Beneath a Weeping Sky

SEVENTEEN

Saturday, April 27th

0726 hours

He spotted her as soon as she walked through the glass doors of the police department. With so little traffic on the street this early on a Saturday morning, he opted to park a half-block away to surveil the exit. He worried that he might not recognize her at that distance, but as soon as she pushed open the door, he knew.

There was still a vestige of a limp in her stride. And maybe just a trace of the shuffle he’d seen when she was playing the role of prey. As she turned and walked in the opposite direction, he stared after her. He watched her ponytail bob and bounce with each step. He thought about making it into a handle.

His eyes drifted down her body. He admired the tight curve of her hip, the upward turn of her ass. Dark, angry lust seethed in his loins.

He gripped the steering wheel and watched her.

Almost a block away, she stopped next to a Jeep, opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

He smiled. Now he knew what she drove.

A puff of clear exhaust spurted out of the tailpipe of the Jeep. He sat and watched while Katie the Bitch Cop warmed up the engine. His palms were cool and sweaty. He wiped them on his slacks. He waited.

After a few minutes, her Jeep’s brake lights flashed, then the vehicle nudged forward into the street. He watched her go, then started his own car and eased onto the street. The sparse traffic forced him to follow her at a distance of several blocks as she headed up Monroe. He watched carefully, prepared for any turn signal from the Jeep.

The Jeep continued due north, not turning, not slowing. He hung back, hoping she wasn’t suspicious of him. Hoping she wasn’t vigilant at this time in the morning, after working all night.

Was she going home? He was counting on it, but you never knew with cops. Or whores. Maybe she was going to a bar. Or over to some guy’s house.

Maybe there was a man waiting at home for her.

He curled his lip. If that were the case, he would take care of that problem, too.

Finally, when she hit Rowan, almost five miles from the police station, she turned right.

He waited until she was out of sight, then sped up to almost fifty miles an hour to close the distance between them. At Rowan, he braked and turned. As soon as he turned onto Rowan, he saw her Jeep a block and a half to the east.

He followed.

At Calispel, she slowed and turned to the left. He slowed as well, watching her. She stopped in front of a small brick house three houses north of the intersection. He stopped, too, pulling up against the curb on Rowan. He was in the bicycle lane, but with so little traffic, he didn’t worry.

She stepped out of her Jeep and headed up the walkway to the small brick house. He stared after her until after she’d unlocked the door and gone inside.

It was a small house, but not too small for two people. She could be shacking up. He had to be careful and remain aware of that possibility. But there were no other cars parked right in front of the house, only hers. The houses on each side of hers had driveways. One led to a carport, the other to a garage. Poor Katie the Bitch Cop had to park on the street.

Unless there was a garage in back.

He put the car in gear and cruised forward, past the intersection. Mid-block, he spotted the alley that ran north/south behind the house. The alley was evenly paved with asphalt, not very common in River City. Most of the alleys he’d seen were still made up of hard-packed dirt or gravel and were bumpy as hell. As he turned into the alley, he enjoyed the smooth progression northward. He counted houses, slowing as he reached the third one.

A small chain link fence. That was all. No garage. No second car.

Probably no man in the house.

He glanced down at the towel on the seat beside him. Wrapped inside of it was a knife that would put Rambo to shame. More than anything, he wanted to put on the brakes. He wanted to stop in the alley, take that knife and jump the fence. Go inside. Find that fucking cunt. Grab onto that handle of hair and give her the banging of her life. Then slit her throat. Watch her life flow out onto the floor.

His hands trembled. His hardness strained against his slacks. He realized he was smiling.

No.

He couldn’t take any chances. He had to plan it out better. Look what happened the last time he went on impulse. They almost caught him in their little trap.

No, this time he’d watch. He’d plan.

This one was worth waiting for.

He rolled northbound through the alley. His hands continued to quiver, even as he turned out of the alley and back onto the street.

She’s going to get what she’s got coming, he told himself. What they all have coming.

Soon.

Not soon enough by half, but soon.

As he drifted back toward Division Street, he tried to sort out the beginnings of a plan, but the details eluded him. All he could see was that bouncing pony tail. All he could hear was her defiant voice. All he could feel was the satisfying smack of his knuckles against her cheek. All he could smell was her fear.

He rolled his head around, stretching the tight muscles in his neck. His breath came in and out in small quivering gasps. His erection ached.

He had to do something. This was too much.

At the first convenience store he saw, he pulled into the parking lot.

0805 hours

Katie peeled off the last of her clothing. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, causing a twinge of pain in her bruised face. Ignoring that, she found her flannel pajamas and slipped them over her head.

Bed was going to feel good. Her entire shift had been one stupid call after another. Westboard was overly protective, asking her about a dozen times how she was doing. On a fight call outside an apartment complex, Kahn had all but ignored everyone, his eyes still full of cold fire. His words seemed to have spurred Sully and Battaglia into a guilt-ridden state, which she was fairly certain they compounded while talking about it as they drove around during the shift. As a result, both of them apologized to her several times whenever their paths crossed on calls. When it came time for a lunch break, Katie talked Westboard into going somewhere with just the two of them so she could avoid more apologies.

She looked forward to forgetting about all of that in the coma-esque sleep of a graveyard officer. Putter the cat was fed and watered. Her alarm was set. She made sure the shades were pulled and secured in the bedroom. All that remained was to slide between the blankets and-

The telephone rang.

Katie sighed, annoyed. Then a tickle of anger sparked in her chest.

It had to be Stef.

She thought about letting it go to the machine. Then she thought about changing her phone number so he couldn’t call her anymore. The prospect of his actions forcing her to give up the same number she’d had since first coming to River City pissed her off, so on the fourth ring, she snatched the receiver.

“Hello?” she asked, not trying very hard to keep the irritation out of her voice.

The sound of traffic in the background immediately confirmed her suspicions. It was Kopriva, calling on a payphone. She wondered if he’d been up drinking all night. The thought of listening to his self-pitying slur made her clench her jaw.

He didn’t say anything right away.

“Hello?” she repeated.

Still no reply.

“Listen,” Katie said, letting all of her anger flood through her voice, “this is bullshit, Stef. I told you not to call me anymore.”

A car horn honked in the background, followed by the sound of an engine racing by.

“I wasn’t kidding about the no-contact order, Stef. I can get one on Monday.”

No answer.

Katie sighed. “Just leave me alone, all right?” She waited another moment for a reply, then started to hang up.

“Katie?” came a voice from the phone receiver.

She brought the phone back to her ear. “Stef?”

There was a low chuckle. “No. Not…Stef,” he said in a hissing stage whisper.

She recognized the voice. Fear lanced through her stomach. For a moment, she thought it might be Phil, coming back from college to haunt her -

You liked it. Don’t forget that.

— or to try to do that to her again. But after that frantic moment, her mind cleared. She knew who it was.

“Are you there, Katie?” he whispered into the phone.

She swallowed hard before she spoke. When the words came out, she tried to put an edge to them. He couldn’t know that she was afraid.

“I’m here. What do you want?”

He laughed then. The sound grated against her nerves. She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

“I want you, bitch.”

Think, Katie! Do something!

“When I find you, Katie, I am going to lay the whammo on you.”

Say something!

“You’re going to get it good.”

She cast her eyes around the room, her mind racing.

“And you’ll like it, too. Count on that, bitch.”

You liked it. Don’t forget that.

His echoing words cut through her fear and found her anger. Who the hell did he think he was? She clenched her jaw, then spoke in a tight voice. “I don’t think you have the balls,” she told him.

There was a pause.

Good. I surprised him.

She forged ahead. “In fact, I think you’re a giant chicken shit. You only go after weak women because you’re weak yourself. You don’t have the guts to come after a strong woman like me because you know I’ll kick your ass. You know-”

“BITCH, I WILL FUCK YOU UNTIL YOU CRY!” he screamed at her.

“I don’t believe you,” Katie goaded him. A flare of satisfaction went off in her chest, settling down her body in a warm glow. The tables were turned and she liked it. “I think you’re all talk.”

“I WILL CUT YOUR FUCKING TITS OFF!”

“You’re a coward,” she told him, ignoring the graphic visual.

There was another pause. She heard his heavy breathing in the receiver. The sound of traffic in the background was again audible.

How do you like that? she thought. Not used to a woman who fights back? A grim battle smile spread across her face.

“You’re nothing but a coward,” she repeated. “And I know it.”

“Really?” he whispered into her ear, his voice full of barely controlled rage. “Well, I know something, too.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I know where you live, bitch.”

Then he hung up.

Katie’s smile melted away.

1039 hours

Captain Reott leaned back in his leather chair, giving Detective Tower a hard look. “This really hasn’t gone as you planned, has it, Detective?”

Seated next to Lieutenant Crawford, Tower shifted in his chair and looked away, his jaw clenched. “There’s been some setbacks,” he admitted.

“Setbacks?” Reott repeated, surprise and sarcasm plain in his tone. “In order to have setbacks, don’t you have to have some progress to be set back from? Where’s the progress on this case? All I’ve seen is more women being raped and botched operations.”

Crawford cleared his throat. “All due respect, Captain, Detective Tower is my responsibility. I’ll do the ass-chewing, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Reott said. “Because now one of my patrol officers is the target of this whack job pervert.”

“What would you have done differently, sir?” Tower asked quietly through his clenched teeth.

“Lots. For starters, how about catching the guy?” Reott snapped.

A silence settled into the room. Reott gave Tower a hard look. The detective was unshaven and wearing a pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt along with a Seattle Mariners windbreaker. His eyes held a desperate, haunted look that worried Reott. He made a mental note to bring it up with Crawford after Tower left. This case had almost certainly become too much for one detective to handle, though he knew that was Crawford’s call.

Finally, Reott rubbed his own eyes and sighed. “All right,” he said. “I guess there’s no profit in casting blame here. Everyone’s doing the best they can with what they’ve been given. The question now is, how do we move forward?”

“As far as the rapes go,” Tower said, “I’ll keep working the case. Something will break.”

Reott glanced at Crawford, but didn’t reply.

“I interviewed MacLeod for about an hour this morning, after the phone call,” Tower continued. “She recognized the voice, so it was definitely the same guy.”

“Any chance of a telephone trace of some sort?” Reott asked.

Tower shrugged. “Maybe. The phone company supposedly keeps a seventy-two hour record of all local calls made on a rolling basis. We might be able to find out where the call came from.”

“That’s good.”

Tower frowned. “Maybe.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Several reasons. For one, their techs aren’t available on the weekend, so Monday is the soonest we’ll be able to get at the information. Plus, they won’t let us have the information without a subpoena.”

“So get a subpoena from the prosecutor. Patrick what’s-his-name.”

“It’s Patrick Hinote,” Tower said. “That’s no problem, just a matter of doing it. The thing is, it probably won’t help us at all.”

“Why not?”

“He called from a pay phone. So the odds of getting prints off that are virtually nil, especially by the time we get the information.”

Reott scowled. It would be the same thing with finding any witnesses who might remember some guy who was there making a phone call two days prior. “So it’s a dead end.”

“The phone call is,” Tower said, “but I think we have a different opportunity here.”

“What’s that?”

“We can stake out MacLeod’s house, for one. See if we can catch the guy prowling around.”

“That sounds smart. What else?”

“We stake out MacLeod.”

Reott paused. “You mean use her as bait?”

Tower shrugged. “Call it what you want. He’s obviously keyed in on MacLeod. We can use that to draw him out.”

“No.” Reott shook his head firmly. “She’s been through enough with this task force. I’m not going to ask her to do that.”

“Captain-”

“I said no,” Reott interrupted. “This isn’t some cop movie, Tower. MacLeod is not the answer.”

“Why don’t you at least ask her?”

“Because it isn’t her choice,” Reott said. “It’s mine. And I’m not going to do it.”

“Why not?”

Reott leaned forward and fixed Tower with a cold stare. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, detective. I don’t work for you.”

Another silence settled into the room. Outside Reott’s open window, the distant sound of tires hissing on wet pavement meshed with high-pitched birdsong.

After almost a minute, Tower broke the silence, “Captain-”

“You’re dismissed, detective.”

Tower gaped at him, surprised. Then he rose and stalked out of the room.

Reott watched him go. Once the door snapped shut behind him, he turned his attention to Crawford.

The Major Crimes Lieutenant looked back at him, his face saggy and his expression unreadable. “That was a little harsh, Mike,” he said.

Reott didn’t answer. He pulled open his drawer and withdrew a pair of cigars, offering one to Crawford. Crawford paused, then accepted it. Reott fired his up, then handed the Zippo lighter to Crawford.

Once both men had a cherry coal at the end of the cigar, the mood in the room seemed to loosen. The smoke somehow alleviated the tension in the air.

“It probably was a little harsh,” Reott agreed. “But I stand by my decision.”

“Which I agree with, for the record. MacLeod’s been through too much already. Using her as bait would be a mistake.”

“Tower doesn’t think so.”

Crawford drew in smoke, then blew it at the ceiling. “It’s Tower’s job to catch this guy. He’s failing. He wants to try anything that might work.”

“You think he’s too close to this case?”

“Absolutely. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Reott peered across the desk at Crawford through the blue smoke trails between them. “That’s a dangerous game to play.”

“We live in a dangerous world,” Crawford replied easily. “Look, Tower pisses me off. That’s no secret. He’s a smartass who thinks he knows better than everyone else. But he’s goddamn dedicated. And some days, he’s a good detective.” He took another deep puff on the cigar, seeming to savor the sensation. “He cares, Mike. He cares. And if it means catching a very bad man, then I’m going to ride that horse until it drops.”

Reott turned the cigar in his fingers. “I don’t know how comfortable I am with that philosophy. A guy like Tower could burn out.”

“Maybe,” Crawford conceded. “In fact, at some point, he probably will. He’s wired too emotionally for this job.” Crawford leaned forward slightly, his shoulders hunching. “But come on, Mike. You’re a leader. You know you have to push your people sometimes.”

“Maybe, but not like this. What you’re talking about is a level usually reserved for soldiers at war.”

Crawford smiled grimly. “We are at war. And it’s a war we’re losing a little more every year.”

“Jesus,” Reott said, shaking his head. “That’s pretty dark. Who shit in your Cheerios this morning?”

“Today? The Rainy Day Rapist,” Crawford said. “But he’s just another in a long line of reality checks.”

Reott sighed. “So where do we go from here?”

“We need a full court press,” Crawford said. “I’ll throw another of my Major Crimes teams into the mix and get them out there shaking bushes. You tell your patrol troops to stop and FI any single white male who looks remotely suspicious. That’ll hopefully generate some leads for Tower to follow up.”

Reott agreed. “Call the media, too. Get that sketch out to the public.”

Crawford laughed derisively. “The Mr. Every Other White Guy drawing? We’ll have sightings at every bowling alley, grocery aisle and video store.”

“All the more for Tower to follow up on, then,” Reott said with a tight grin. “Now what about the threat to my officer?”

“Tower’s right on that count. We need to put men on MacLeod’s house. The guy might be foolish enough to come poking around.” Crawford considered. “And she needs protection, too.”

“A bodyguard, you mean?”

Crawford shrugged. “Put her with a partner while she’s on patrol. When she’s not working, we set her up at a motel. Put another cop with her in the adjoining room.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Crawford said. “You’re the Captain. You tell me.”

Reott smoked for a few moments, thinking. He was out of good ideas. He didn’t know how long. He didn’t even know if it would work or not. Finally, he nodded to Crawford. “Do it,” he said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could muster. “All of it.”

2024 hours

Katie stared back at Tower, her gaze shifting between the detective and Lieutenant Saylor. “You’re kidding me,” she said.

Saylor shook his head. “This comes straight from the Captain of Patrol.”

Katie turned her attention to Tower. “Was this your idea?”

Tower stared back at her. “Not this part of it.”

Katie sighed in frustration. “I can take care of myself,” she told Saylor. “I don’t need a partner all the time, El-Tee. And I don’t need a bodyguard. That’s ridiculous.”

“You’ve received a death threat,” Saylor said.

“I get death threats once a shift,” Katie replied, bristling. “Sir.”

“This is different,” Tower said quietly. “This guy has shown that he isn’t simply talking. He acts.”

She swallowed, knowing that he was right about that. Still, she wondered if this had more to do with catching a rapist or with the fact that she was a woman. If she were a man, would the bodyguard be on the table? Or would the lieutenant slap the man on the shoulder with a macho exhortation to “be careful” and call it enough?

You’ll never know for sure, Katie. Just do your job.

Katie met the Lieutenant’s eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Tension noticeably eased in the room.

“But I want to choose who my bodyguard will be,” she added.

Saylor and Sergeant Shen exchanged a glance. Then the lieutenant asked, “Okay, fair enough. Who do you want?”

Katie didn’t hesitate. “Tom Chisolm.”

2217 hours

Tower sat on the small patio, wrapped in a blanket. A beer nestled between his legs, his right hand wrapped loosely around the neck. The ornamental blanket belonged on the small couch inside the house and barely covered his shoulders and chest. It merely provided him some temporary protection against the light mist of rain in the air.

It isn’t even really falling, he thought to himself. It was almost more like a fog than rainfall. Just a light, stinging mist that bit into his cheeks and ears and coated his slacks. He felt the heaviness of the droplets as they gathered in his hair. Each time he raised the bottle of beer to his lips, the cold slap of the water smacked his hand.

I should be drinking a hot buttered rum instead.

Tower smiled grimly. Or maybe some hot buttered hemlock.

The enormity of the past week settled in on his shoulders with considerable weight. Captain Reott’s condemnation of his lack of progress rang in his ears, louder still because Tower knew the Patrol Captain was right. What breakthroughs had he engineered in this case? The only one that could even be called progress was the victim Heather Torin coming forward and that wasn’t his doing.

No, it was safe to say that he’d been about as useful as a handbrake on a canoe.

What’s worse, he didn’t see things improving. He still had little useful physical evidence to convict the Rainy Day Rapist, even if he waltzed into police headquarters and surrendered. In his phone conversation with the prosecutor, Patrick Hinote had expressed concern that he’d be able to overcome corpus delecti issues even if the suspect confessed. All in all, it was a giant bag of crap.

Tower lifted the beer bottle to his mouth and took a deep draught. The foam at the end of his drink and the weight of the bottle told him he was empty. Now he had to decide whether to go inside for another one or simply sit in the rain. Since he was four deep into the six pack of Kokanee he’d brought home after work, this initially presented a difficult logic problem. After a moment, though, the only thought that resonated with him was that beer was good and he needed more. Besides, he had to take a leak.

The rain continued to fall on him while he mustered the energy to get up and go inside. He knew Stephanie would have a word or two with him for using the ornamental blanket in such an unorthodox fashion, but at this point, he didn’t care.

Tower let out a long sigh. Crawford had used the words ‘full court press,’ but he knew what that translated to. His case was being taken away from him. Finch and Elias were on loan from Robbery/Homicide, but it wouldn’t be long before the status of lead detective would drift to one of them. Probably Finch, who was the more taciturn of the two. Tower imagined that the next crime scene would be the last where he was considered the lead, and even that one would probably be a ‘collaborative’ scene in order to begin the transition.

“Fuck it,” he whispered. “I don’t care who gets credit. I just want to catch this son of a bitch.”

He wished that were one hundred percent true, but even four beers deep, he knew it wasn’t entirely so. So he sat a little bit longer, paying penance with a full bladder in the cold, stinging misty rain, clutching an empty beer bottle, and thinking ill thoughts.

Sunday, April 28th

0848 hours

Katie tossed her small suitcase into the overstuffed chair. “I guess they spare no expense,” she groused. “This place is barely one step above a Motel 6.”

“Hey,” Chisolm chided her, “I love Motel 6.”

“That figures.”

Chisolm shrugged. “They leave the light on.”

Katie rolled her eyes and flopped backward onto the queen-sized bed. “This is so stupid. If they are staking out my house, why can’t I just stay there?”

Chisolm reached for the door that separated Katie’s room from his. “I guess they just want to be as safe as possible,” he said diplomatically.

Katie snorted. “We both know that they’re only doing this because I’m a girl.”

Chisolm shrugged, swinging open the door from Katie’s side. “You’re probably right.”

Katie paused. Chisolm’s directness and honesty surprised her, as was always the case. After a moment, she followed up her thought. “Well, if that’s true, then it’s bullshit for them to do it.”

“Bullshit for who to do it?”

“I don’t know. The brass. Whoever decided.”

“You think it was Saylor?”

Katie thought briefly, then shook her head. “No. He said it came straight from the Patrol Captain. And Tower said that this whole bodyguard routine wasn’t part of his suggestion.”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

Katie squinted at him. “What’s that mean?”

“It means,” Chisolm answered, turning to meet her gaze, “that if I was Tower, I’d want you at home for bait. That is, if all I cared about was catching the Rainy Day Rapist.”

She considered his words. “You think that’s all he cares about?”

“I think that’s what he cares about most,” Chisolm said. “Why else would he have kept you on after the accidental discharge in Riverfront Park and then the assault at Corbin Park?”

“Maybe because he knew I could handle it.”

Chisolm shrugged. “Could be, but I doubt it. I’ve seen Tower’s kind before. He’s not totally hung up on himself like Kahn or Stone, but he’s still pretty self-centered. I don’t think he gave a whole lot of thought to how this was affecting you until after the Rainy Day Rapist grabbed onto you that night over on Mona Street.”

Katie looked up at the ceiling, thinking about what Chisolm had said. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to believe that Tower had believed in her as a cop. But she found it difficult to simply discount Chisolm’s view of things.

“So you’re saying Tower’s some kind of an asshole?” she asked.

“No,” Chisolm responded. He checked the bathroom, even going so far as to pull the shower curtain aside. “I’m saying that he’s focused on himself and his case. That’s his role. The captain’s role is something different. He has to take more of a global view.”

Katie sat up and stared at him. “Officer Chisolm,” she said, affecting shock and surprise. “Did you just defend the brass?”

Chisolm chuckled. “Hey, I believe in leadership. If it’s competent, that is. Saylor’s a good leader.”

Katie made a face, agreeing. “True. Not like Hart.”

Chisolm snorted. “Why do you think they shipped that idiot over to Internal Affairs? Hell, that move alone should tell you that the Chief has a pretty good idea what the score is. He’s a good leader, too. And so is Captain Reott.”

Katie shrugged. She had no opinion one way or the other. Generally, she was so removed from the leadership as a line officer working graveyard that she just hoped they would leave her alone to do her job. The only time she saw or heard from them was when someone screwed up, anyway.

“What do you mean by ‘global view’?” she asked.

Chisolm walked to the window and pushed aside the heavy curtain. Katie looked past him into the parking lot. He’d insisted on a second floor room, explaining that it kept the window from being as vulnerable. He gave her a similar explanation when it came to parking his car in the basement sally port and having them leave after work from that location, citing a change in pattern. “I mean, he had to balance the need to catch this prick with your personal safety. He decided that your house was enough bait and that he didn’t want to risk using you.”

“Right,” Katie said, “and would he have made that same decision if it was a male officer?”

“I don’t know,” Chisolm answered, snapping the curtains shut. “I guess it might depend on the officer.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that most officers, he’d probably do the same thing. Can you imagine the negative press if something were to happen to you, MacLeod? If they decided to use you as a worm on a hook and you got gobbled up? Even if we caught the fish, the fallout would be enough to bring down this Chief and probably the Captain, too.”

“Are you saying this was self-preservation on their part?”

Chisolm sighed. “Hell, every decision has elements of self-preservation. Have you ever arrested a guy for domestic violence on thin probable cause simply because you’re covered if you arrest him and you’re liable if you don’t?”

Katie looked away. “Sure. I suppose. PC is PC, right?”

Chisolm smiled. “Depends on if it is probable cause or probably cause.”

Katie chuckled. “Okay, I see your point. But honestly, do you think they’d have gone the whole nine yards with a bodyguard and everything if you were the target?”

Chisolm’s smile faded into a grimace. “Probably not.”

“Because you’re a man,” Katie said.

“No,” Chisolm answered. “Because I would have politely told the Captain to go run a leg up his ass.”

Katie laughed out loud. “Oh, I’d pay to see that.”

Chisolm shrugged. “When you’ve been here for fifteen or more years, you might know a thing or two about people that gives you a little leverage, MacLeod.”

“Like what?”

“Can’t tell you,” Chisolm said, “otherwise it wouldn’t be worth anything.”

“So this has nothing to do with me being a woman?”

“I’m sure it does,” Chisolm admitted, “but it is what it is.”

“Oh,” Katie said. “A philosopher and a medicine man. Impressive.”

“Probably why you picked me as your bunk mate,” Chisolm said. He pointed at the door. “I’ll be right through there. When I get into my room, I’ll open it from my side. We leave the doors between our rooms open. If you need some privacy, swing the door nearly shut but don’t latch it.”

“Yes, sir,” Katie said, saluting.

Chisolm ignored her and continued. “If there’s a knock on your door, you don’t answer it. You come across into my room and we’ll decide how to deal with it from there. Same thing with the phone. Don’t answer it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Katie said, firing another salute at him.

Chisolm gave her a gentle smile, then good-naturedly returned her salute. “Hey,” he said. “I’m working for you here.” He pointed to the door between their rooms. “I’ll be right in there,” he added, then turned to go.

“Tom?” Katie asked.

Chisolm turned. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” she said, her tone warm and full of gratitude. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Chisolm replied. “I know.”

0916 hours

He cruised along Rowan, his eyes darting down every alley and into every car. He knew he had to be aware. Now that he’d tipped his hands, he figured the cops would be all over the bitch’s house. Still, he had to know. He had to see.

Besides, even if they saw him, even if they stopped him, what would they have? He’d used a condom every time, leaving behind no evidence for them. Most of the stupid bitches hadn’t fought back at all, and those that had raised some defense hadn’t caused him any serious injury. If they were vigilant and somehow spotted him, it wouldn’t matter. They had nothing to tie him to the rapes.

He even had his alibi worked out. His outgoing mail lay on the seat beside him. Just over on Division was a post office. If they stopped him, he’d just say he was looking for the back entrance to the post office in order to avoid traffic. They’d see the stamped, unsent letters on his passenger seat and that would convince them.

Cops, he had decided, were not that bright. They only caught on to the most obvious of facts.

When he turned onto Calispel, the first thing he noticed was that the Jeep was missing. He wondered if it were still at the police station or if she’d driven elsewhere. Perhaps tomorrow, he’d have to stake out the station and see.

The second thing he noticed was the gray four-door Caprice parked a half block from the bitch’s brick house. Two clearly male figures sat inside.

Cops.

Jesus, he thought. Could they be more obvious?

He fixed his gaze straight ahead, then made a point to feign that he was fiddling with the radio as he rolled up the street at just under the speed limit. He used his peripheral vision to check the two of them out as he passed the gray car. They appeared to be deeply involved in a conversation.

Probably sports, he guessed. Cops were all the same. In all likelihood, arguing about the prospects of the Seattle Seahawks or the Seattle Mariners. Or, if they had a more local focus, the minor league hockey team, the River City Flyers. Some sort of knuckle-dragging sports endeavor that people with low IQs seemed to enjoy.

As he neared the end of the block, he signaled and turned right. A quick glance in his rear view mirror told him that the gray car was not following him. That meant they hadn’t even noticed him.

Good. That would make things easier.

Mid-block, he paused and peered down the alley. He saw no cars. No coverage. Could it be that they were only watching the front of the house?

He smiled. Things just went from easier to perfect.

The waiting would be the hardest part, he realized. He’d have to rein in those powerful emotions. He couldn’t afford to let them spill out anywhere. Not on those useless prostitutes. Not on any other deserving women. No, he had to save his energy for the one that got away.

He had to be smart.

He had to be careful.

He had to plan.

Most of all, he had to be patient. And he knew he could. He’d already proven it.