Show of Evil

Thirty-Six

Morris and Soloman banged on the door of the halfway house until a young man with long hair tied back in a ponytail stumbled down the stairs and cracked open the door.

'Huh?' he said.

Morris showed him his ID. 'Police, open up,' he said.

'Police!' the young man said in a panic.

'We're just checking on the new man,' Morris said as he and Solomon brushed past him and went up the stairs. Through the door, they heard Vulpes's raspy voice singing a duet with Durante.

'Make someone happy…'

'Open up, police!' Morris demanded. He tried the door. It was unlocked. The titles of the movie were rolling as they burst into the room. Morris froze when he saw the tape recorder.

'Make just someone happy…'

Solomon stared bleakly into the empty room. 'Shit, he bluffed us out, Bobby,' he moaned.

Vail was just leaving Rebecca Hutchinson's apartment when the phone rang. He listened while Morris babbled on the other end. His mind raced ahead of the conversation.

'Get the Chicago PD over there right now and give them a full report,' he said. 'I'll be back at the office.'

The question now: Where was Vulpes?

Shock Johnson answered that question with more bad news.

'Where are you?' the police lieutenant asked.

'In the car heading back to the office,' Vail answered.

'Go straight to the hospital, Marty. Stampler got Jane Venable and Abel. They're alive but just barely. Should be arriving in Emergency about now. He killed our house guard.'

'Goddamn! Goddamn him!' Vail cried. 'What happened?' he asked Johnson.

'He killed our man and jumped Abel and Jane when they arrived at her house. She got a couple of shots off and sent him packing in Stenner's car. That's all she told us before she passed out. Some neighbours heard the shots and called it in. We have an APB out on him now, but our pictures are all ten years old.'

'Get your artist to put twenty pounds and ten years on him and get it to the media. Also I suggest a five-state alarm. If he breaks out of Chicago, God knows how long it may take to track him down.'

'Done. I heard about what happened with the woman. We found the rest of Shoat out at his place. She must've been doing Shoat while Stampler was doing his dirty work at Venable's house.'

'Stampler faked my people out,' said Vail. 'Sneaked out of the halfway house.'

'Christ, what the hell's goin' on, Marty?'

'Stampler is what's going on. He's on the loose and who knows what he's got in mind.'

'What do we tell the press?'

'You tell them the truth, Shock. How's Eckling reacting to all this?'

'He's at a convention in Atlanta. I haven't talked to him yet.'

'Well, we've got three dead people, including a cop and a judge, two people in the hospital, and a mass murderer on the loose. You better break the news before he sees it on TV.'

'See you at the hospital.'

'Yeah.' Vail hung up.

Meyer, not a cowboy behind the wheel by any means, took off like an antic teenager, threading through traffic with his hand on the horn.

'Doesn't this car have a siren?' Vail yelled.

'No, sir.'

'Harvey, get a damn siren put on this thing tomorrow!'

'Yes, sir. What'd he say about Abel?'

'They're both hanging on, whatever the hell that means.'

Ten minutes later Meyer screeched into the emergency parking lot and pulled up against a brick wall near the entrance. Vail was out of the car before Meyer set the brakes, taking the steps to the loading dock two at a time and pushing open the swinging doors, startling the short, chubby nurse with round eyes and heart-shaped lips who was sitting at the receiving desk.

'I'm Martin Vail. Any report on Jane Venable or Abel Stenner?'

'They're both in the OR,' the nurse said. 'That's all I can tell you at this time.'

'I'm the DA. These people are on my staff. Can't you do a little better than that? How bad are they?'

'You'll have to wait until the doctors came out,' she answered apologetically. 'I really don't know anything. I'm sorry.'

Meyer and St Claire joined him a moment later. Vail paced the hall, staring at the operating-room doors. The nurse, obviously accustomed to relatives and friends of emergency victims in the halls, leaned across the desk and in a half-whisper said to St Claire, 'There's a visitors' room down the hall. Coffee machine, soft chairs, a TV. I'll call you soon as I - '

'Thank ya, ma'am. I don't think he's gonna leave this hall till he knows something.'

'That could be a while.'

'I know th' man real good. He ain't movin' till he knows the score. What's happening?'

'They took them into prep about fifteen minutes ago. I expect they're both in surgery by now.'

'Thanks.'

Vail leaned against the wall and stared up at a clock over the operating-room doors. It was eleven-twenty. Stampler had been free less than twelve hours.

Aaron Stampler lurked in the darkness, watching the gate. He was on the first-floor landing of a six-storey deck that provided private parking for tenants in the attached apartment building. The gate was activated by a card similar to a credit card. Stampler had lucked on to the building after dumping Stenner's car. It was nearly midnight. He reasoned that anyone coming in now was probably in for the evening and would not miss his or her car until morning. It was a perfect setup for him.

He had passed up a car with two couples in it. It seemed risky to him. He decided to wait. Ten minutes passed and a two-door BMW pulled up to the gate. In it was a man and he was by himself. Perfect.

As the car drove past and started up the ramp to the second floor, Stampler ran up the stairs. He peered through the door. He was in luck. The BMW was pulling into a parking space in a dark corner. Stampler threw the bloody towel into a waste can, ran across the lighted section of the deck, and ducked behind a row of cars, then crept down the row towards the parked car. The driver got out. He lowered the driver's seat and leaned into the back of the car, taking out a leather satchel. He put it on the ground and locked the car door.

Stampler was hunched behind the car next to his. He waited until the driver passed him, then he moved like an animal, soundlessly, taking two long steps, and grabbed the man's head with both hands, one under his chin, the other on the back of his head. He snapped the driver's neck like a breadstick. The man sagged as Stampler caught him under the arms and dragged him back to the car.

Down below, he heard the gate open and a car drive through. Stampler looked around frantically. The driver's satchel was sitting in the middle of the driveway. He quickly opened the trunk of the car, rolled the driver's body inside, then ran and picked up the satchel. He unlocked the door of the BMW just as the car approached the second-floor deck. Stampler jumped in and lay across the front seat just as the car circled onto the second floor. The car's lights swept past the windshield, then continued on up the ramp.

Stampler sat up and studied the instrument panel of the car. Until tonight he had not driven an automobile in ten years. The car had everything: a tape and CD player, cruise control, heat, air, and a telephone. He opened the leather satchel. The first thing he saw was the stethoscope.

He had killed a doctor.

He rooted through the satchel, found bandages and hydrogen peroxide. He had to duck down twice as other cars entered the parking facility. He finished cleaning his wound. His jaw was already swollen and beginning to discolour. He covered the gash with a thin bandage. There were several kinds of painkillers, but Stampler ignored them. He had to stay alert.

He got out of the car, opened the trunk, retrieved the dead man's wallet, and got back in the car. He searched through the wallet One hundred and eighty-seven dollars and several credit cards. Not bad. The man's name was Steven Rifkin. According to his ID, he was a staff doctor at the University Medical Center. Under 'person to notify in case of an accident': his mother.

God, am I in luck, thought Stampler. He lives alone. Nobody's waiting up for him. If his luck held, it could be late morning before the doctor was missed.

Stampler took two maps from his inside pocket, stretched them out on the seat next to the city map, and found his location. With his finger, he traced a route to Interstate 80. He felt suddenly secure. Once he got on the Interstate, he could get lost in traffic. He looked at the dashboard clock: 11:25. He started the car and left the parking lot.

As Stampler was making his way towards the interstate, Shock Johnson arrived at the emergency room, looking harried and unhappy.

'We got two TV stations and a radio reporter outside,' he said. 'They're at Shoat's place and at the Hutchinson woman's apartment. They're on this story like ants on honey. What's the news here?'

'No news yet,' Vail said, and began pacing the hallway outside the operating rooms again.

'I called Eckling,' Johnson went on, falling in beside Vail. 'He's doing barrel rolls over this. He's taking the red-eye back here. Gets in at six. He says to stall the press.'

'How the hell can you stall he press? We need the media now. We have to put the heat on Stampler.'

'We found Stenner's car parked in a dead-end alley off Wabash.'

'He's going to lift another set of wheels, bank on it,' said Vail. 'He's too smart to stay around here.'

'I talked to the state police. They've alerted Wisconsin, Iowa, Indiana, Ohio, and Missouri. I got Cal Murphy updating the photo. We should have it on HITS in another two, three hours.'

A youthful doctor with his hair askew and his gown blood splattered came out of the OR. He fell against the wall, pulled down his face mask, and pinched exhaustion from his eyes. He dug under the robe and took out a cigarette. Vail walked over to him and offered a light.

'Thanks,' the doctor said, drawing in the smoke and blowing it towards the ceiling with a sigh. He stared at Vail, his eyes etched with weariness.

'You're the DA, aren't you?' he said.

'Yes, Martin Vail. This is Lieutenant Johnson, Chicago PD.'

'You here about Venable and Stenner?'

Vail nodded. 'What can you tell us?'

'Stenner's still on the table in three. It may be a while before we know anything. He has a deep stab wound, entered here -' he pointed to his side just under his rib cage - 'angled up towards his heart. It's a rough one.'

'Is he going to make it?'

'It's a toss-up. He's on the edge.'

'How about Jane?'

'She's going to live, but she took a terrible blow to the right cheek. The bones in her face are crushed and we pulled a bone splinter from her right eye. She may lose it. She also has a concussion. She's in for the long haul, constructive surgery, cosmetic work. What happened to her?'

'The same madman that stabbed Stenner hit her with something,' said Johnson. 'We're not sure yet, probably a brass lamp.'

'Christ, what're people coming to?' he said, as much to himself as to Vail and Johnson. 'I've got to go outside, we're not supposed to smoke in here.'

'Can I see her?'

'Wait until they take her out of Recovery, okay? It's a madhouse in there right now. Probably an hour or so.'

'Thanks.'

'Sure.'

Eve Wilonski, the night supervisor, came striding down the hall, her face looking like an angry bulldog's.

'Well, Mr Vail, you're becoming a fixture around here,' she growled.

'I hardly have any choice,' Vail answered, and there was anger in his tone.

'Is all this related in some way to your earlier visit?' she asked, her voice softening.

'Unfortunately. I'm afraid we're going to be around here for a while,' Vail said. 'Sorry if we're screwing things up.'

'It's the press, sir,' she said. 'They're making a nuisance of themselves.'

Vail looked at Shock Johnson.

'I guess it's time to make an official statement,' he said, then turned to Mrs Wilonski. 'Is there someplace we can hold a quick press conference without turning the hospital inside out?'

'We have a press room on the first floor,' she said. 'It's all yours.'

Five miles away Stampler guided the stolen BMW onto Interstate 80. It was fairly crowded with people returning from dinner and the theatre. He manoeuvred into the fast-moving outside lane. It was eleven-thirty-five. With a self-satisfied smile, he headed east.