Chris winced and held her head as someone slammed a door. She took a big swallow of her coffee and shuddered. John had made it extra strong for the entire squad room. They all needed it after the barbecue at Baxter’s place. The booze had flowed a little too freely and all of them were feeling it now. John was sitting opposite her staring at his computer screen with bloodshot eyes.
“Good party,” she croaked.
“Yeah…” John coughed. “Yeah it was. Baxter stiffed me for a hundred bucks.”
“I’ve warned you before about playing poker with him.”
John ignored her.
“Yes!” Baxter shouted from across the room and Chris groaned. “I’ve got the bastard!”
She watched Baxter talking excitedly on the link with someone and wondered how he could be so energetic after a day like the one they’d had yesterday. It was indecent, that’s what it was.
“We’ve got him, Chris!” Baxter yelled as he hurried toward her. “John O’Neal. We’ve got him!”
“Not so loud,” she croaked holding her head. “Who the hell is John O’Neal?”
Baxter dragged a chair up to her desk and she shuddered again at the noise it made. He sat and slapped a sheet of paper covered in notes down in front of her. “I just got off the link with forensics. They double and triple checked it for me. They found a latent print. John O’Neal’s right index finger on the razor and on the bean can it was found in.”
“Razor… Oh, okay. I got it. The razor from the alley. I remember.”
Baxter peered into her eyes. “Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”
She blinked slowly at him. “I don’t think so.”
“This will get your juices flowing. O’Neal was born with a hereditary medical condition. Want to guess which one?”
“Not albinism?”
“You got it.”
Excitement swept through her obliterating her tiredness in seconds. “Holy shit you found him!”
Baxter grinned. “We found him. You and me. We’ve got the bastard!”
“Goddess please be right,” she whispered snatching up Baxter’s notes. “It says here he was on medication for schizophrenia and depression. How the hell did you get this?”
“I called in some favours. O’Neal tried to off his wife and kid fifteen years ago, but she testified in his defence at the trial. I don’t get that part. I mean he tried to kill her kid and she helps him?”
“Love I guess.”
Baxter shrugged. “Right, anyway, he gets two years in a mental institution instead of prison—big difference there huh? When he gets out, his wife has divorced him, shacked up with some stud who used to be his best friend, and filed an injunction to stop him coming near the kid. O’Neal goes apeshit. He beats the living crap out of the wife’s lover and disappears. He’s turned up in the system a couple of times since then. Nothing heavy. Drunk and disorderly, petty theft, vagrancy… you know the sort of thing. He’s just a bum now. If we showed the artist drawing of Ghost to those bums you spoke to down that alley, I bet, I just bet they would identify him.”
“There must be a picture of him in the files too.”
Baxter scowled. “Well yeah there is, but…”
“But?”
“You’ve got to remember that it’s fifteen years old. People can change a lot in that time.”
“Okay, what aren’t you telling me?”
Rather than tell her he showed her by pulling up O’Neal’s file on her comp. Chris studied it for a minute then pulled out the artist’s sketch of Ghost. They looked similar but that’s as far as it went. She really wanted Baxter to be right. If not for that, she would have said that both men were related but that they weren’t the same guy. The artist’s sketch was drawn from Karen Sykes’ description, which portrayed O’Neal as lean but muscular with high cheekbones and Hollywood style good looks despite his albinism. The computer showed a man that looked considerably older and heavier. His features were blunted with heavy jowls and he was obviously overweight.
John stood behind her comparing the two images. “I don’t know, call me crazy but I think there’s something there.”
She pulled at her lower lip thoughtfully and looked at the artist’s sketch again in silence.
“I’ve got his ex-wife’s address,” Baxter said slyly. “You could take John for a ride and talk to her. He looks like he could use the fresh air.”
“Hmmm.”
“Come on Chris, it’s him I know it!” Baxter burst out.
She nodded slowly still frowning at the computer screen. A fierce grin slowly spread across her face and she tapped the image with a finger. “I’ve got you.”
She called the team into the incident room to give them the news. Cappy noted the excitement and wandered inside to listen. Chris held up a picture she had printed out and swept her eyes over the assembly, but then she frowned.
“Baxter!” she roared at the top of her voice making everyone jump.
Baxter popped his head around the door. “What?”
“Get your butt in here. When I said I wanted to brief the team I meant everybody.”
“But I’m not part of the task force.”
Chris glanced at Cappy who nodded almost imperceptibly. “You are now. Sit!”
“Yes ma’am!” Baxter said and grinned at the laughter his eagerness caused.
She waited for him to take his seat and held up the picture again. “Thanks to Baxter we finally have a suspect. This guy’s name is John O’Neal. He’s a schizophrenic and manic-depressive that tried to off his wife and kid fifteen years ago. This picture is a little out of date. He was heavier back when it was taken, but the similarities between it and Karen Sykes’ description are too great to ignore. I don’t have to remind you not to talk about this to anyone outside this room. O’Neal is our best lead and only suspect, but that’s all he is at the moment. A suspect. Clear?”
She made eye contact with each of the team and nodded. “Okay. Raz, I want you to take one of these pictures and go see Sykes. See if she’ll give it the nod. Take Matt with you. When you’re done, see if you can track down those two bums we talked to and get them to look at it. I want to know if O’Neal is their missing friend or not and if they’ve seen him lately. After that, we need to start painting a picture of this guy. Things like where he used to hang out, what he liked to do, where did he eat, where did he sleep. Who were his contacts, his friends… anything we can dig up might lead us to him.”
“Sykes then Teddy and Morris,” Raz said. “Gotcha.”
“John is going to continue working with Radthorne and Lockstone for now.” John made to protest but she raised a hand. “Sorry John, but you’ve spent more time on those writings than the rest of us—not even Raz knows as much about them as you do now. O’Neal might not be the one we’re after. We can’t ignore the possibility that Lockstone’s work will lead us to someone else. I’ll take Baxter with me when I talk to O’Neal’s wife.”
John scowled. “Okay, but we are going to have a talk about this later.”
Chris winced.
Carol O’Neal was now Carol Bridges. She had married John O’Neal’s best friend and subsequent punching bag shortly before he got out of hospital. James Bridges was a lowlife—a lawyer, but he was an up and coming, well-paid, highly respected lowlife lawyer. Chris had never fallen foul of his tactics in a courtroom, but upon further investigation she had learned that the same could not be said for some of the others in the squad. When they learned which Bridges she was going to see, they came forward one at a time to offer her some advice. Advice like: aim low, squeeze the trigger don’t jerk it, and kick him while he’s down. All good advice for any lawyer, she thought, but she wasn’t here to talk to James. It was Carol she wanted to see.
She pulled the car over and looked around. The Bridges lived in a nice little house next to other nice little houses in a nice little neighbourhood surrounded by nice little gardens and nice fences. The lawns were lushly green and wet from the sprinklers that were busy whirling away, the street was clean, and traffic noise was remote. No kids, no noise, no dogs. In short, the place was utterly sterile and without character or history. All the houses looked the same, little painted boxes surrounded by flowerbeds in bloom.
“Nice,” Baxter said looking around at all the pretty flowerbeds, white painted fences, manic car washing husbands, and lace-curtained-with-bobs-on homes. “No rowdy barbecues in this neighbourhood I bet.”
“Yeah,” she said sourly. It was a picture perfect example of Middle America. What a nightmare. “I really must make a point of buying something around here… not!”
Baxter grinned.
Chris made to open her door and climb out but Baxter grabbed her arm before she could. “What?”
“I just wanted to say thanks for bringing me in on this.”
“Hey, this is as much yours as mine. You found us a suspect. Without your work we would be nowhere.”
“Yeah okay, but thanks anyway. Mary Pat told me about your little chat.”
Chris’ stomach suddenly felt hollow. “Oh… oh shit. Now don’t do something you’ll regret. I didn’t mean nothing by it and… and she seemed cool about it… and I really… what?”
Baxter was grinning. “I love watching you squirm.”
“Yeah?” she said with her lips tugging up into a smile of her own. “So we’re okay? You don’t mind that I talked to her?”
“She’s your friend. We both are. Of course you should talk with her if you want to.”
“You know what I mean.”
Baxter nodded. “I was annoyed at first you know? When she told me what you spoke about I mean, but it kind of worked out better than I thought. We couldn’t seem to get started on it. We both knew there was a problem, but we couldn’t talk about it. When she told me what you said, it gave us another way to start. We talked about what you said, and that led to her feelings about it. Anyway, the long and the short of it is that she doesn’t want me to retire. She knows how I feel about the job. I mean sure, she would love it if I got promoted to a desk somewhere. That would be heaven from her point of view—me still in the job but safe.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“You know I would hate that, but if by some miracle it happens and I get that kind of promotion I would take it for Mary Pat’s sake. I want you to promise me that if it ever happens you won’t make waves. You promise?”
“You’re looking forward to being Captain Baxter? That has to be a way off yet I figure.”
“No. Like I said, I hate the thought of living behind a desk, but I don’t want you telling Mary Pat. If it happens, I’m going to smile and take the desk for her sake.”
“She knows how you feel, Dave. You’ve been married eighteen years. She knows.”
“I know she knows! Like I know how happy it will make her to see me behind a desk! Look Chris, I’ve spent a lot of years on the streets having fun, I can afford to spend some time behind a desk to make my wife sleep better at night.”
“Okay, I promise,” she said.
“Thanks.”
They climbed out of the car and she led the way up the path to Carol’s house. She rang the bell and was rewarded a moment later with someone calling faintly from inside.
“I’ll be there in a minute!”
Chris stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and turned to watch the guy opposite washing his car. Baxter took out his badge as the door opened and introduced them both. She turned to get her first impressions of Carol Bridges.
Carol was blond. That was the first thing she noticed and it might be called significant if only for the fact that Ghost preferred them. The second thing she noticed was that Carol bore a striking resemblance to victim number eight—Jenny Lovett. Baxter noticed it too. If Ghost was John O’Neal, and if he was still fixated on his wife, then it was one more piece of data that might help them nail him.
If she had been Ghost and wanted to kill Carol, she would simply have blown her away and left it at that, but John O’Neal loved his wife. He couldn’t kill her could he? No, he had to kill her surrogate… multiple times. Whenever the tension built too high, he chose someone that looked like her and killed her instead... if Ghost was John O’Neal.
Carol was slim, blue eyed, in her forties but still good looking. Her face was open and friendly though she looked puzzled about why the police were visiting her. Chris tried to clothe Carol in Jenny Lovett’s barely there miniskirt and tank but it didn’t work. Carol was too clean cut—a veritable Suzie Homemaker.
“Can we come in?” Baxter said putting his badge away.
“My husband will be home at five—”
“It’s you we came to see, Carol,” Chris said. “I can call you Carol can’t I?”
Carol looked from Baxter to Chris and back. “I suppose so. What’s this about?”
“It would be better said in private.”
“I’m not letting you inside until I know what this is about.”
Ah, stubbornness. They could do that. She stepped close to Carol, crowding her and keeping her voice low. “Do you remember what it felt like when John—you remember John O’Neal your husband… excuse me, ex-husband? Do you remember what it felt like when he put the knife inside you? Do you remember the fear, the terror of it?”
Baxter hissed as he drew in a sharp breath, but his protest died stillborn.
Carol eyes brimmed. “Why are you saying this to me? Go away!”
“John is back, Carol. He’s out there killing women that look just like you. Now can we come in?”
Carol stepped back inside, defeated.
In the living room, Carol took a seat not inviting either of them to join her. Chris sat anyway and chose the seat opposite. Baxter wandered the room a moment and peered outside through the curtains before sitting at the opposite end of the sofa. Chris opened the folder she carried and gave the artist’s sketch to Carol without a word. Baxter tensed and held his breath.
Carol covered her mouth as she stared at the artist’s impression of the man that had come to be called the South Central Ghost. “He’s lost weight.”
Chris closed her eyes in abject relief. Inside she was screaming in exultation.
Baxter took up the slack. “We believe he was living on the streets for a time.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He had trouble getting a job after he got out of hospital. I know that because he kept calling us and asking for money. I gave him some at first but James—that’s my husband. James said I should stop. He was right. John stopped calling after the first couple of times that I turned him down. If I hadn’t he would have bled us dry.”
That sounded like something James the lawyer would say rather that Carol, but whoever said it was right to Chris’ way of thinking. Paying someone like John O’Neal would simply encourage him to ask for more. They would never have gotten rid of him.
Carol looked up from the photo. “You said he killed someone?”
“He’s a suspect in a number of ongoing investigations,” Baxter said diplomatically.
“Ever hear of the South Central Ghost?” Chris said, piling in with the full horror.
Carol gasped and looked quickly at the picture again. “Oh no, oh John, what have you done?” she whispered with a pained look in her eyes. “I’ve heard the reports. I should have thought. The albinism… why didn’t I put it together? Oh those poor girls.”
“Why didn’t you contact us about John?”
“I didn’t think. I haven’t seen him for years, Detective. I tried to forget about him. I didn’t know where he was. He could have been on the other side of the country for all I know. I didn’t think…”
She didn’t think. Chris sighed. How many times had she heard that during one of these sessions? Why didn’t you call the police, sir? I didn’t think, Detective. Why didn’t you call someone when you heard the screams? I didn’t think he would really hurt her you know? Why didn’t you call when you heard the shots? I didn’t think. I thought it was the vid. People could be so stupid sometimes!
“You know,” Carol said, still studying the picture, “John could never see it, but he was a handsome man. We married young and it was the biggest mistake of my life, but I did love him. He was a big man physically; tall, broad shouldered, he had very strong hands. I didn’t learn how much he hated the way he looked until after Louise was born.”
“The albinism?” Chris guessed.
Carol nodded. “He hated it. It’s hereditary; there’s nothing anyone can do about it. When we first got married, everything seemed fine. He was happy, I was happy, but then I got pregnant. He started to brood and worry. He put on weight and let himself go. He used to be a very physical man, played soccer, and worked out in the gym. The doctor prescribed antidepressants and they seemed to help, but then Louise was born with ocular albinism. Her hair and skin are near normal, but her eyes are very pale blue almost colourless. She has to wear strong glasses to correct her vision.”
“And John blamed himself,” Chris said.
“Of course he did! And he was to blame genetically, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I love my daughter, Detective. I would do anything for her, but when I first got pregnant, we talked about an abortion. John wanted children, but he didn’t want to risk the albinism. I decided to keep the baby and it drove him nuts with worry. When Louise was born, he lost it. He went missing for almost a week, but when he came back, he seemed better. Things seemed fine for a year or so and then one day he attacked us. The rest you must know already. It’s all in the report and psych evaluation.”
“Why did you testify on his behalf?”
“I loved him.”
“Then why divorce him?”
“Because I love my daughter more!” Carol said angrily. “You weren’t there; you didn’t see the rage on his face when he looked at Louise. She wasn’t his perfect little girl, the one he dreamed of having. She was flawed so he tried to kill her. I got in the way and he nearly killed me. I couldn’t let him near Louise ever again, so I divorced him.”
Chris took back the picture and took out a page of notes from her folder. “You said the doctor prescribed antidepressants for John.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you know he was diagnosed as a schizophrenic?”
“Yes, but that was later. John had to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. Doctor Rowan testified at the trial about John’s health and mental state. He prescribed Haloperidol. John was held in the hospital for two years and seemed much better for his time there.”
“You visited him?”
“Once or twice, no more than that. Can I ask you something?”
Chris shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“You don’t think he will come here do you? I mean, he won’t come after me will he?”
She didn’t think so but why take chances? “Is there someone you can stay with for a couple of weeks?”
“There’s my sister.”
“Maybe you should call her. What about your daughter?”
“She’s in Wisconsin.”
“That’s probably best. Is there anyone you know of that might still be in contact with John? Any friends he might go to, family members?”
“No family, and I don’t think he would go to his friends for help.” Carol frowned hard in thought. “He was a shy man. He didn’t like to push his troubles or himself on to people. It was very hard for him to ask me for money when he lost his job. Apart from me, he had no one. Here,” Carol said rising and getting a pen. She scribbled some names and numbers on a scrap of paper. “If he goes to anyone it will be one of two men, but I really doubt he will. He was a very private man.”
Chris took the note and glanced at it. “It was too much to hope for I guess.” She stood to leave. “If you think of anything further, please call on this number,” she said handing Carol her card.
“I will.”
Carol saw them to the door and closed it behind them.
Chris looked around then followed the path down to the sidewalk. The car washer had gone in and another two further along the street had come out to pay homage to the god of shiny paintwork. It was Baxter who pointed out the feds watching them. He grabbed her arm before she could stomp on over there.
“It’s not Barrows,” Baxter said. “I noticed them pull up when we arrived.”
“I don’t care who it is.”
“What’s the point in chewing out one of his boys when it will do no good? They’re just following his orders. Barrows is the one you need to work over.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You know, you’re starting to sound like John.”
Baxter snorted. “Let’s look at this logically shall we. What’s the common denominator here? Oh yeah, we’re both partnering you! QED, you’re the problem not us!”
She grinned. “Heh, good one.”
They drove in silence for a time with Chris frowning at the rear view mirror. The feds were keeping their distance this time. Feinstein had obviously warned them. Baxter wondered aloud whether Raz and Matt had gotten anywhere with Sykes and then wondered if the two vagrants might have seen O’Neal.
“Don’t know,” she murmured each time Baxter raised a possibility. “Don’t know.”
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t know… what?” Chris glanced at Baxter. “Oh, I err…”
“Give up, you don’t know do you? You were daydreaming.”
“Was not!”
“Was too!”
“I know where I’m going,” she said quickly deciding that if she cut across Third and onto Shelby she could make it look as if she had been heading toward 104th Street the entire time. She made the turn. “I thought we could maybe flash O’Neal’s photo around.”
“Chrisssss,” Baxter made her name sound like a whine. “We’ve done that a hundred times!”
“Not the sketch, the photo. Once more for luck. What do you say?”
“I say you’re the boss, but I think seeing his doctor might be a better bet.”
She snorted, but made a note to do that too. “What, you think a guy like O’Neal, a guy living on the streets for who knows how long, is still taking his meds? Get real.”
Baxter grimaced. “Okay, maybe not, but it might be worth talking to Rowan. He might be able to give us something.”
“Maybe. You make an appointment to meet him when we get back to Central. He might have something.”
Baxter nodded in satisfaction.
They found a place to park outside Zero Gee and went in. It was a good time of day to start looking for certain people who would later be walking streets or standing on street corners. In here, they were off duty simply having a drink and waiting for night. They were more likely to talk to her here in the dark than outside on the street.
They stopped just inside the doors letting eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The noise level took longer to get used to. Baxter tapped her on the shoulder and nodded toward a table in the corner. Chris frowned into the shadows and her lips thinned. A group of men and women wearing ragged jeans, boots, and an assortment of leather jackets over black tee shirts sat huddled around the table. She knew all of them sported an angel tattoo somewhere on their bodies. She knew because of who their leader was. Angel, the small dark skinned woman sitting in the corner, had one tattooed on her neck and the others used it like a badge.
Angel used to be one of her kids, one of those she had helped in the past, but no longer was. They’d had a falling out. The last she’d heard, the girl had left her old gang to found her own group. That was damned unusual because woman were rarely accepted in leadership positions among the gangs, but Angel was special. She was smart and had magic in her arsenal. That made all the difference in a world where fighting to hold what you had was common. Her people were fanatically loyal to her or they were gone. Chris didn’t want to know where they went, but she assumed that Angel had let them live. The bodies, if bodies there were hadn’t surfaced anyway.
Chris stalked over and glared down at her. “Angel.”
Angel looked up from her conversation. “Officer Humber, what a pleasant surprise.”
“It’s detective now.”
“Congratulations!” Angel said in mock surprise. “I think that’s great, I really do. I guess you must have finally caught a real live criminal huh? Is that why they made you a detective, Officer Humber, you went and caught a bad guy instead of shooting innocent kids?”
Angel’s gang mates laughed but Angel didn’t and neither did Chris. The pain Angel’s words caused was sharp and immediate, but it was an old hurt and had nothing to do with why she was here now.
“We need to talk,” Chris said.
“I don’t think we do.”
“Okay, I need to talk to you. Privately.”
Angel hesitated, but she nodded at her friends and they climbed reluctantly to their feet. One man, named Flex for his huge muscular arms, made a point of shouldering Chris aside. She staggered and Baxter made to intervene, but she and Flex had a history as much as she and Angel did. She gave Flex her patented ‘that one was free’ look and let him walk.
Chris and Baxter sat opposite Angel who was just finishing her beer.
“So talk,” Angel said reaching for Flex’s half-full glass and taking a sip.
Chris tried to keep her voice even. “What happened to you, Angel? Why did you come back here, to this?”
“Is that what you want to talk about, me?”
“I found you a place, and people to look after you. What about school? You wanted to go to college. You said you did. You were happy.”
Angel shrugged. “Things change. You should know all about that, Officer Humber, oh excuse me, Detective Humber. Got yourself a pretty new shield now eh? A gold one right? Can I see it?”
Chris pulled her badge out and put it on the table between them in silence. Angel made a show of inspecting it closely. She shoved it this way and that with an extended finger before looking up and into Chris’ eyes.
“Shiny, can’t see the blood on it or anything.”
Chris flinched.
Baxter slammed his hand down on the table making Angel jump. “That’s enough,” he said in a hard voice.
Chris grabbed his arm. “Dave don’t, it’s okay.”
“To the hells with that that, it’s not okay. Where does this little whore—”
“Way to go sugar mouth,” Angel sneered.
“—get off talking to you that way?” Baxter turned and his hand shot out to grab Angel’s collar. He yanked her across the table and pressed her cheek into the wood. “Listen to me, and listen close,” he growled through his teeth. “For some reason Chris thinks she owes you something—”
“Dave don’t!” Chris said pulling on his arm but he didn’t let go.
“—but I don’t owe you a damn thing. If you ever, I mean EVER speak to her like that in front of me again, I’ll splash that arrogant shi