Where do I sign?”
Melvin pointed to the blurred “x” on the back side. “That’ll be five hundred dollars, then.”
Don extracted a roll of bills from his pocket, counted off the twentydollar bills one at a time, and slid them across the table toward his new landlord. Melvin folded them in half and tucked them in his shirt pocket. “I’ll get a copy of the contract for your receipt.” He picked up the copy from the table. “You can move in anytime you like.” He reached in his pocket and removed two keys and held them out. “These are for you. I look forward to having you here.” With that, he returned upstairs.
Don and the girls lingered. “Do you have any furniture?” Cecily asked.
“Not much. Kate and Alan said they have a few extra pieces we can use.”
Before they left, Don locked the apartment door, tossed the key in the air, caught it, and, in a final flourish, plopped it into his shirt pocket. The other key he offered to his daughter, who went through the same routine, mimicking her dad.
Stacey phoned Deek, speaking softly so Maryann wouldn’t hear. He could ill afford another mistake.
“You’ve got to find the owner of that phone,” said Deek. “I’ll bet it belongs to the blonde. What’d Saunders have to say about the gun and sweats?”
“I’m not sure he heard a word I said. He hardly looked up.”
“That’s Saunders,” Deek reassured. “His brain goes a hundred miles an hour, but he’s the best lab tech in the state.”
“Will he keep us covered on the fiber match? We don’t want the information getting to the wrong ears.”
“I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”
Stacey returned to his search, but found it hard to concentrate, his thoughts now preoccupied with the Bingham “jigsaw puzzle.” There were still a few pieces to find and put in place, but the overall picture was slowly coming together.
Before long, Maryann appeared, putting on her sweater. “Will you walk me to my car?” Stacey stopped his search and accompanied her out to the parking lot. “How’s Sig doing home alone?” she asked as she fumbled through her purse for her keys.
“I almost forgot, he’s locked in the garage....” After seeing off Maryann, Stacey returned to the office and shut down the computer. “This’ll have to wait. Sig’s hungry and probably going crazy by now.”
The drive home gave him a few quiet minutes to reflect. “I just need a single piece of solid evidence and I’ll have him,” he thought. Suddenly wracked by hunger, he dialed up his cell phone. “Jimmy...Stace. Send me the regular?”
Don and Cecily sat in the Jeep in front of Kate’s home. The sun had already set. The sky to the west glowed several layered shades of blue, while the eastern horizon resembled the backdrop on a Broadway stage; a backlit silhouette of the mountains sliced through the top quarter of a bright, slowly-rising full moon. Cecily slipped low in her seat and gazed up at the stars, just coming out of hiding.
“I’d love to be able to see into the deepest parts of space all the worlds God’s created,” she let out a contented sigh, her mind lingering on the thought. “My favorite place to be is in the mountains, at night, away from city lights. Makes the stars seem so much brighter.”
Don gave a “hmm” in agreement.
“Where do you think God lives?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Guess I’ve never really thought about it. He doesn’t
live in that apartment, that’s for sure!” he muttered a bit caustically. “I disagree. He lives anywhere you invite him to live.” “Maybe we can invite him over to dinner.” Don figured his flippant, borderline sacrilegious remark might succeed in closing down the subject. He wasn’t willing to talk about God right then.
Cecily sensed that something was bothering him. “Why do you feel like God’s abandoned you?”
Her pointed question struck a nerve. Don remained quiet for several long moments, thinking. Then he, too, leaned back in his seat. “Right now I have the best of my life to look forward to and the worst of my life to look forward to,” he said tentatively.
“What do you mean?”
“For the first time in my life it seems that maybe I can make something of myself. I have a good job, an opportunity to start over again...my daughter all to myself....” His voice lowered. “But if I start making a good living, Monica will come back and take her away....My dad’s about to die, and when he does he’s gone forever.”
Cecily withdrew her eyes from her stargazing and looked over at Don. Her voice smacked of cynicism. “Maybe we should just give up, not even bother to try. Maybe God put us here to live and breathe and die...and that’s it.”
He turned to her with a puzzled look. “That’s not what you believe, is it?”
“No, it’s not. I’m wondering what you believe.”
“I guess I need to think about it.” He reached over, put his arm around her neck, pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.” Then he climbed out of the Jeep.
Cecily sat there for a minute after he’d gone inside. He needs the support of a family he doesn’t have, she thought to herself.