Once Shadows Fall (28 page)

J
ack lay on his back in bed wracking his brain over what
L
,
R
,
E
, and
S
meant into the small hours of the morning. Why would Beth ask for the Mayfield employee list again?

“Talk to me. Tell me what you were thinking,” he whispered to the dark.

Still agitated and having trouble thinking, he reached for the glass of Scotch on his nightstand and took a swallow. The amber liquid slid down his throat, warming him, restoring coherence to his thoughts, driving the gargoyles back into the unlit recesses of his mind. He took a breath, slowly let it out, and settled onto his pillow. Exhausted, sleep finally crept into the room.

The familiar dream about being on the old sailing ship returned. Leaning hard into the wind, the ship drew away from the harbor. Sails were full. Lines sang with tension. A wooden deck swayed under his feet. In the distance along the shore, he could see gas lamps flooding light onto cobblestone streets.

In the past, only he and Connie Belasco were present. From the quarterdeck on which he was standing, he looked toward midship expecting to see her staring out over a black handrail. Only this time it wasn’t Connie. Beth Sturgis, wearing a white dress, looked back at him over her shoulder and said something. In the rising wind and with the splash of water against the sides of the ship, he couldn’t make out her words. He started forward but couldn’t seem to find the stairs leading down to the main deck. Beth was speaking again. Instinctively, he knew it was something important. Something he needed to hear.

Jack finally decided to jump to the main deck, a distance of five feet. But by the time he did, Beth had turned and was walking toward the
bow. He called after her. She didn’t turn nor offer any sign she heard him. She simply kept walking into the sun’s glare. The light was so bright, it hurt his eyes. Putting up a hand to deflect it, he continued forward, shouting her name.

When he reached the bow, he found himself alone. Jack turned in a circle trying to locate her as a flood of trepidation washed over him. Leaning over the rail, he looked down at the foaming wake, then beyond it toward the land. Still no sign of Beth. His anxiety grew into panic as he ran through the ship calling her name.

He awoke with a cold film of sweat covering his face, his shirt damp and plastered to his body. His breath was coming in ragged gulps. He reached for his pills and took just one this time. A minute passed before his respiration returned to normal. What did the dream mean? He had no clue.
Some psychologist I am
. Jack rubbed his face with his hands and reached for his cell phone to see if any messages had come in. Nothing. He put on a bathrobe and went downstairs to check his e-mail. Same result. Instead of feeling calmer, he was more on edge than ever. This was the start of the third day and still no contact from the killer.

Probably part of the bastard’s plan
.

*

Contact came in a form he didn’t anticipate. The moment Jack left the house to take Marta for her morning walk, he saw the bloody scarf draped over the handrail on his porch. He recognized it immediately as the one Beth had been wearing the last time they were together. That he managed to examine it dispassionately surprised him. It meant the game was still on and Beth was still alive. At least he prayed she was.

The killer had probably driven up to the house, got out, and placed the scarf on his porch. He was confident there’d be other clues, and that filled him with hope. The UNSUB was consistent in that regard at least. Jack used his cell phone to call Dan Pappas and told him what happened.

“Prick,” Pappas said. “Where’s the scarf now?”

“In the same place.”

“Great. I’ll let Childers know. He’ll probably send Furman to pick it up.”

“That’s fine,” Jack said. “I’ll be at the precinct in a while.”

“You need to be careful. Coming to your house is a ballsy move. There’s a good chance he’s been watching you. He might still be hanging around somewhere.”

“I think I said something like that to you at the beginning of the case.”

“It’s still true. Listen, is there something personal going on between you and this guy I need to know about?”

The unspoken message was clear. Trust had taken a shot.
You held out on me before, pal. Don’t leave me swinging in the wind
.

“That’s everything, Dan. I’ll see you later.”

*

The bookstore was a throwback of forty years to a time before the large chains took over with their cafes and immense racks of magazines and music selections. Dusty books were stacked both vertically on the floor and horizontally on sagging wooden shelves.

The store was located on Piedmont Road across from a Cadillac dealership where dozens of shiny cars sat with windows glinting in the sun.

It took Jack a while to complete his purchase. A white-haired old gentleman, dressed in a cardigan and bow tie, identified himself as the owner and apologized for not having located the book yet despite their earlier phone conversation. He was certain he’d seen it but wasn’t quite sure where it was at the moment.

The problem was solved by the appearance of the owner’s wife, who shook her head and proceeded up an unstable-looking circular iron staircase and returned five minutes later with the book in hand. The men exchanged a look and shrugged at each other. Jack thanked them and left the store.

Outside, white and red azaleas and dogwoods fronting shops along the street all got the same memo and had burst into bloom overnight. Despite having grown up in Atlanta like Beth, Jack was always slightly startled by the process. He’d just started walking toward his car when a voice behind him said, “’Scuse me, sir, is you Dr. Kale?”

Jack turned to see an emaciated black man holding a large manila envelope. He could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty and was missing a number of teeth. Like most crack addicts, he shuffled from foot to foot, unable to stand still for any length of time. Jack stared at him and didn’t answer immediately.

“Dude said to give this to you,” the man said, holding out the envelope.

“What dude?”

“Don’t know. Just some guy who come up to me and axed if I could help him.”

“How’d you know who I was or that I’d be here?”

“Didn’t. Dude told me what you was wearin’ and that you’d be comin’ outta that store soon.”

Jack’s heart began to race. The killer was someplace near. He took the envelope and tore it open. Inside were two eight-by-ten color photographs. One showed an operating table lined with ancient-looking instruments, one of which was a bone saw; the other showed Beth lying on a narrow cot in a dimly lit room. Her eyes were closed.

“Where’s the man who gave this to you?” Jack said.

“Don’t know. I was across the street when he come up and axed me if I wanted to make some money. I said sure, ’cause I ain’t ate in two days. He say you probably throw some my way, too. Didn’t see where he went.”

Jack thought the last part was a lie but didn’t care. He took ten dollars out of his wallet and handed it to the man.

“What’s your name?”

“Devon. Devon Jefferson, sir. I used to play bass over to Blues Island in Little Five Points back in the day. You ever been there? Man, that was one sweet little club—”

“How long ago did he give you this?”

“Not real long.”

“Five minutes? Ten Minutes? Take a guess, Devon. This is important.”

Devon rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Somethin’ like that.”

“Show me where you met him,” Jack said.

“I don’t wanna make no trouble. No, sir.”

Jack grabbed the front of his shirt so suddenly the man gasped. He pulled Devon to him.

“Listen closely. I’m a police officer and you’re about to have more trouble than you ever thought possible. Unless you want to spend the next ten years in Reidsville for obstructing justice, walk with me across the street and show me where you met this man. There’s twenty dollars in it for you.”

“I . . . I . . . I’m tellin’ you, I don’t remember. That man had bad eyes. I don’t wanna see him no more.”

“A hundred dollars,” Jack said, tightening his grip and lifting Devon onto his toes.

“Mister, please.”

Releasing one hand, Jack took out his cell phone and pretended to call his office.

“This is Lieutenant Kale. I want a squad car at the corner of Piedmont and Pharr Road right away. I’ve got a suspect in the Jordan murders with me.”

“Murder!” Devon wailed. “The man said you was a doctor.” He was crying now and shaking all over. “I swear to Jesus I ain’t murdered nobody. I just been tryin’ to help.”

“Hold on,” Jack said to the phone. “What’ll it be, Devon?”

“It was about a hunerd feet from that big car lot. That’s where we was. Then he walked into that building there,” Devon said, pointing.

Jack was disgusted with himself for bullying the man. But if there was a chance at finding the killer and saving Beth, that was all that mattered.

“Show me.”

With one hand under Devon’s arm, they crossed Piedmont Road dodging traffic.

“Right here,” Devon said. “This where he come up to me. I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong, man. Just mindin’ my own bidness.”

“Tell me what he looked like. You said he had bad eyes.”

“They was real dark, almost black like a shark. Didn’t blink none.”

“What color hair did he have?”

“Wh . . . what?”

“Hair, hair. What color hair did he have? Think, Devon.”

“It was light. Not blonde, but darker with some brown mixed in.”

“What about height? Taller or shorter than me?”

“Shorter. Heavier, too, I think.”

“You’re doing great,” Jack said. “How old was he?”

“Maybe thirty, forty. Somethin’ like that.”

As they were talking, a police cruiser turned onto Pharr Road. Pulling Devon with him into the street, Jack waved to get the driver’s attention. The car slowed and made a U-turn.

“Oh, man, why you arrestin’ me? I’m helpin’ like you axed.”

“You’re not under arrest, but I need you stay here for a while.”

The car pulled up to the curb beside them and a cop got out.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m Jack Kale with RHD,” Jack said, showing the cop his lieutenant’s badge. “This man may have seen a killer we’re after. Toss me your cuffs.”

Devon looked like he was about to pass out. Jack locked one cuff to his wrist and secured the other around the pole of a street sign.

“You want me to call for backup?” the cop asked.

“Absolutely. What’s your name?”

“Pilcher, sir.”

“Listen, Pilcher, the last report we had indicated the killer was driving a late-model, brown Toyota Avalon. He may or may not still be in it. Before that, he was driving a black van. He’s killed three people, kidnapped four others. This man is extremely dangerous.”

“Got it,” Pilcher said.

“According to Devon here, he might have gone into that office building across the street. I want him. We also need him alive. He’s in his thirties or early forties, dirty-blond or light-brown hair, and a little shorter and wider than I am.”

“Not much to go on,” Pilcher pointed out.

“Best we have at the moment,” Jack said.

“Any idea what he was wearing?”

They both turned to Devon.

“I don’t know, man. I wasn’t payin’ no attention.”

“Dark or light clothes?” Jack said.

“I—”

“Close your eyes and see him in your mind—you were a musician, right? Musicians are good with details.” Jack didn’t know if musicians were or weren’t good with details, but he figured an appeal to Devon’s pride might get him to focus. From the description thus far, he was reasonably certain the man Devon had seen wasn’t the killer but rather the second man at Beth’s house. Hair and eye color might change, not height.

Devon squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated, his forehead creasing with the effort. Several seconds passed before he said, “Blue jeans and a dark sweater. Black high-tops, like the kind Michael wore.”

“Michael Jackson?” Pilcher asked.

“Jordan, man,” Devon said, looking at Pilcher like he’d fallen off a turnip truck.

“Anything else?” Jack asked. “Jewelry on his hand? A watch maybe?”

Devon shook his head.

“Let’s go. You stay put,” Jack told Devon.

“Where I gonna go? Can’t take the pole wit’ me.”

Good point
.

Jack and Pilcher crossed the street to the office building. It was four stories and wider than it was tall.

Jack said, “I’ll start at the top floor and work my way down. You try the shops and restaurants along the street. It’s only been about twenty minutes since he was here, so we might have a shot at finding him.”

“Will do, Lieutenant.”

“Here’s my card. My cell number’s at the bottom. Call me immediately if you see anyone who fits the description.”

“Backup should be here any minute. You want me to call traffic control and ask them to start checking the street cameras? We might catch a break and spot the car or maybe get a picture of your guy with the mutt back there.”

“Good idea. But don’t call him a mutt. He’s just a scared little man. I intimidated the hell out of him. He’s trying to help us.”

Pilcher began to reply but then thought better of it and simply nodded. He started for the nearest shop while Jack headed for the front door.

According to the lobby directory, about twenty different businesses occupied the premises. Jack spotted a set of stairs near the exit and jogged toward them, the sense of urgency building as he went. Taking the steps two at a time, he practically sprinted to the fourth floor. He waited a moment to regain his breath and then started knocking on doors along the corridor.

No one saw anything and no one fit the description except for an accountant on the second floor who’d arrived at eight o’clock and hadn’t left the office that morning. His secretary confirmed it.

As Jack returned to the ground floor, he caught a glimpse of a man in jeans and a dark sweater walking toward the garage through the glass doors. Without hesitation, he broke into a run.