What Doesn’t Kill Her (19 page)

“Whoa, big boy. I’m not looking to hook up or anything. This is police business. Right?”

“I know, sorry,” Mark said, still too darn eager.

“Come over to my place at nine. Bring pizza. Thin crust. Sausage. See you then?”

“Sure. What’s your address?”

“Your buddy Grant didn’t give it to you?”

“No.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re asking because I’m not supposed to know you followed me home from the market the other day.”

Busted.

“Sorry,” he said automatically.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said.

“You mad?”

“Fucking furious.”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “The only men I’ve ever known I could trust were my father and my brother, and they don’t seem to be around.”

He was searching for something to say to that when she clicked off.

Levi Mills was already doing research online when David Elkins phoned with a new name for him to start digging into; meanwhile, the writer would drive across the city to meet up with him.

Though this name meant nothing to Levi, he didn’t question his fellow group member, just followed his instructions, looking forward to having David come over. The writer had sort of taken Levi under his wing, a year ago or so, and the younger man looked upon the older as a mentor, maybe even a father figure.

By the time he heard his friend’s footsteps out in the hall of the Shaker Square apartment building, Levi had already amassed a pretty good pile of information on this new lead. David would be pleased, a reaction that always gave Levi a boost.

As for his apartment, it was nice enough, if on the small side—modest living room, one bedroom, half kitchen, fair rent, and no bugs, though calling the walls paper-thin wasn’t as much an exaggeration as you might think. Good thing Levi liked his neighbors, that lesbian couple next door—in addition to friendly if quick conversations in the hall, he knew what TV shows they watched, what music they liked, what they argued about, and sometimes, deep into the evening, heard sounds that reminded him he hadn’t had a date in a very long while.…

Life for a single gay guy in Cleveland wasn’t always easy. But in Ashtabula, it would have been impossible, which was why he stayed in the closet till he moved, which had been right after high school. His parents had saved a little money and there’d been some insurance; still, if some very nice people from
the PTA and Planned Parenthood hadn’t raised funds to help him go to college, he would have been shit out of luck.

Leaving Ashtabula when he did gave him guilt pangs, but that little town just wasn’t a place where he could be himself. Where he could grow. He still kept in touch with a few high school pals and some of his parents’ friends who mounted that fund-raising drive; but the honest truth was: first chance he had, he split.

The siren’s call he heeded took him not to France or New York or Hollywood, not even San Francisco, and not very far from home, at that. The ethnically diverse campus of Cleveland State University offered a place where Levi could be openly gay and nobody gave a toss. That wasn’t always true in Cleveland itself, particularly in blue-collar areas, but overall a city that size offered possibilities way beyond what his hometown could offer.

For three years he dug in and worked hard and graduated early. He didn’t find anything in the computer field, but at least he got a job, and quickly, working as a night desk clerk at a Marriott Courtyard. Nothing spectacular, but it paid the bills, and his computer skills had been noted by management. Who knew? Maybe he’d move up in the company.

The printer was spitting out the final page of his research as Levi opened the door for David. The writer wore jeans and a navy polo, dressed up compared to Levi in his ragged Chuck Taylors, jeans, and
FREE PUSSY RIOT
T-shirt. David lugged a laptop in a shoulder bag.

Moving through the living room with its secondhand array of sofa, three chairs, coffee table, and end tables, David went straight for the kitchen and took a seat at the old Formica table, the other end of which Levi’s laptop, printer, and accessories dominated. This served as Levi’s office (he regularly ate on a TV tray in front of his small flat screen in the living room).

David, unpacking his gear and plugging in, asked, “Find anything?”

“Hmm-hmm. But first, what brought this on? Where’d you come up with this name, anyway?”

“Havoc is somebody I dismissed early on as a suspect. Looks like I may have been hasty.”

The writer told Levi about Detective Mark Pryor’s visit, and their wary exchange of information.

Levi frowned. “So this Pryor guy didn’t really cop to Havoc being his suspect.”

“No,” David admitted. “But he didn’t deny it. And this opens up a whole new area for us—not just Havoc, but his coworkers.”

“Sounds like it’s reopening an
old
area.”

David’s shrug was elaborate. “Maybe I’m grasping at straws. We haven’t had a glimmer of hope in… how long? Now this Pryor is actively investigating, and we’ve added Jordan Rivera to our team.… Maybe, at long last, we’re getting somewhere.”

“That’s great. That’s terrific. But, David, let’s not set ourselves up for another disappointment. This needs to be a methodical process—”

“Skip it,” David said testily. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Levi was gathering the computer printouts when another knock came at the door. Both men turned, David with a nervous start.

“Damn,” David said. “Did that cop follow me?”

“No,” Levi said, “that’ll be Phillip.”

“Yeah?”

Levi was halfway to the door. “I called him after you called me. If we’re going down a new road, even if it’s another blind alley, we can use the company.”

“He does appear to know his stuff,” David said.

Levi opened the door and Phillip paused until Levi gestured him in. As usual, the teacher wore a nicely cut suit, navy blue, with a white shirt, red-and-navy striped tie, and black loafers—a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

“Welcome to the madhouse,” Levi said as they shook hands.

David came over and held out his hand and the two men shook, with the friendliness of Phillip’s smile making it not quite so ghastly. The plastic surgery repairs to the man’s damaged features had so far worked no wonders.

David said, “Nice of you to come on such short notice, Mr. Traynor.”

Traynor was Phillip’s last name. Before their team meeting at the coffee shop had broken up late this morning, Levi had gathered the basic information—the last name of the support group member as well as his cell phone number.

“Glad to be included,” Phillip said, his breathing clearly audible. “Levi said you had a new name for him to check.”

“That’s right,” David said. “We may have a lead.”

“Splendid,” Phillip said.

Levi led the two men to the kitchen table, where Phillip set up his laptop, as well. Playing host, Levi fetched coffee for Phillip, a Michelob for David (Levi was not a beer drinker but stocked some for his friend), and a Diet Pepsi for himself. Meanwhile, his two guests chatted.

“Well,” David was saying, “I know your last name now, and that you’re a teacher, but the rules of the support group have kept us strangers in many ways. What kind of teaching do you do exactly, Phillip? You do prefer ‘Phillip’ to ‘Phil’?”

“I do prefer Phillip, if that isn’t too pretentious.”

“Not at all. I prefer David to Dave. We’ll be pompous together.”

The two men exchanged smiles.

“Of course,” Phillip said, “I know about you, at least the basics—I believe just about everyone knows David Elkins and his thrillers.”

“I wish that were true. And who knows? Maybe someday I’ll even write another.”

Levi joined them, saying, “Phillip and I spoke on the phone earlier, got to know each other a little. His teaching gig is pretty interesting. Pretty cool.”

Phillip shrugged, as he offered another lipless smile. “I teach online. Levi says he envies me, because my job pays fairly well, yet my time is my own.”

Levi had not been surprised to learn that Phillip’s current teaching did not involve standing before a classroom, not with his compromised countenance.

“Sounds like interesting work,” David said. “What is it you teach?”

“Religion, actually. Of the Judeo-Christian variety.”

“The Bible, then.”

“I offer a course on the Torah, as well. I’m afraid my work is quite mundane compared to writing novels.”

“Plenty of action, sex, and violence in those books,” David said, and sipped his beer.

“Sounds very cool to me,” Levi said. “But then I’m a night clerk at a Marriott. What do I know?”

Levi handed around his stacks of computer printouts. Then David repeated his story about his meeting with the detective.

Phillip was frowning, or at least seemed to be—the face reminiscent of a burn victim made it hard to tell exactly. “Why did you lead Detective… Pryor, is it? Why did you lead Detective Pryor to believe that you had dismissed the possibility that Havoc was a good suspect?”

“I knew it wouldn’t dissuade him,” David said, “and at that stage of the conversation, I was keeping from him that we were doing our own investigation.”

“But later you did tell him. And invited him to visit our little group within the greater group.”

“Yes. You think that’s a bad idea?”

Phillip shook his head. “No. Not unless he tries to shut us down. Judging by what you say, I doubt he will—after all, his investigation is only lightly sanctioned by his superior. He can use all the help he can get.”

“That’s my take on it,” David said, nodding. “And I think he’ll loosen up about what he knows.”

Levi then shared the basic background information on Havoc that he had dug up while waiting for the others to arrive.

“I’m afraid,” Levi said, finishing up, “I couldn’t ascertain whether Havoc was in the area when the Riveras were killed, or your family, David. He appears to have been in Cleveland for the Strongsville homicides.”

“That information,” Phillip said, “is somewhere… even if it’s only on the school’s computer, or Havoc’s home one.”

David asked, “Levi, what’s the size of Havoc’s coaching staff?”

“Seven,” Levi said. “Two more are strictly office workers… I printed out all of the information available at his website.”

The two men paged through the material Levi had provided.

Phillip said, “Any one of those seven… perhaps even all nine… could be a viable suspect.”

David nodded. “Yes, but Pryor is concentrating on Havoc.”

“Why?” Phillip asked. “It strikes me as thin—that David’s daughter and Jordan took gymnastics at Havoc’s school may be a simple coincidence.”

“Pryor did mention,” David said, “that he believes the ‘predator,’ as he calls him, may have committed murders in New York and Providence, and several others out west.”

“Where out west?”

“He wasn’t specific.”

Now Phillip’s frown was definitely able to be discerned. “And he didn’t say how Havoc might be connected to any of these homicides?”

“No. Frankly, he didn’t even imply it.”

Levi said, “I think finding out the dates Havoc was out of town, and his whereabouts… where he was lecturing or judging or competing… may be vital.”

Phillip said to Levi, “If he was making public appearances, there should be plenty of mentions online.”

“Phillip,” Levi said, “Havoc is something of a minor celebrity. His name gave up over half a million hits. Sorting through them is going to take awhile.”

“Understood,” Phillip said. “But worth doing.”

Levi nodded.

“In the meantime,” Phillip said, “I’ll look into Havoc’s staff.”

“Where do I come in?” David asked.

Levi could tell David was taken aback, just a little, at the way Phillip had asserted himself—before, David was always clearly the leader.

“If I may be frank,” Phillip said, “what skills do you bring to the party?”

The question obviously irritated the writer, and Levi stepped in: “David’s Internet skills are adequate at best, but he is one badass researcher.
He doesn’t let go, once he latches onto something, dog-with-a-bone kinda deal. And he has contacts, including cops and forensics experts, all over the country.”

Phillip unleashed a grotesque smile. “David, my friend, I meant no offense. May I suggest a plan of attack?”

David, just a little stiffly, said, “Certainly.”

“Those cases out west? Search online for murders, say, west of the Mississippi that may present a similar MO to our predator’s.”

“If I may be frank,” David said, “that sounds like needle-in-the-haystack stuff.”

“And time-consuming as hell,” Levi said.

Phillip shrugged. “If it were easy, the FBI would be on the trail of this madman already.”

David sighed, nodded. “No argument there.”

Over the next hour, silence prevailed, as they dug into their respective tasks at their respective laptops. Levi continued sorting through the Internet mentions of Havoc, and then ran checks on two of the family homicide cases that were on his own list of possibles by their man.

Finally, he spoke up. “
Guys!
Those two East Coast murders that Detective Pryor thinks Havoc is tied to? I think I have them. And something more.”