Wrong Chance (22 page)

“Well, fuck you too and have a nice day.” She turned up her lip as she rolled her eyes and strutted away.

He dug a sandwich bag from his pocket with a case quarter and dime in it, then made his way to the eatery's pay phone. He pushed his hands inside a pair of leather gloves and eased the coins from the bag, careful not to smudge them as he inserted them into the phone.

“Crime Stoppers.” The woman sounded like she was having a bad day. “How can I help you?”

Chance thought, Law 38: Think As You Like But Behave Like Others. “You wanna listen real closely to this,” he said, disguising his voice.

“Who am I speaking with?”

“The media calls me the Hieroglyphic Hacker.”

“Is that right?”

“How does it feel?”

Kirsten said, “What?”

“To talk to a killer.”

“You're just another wacko wasting my time.”

“Hakeem Eubanks and Aspen Skye. Tell the detectives that I have a special gift for them.”

Kirsten was quiet.

“So it's sinking in that I'm the real deal.” Then: “About that gift for the ambitious detectives. Tell them that it's stinking up the Wellness Center on Superior Road.” Chance hung up as Cashmaire left the club hugged up with the cartoon-drawing motherfucker GP.

Hakeem flipped his Palm Treo open. “Communicate.”

Aspen skipped all the bull and got right to what Hakeem knew concerned her the most. “How are you?”

“Sick to my stomach.”

“It was true. Damn.”

Hakeem stood on Superior with the posture of a prizefighter and the charisma of a contemplative Virgo. His keen eyes watched the growing crowd of spectators, wondering if the killer was mingling in the crowd watching him. Later he would review the video footage for signs of any odd behavior among the rubberneckers. He knew that serial killers got off on feeling smarter than detectives, and they would return to the crime scene to admire their work or to be helpful to the investigation. “Yeah, I'm afraid so. Dr. Chavez just pulled the deceased out. Anderson Smith. He owned the place. Crime scene techs found more trace.” He scanned the crowd. “What's going on on your end?”

“I questioned all the employees. No one remembers anyone strange, out of place, or with peculiar behavior. Their surveillance ironically stopped working today. Didn't even know it wasn't operational until I asked to see the footage. Get this: the main feed on the roof was cut. And there aren't any other cameras in the area. City hasn't installed them yet.”

“The pay phone?”

“Already on it. Tony pulled some prints, and I had our boys empty the coin tray. I want the change printed too.”

“That's a long shot, but a smart one.”

“Tell me about it. Best not to leave any stone unturned.”

Hakeem said, “We're chasing our tails.”

“What do we know about the caller?”

“Nothing.” Then: “The operator thinks it was a female voice, but she won't swear on it because it could have been a soft-spoken man. But a feminine voice nonetheless. Listened to the call myself and I can't tell either. My guess would be a woman, though.”

“I'm not feeling this, Hakeem. First the killer leaves a personal message to you on Yancee's body. Now it—”

“It?” Hakeem frowned.

“Yeah,
it
because no one can tell me if the call was made by a male or female. Like I was saying: now
it
calls a police tip line and speaks directly to you and me.”

Hakeem stopped an officer coming out the Wellness Center. “Hey, I want everyone in this crowd identified. Get me field interview cards filled out on them.”

The officer nodded.

To Aspen he said, “I swear I don't want to know what's written on this body.”

“Me neither, Hakeem. Me neither.”

He yawned and closed his eyes. Big mistake. Behind his eyes it happened again: The image of the small body flashed through his mind. Its lifeless form stretched across a stainless steel autopsy table; its dead eyes frozen open forever. Hakeem's cell phone hit the sidewalk. He opened his eyes, but his breath was gone. He struggled and gasped to get it back.

“Hakeem, are you all right?” Dr. Aura Chavez led him to the hood of a police cruiser that was parked at the curb.

He loosened his tie, sucking down cupfuls of air. “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

“I think I need to write you another prescription,” she said, handing him his cell phone.

“That will really help.” He powered off the phone, totally forgetting Aspen was on the line. “I'm scared to close my eyes. Every time I do, I see the body. I can't take it.”

“It's a classic case of Survivor's Guilt. I'm starting to worry about you, Hakeem, and I swear this is the last prescription I'm writing you.”

“I'll be fine.” His breathing began to even out.

“Not if you're not sleeping.” She scribbled his prescription on a medical slip. “I gave you an antidepressant for your post-traumatic stress.”

“What about some stronger sleeping pills?”

“You're becoming dependent on them. The antidepressant will help.”

“Aura, please, I need sleep.”

“What's next, Hakeem? Are you going to start self-medicating with booze? This is getting out of hand.”

Hakeem said nothing. He could tell from her tight expression that she was going against her better judgment as she wrote another prescription.

She stuffed the prescription in his breast pocket. “Got a DNA profile back on the hair from the Yancee Taylor murder. It belongs to an African American male.”

“That was quick.”

“Came from upstairs. They spent the money to get it done.”

“I'll run it through CODIS and see if I get a hit on it.” Thousands of genetic DNA profiles of convicted offenders and unidentified profiles collected from crime scenes throughout the country were stored in CODIS, a national database.

“What are the odds of it matching the eyelash we found here?”

Hakeem shrugged an
I don't know
as Aspen sent him a text message that read:
Are you all right?
He didn't know that answer either.

T
he way Scenario held her gaze on GP while unbuttoning her blouse took his breath away. They were each other's first, fumbled through their first orgasms together while they discovered the dynamics and joys of sex, experienced congress with each other like it was created only for them.

Scenario stepped closer to GP. “Take me right here. Bend me over the arm of the sofa.”

GP bit his bottom lip, letting out a frustrated sigh. His mouth watered as he looked at her perky breasts, loving the way her flawless nipples were set in caramel areolas. “God, you're beautiful. Never seen anyone more beautiful.” He turned his back on her, grabbed his head and sighed.

“What's wrong?” She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing those perfect breasts on his back. “We can go in my bedroom if you want.”

“I'm married, Cash.” He peeled her soft arms away, begging his erection to back off.

“What difference does that make to me and you? We promised ourselves to each other no matter what, no matter who we're with. It's not like we haven't done it before. Kitchie won't know now like she didn't know then.”

“I wasn't married then, and I'll know now, Cash.” Then: “It's nothing personal against you.”

“Then why are you talking to me with your back turned to me?”

“Because you're too gorgeous. I'm afraid if I turn around and face you, I won't turn back.” Silence. “I didn't know that I still love you so much. You have everything inside of me going crazy.”

“Then why aren't you inside of me where you're supposed to be?”

He faced her.

She let her blouse slip from her shoulders and stuck her hand in his pants. “I want this. Don't you want to give it to me like you always have?”

He broke eye contact with her while her delicate hand stroked his desire. He could still picture all the times she straddled him and sucked a passion mark on his neck as they exploded together. He removed her hand. “No, Cash, what I want to do is say thank you.”

Her brows knotted. “Thank me for what?”

“This test.” He gathered his leather jacket from the sofa. “Us being here together gave me the perfect opportunity to honor my commitment to Kitchie and to truly understand what my marriage means to me.” He leaned in and kissed her lips. “Thank you. I'll always love you and be here for you, Cash. For anything…but not this as long as I'm married.” Then: “You wanted my advice. A lie is a lie. Just like a lie got you in trouble before, it'll get you in trouble again when the truth comes to light.” He touched her face, then let himself out of her house.

Scenario locked the door behind him, horny, frustrated, unsatisfied. She paced and thought, stopping only when her landline rang. She stared at the phone until it stopped ringing. Then her cell phone came alive. “What is it?”

“Ms. Davenport.” It was Chief Dwight Eisenhower.

“Yes,” she said, softening her tone to sound more civil than she really felt.

“You better get down here.” He paused and spoke to someone in his background. When his attention came back to her, he said, “We're on Superior at the Wellness Center. We've got another dead body courtesy of the Hieroglyphic Hacker.”

She picked her blouse up. “Just what the fuck I needed.”

S
omething stunk about the whole situation and Aspen wasn't feeling it. The exhale of the air conditioner chilled the Homicide Unit to an uncomfortable temperature. She chugged down a Syntha-6 protein shake that guaranteed weight loss while keeping an eye on the fax machine. “It doesn't make any sense to me.” She threw her hands up. “I'm completely thrown off.”

Detective Leonardo Scott spat a wad of Red Indian in an empty soda can. “Profiles are pretty accurate. This guy is supposed to be a white male; it's textbook.”

“See, now that's what puzzles me,” Hakeem said, removing a folded piece of paper from the Mont Blanc folder. His eyes were getting heavier by the second. “The DNA found at the Yancee crime scene belongs to a black male. Nothing matching it in the database. And they're putting a rush job on the lash found at the Anderson crime scene.”

“But,” Aspen said about to light up a cigarette until Hakeem frowned at her, “Scratch saw Yancee approximately thirty minutes before his time of death with a woman, who didn't turn out to be Terri Dunlap.” She glanced at her notes. “Driving a red Infiniti. And the voice on the tip line recording sounds like a woman to me.”

“I'm with you, Aspen,” Hakeem said. “I don't know if we're looking for a gorgeous woman, a white man, a black man, or all three.”

“I like the Chancellor Fox fella for this.” Detective Leonardo Scott stuffed a new batch of chew between his cheek and gums. Then, just like Aspen's, his eyes fell to the fax machine. “He fits: He's a veterinarian. Vets have skills with scalpels and stock medicine like succinylcholine. He lived in Denver during the time of the murders. Plane records show he's been to Cleveland as of recent, and he used to go to that school, uh—”

“Monticello.” Hakeem yawned. “And he's fallen off the face of the earth.”

“Or hiding,” Detective Scott said.

Aspen finished her protein shake. “But we're back to him being white. And according to the plane manifest, he was here six months ago. The murders just started.”

“They stopped six months ago in Denver, though,” Detective Scott said.

“All of the reasons above are why I want to find him and bring him in for questioning.” Hakeem closed his eyes and nodded off.

“The boys back home are searching high and low for him. His animal clinic has been closed for months.” Detective Scott looked at Hakeem who was now asleep in the chair. “Detective Eu—”

“No, let him sleep, he needs it.”

The piece of paper fell from Hakeem's hand. Detective Scott picked it up and tried to make sense of the words.

amilyfay isay ethay acredsay ightray

ofay assagepay. eathday otay ethay

vileay oersday owhay tersalay ethay oursecay

ofay anmay, omanway, ildchay. astlay

arningway, etectivesday, ackbay upay

or oinjay ethay eadday.

“Pig Latin is way above my pay grade,” Detective Scott said, handing Aspen the paper.

“It says ‘Family is the sacred rite of passage. Death to the evildoers who alter the course of man, woman, child. Last warning, Detectives, back up or join the dead.' ”

“Impressive. Where did you learn pig Latin?”

“Grade school. I think all little girls learn it so we can talk about boys in secrecy.”

“So,” Detective Scott said, “why would the Hieroglyphic Hacker lead us to a body and then leave a message on the body to ease off? Sounds like something personal between the killer and you and Eubanks.”

“That's what I'm afraid all the taunting is about.”

The fax machine came to life. Detective Scott twitched like he'd just had a premonition.

“The moment of truth,” Aspen said.

•  •  •

Aspen wasn't the least bit surprised. Detective Leonardo Scott, however, stared at the fax as if he were the stupidest cop in the history of law enforcement.

“We just never thought the hieroglyphics actually communicated anything. Never considered it. I just thought he basically graffitied on people and the hieroglyphics were his calling card,” Detective Scott said as they rounded the corner of Aspen and Hakeem's cubicle.

On the floor between a desk and chair lay Hakeem asleep.