"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)Chapter Eighteen It was getting cold. He hated that about winters here. Too damn cold. He jacked up the heat in his car. His clock said it was one-thirty. She should be here any minute. Little miss rah-rah. Her name was Alev Rahrooh. She was Indian, from India. He normally liked white girls, but he'd been attracted by all that long, dark hair. It would look good in his collection. Besides, she was the only one available tonight. Available and willing to sneak out of her house and meet him. So here he sat not a hundred feet from where he'd nabbed pretty Samantha. If Thatcher ever figured it out he'd be kicking himself. Right under his fucking nose. His pulse jumped at the shadow approaching. Oh, goodie. Here she came. Alev walked. No bike. That was good. Meant he didn't have to dispose of the bike afterward. He smoothed back his hair and pulled his collar up around his face, then leaned over and opened the door. "Hi," he said. "Hop on in." She slid in and pulled the door shut behind her. "I can't stay long," she said. Shyly. How cute. "My mom and dad can't know I'm gone." They might have a cow, he thought, then laughed inside his head at his own joke. Hindus. Cow. Good one. Outwardly, though, he was silent. Waiting, saying nothing, just waiting for the moment she'd figure it out. That was one of the best parts. When they figured it out. And then, of course, it was way too late. Alev was a lot slower on the draw than Sammie had been. Finally she peered closer into the darkness on his side of the car. "What-?" Bingo! Her eyes grew wide and he could easily see the whites of her eyes against the darkness of her skin. "No! You're not-" He had to hand it to her. She tried to struggle. Actually tried to scratch his face with her fingernails, but pretty little Alev was no match for his strength. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and with the other covered her nose and mouth with the surgical mask he'd prepared with such care. She continued to struggle, her head pitching back and forth, trying to escape the mask. He simply pressed harder against her face, patiently waiting until she drew a desperate breath. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six… Then she crumpled, gasping. Then she was still. He pulled the surgical mask away and carefully folded it to keep the powder she hadn't inhaled from going all over his car seat. Wouldn't want to make a mess, after all. He drove away. The night was still very, very young. He patted Alev's cheek. So was she. Sheriff Rogers put a large brown bag and a thermos on the hood of Steven's car. "My wife made nut bread," he said. "And coffee. Help yourself." Steven looked at the burly man with as much of a smile as he could muster on the fifteen minutes' sleep he'd had the night before. "Thanks, Sheriff," he said. "It smells great." Rogers settled himself against the car and looked toward the horizon where the sun would start peeking up sometime in the next fifteen minutes. "Your boy get home all right last night?" Steven felt his face heat and busied himself by pouring coffee into one of the foam cups provided by the thoughtful Mrs. Rogers. "Yeah. Thanks." "I got a kid that age," Rogers said, still studying the horizon intently. "Pain in the ass." "I know the feeling," Steven returned dryly. "Wife keeps tellin' me he'll come around." Rogers's tone said he was clearly unconvinced. "Women are optimistic souls," Steven said. Rogers glanced over at him with a grimace. "Good thing they make good nut bread." Steven's mouth quirked up. "How long have the two of you been married?" "Twenty-five years next summer. And yourself?" Steven took a large gulp of coffee, wincing as it scalded his throat. "I'm not married." Rogers's brows went up in surprise. "Then who-" He looked away. "Sorry, not my business." It really wasn't, but for some reason Steven didn't seem to mind. "It's okay. Truth is, I'm really not sure myself." Rogers looked as if he were digesting this information along with his nut bread. "She seemed like a nice woman." Steven took another gulp of coffee, this time knowing full well how much it would burn on its way down. Maybe it was a form of self-punishment, Mike's hair shirt and flogging strap, as it were. "Yes, she is. She really is." Rogers chewed his nut bread contemplatively. "Nice women who look that good in Wall Street business suits don't come along every day." Sheriff Rogers appeared to be a master of understatement. "No, I don't suppose they do." Rogers pushed himself away from the car, brushing the crumbs off his broad barrel chest. "My boys should be gettin' here any minute, now. I'll get the radios ready." "Thanks, Sheriff," Steven murmured, looking up at the still-dark sky where the chopper would appear to take aerial photos as soon as day broke so that they could get on with their search for Samantha Eggleston. Trying to wipe from his mind the picture of Jenna's concerned face, her Wall Street business suit, and the sound of her voice whispering, "Have courage." Knowing he'd ultimately be unsuccessful. Jenna Marshall was in his mind to stay. And his heart? She'd insinuated herself there, too. Down deep he knew it was true. What other woman would care enough to intercede on his behalf with Brad after being treated so callously? He'd left her Tuesday night without a word. And still she cared. Steven blew out a sigh. So did he. Neil readjusted his body to fit inside the tiny Dodge Neon. What had he been thinking, renting a soup can this small? He'd been trying to stretch his budget, that's what he'd been thinking. His salary had been sufficient when pooled with Tracey's. But without Tracey's salary and with the alimony… He shook his head and blindly reached for the cup of coffee that was growing cold in the cup holder. That alimony was a real kicker. But, just like every time he thought of his ex-wife, he couldn't seem to dredge up any emotion other than regret. No malice, no hatred. She was a nice woman who just couldn't seem to deal with the fact her husband was a jerk obsessed with a mistake that had cost four young girls and their families justice. She couldn't deal with his sleeplessness, the dreams when he did manage to sleep. She couldn't deal with the fact that the man she'd married was changing before her very eyes. So she left. It was really very simple. He couldn't say he blamed her. He couldn't say he even really missed her and he supposed that's why he felt no hatred or rage. Just regret. Barrow never understood that. A loyal friend, Barrow usually had a few choice things to say about Tracey's lack of loyalty, but Neil could never find it in himself to agree. Then Barrow would make that harrumping noise of his and say, "Well, at least you two didn't have any kids." Neil would always say, "Yeah, you're right." And he believed that. He'd make a lousy father with the hours and the "Parker obsession" as Tracey called it. So it was good he didn't have kids. He'd never really regretted that part. Not really. Well, maybe sometimes. He would have enjoyed watching his kid play baseball. Or soccer. His mind went back to Monday night, to the look on Thatcher's face when his son made that goal. Thatcher was a good dad. Made his kids' soccer games. Cheered from the sidelines. But it distracted Thatcher from his job. Neil thought about last night, when from his hiding spot in the trees he'd watched Thatcher leave the search area to get his kid, watched him hand the kid over to the woman with the long black hair. A different kid. Another distraction. He thought about the articles he'd read about the abduction of Thatcher's little boy and wondered if Thatcher worried it would happen again. Neil knew he couldn't live that way, always worrying if his kids were at risk. That would be the biggest distraction of all. So it was good he and Tracey hadn't had any kids. Thatcher would probably be a better cop if he didn't have any either. A light came on in the Parkers' upstairs window. That would be Mrs. Parker's bedroom. Running true to style, she had her own room, just like she'd had in Seattle. He wondered if Mr. Parker was also running true to style. Back in Seattle, Parker kept a mistress in a posh apartment around the corner from his downtown office building. Convenient for the sono-fabitch. Another light came on, then another as the household roused itself for the day. Neil shifted in the tiny little seat and prepared to wait. He'd wait until William emerged, then follow him again. Sooner or later William would choose his next victim. He'd have to leave his house to meet her. And Neil would be ready. At that point, he'd call Thatcher and give him the damn road map showing him where to find his killer. There'd be an arrest and news media and fanfare. Thatcher might even get a promotion. Neil smiled without feeling an ounce of mirth. Who knew? Maybe that's how he got the last one. Maybe they'd promote Thatcher to a desk job where he could go home to his kids and the woman with the long black hair every night at five. And leave the real investigating to the guys who weren't so distracted. Neil sipped at the coffee, now stone-cold. Although, he thought, watching the Parkers' downstairs lights come on one at a time, he wouldn't mind the distraction of Thatcher's woman. He frowned. With his binoculars he'd seen her face. She had a classic beauty, haunting somehow. For a moment he'd been simply mesmerized. And when he'd closed his eyes that night in the privacy of his hotel room, it was her face he'd seen. It had been a relief, a comfort, for it was the first time in a very long time he'd dreamed of someone other than the teenaged girls William Parker had robbed of life. Instead he'd dreamed of her, of Thatcher's woman. He could still see her face in his mind, even now as he sat, fully awake and waiting for Parker. Neil sat up abruptly when the front door opened, then slumped back when Mrs. Parker appeared in a worn robe to grab the newspaper from the front porch. If today was like all the other days, William would be coming out any minute for his morning run. Neil put the coffee cup aside. He could use a run himself. Sitting in this soup can was giving him a cramp in his ass. He-He jumped at the bright light shining in his face, followed by a knock on the car window. "Sir, please step out of the car. Keep your hands where we can see them." And he knew even before he turned around that this was not the way to start the day. "Shit," he muttered. Jenna paused, her hand trembling on her classroom door. "I'm afraid to look," she said. "I'll look," said Lucas and pushed open the door. "No pinatas, at least," he said and Jenna peeked around him. "No new graffiti," Jenna added. "Check your desk," Casey cautioned, coming up from behind. "Maybe they booby-trapped the drawer or something." But a thorough check showed no new activity through the night. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jenna motioned to the students who'd been gathering at the door. "Come on in, guys. Let's learn some chemistry." They filed in, each looking like they expected a nasty surprise to catch them unaware. The muted sounds of scraping chairs and settling bodies was interrupted by Kelly Templeton. "Dr. Marshall, can we talk about the extra credit points on this quiz from Tuesday?" Jenna rolled her eyes at the look of suppressed humor in the girl's eyes. At least it wasn't extortion this time. "Yes, Kelly, we can. Bring your paper on up and we'll take a look." She watched her students' faces as Lucas and Casey took their leave. Most of the kids still wore the look of tentative caution, except for Kelly who smirked. And Josh Lutz who looked very troubled. Troubled and torn. On one hand he looked to be on the verge of spilling his guts, but on the other, he looked ready to run at his first opportunity. Jenna kept an eye on Josh, intending to talk to him when class was over, but when the bell rang he slipped away. She wondered what he knew. She wondered what he'd tell. She wondered, not for the first time, what went on behind the closed doors of the Lutz household. Steven glared at Assistant DA Liz Johnson as he walked into the reception area of Raleigh's first district. "This better be important." He'd come as soon as she'd called, once again leaving Harry point man at the search scene. "What, were you actually doing the speed limit?" Liz asked sourly. Steven grinned at her. "I can't afford any tickets on a cop's salary." Liz grinned back like the old friend she was. "Like I can afford any on mine?" She sobered. "We're going to Interview Two," she said. "Lieutenant Chambers called me as soon as they brought the guy in. It seems he had some fascinating reading material Chambers thought we should see." "Has he said anything yet?" Steven asked, falling into step beside her. Liz shook her head. "Nope. He insists on talking to you. Who is this guy?" "He's been hanging around," Steven answered. "I saw him at my son's soccer game Monday night and Harry said he was at the search scene last night. Looking for me. To!d Harry he was a reporter. Harry was going to ask Nancy to run plates on him this morning." They came to a stop in front of Interview Two where Lieutenant Chambers stood frowning at the glass. On the other side sat the dark-haired man from Matt's game, arms crossed over his chest. Chambers acknowledged them with a curt nod, handing Liz a thin folder. "One of my patrol units picked him up this morning. A resident on Hook Street called with a complaint that this guy had been loitering there for a few days." Liz took a thoughtful look at the stranger. "So they shine their light inside his car and find his photo collection in plain view." She handed the folder to Steven. "Four mutilated corpses." Steven glanced through the photos. "Before and after," he murmured, looking at the pictures of the girls before they'd become mutilated corpses. "Pretty girls." He turned the pic-tures over to look at the names neatly printed on the back of each one. "Did you run these names?" he asked. Chambers nodded. "All murdered in Seattle three years ago. All sixteen years old. All cheerleaders." Steven sighed. "Damn. And his hair's just about the same shade as the hair we found in the clearing last Friday." "So's mine," Liz said, her tone pointed. "That doesn't prove anything." He cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, did you get a rundown on the Seattle case? Was anyone arrested for those murders?" "I've got a call in to the commander of the precinct that handled the case, but it's still early in Seattle. We checked the Internet archives of the local Seattle papers in the meantime. They say they arrested a William Parker, but there was no record of a conviction. We didn't touch this guy except to escort him in for questioning. We did see a rental car agreement out in plain view, so we looked at that. According to the rental contract he's Neil Davies of Seattle, Washington." "When did he sign the contract?" Liz asked. "Monday morning." "Of this week?" Steven asked. "Yep. So he wasn't here when either girl was abducted. Or he hadn't rented his car by that point," Chambers amended. Steven looked at the man sitting in the chair inside the in-terview room. His face was hard, as if he were angry. But more than angry. More like he was poised to explode any minute. "Was he carrying any other ID, Lieutenant?" "No. Said his wallet was in the gym bag in the backseat." "And was it?" Liz asked. "Haven't looked yet. We wanted to wait for you to make sure we didn't break any new search and seizure laws we hadn't heard about yet," Chambers grumbled and Liz scowled. Steven smiled at Chambers's sarcasm. "Did you find anything else in his car?" he asked. "Just the gym bag," Chambers answered. "We wanted to wait for Liz before we checked the trunk. My boys didn't want any trouble down the line." "Well, we'll take a look after we've chatted with Mr. Davies," Steven said, then gestured to Liz. "Shall we?" The man looked up when Steven and Liz entered the room, but made no move to rise. Steven looked at him, tilting his head in an exaggerated fashion. "You were looking for me?" The man's dark eyes narrowed. "I was looking for the detective in charge, yes." Steven refused to be ruffled by the challenge in the man's voice. "Then you were looking for me. I'm Special Agent Steven Thatcher." "Hmm," the man said sarcastically. "North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation. Glad to see you could take a break from soccer games and the runaway roundup to take an interest in this case." "I try to squeeze in an hour or two between golf and fishing," Steven said dryly, pushing back his temper. He pointed to Liz. "She's Assistant DA Johnson. So now that we've performed the social niceties and you know who we are, why don't you tell us who you are?" "You have my ID." "We have your rental car contract and your photo album." Steven dropped the folder on the table. The pictures slid out, the "after" pictures on top. Davies didn't flinch. Not one little bit. "It's pronounced Davis. Welsh name. Silent "So says your rental car contact." "So says my flight itinerary." Steven pulled a chair from the table and sat down. "What line of work are you in, Mr. Davies?" Davies sneered. "Are you truly as big an idiot as you appear to be?" Steven blinked. Whatever this man's problem, he'd made it very personal. "I don't know who peed in your Wheaties today, but I don't think I like you, sir." Davies bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Feeling's mutual. Did you run my ID?" Steven shrugged. "I don't know. I just got here. Had to cut my doubles game short." He stood up and walked over to the window and tapped on it. "Let's take a look at the bag, Lieutenant." Chambers brought it in and dropped it on the table with a thud that echoed off the cheaply painted walls. "There you go-" Steven pulled on a pair of plastic gloves before unzipping the bag and reaching in. "One pair of socks. One pair of running shoes." His brows went up. "One gun." "Registered," Davies snapped. "If your computers are modern enough to check." "They are," Steven said softly. He really, really didn't like this guy. "And one wallet." He opened the wallet with Liz looking over his shoulder. "Neil Davies. Good driver's license picture." He looked up at Liz. "Mine has me looking like a biker dude or a serial killer." Liz smiled. Davies rolled his eyes. "There's another wallet in there." "Okay," Steven said, game. In went his hand and out came another wallet, and… he blinked. "Terrific," Liz muttered. "I'll be damned," Chambers said. Slowly Steven opened up the wallet to reveal Davies's shiny detective shield. Seattle Police Department. Annoyance bubbled up and he didn't bother to push it back, especially when he saw the smirk on Davies's face. "And you'd planned to mention this when?" Steven asked, tossing Davies's shield to the table. "When you asked," Davies said smoothly. "I tried to talk to you Monday night, but you were too busy cheering the home team." Steven sat down again and stretched his legs out in front of him, feeling his cheeks heat and his temper boil. He bit back the words he really wanted to say. "Well, I can't help but notice you're a little out of your jurisdiction, what is it-Detective?" Davies nodded and Steven nodded back. "We also couldn't help but notice you carry pictures of other people's children in a folder, but you don't carry the normal complement of smiling children's portraits in your wallet." "1 don't have any children," Davies said, just as smoothly, but Steven detected resentment. "Well, that's a shame. I happen to love mine. Because of soccer games and despite runaway roundups. Now, let's talk about these photos and the purpose for your visit to our fair town. I take it you suspect there's a link between your cheerleaders and ours." Davies inclined his head, not quite a nod. "I do." "So who was William Parker?" Davies smirked. "So you do have a computer." "We do." Davies uncrossed his arms for the first time since Steven and Liz had arrived. He leaned forward and pushed the photos apart with one finger, lining up all the "after" pictures edge to edge. "William Parker did this." 'Then why isn't he in a Washington state prison?" Liz asked and Steven saw the first real emotion other than anger or sarcasm pass across Davies's face. It was pain. "Because the SPD fucked up," Davies said, looking at the pictures as if imprinting them on his memory, although Steven suspected they already were. "Evidence wasn't handled correctly and the defense attorney petitioned it thrown out." He shrugged listlessly. "A judge agreed." "You were primary?" Steven asked quietly, all posturing gone from the question. Davies flicked a glance his way before returning to the pictures. "Yes, I was." "And you want justice this time," Liz finished. "Yes, I do." Steven picked up one of the pictures by its corner, respectfully. "I have one of these. By noon I'll probably have two. The psychologist on my team believes he'll be on number three before the end of the week." "He's escalated," Neil murmured. "So how do I keep my bulletin board from being covered with pictures like these?" Steven asked. "You wouldn't have come across the country if you hadn't believed William Parker was here. Where is he?" Davies took the picture from Steven's hands, just as respectfully. "Under your noses." "I don't know any William Parkers." He looked at Chambers. "I assumed you ran a list." Chambers nodded. "I did. We have ten William Parkers in the Raleigh-Durham area. Knowing a little more about him would be a big help," he added wryly. Davies huffed a mirthless chuckle. "You know him, all right, but not as William Rudolf Parker." He reached into the pocket of the shirt he wore beneath his sweater and drew out another picture, this one a snapshot. "Here he is." He tossed the snapshot on the table where it landed on top of the photographs of the four mutilated corpses. Steven's heart stopped as the face in the snapshot registered. "Holy Mother of God," Chambers breathed. "Kid in a freaking candy store." "Who is he?" Liz asked with a frown. "You know him," Davies said to Steven. "Don't you?" Steven's heart kicked back into motion. Into overdrive. He picked up the picture, his hand trembling. The face in the snapshot was younger, but he recognized the dark eyes, the surly mouth that even then wore a smug smile. He looked up at Davies and swallowed. "Yes, I do. And you're right, I don't know him as William Parker." He looked up at Liz. "This is Rudy Lutz. He's the quarterback at my son's high school." And the one directing all the malice against Jenna, he added to himself, a shiver of fear racing down his spine. Liz sat down hard. "Shit," she said. After an hour they were able to pretty much piece together the checkered history of Rudy Lutz, a.k.a. William Rudolf Parker. The evidence the SPD had gathered had been strong. Davies swore no mistakes had been made. But something went wrong just the same. "So his first victim was his girlfriend," Liz said thoughtfully. "So much for puppy love," said Chambers, looking at the photo with distaste. The girl had been strangled, sexually assaulted, then stabbed. Repeatedly. "What a sick bastard. And he was only fifteen at the time?" "He went for older women," Davies said dryly. "And apparently they went for him. Every girl he murdered met him away from her house so there was never any evidence of forced entry." Liz pushed the folder away. "How'd you catch him, Neil?" Davies's cheeks darkened under the black stubble of his beard. "After we found the last victim, a kid called in and said he'd heard Parker in the locker room the week before boasting that he'd fucked her." "Gina Capetti," Liz said quietly. Davies's lip curled and again Steven saw pain in the man's eyes. "We had forensic evidence from Laura Resnick, his first victim. Semen sample. We brought Parker in, he had an alibi, but it wasn't airtight. We found witnesses who'd seen him with Gina Capetti and were willing to testify. Judge ordered him to give a blood sample. DNA matched the semen found in Laura Resnick's body. We arrested him, but because he was fifteen, they let him be tried in family court." Steven frowned. "Four vicious premeditated murders and he goes to family court?" Davies shrugged. "He had a very… lenient judge." "So you go to family court, what happens?" Lieutenant Chambers asked. "Everything's set up, then the defense moves to have the semen evidence stricken." "Because?" Liz prompted. Davies's lips thinned. "Because they said the evidence had been stored inappropriately." Nobody asked how or by whom. It didn't really matter at this stage. "And without the semen evidence you had no case," Liz finished. "We couldn't tie him to Laura Resnick, the first victim, so the whole case crumbled like a house of cards. Parker walks away, free as a bird. His whole record is sealed. But the community knew what he'd done. His parents had tried to keep his name out of the press, but it just wasn't going to happen. Crowds gathered, some threw bottles, most just picketed. Parker Senior's import business suffered. Nobody wanted to do business with the father of a monster like William. Senior had to declare Chapter Eleven, sell the house. They moved away, then just disappeared." "It's hard for a whole family to just disappear," Liz observed. "Mrs. Parker's father is a multimillionaire." They all nodded, well aware of the power of cold, hard American cash. "Lutz is the maiden name of Mrs. Parker's paternal grandmother." Davies looked frustrated. "I thought for a while they might have left the country. Gone to Switzerland or France." "Not if they wanted their son to play football," Steven returned and Davies nodded. "As I recall, that's what Parker Senior was maddest about," Davies reused. "He didn't care that four girls were dead. That every bit of evidence pointed to his son. He cared that William wouldn't get to play high school football and get picked up by the college scouts." Steven sighed. "So his parents take him out of Seattle, then pop up as new residents to Raleigh-Durham, erase a year from Rudy's age, and have ' Lieutenant Chambers huffed his disapproval. "Like I said, kid in a freakin' candy store." Liz rubbed her forehead. "You all do realize that none of this is proof Rudy had anything to do with Lorraine or Samantha." "Not yet," Steven said grimly. "But now we have some place to look." At that moment a uniformed officer came in with a note. "Agent Thatcher? Your admin assistant has been trying to get in touch with you all morning. She says it's urgent." Steven looked at his cell phone, frowning. It was on, but the signal bars were down to one. "You won't get any reception this deep in the building," Chambers said. "Pain in the ass." Steven pointed to a phone in the corner of the room. "But that one works." "If I remembered to pay the bill," Chambers said sarcastically. Steven placed the call, listened to Nancy, then turned to the group with a sense of grim despair. "They found Samantha." "In better shape than Lorraine?" Liz asked. No one even assumed she'd still be alive. Correctly so. "Marginally." Steven rubbed the back of his neck. "But that was the good news." No one said anything, every one of the faces ____________________ knew what was coming. "The bad news is that now we have a victim number three." "Oh, God," Liz murmured. "Who?" Chambers demanded. Davies looked grim. "Her name is Alev Rahrooh," Steven said. "Sixteen. Cheerleader. Went to yet a different high school. No sign of forced entry. Davies, I'll want to confirm your story with your LT in Seattle. Procedure of course." Davies raised a brow. "Of course." "Then we'll need to choose which site to see first. Door number two or door number three." |
||
|