Once Shadows Fall (24 page)

B
ecause Dan Pappas was coming by to pick her up, they decided it would be best for Jack to leave early. Technically, he outranked her, and, consultant or not, their relationship, if it became known, was a violation of department rules. Not a major one, but sufficient to raise eyebrows and possibly sidetrack her career. Beth told him she would speak with Dave Childers and ask him to keep their kiss quiet. She felt he was a decent man who would go along with it. Beyond that, they decided discretion was the wisest route.

Jack thought about Beth as he showered. It had been a long time since he had anyone to share the foxhole with, as his father used to say. Was she impetuous? Definitely. Headstrong? Certainly. She was also funny and intelligent. She might be able to handle panic attacks. But could she deal with what he’d become?

While he was getting dressed, he turned on the television. According to the news reports, the killer had blown not only a water main but one of the city’s reservoir holding tanks. He switched channels to find Noah Ritson being interviewed about the rescue of Pam and Aaron Dorsey. Beth was standing beside him.

The deputy chief was measured in the information he was doling out. An old hand at the job, Ritson knew better than to disclose any strategies that might compromise the case. At the bottom of the screen was a banner that read, “Terror Attack?” Sad.

As team leader, much of the credit went to Beth, which was fine. She deserved it. Ritson had apparently decided it was time to bring her into the spotlight. Also fine.

When it was Beth’s turn, she fielded the questions smoothly as if press conferences were a daily occurrence for her.

At one point, a reporter called out, “Are you close to making an arrest, Detective?”

“We are. It won’t be long, I assure you.”

Jack blinked. It was a pretty aggressive statement to make. He wished he were that confident. He glanced at Marta, who was lying on the floor watching him. Her ears perked up. You never knew when someone might toss you a treat.

“She’s good, isn’t she?”

Marta’s tail rocked back and forth twice, which he took for a yes.

“I need to see Morris Shottner. I won’t be home late. Promise.”

The deputy chief stood, indicating the press conference was at an end. Beth followed suit. Marta, finally concluding that no treat was forthcoming, also stood and walked over to the window. She turned around twice and lay down in a square of sunlight closing her eyes.

On his way to Morris Shottner’s office, Jack continued to reflect on what had happened in the tunnel. He’d been able to think of little else. Intellectually, he understood what traumatic amnesia and repression were—defense mechanisms the mind develops to deal with emotional trauma—but understanding them wasn’t enough.

His recognition of what was causing the attacks happened so suddenly and with such frightening clarity, he was literally speechless. Scenes buried deep within his subconscious came hurtling into the present, leaving him appalled. Stunned.

*

Morris Shottner was using a finger to tamp down the tobacco in a white Meerschaum pipe with a translucent orange-colored stem. He went about the task methodically as he waited for Jack to continue.

“When I lost my grip on the ladder, saving that boy’s boat suddenly became the most important thing in the world to me. That’s when I knew.”

Shottner nodded but said nothing.

“The dream I’ve been having since Connie died always involves a boat, Moe.”

“And you know what that means now?” Shottner asked.

“I think so. There was a painting over her couch of an old sailing ship moored at Maiden Lane in New York. Turn of the century stuff. It’s the same one in my dream.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Absolutely. Everything was there, right down to the cobblestone street and the gaslights.”

Shottner nodded. He didn’t appear surprised.

“It fits,” Jack said.

“So you remember everything,” Shottner said.

He had always known what happened with Connie, but the trauma was so great that his mind had automatically applied its own bandage and shunted the event into the furthest corner of his consciousness. Now in one single instant of awareness, he realized not only what he had done and how he’d been avoiding dealing with it but what he believed was the trigger to his panic attacks.

“Have you shared this with anyone?”

“You mean Beth?”

“Yes.”

Jack shook his head slowly. “I needed to speak with you first. There’ll be consequences.”

Shottner finished loading his pipe and placed it in a rack on the side of his desk. The tobacco consisted of black, brown, and gold shreds. Its pleasant smell filled the room.

“I’m not sure what to tell you about the consequences,” Shottner said. “People, your relationships, and your mental health are another matter. I suppose the easiest way to say it is there are times we have to give up the dead and accept the living.”

“Nice platitude,” Jack said.

“Most platitudes are based on the truth. Or if not the truth, then on common sense. The legal part is problematic, I agree. But I can say, any relationship that rests on a lie has a poor foundation and very little chance for success.”

Jack made a face. “Sounds like something off a Hallmark card.”

“Actually, Hallmark got it from Carl Jung,” Shottner said.

“Trite.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Jack went quiet and looked out the window at the old oak tree where he had seen the squirrels. There was no sign of them. He wondered what they were up to.

“You think I should tell her?”

“What are your feelings on the subject?”

“Truthfully, scared,” Jack said.

“Not surprising,” Shottner said.

“That doesn’t help, Moe. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a black hole.”

“Which do you suppose is greater?” Shottner asked, “Living with the fear of her finding out on her own or her reaction when you tell her?”

“I don’t know. She sees things pretty much in black and white. There’s not much middle ground where Beth’s concerned.”

“You don’t have to decide. Just mull it over.”

Jack nodded.

“I suspect the answer will become clear in due course. Once the clouds lift, things have a tendency to start falling into place.”

“Meaning there may be more than one cause for the attacks?”

“Possibly.”

Jack stared at him. “You don’t think they’ll go away now?”

“I sincerely hope they will,” Shottner said. “I’d like to talk about your reaction to what happened the night Connie Belasco was killed.”

“Let’s do it another time,” Jack said.

“All right,” the doctor said and shifted topics. “Are you making any progress with your case?”

“Apart from rescuing those people,” Jack said, “not a great deal. We’ve been a step behind since day one.”

“Saving lives counts for something.”

“We’ve been lucky.”

“Is that what you think it is? Luck?”

“To some extent.”

“I’m curious. Why do you suppose the killer contacted you?” Shottner asked.

“It’s part of the game he’s playing,” Jack said.

“As in a challenge.
You can’t catch me
. That sort of thing?”

“Right.”

“Immature, but it makes sense,” Shottner said. “Are you expecting him to strike again?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He’s begun taking more risks, particularly after we stopped him at Underground Atlanta.”

“How are the woman and boy you rescued?”

“Resting,” Jack said. “Her husband’s taking time off from work to be with them.”

“Good to hear,” Shottner said. “Any more panic attacks to report since the last time you were here?”

“No.”

Shottner nodded as if this was something he had already concluded.

“Let me jump back a moment,” the doctor said. “This game the killer is playing, would you say it’s more like chess than hide and seek?”

“Definitely,” Jack said.

“Is it just between you and him, or will anyone do?”

Jack sat up straighter in the chair.

“No,” he said slowly. “It’s definitely directed at me. The victims are pawns. Incidental, when you think about it. Knowing I was involved, he needed to draw me into that tunnel. That’s why he sent the video to me. Why he put my name on the satchel.”

“You sound sure.”

“If he wanted to kill Pam Dorsey and her son, he could have done so right away. Instead, he rigged a bomb with a delay timer and waited for me to show up.”

“Out of curiosity, did he try to mummify these people as he did that woman in Underground Atlanta?”

Jack didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes grew unfocused, staring off into the distance. It was something Morris Shottner had seen him do before. The doctor waited.

“There was no mummification this time,” Jack said slowly, speaking almost to himself. “No mummification.” He finally looked at Shottner. “Which means he’s changing again. The tunnels are like the passages and false doorways and traps in the pyramids. The pharaohs’ builders set them up to kill thieves and anyone who entered the burial chamber. He started off following Howard Pell, but now he’s imitating Albert Lemon.

“When the police were digging through the rubble of Lemon’s home after the fire, they discovered he had dug out and expanded his basement to resemble a maze, complete with pitfalls, a spring shotgun, and doors that opened into a wall or a hole. They discovered four more bodies buried there.”

“So the tunnels were your killer’s trap?”

“A very deadly one.”

“And he didn’t care if other people were killed?”

“Their deaths wouldn’t matter to him. I’m the only one with a connection to Howard Pell.”

“Something to think about,” Shottner said. “When will you see Beth again?”

“Tonight, I imagine. We didn’t make any specific plans. It might be a good time to talk with her.”

“It might,” Shottner said.

*

The Soul Eater sat in his den watching Deputy Chief Ritson’s press conference. Not only did Clever Jack and the others survive, but that miserable woman and her child gave the police a description of him. His face was now all over the news. Not that it mattered. They only saw what he wanted them to see.

On the desk next to him was a prosthetic nose he used along with the jaw and cheek additions that altered his face and made him unrecognizable. Alongside them were three contact lens cases. Due to the miracle of modern science, it was easy enough to change eye color using contact lenses. Let them show their stupid sketch.

They were getting closer, just as Howard said they would. His prediction of Jack Kale being a worthy opponent was correct. Everything Howard said was coming to pass. The man was brilliant.

The woman detective couldn’t be underestimated either. She’d shown a great deal of resilience. Worthy or not, they were no match for him. So they figured out the clues more quickly than he gave them credit for. Luck is always difficult to factor in. Perhaps he should start calling Kale “Lucky Jack” in the future.

The Soul Eater smiled. He turned to the next chapter in the book he was reading.

A few more days one way or the other wouldn’t make a difference.

I
nstead of feeling pleasure at the praise she was receiving for her part in saving Pam and Aaron Dorsey, Beth left the press conference distracted and fighting a headache. Her night with Jack had been wonderful. The physical part aside, she thought they had connected on an emotional level. In fact, she was positive of it, which was why his failure to explain what happened in the tunnel was so perplexing. On the ride back from the hospital and later at her home, she waited for him to talk about it. Something had clearly happened. If she didn’t know better, she would have described his initial reaction on the ladder as someone who was in shock. She’d seen those symptoms before in others. So she didn’t press and waited for him to speak on his own. He didn’t. It was frustrating because there wasn’t much she could do except wait and see what the new day would bring.

By lunchtime, Jack still hadn’t called or made an appearance. Beth began to wonder if he was having second thoughts. She certainly wasn’t. But there was no time to dwell on it because a number of other matters were competing for her attention. The inklings of an idea had begun to form in her mind about how to catch the killer. It was something she and Pappas had initially missed when they viewed Mayfield’s security tapes.

As quickly as the possibility of a solution dawned on her, doubts began to form. What if she was wrong? She’d already made a mistake putting all her chips in one basket with Gary Merkle. That couldn’t happen again. She thought about calling Jack and Pappas, then shelved the idea. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see Jack’s face if she solved the case before he did?

Beth made her decision and placed a call to Charles Raymond’s office.

*

When she arrived at Mayfield, she was relieved to find Dr. Raymond had been called out of the office. Just as well. He’d left the personnel files she requested with his secretary and word that she could view the security tapes on Pell’s cell again.

Tony Gillam, the officer in charge, set her up on a video monitor and showed her how to operate the equipment, then left her alone. Five hours later, Beth had what she wanted, or thought she did. The techs would be able to tell for sure after they analyzed the film. She shut the monitor, thanked Officer Gillam, and headed for the parking lot at the rear of the building where she had parked.

It was late afternoon and surprisingly warm, almost as if someone had flipped a switch to get spring under way. On cue, the azaleas and dogwoods had come into bloom, something about Atlanta that never ceased to impress her no matter how many times she’d seen it.

Behind the main building was Mayfield’s exercise track, where nonviolent inmates could walk or run. Except for a solitary figure approaching her around the turn, the track was deserted.

“Why, if it isn’t Ms. Sturgis. What a nice surprise.”

“Dr. Cairo, how are you?”

“Very well. And you?”

“I’m fine.”

“What brings you here today? Your case?”

“I’m afraid so. I wanted to review your personnel files again. Dr. Raymond was kind enough to make copies for me.”

Beth showed him the file she was carrying.

“Excellent. Care to stretch your legs? I’m on my last lap.”

Beth fell into place beside him. The track was hard packed dirt and wound through a fair number of trees, bucolic except for a chain link fence topped with coils of razor wire. As they walked, the azaleas’ scent carried on a mild breeze drifted past them.

“So, how is your investigation coming?” the doctor asked.

“Slowly. But I may be onto something,” Beth said.

“Oh?”

“How well did you know Ron Curry?”

Cairo looked surprised. “Curry? Barely at all. He was a contract nurse here for a while.”

“Did you ever notice him acting oddly?”

Cairo frowned. “Not that I could see. But to be honest, everyone out here is a bit odd.”

Beth smiled.

“Is there a problem with him?”

“It may just be a clerical error. I’m still checking.”

“He seemed pleasant enough and competent. To tell the truth, I didn’t have much contact with the man.”

“I understand,” Beth said. “What about Dr. Raymond?”

“Charles?”

“Did he ever mention observing anything out of the ordinary?”

“Well, I can’t speak for Charles. If he did, he never said anything to me. Mostly I just do my therapy and head home.”

“No friends here?” Beth asked.

“Not really. Charles can be a bit much to take on a regular basis.”

Beth nearly laughed. “I thought he was a pompous ass.”

“That might be one way to describe him,” Cairo said.

“When we spoke, he mentioned you’ve had a number of sessions with Pell.”

The doctor frowned at her statement. “I’ve handled virtually all of Howard’s therapy since he arrived here. He’s a fascinating individual.”

“A colleague of mine says he has no conscience.”

Cairo glanced at her as they rounded the far end of the track and took a moment to compose his response.

“I don’t think I’d argue with that. Somewhere along the line, Howard took a wrong turn. I’ve worked with him for years now and have come to believe I’ll never understand the engine that drives him.”

“He’s an unusual man,” Beth said.

Cairo kicked a branch out of the way as they walked, then said, “May I ask what it is about Mr. Curry you’re looking into?”

“I can’t say at this point.”

Cairo smiled without humor. “Just curious. The recent murders in Jordan have put everyone a bit on edge. Do you feel you’re close to an arrest?”

“Honestly, yes,” Beth said.

“I can assure you a great many people will be happy to hear that. What happened is just horrible. Did you learn anything useful from your talks with Howard?”

“He thinks Jack Kale framed him for murder and killed the people we found at Underground Atlanta.”

“Ah, Jack Kale,” Cairo said. “He’s a name I recognize from my therapy sessions. Howard’s quite fixated on him. I take it Mr. Kale is not considered a viable suspect?”

“Hardly. The earliest bodies we found are about eighty to eighty-five years old, Doctor. They’re likely the work of a serial killer named Albert Lemon who operated in Atlanta during the early to mid-1900s.”

“There’s another name I recognize. Lemon is a favorite of Howard’s. Perhaps I should let you do the therapy.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much good at it,” Beth said. “I don’t need to understand criminals, just put them away.”

“And is that why you went into police work?”

The question was unexpected. She thought for a moment, then said, “I suppose so. That and the belief I could do some good. Does that sound silly?”

“Not at all. It’s quite admirable,” Cairo said.

“I do have a question,” Beth said. “Can someone like Pell be cured?”

This time it was the doctor’s turn to pause.

“We’re making advances all the time, not only in the psychotropic medications we prescribe, but in our therapeutic techniques. While I’m reluctant to say no,” he stopped to look up at a window on the third floor where a solitary figure was watching them, “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Beth followed his glance. The chill that seized her stomach stayed with her until she was well onto the highway.