Текст книги "Slices of Night"

Автор книги: Alex Kava

Соавторы: J. T. Ellison,J. T. Ellison,Erica Spindler
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 9 страниц)

1:39 p.m.

He had been watching the old woman for over an hour. Following her around but keeping in the shadows and back far enough away that she’d never even noticed him. Though he wondered if she noticed much about anything around her.

He’d gotten close enough to hear her muttering. Not just talking to herself but arguing as if with some invisible friend. She had to abandon her shopping cart behind a Dumpster, tucking it away to hide it as best as she could. The snow made it too difficult for her to shove it over the crusted piles left by the snowplows. He almost helped her once. Wanting to touch the fringe of her gray knit hat to feel whether the fringe was actually part of the hat or actually her hair.

Her territory seemed to be within the Old Market area. Interesting, since he didn’t see any other homeless people without venturing several blocks of the cobble-stoned district. She wandered the streets quite fascinated by things no one else saw. Once he watched her stop abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and wave pedestrians around her to avoid stepping on something smashed in the snow. No one else stopped to give it a look. Most people ignored her or scowled and went wide.

That’s when he realized she had to be the next one. She was perfect. Someone no one would miss. She was virtually invisible to these bastards even as they had to walk around her as she protected whatever the precious item was that she found so fascinating. And suddenly he couldn’t wait. He wanted to cut her right now. Right here in the freezing cold sunny daylight in the middle of the crowd that couldn’t see her.

Except he hadn’t brought his knife. And so, he’d wait until tonight. His fingers fidgeted. He was feeling antsy.

He walked toward her. She was bent over, touching the object. He’d walk past and see what it was. He’d go back to his hotel suite. He’d enjoy the anticipation. He already knew where he could find her. And as he got closer he saw her wrapping her ragged knit gloves around the object that had captured her attention and sent her into protective mode. The object was a long icicle that had fallen from the awning above the sidewalk. A frickin’ icicle.

He smiled to himself as he passed by and glanced at her. Her eyes flitted up to meet his and he wanted to tell her that he’d see her later. That it would be his pleasure to watch the surprise in those same eyes as her life spilled out of her.

4:57 p.m.

It was already getting dark by the time Maggie and Detective Pakula started walking the streets. There were crowds gathered at the ice rink and around the outside mall that stretched several city blocks long. Tonight was the lighting ceremony when hundreds of thousands of lights in trees and bushes and along rooftops would be turned on, marking the beginning of the holiday season.

“We’ve pulled in everybody on this, looking and talking to people since five this morning,” he told her as they strolled the cobblestone streets, looking more like an old married couple than a couple of cops.

Pakula wore an old camouflage parka but nothing on his shaved head. Maggie kept on her leather jacket and added a red Huskers ballcap that Pakula had given her.

“It’ll help you fit in,” he told her about the cap.

She didn’t argue. She was getting restless. Exhaustion had given way to the adrenaline that had taken over. Too much time had passed. Why did she ever believe they’d find this guy? It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

She and Nick had wasted two whole hours pouring over the security tapes only to come up empty handed. At one point they saw Gino enter the frame. According to Nick it looked like he was headed around the corner to the front door where he always came to meet Pete, the Rockwood Building’s night security guard.

But then Gino stopped and turned as if someone had called to him. The camera didn’t record sound. They watched Gino cock his head. He grinned and said something before walking back in the direction of whoever had stopped him. He disappeared from the frame. Maggie didn’t say it but she knew Gino had most likely headed right over to his killer.

Nick was taking this man’s death personally and she didn’t quite understand. Maybe it was because it happened outside one of his buildings. He had wanted to come with her and Pakula but they stopped him. He told them he had a license to carry. Pakula told him to go get his hand looked at.

“You should have had stitches,” the detective told him, pointing to the wrapped hand that Maggie had noticed immediately but stopped herself from asking about. “You already bloodied up one of my crime scenes.”

Pakula bought a hot chocolate for Maggie and a coffee for himself. The steam felt good on her frozen cheeks. She wrapped her hands around the cardboard cup and let it warm her fingers. She only had thin knit gloves. Why did she always come to this part of the country unprepared for the weather?

“You two married?” An old woman came up from behind them. She was trying to push a shopping cart filled with an odd assortment of junk.

“No, we’re not married to each other,” Pakula answered. “How are you doing tonight? Do you have someplace warm?”

The woman didn’t look like she heard him. Instead she muttered something to herself. She struggled to hike the cart over the curb that was still snow covered. Pakula grabbed the front end and lifted it easily onto the sidewalk for her.

“They’ve got some extra beds over at Saint Gabriel’s,” he tried again.

This time she blew out a raspberry at him. “I don’t need no Saint Gabriel. Lydia and I have been taking care of each other for years.”

Both Pakula and Maggie looked around at the same time, looking for someone named Lydia. There was obviously no one with this woman. People went around them, even stepping into the street to do so.

“Can I help you find Lydia?” Pakula asked.

This time the woman stared directly into his eyes, her brow creasing under her dirty gray cap. She looked from him to Maggie then back at Pakula.

“You a cop?” she whispered.

Pakula was good but Maggie heard him clear his throat to cover his surprise.

“It’s okay,” the old woman reassured him, her face softening. She reached up and touched his arm, almost a grandmotherly gesture. “We’ve all heard about Gino.” She shook her head. “A damned shame.” Then she straightened and waved her hand like she was swatting at a fly. “Oh stop it, Lydia. You know who Gino was.”

Pakula looked over at Maggie and raised his eyebrows.

The woman probably shouldn’t be left on the streets. She obviously needed help but Maggie liked her feistiness and her spirit. As long as she had the shopping cart she was probably safe from their killer. He’d never be able to bump and slice her without having the click-clanking of that shopping cart in the way. It would draw too much attention.

Pakula was pulling out what looked like a business card. He handed it to the old woman.

“You know Danny at the coffee shop on the corner?”

Another raspberry but she took the card. “My God, who doesn’t know Danny. That son of a bitch will talk your damned ear off. I take the coffee he gives me just to shut him up.”

“You need anything,” Pakula insisted, “You hand Danny that card and have him call me.”

“What would I need? Me and Lydia we got everything we need right here.” She tapped the shopping cart and the contents clanked and shifted.

They watched her rat-tat-tat down the street.

Maggie shook her head when Pakula glanced over at her.

“You can’t lock them up,” she told him. Though it would be easier to protect them if they were behind bars.

They started walking again. Past Vivace’s and the aroma of garlic and warm bread made Maggie’s stomach groan. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten. A doughnut that morning in the rental car. No wonder she was running low on energy. She sipped the rest of her hot chocolate.

“And there’s another sorry ass,” Pakula pointed to the homeless man in the ragged long black coat at the corner. “What am I going to do with these people?”

But as the man turned, both she and Pakula recognized the man at the same time.

“What the hell are you doing here?” It was Maggie who posed the question.

Nick Morrelli spun around to face them. With a five o’clock shadow and a torn felt hat with the brim pulled down, he looked like a street performer instead of the homeless man he thought he was portraying.

He simply shrugged at her and said, “You’re not the boss of me.” Then he jumped out into the street causing cars to brake and honk. He ran down the other sidewalk without looking back.

6:15 p.m.

He had the knife with him, the cold metal tucked up into his sleeve.

The old woman had the cart with her again. Damn! But she was so cute. Pulling crap like that on him. In weeks past it would have made him angry, but his confidence was soaring again. And it didn’t really matter. He had ruled her out in just the last hour. He had a new target.

The guy reminded him of himself. A pathetic shadow of himself. That long dirty black coat that once upon a time was probably his power coat. Good looking guy, young. In good physical shape. Or at least he had been. Maybe he had been on the fast-track to success. Not anymore. Somewhere along the line he had stumbled big-time.

He followed the guy for a while and knew the man was plastered or flying high. He’d listened to him talk to several people. He made less sense than the old woman with her imaginary friend. No, this guy would probably be thanking him for doing him the service of putting him out of his misery.

Even earlier when the couple stopped him. They recognized him. Or thought they did. The man danced around. Slung out some curses. Then he ran off, almost getting run over in the street. He was hilarious. A total loser. Nobody would miss this fool.

He watched him. Studied him. The streets were filling up with people. On one corner there was a four-piece band, or rather four teenagers with instruments, clanging out their version of Christmas songs. Horse-drawn carriages were keeping busy, too. Police horse patrol was back. Same as last night. The lighting ceremony had taken place about fifteen minutes ago and everywhere he looked he was bedazzled by tiny, twinkling white lights.

It was frickin’ beautiful. What a lovely night to die.

He stepped out of a doorwell and found his target leaning against a rail, his back to an alley.

He’d have to do him from behind. Not a problem. He knew where to insert the blade. Not in the middle. It’d ram against the spinal cord. It would need to be off to the side. Down below. He’d keep the same angle up. The back tissue would require more pressure but the blade was long enough. He’d still puncture the heart. The only thing he’d miss was meeting the guy’s eyes. Seeing the realization there.

Oh well. Sometimes he had to change up a little.

He headed in the other direction where he knew he could go around and come up that alley. Soon, buddy. I’ll take you out of your misery.

6:18 p.m.

Pakula had to leave Maggie after a phone call from one of his officers. He thought he may have found the Night Slicer. A desk clerk at the Embassy Suites claimed she recognized the driver’s license photo when the officer showed it to her. She said it looked a lot like the guy she checked in on Thursday.

She remembered him because she had complained about her bursitis and he gave her instructions of how long to keep a heat pad on it, followed by ice. His remedy really worked and she was pretty sure he must be some kind of doctor. According to the clerk, he was booked through tomorrow morning. The officer was waiting for Pakula before they paid him a visit.

Pakula promised to call her. She wanted to be there if this was their guy. But it seemed too easy. Was it possible he’d be sitting in a hotel suite within ten blocks of where he’d killed Gino?

Maggie decided to backtrack and see if she could find Nick and talk some sense into him. She saw the old woman with her shopping cart set aside. The woman was staring at something in the snow along the side of a building. She seemed fixated on it even to the point of shooing people to take a wide circle around.

Then Maggie saw Nick. He sat on a rail that in warmer weather probably allowed bike riders to chain up their bikes. His feet dangled. His head wobbled to the music from the street corner behind him. Sometimes the foot traffic got too close and brushed against him, sending his whole body teetering. No one seemed to notice him. Even when they jostled him or bumped him. He was playing his role very well.

She knew if she waved at him he’d ignore her even if he saw her. So instead, she started to walk toward him, going against the flow. She weaved her way through, taking her time and putting up with the occasion bump.

This is how he does it, she thought. And suddenly she knew he was here. She could feel him. Gut instinct. It had never failed her.

She looked at the faces coming toward her. Her arms came up across her chest and she walked like she was chilled and not paranoid that a knife would find its way into her chest. The flow of the crowd continued. She found herself pushed along the wall. And suddenly she felt a stab in her back. She spun around. Then she realized it was an elbow, not a knife.

Paranoid. She needed to stop.

Through a hole in the crowd she could see Nick, smiling, singing with the music. He was still sitting on the rail. Only now she saw a man coming out of the alley behind him. Well dressed. Alone. White ballcap. Focused on Nick. Walking directly toward Nick. His right arm down at his side.

Oh, God, she could see the flash of metal.

She started pushing her way through the crowd.

“Nick, behind you.”

But her voice got drowned out in the noises of the street, the music, the crowd, the traffic. She shoved at bodies. Got shoved back a couple of times.

“FBI,” she yelled but nobody moved out of the way for the crazy woman in the red Huskers ballcap.

She tore at her jacket’s zipper and yanked at her revolver. Ripped at the clasp to her shoulder holster. Damn it!

The man was within three feet of Nick.

She waved her arms at him and finally he saw her. He waved back. Smiled. Then he tumbled forward, face down in the snow with the man falling on top of him. Even before she got there she could see the snow turning red.

“Oh God, no.”

Then she saw the old woman. She pointed to the stiletto knife clutched in the man’s hand.

“That’s the bastard that killed Gino,” was all she said.

That’s when Maggie saw the wide end of an icicle sticking out of the man’s back.

>

10:00 a.m.

Monday, December 5

Embassy Suites

Maggie had gotten five hours of sleep. For once she felt more than rested. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a favorite warm, bulky sweater and headed down to the lobby. Pakula already had a table. She saw him through the glass elevator. The same elevator John Robert Gunderson had used for the last four days.

“I ordered our coffee,” Pakula said, standing when she came to the table and pointing to the can of Diet Pepsi in Maggie’s spot. She was impressed that he remembered her wake-up drink.

He had file folders piled up but pushed to the side of the table. She added one to his stack, information Tully had faxed to her late last night.

“So is Gunderson his real name?” Pakula wanted to know.

“Yes.”

They had found a small case inside his hotel suite that contained about a dozen driver’s licenses and credit cards with various aliases. All the same initials.

“He’s a traveling salesman,” she said, taking a sip of the Diet Pepsi. “One of Bosco Blades' top salesmen.”

“Blades.” Pakula shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“He flunked out of med school. I suspected he might have a medical background. He knew too much about where to stab. I just talked to Lieutenant Taylor Jackson this morning. Turns out one of his victims was a classmate of his. Heath Stover. He killed him in Nashville. We think he probably didn’t want anyone to know he’d flunked out.

“Also, we now know he was in Nashville for a medical conference. Was supposed to do a presentation but canceled. Detective Killian told me there was a medical convention going on in New Orleans when he killed his two victims there. Kansas City was a conference for surgeons. And in Omaha—”

“The sales conference at the Qwest Center,” Pakula said, making the connection. “For medical devices or something, right?”

She nodded.

“How could he get away with it? Wouldn’t his co-workers suspect something?”

“He worked out of a home office. Had a secretary at Bosco that he communicated with by phone, text and email. He met with his boss once a month. And he made all his travel arrangements on his own, so he could be whoever he wanted to be when he was on the road.”

“He looked like an ordinary guy,” Pakula said. “Best disguise there is.”

“What about the old woman? You’re not going to press charges are you?”

“Hell no. She did us a favor. I did get her off the streets.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I know a guy who handles security for about a dozen buildings in the downtown area. Seems he was able to find a nice little apartment for her in one of them.”

Maggie smiled. Of course Nick Morrelli would want to take good care of the woman who saved his life.

“And what about Lydia?” she asked.

“Yeah, it appears this building even takes cats.”

No one realized until last night that the old woman had an old calico cat that she kept bundled up and warm in the shopping cart.

“I’ve got to head out,” Pakula gathered up his file folders and Maggie stood to walk him out before she went back up to the room. “Sure you can’t stay for a day or two? My wife makes some of the best kolaches you’ll ever eat.”

“Maybe next time.”

He shook her hand then muttered, “Aw the hell with it,” and gave her a hug.

Just as he got to the door, Nick Morrelli came in. The two men exchanged greetings and then Nick’s eyes found her.

He was clean-shaven this morning and dressed in crisp trousers and a bright red ski jacket. She stood in the archway to the restaurant area where only a few tables were occupied at this time on a Monday morning. She waited for him, watched him stride across the lobby. Last night when she thought he had been stabbed she had such a mix of emotions. Nick had a way of doing that to her.

He wasn’t relationship material, she reminded herself as he got closer and she couldn’t pull her eyes away from his. He had called early this morning, asking if they could spend some time together. Maybe go ice skating. Take a carriage ride. She had agreed. Now as she got a whiff of his aftershave she wondered if perhaps that wasn’t such a wise decision.

He pointed to something over her head.

“You’re always giving me mixed signals, Maggie O’Dell,” he said.

She looked up to see the mistletoe hanging in the archway and before she could say a word he was kissing her. And suddenly she found herself thinking it might just be too cold to leave the hotel.

GET TO KNOW THE AUTHORS

Friends for several years, the authors have long wanted to work together on a project. When Alex approached Erica and JT with the idea of a series of short stories with each author’s protagonist chasing the same serial killer, they jumped at the chance. The result is SLICES OF NIGHT: a novella in 3 parts.

ERICA SPINDLER – The Missing And The Gone

(Detective Stacy Killian, NOPD)

In the heart of the New Orleans French Quarter, a homeless young woman is found stabbed to death. The simple ambush killing proves to be anything but, and NOPD Detective Stacy Killian finds herself in a life-and-death race against the clock. She's willing to risk everything to win. And she's willing to risk it all to do so.

A New York Times and International bestselling author, Erica Spindler's skill for crafting engrossing plots and compelling characters has earned both critical praise and legions of fans. Published in 25 countries, her stories have been lauded as “thrill-packed page turners, white– knuckle rides and edge-of-your-seat whodunits.”

Raised in Rockford, Illinois, Erica had planned on being an artist, earning a BFA from Delta State University and an MFA from the University of New Orleans in the visual arts. In June of 1982, in bed with a cold, she picked up a romance novel for relief from daytime television. She was immediately hooked, and soon decided to try to write one herself. She leaped from romance to suspense in 1996 with her novel Forbidden Fruit, and found her true calling.

Her novel Bone Cold won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence. A Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member, she received a Kiss of Death Award for her novels Forbidden Fruit and Dead Run and was a three-time RITA® Award finalist. Publishers Weekly awarded the audio version of her novel Shocking Pink a Listen Up Award, naming it one of the best audio mystery books of 1998.

Erica lives just outside New Orleans, Louisiana, with her husband and two sons and is busy at work on her next thriller. Become a fan of Erica's at her website: http://www.ericaspindler.com or follow her on Facebook at Facebook/EricaSpindler.