What Doesn’t Kill Her

Chapter Fourteen

“He kissed you?” Kara said, gawking at Jordan.

“More like he tried,” Jordan said, shrugging. “I about knocked him on his ass, and that shut him down.”

“You want him ‘shut down’?”

“One thing I don’t need is a man in my life. There’s already a man in my life.”

“A man in your life that you want to kill.” This time Kara shrugged. “Maybe there’s room for one you want to kiss.”

Jordan shook her head. “No. Anyway... no.”

“Anyway what?”

She sighed. “I doubt he wants to even touch me now. After what I told him.”

“What did you tell him?”

“...About what the intruder really did to me that night.”

Kara leaned forward. “You told him?”

She nodded. “And it made him sick.”

Kara shook her head and the punky hair bounced. “He got sick because he cares about you. Not because you sicken him or some shit. Girl, you need to screw that head on tighter.”

“Moot point.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to kiss him. I don’t want to fuck him either, okay? All he is to me is a resource.”

“A resource. A very cute resource who brings you pizza and Coke.”

“A resource who can help me nail the son of a bitch I’m after. Got a problem with that?”

“No. I’m all over that, sweetie. I only wish I was out of this craphole so I could help you slice and dice the motherfucker.”

Jordan smiled. “You are a good friend, Kara.”

They bumped fists.

Kara said, “So what now, honey?”

“I told Mark he could stop by our little postgroup team meeting.”

“You think he will?”

“Oh yeah. He’ll be there. He’s almost as fucked-up about this thing as I am.”

Jordan was one of the last to arrive at the support group meeting, at its regular late Saturday morning slot, and she took the empty seat, next to Phillip. Typically, he wore the long-sleeved white shirt, tie, and cotton vest, shades of gray today except for the navy blue tie.

Across the circle, David sat with Kay and Levi on either side. They each acknowledged her with a nod, but without a smile. Not even Kay smiled at her, and Kay would smile at anybody or anything.

Were they mad at her?

David and Kay had both talked to Mark, so they might know that she hadn’t shared with them that she’d already been talking to a CPD detective about the case, without cluing in the team.

After Dr. Hurst called the meeting to order, the first speaker was a new member of the group, a woman who had been mugged on a bike path, her wounds so fresh she still sported the black eye and the swollen jaw earned for having the temerity to jog in a mugger’s wonderland.

After the woman had told her tale, Jordan asked her — her name was Alice — if she would describe the two muggers. Everyone looked at Jordan curiously, but when the woman said the two men were African-American, and then went into a defensive, anxious spiel about not being racist, Jordan stopped listening. She’d only wanted to make sure this wasn’t that same pair of muggers from a few nights ago. If that had been the case, there might have been significance to it. But this was just more random violence in the minefield.

Jordan paid scant attention throughout group, not offering anything else, caught up with thoughts about what she would do if she were ostracized from the team. She would continue her mission alone, of course, but she’d lack the insights and help of the others. Levi and his computer expertise would be especially missed. But she could always hire somebody, couldn’t she?

As the meeting continued, no one else on the team participated and that only served to feed Jordan’s suspicions that they were displeased. Even Dr. Hurst seemed to notice their silence, but did nothing to draw them out, apparently content to let other voices be heard.

Afterward, Dr. Hurst stopped Jordan near the door. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

Jordan just nodded and they waited for the rest of the group to file out.

When they were alone, Dr. Hurst asked, “You didn’t have much to say in group today, Jordan.”

“Lot of people didn’t.”

“You’ve spoken about your family these last few weeks and that’s such a fine start. I’d hoped you might continue to express yourself here in front of—”

“I was just giving everybody else a chance to talk.”

Hurst nodded. “Are you feeling better?”

Jordan had called in sick for her recent one-on-one session with the doctor.

“Just terrible cramps. You remember, Doctor. I have very hard periods.”

“So I can expect you next week?”

“Absolutely.”

Jordan was losing time; she wanted to get to the coffee shop and talk to the team before Mark arrived.

“You’re settling in to your new apartment?”

“Yes. Nice. Very homey.”

“And your college plans...?”

Jordan was supposedly planning to start college next semester, but she had done nothing about it.

“Haven’t decided which school yet,” Jordan said.

“There are some nice local options.”

“Can we talk it about at our session next week?”

“Certainly. Would you like me to round up some pamphlets on your possible choices?”

“That’d be great.”

Then Jordan was out the door, moving quickly.

When she walked from the hospital into blinding sunlight, she almost bumped into Phillip milling there, smoking.

“Jordan, are you all right?” he asked, pitching the cigarette, his breathing painfully audible through his Phantom of the Opera nose. “I saw Hurst waylay you. She can be a pain sometimes... but she means well.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, thanks, Phillip, I’m fine. Walk with me?”

They headed down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop.

“Beautiful day,” he said. He was taller than her, his wispy brown hair tossed by the breeze.

“Is it? Yeah, I guess it is.”

“What are you worried about?”

“I’m worried?”

“Oh yes. I’m afraid it shows.”

“Maybe I am... a little.”

He smiled that ghastly smile, which she was actually getting used to. “It’s about Detective Pryor, isn’t it?”

She smiled back, mildly. “So you’ve heard? Yes. I am worried. And yes, it’s about me not telling the group about my contact with... Detective Pryor.”

Brown eyes twinkled mischievously in the ravaged face. “Why the hesitation before his name? Had you forgotten it?”

“No.”

“You went to school with him, didn’t you? Old boyfriend?”

“Yes I went to school with him, no he wasn’t my boyfriend. Who told you, anyway?”

“The detective mentioned it to both Kay and David. They don’t keep anything from the rest of us.”

“Is that a dig, Phillip?”

“Maybe just a tiny one. You’ve got to learn to trust again, Jordan. I speak from experience. After the senseless violence I endured, don’t you think I’ve had to grapple with that?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Anyway, you needn’t be concerned. Everyone in group... everyone on our little spin-off team... understands that we each have to deal with things in our own way. It took time for you to share with the group what happened to you and your family, didn’t it? We all understand. It will come. It will come.”

She managed another smile. “Thank you, Phillip.”

He shrugged. “Anyway, the detective has already helped, hasn’t he?”

“He has?”

“Well, yes. He gave David the name of a suspect that we’re already looking into.”

Jordan wondered if that suspect was that gymnastics coach, Havoc. Great — Mark had provided them with a dead end to waste their time on. Jordan had already told him that Havoc wasn’t the intruder.

“I must be getting paranoid,” she said, as they strolled, her reason for hurry gone. “When I walked into group this morning, nobody smiled at me, and I started thinking all kinds of weird shit.”

“We all have a lot on our minds,” Phillip said, waving that off.

The other three were already seated and waiting when she and Phillip entered and ordered their coffee at the counter. Mark was not here yet. Good.

With cups in hand, they made their way to the high-top table in the crowded shop and took two of the three empty chairs, David on her right with Kay next to him, Levi on her left.

Immediately the writer got into it. At least there was nothing accusatory in the way he said: “We know you must have a reason for not telling us that a CPD detective was going down the same road we are.”

Gently, Levi said, “We’d just like you to tell us what that reason is.”

Jordan said, providing the alibi she’d spent much of the morning preparing, “I was waiting till we had something concrete to give him. Something the police would have to believe.”

Kay said, “But why keep his interest from us?”

“Mark’s an old high school friend. He’s only able to look into this in his spare time. He has a sort of... impulsive side, and...”

David, God bless him, bailed her out: “Mark is on a very short leash with his captain. If he makes a misstep, he could get pulled off of even this semi-official part-time investigation.”

“Anyway,” she said, “I have to admit that... I’ve been alone for a long time. I was alone when I was at St. Dimpna’s, even with a thousand mental patients all around me. It’s not easy for me.”

Kay leaned over to pat her hand, and Jordan didn’t even mind. “Dear,” the older woman said, “it’s day at a time, step at a time, for all of us. We’re not accusing you. We’re just saying we’re your friends. You can trust us.”

“Can we skip the group hug?” Levi asked. “Because we may have something, and we might as well dig in—”

Levi was interrupted by Mark entering the shop without stopping to order anything, coming straight to the table and the waiting chair — Levi at his right, Phillip at his left. Jordan made introductions where needed, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, David again took the role of spokesperson for the group.

“Good to see you again, Detective Pryor, though what we have to share may or may not please you.”

“Such as?”

Levi said, “We think Basil Havoc may not be our man.”

Mark just nodded — his demeanor, Jordan noted, was cool and professional. “I would agree.”

Surprise widened eyes around the table.

Kay asked, “Why?”

“I’ll leave that to Jordan to tell you,” Mark said, and nodded at her with a businesslike smile.

She nodded back, then addressed the team: “Last night, Detective Pryor showed me a picture of Havoc, on his phone? I recognized the man as my old gymnastics coach — anyway, he was briefly.”

David frowned and said to the young detective, “Jesus, man, was that wise? If she ever has to pick him out of a lineup, you’ve poisoned the well!”

“Beside the point,” Jordan said. “I saw the man who attacked my family... who attacked me... and it wasn’t Havoc.”

“So anything you have to share,” Mark said, sighing, “I’ll appreciate. Because I’m feeling like I’m back to square one.”

David said, “Maybe not. Levi and I thought you were on the right track with Havoc, but with the wrong approach.”

Mark frowned. “How so?”

“You were concentrating solely on Havoc, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you ever consider looking at anyone on his staff?”

With a humorless half smirk, Mark admitted, “Not really. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to tell me I should have.”

Nodding, Levi said, “There were four people who traveled with Havoc extensively. You were looking into two cases on the East Coast, right?”

“Yes.”

“I bring this up, because the National Gymnastics finals were in Boston, then Hartford, and there were family killings in Providence and the Bronx that coincide.”

Mark shifted in his chair. “I can’t officially confirm that without risking getting myself in dutch with my captain. But... let’s say, hypothetically... yes.”

Levi smiled a little, then the smile disappeared as he said, “I have the names of three staff members, other than Havoc, who were in both cities with him.”

Mark held up a hand, got out a notepad and pen, then nodded, poised to write.

Levi said, “Bradley Slavens, Stuart Carlyle, and Patti Roland.”

“Could you spell those?”

Levi did.

“Good,” Mark said, writing. “Good.”

“Roland and Carlyle are still working at Havoc’s school,” Levi went on. “Slavens left about two years ago, and as far as the Net is concerned, fell off the map.”

Mark asked, “How did you get stuff on his employees?”

Phillip cleared his throat and all eyes were on him as he said, “The government may have repealed ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell,’ Detective. But we haven’t. Any information you get from us, you need to consider confidential, like something you might get from a, uh... what’s the television word? Snitch.”

Mark grinned at the teacher. “Fair enough.” Then he glanced around at everyone. “I just uncovered a case that might fit the loose profile. Near St. Louis, where the finals were in 2012. A family in the Hill neighborhood.”

Phillip asked, “What makes you think they’re victims of our killer?”

“The homicides were around the time of the finals. But I can’t share anything beyond that — I’m sorry.”

“We can be your snitch, but you can’t be ours?”

“It’s a matter of degree, Mr. Traynor, but... that’s about the size of it.”

“Levi,” David asked, turning to the skater boy, “how does this fit in with the Havoc staff members?”

“Carlyle and Roland would have been there,” Levi said, “along with Havoc, of course. Slavens was gone by then.”

Phillip asked, “Is there some reason it couldn’t be any other gym coaches that travel to these events? Or even a parent? Havoc’s isn’t the only school with a similar schedule — possibly not even in Cleveland.”

David said, “These crimes started a decade ago. If it was a parent, his child would be long since off that circuit. Most kids have tossed in the towel, ten years down the road, or are in training for Olympic-caliber events.”

Levi picked up: “The parent would have to follow the competitions after his child left the sport. Doubtful.”

“I agree,” Mark said. “Odds are better it’s another coach. Serial killers are predators. They hunt, they kill. They start close to home, then branch out as their supply dwindles or they feel threatened. These crimes started here, they predominate around here. Remember, looking at Havoc’s school began with Jordan and David’s daughter both being students there. I believe this killer is local.”

“Makes sense,” Phillip said, and there were nods all around.

Mark turned back to Levi. “You seem to have narrowed it to two staff members at the school. How hard have you looked at them?”

Levi grinned, shook his head. “Detective, if I went beyond their Facebook pages, I’d be invading their privacy. You wouldn’t want me to break the law, now... would you?”

Even Jordan and Kay smiled at that.

Mark said to Levi, “So, if I Google them, will I come up with all the information you have?”

There was a slyness to Levi’s half smile. “Not completely.”

“Care to let me in on what I won’t find on Google?”

“As long as you don’t ask me where I got it.”

Mark’s half smile was equally sly. “I never push a snitch for his source.”

“Ha,” Levi said. “Okay, for one thing, Patti Roland was accused by a parent of being a sexual predator.”

Mark frowned and his pen was again poised to write. “When was this?”

“About three years ago. A mom claimed that Roland molested her seven-year-old daughter. She filed a civil suit against Havoc and his business.”

“So this is in the public record,” Mark said. “I can track this.”

“Yes,” Levi said, shrugging, “but the suit was dropped, possibly settled out of court. Mom and child left Havoc’s center for another gymnastics training site.”

David asked, “Money grab?”

“Maybe,” Levi said. “That’s not on the record, anywhere. Strictly closed-doors lawyer stuff.”

Mark said, “But Roland stayed on staff with Havoc? He didn’t fire her?”

“She’s worked for him since the gym opened,” Levi said. “Maybe she and Havoc are tight. Or maybe firing her would’ve given credence to that lawsuit. Anyway, Havoc has driven off plenty of trainers... but not her or Carlyle.”

“What about Carlyle?”

“No criminal record. He did report a gun stolen about six years ago. But that’s it.”

“Nothing else?”

“Carlyle seems clean from the outside.”

Jordan said, “Why are you even considering this Patti Roland? I saw the intruder — it’s a man.”

Briefly David explained that serial killers sometimes worked in teams, including male-female duos.

“Well, then,” Jordan said, “she must have been waiting in the car or something. Because we were hit by one bastard.”

Around them, the lunchtime cacophony had trailed off and the shop, which had been fairly crowded, was slowly emptying.

“The one thing,” Levi said thoughtfully, “that still has me completely stymied is—”

“Motive,” Jordan said.

“Exactly,” Levi said. “I understand with this type of criminal we aren’t looking at something as rational as wanting or needing money. Or killing somebody you hate, like an unfaithful wife or a mean-ass employer.”

Phillip said, “These are senseless crimes. They can’t be analyzed for motive.”

“No,” Mark said. “There is, as the old saying goes, method to his madness. We just haven’t figured it out yet.”

Kay cocked her head. “I thought serial killers killed just to... kill.”

Mark shook his head. “No, there’s something behind this... but I grant you it’s not apparent on the surface. Serial killers don’t jump ethnic groups, as a rule — this one does. They usually have particular ‘tastes,’ for lack of a better word — this one doesn’t. Men, women, young, old, even children, black, white, Hispanic. This guy is all over the place. Income-wise, too. Rich or poor, middle class, it just doesn’t matter to him. Right now the family aspect is all we have.”

David said, “Something is driving him.”

“Or them,” Phillip reminded.

“A killing duo doesn’t seem likely to me,” Mark said. “But we can’t rule out anything, and knowing the killer’s motive would be a big step in figuring out what he’s up to. Figuring out why these crimes are dissimilar enough to not attract FBI attention. It might even tell us when he’s going to strike next.”

David said, “And there will be a next.”

Silence.

Jordan broke it: “That’s why I knew it was time to get the hell out of St. Dimpna’s — the news coverage of the Sully family. I knew he was never going to stop killing unless someone stopped him.”

Phillip said, “Surely you weren’t planning to try to do that by yourself?”

“If need be, you bet your ass. I knew how I suffered, and now I know how all of you suffered. Someone has to stop the son of a bitch... and, all due respect to our guest, if the police won’t, we have to.”

Levi said, “Fine speech, kid, but we’re still stuck at motive.”

“Something Jordan mentioned,” Mark said.

“Me?”

“Yeah. You. What you told me he said to you. Can I share that?”

“If you think it will help.”

Mark told them the killer had recited a Bible verse after his killing spree at the Riveras’: “ ‘Thou shalt not wear a garment of different sorts, as of woolen and linen together.’ ”

“Deuteronomy,” Phillip said.

“22:11,” Mark said.

Levi said, “Phillip teaches religion online. What’s the meaning of that verse, anyway?”

Phillip frowning was not a pleasant sight. “I don’t see that it is apropos of anything much. It may mean that one shouldn’t give into the vain fashions of the world, and save their respect for the Lord. It might mean to maintain purity of heart and deed. I can give it some thought, and research it, if you like.”

“Please,” Mark said.

Then the detective pushed back his chair and stood, smiling in a businesslike way and nodding at them, one at a time. “Afraid I’ve got to get back to work. Keep digging for the motive. Meantime, I’ll check up on those two employees of Havoc’s.”

Jordan walked Mark out.

“We have figured one thing out,” Mark said. “Or anyway, my partner Pence did.”

“What?”

“The cop uniform your intruder wore. Your memory is probably right. It was ‘Funkytown.’ ”

“That’s crazy!”

“No. Remember the badge number?”

“Sure. Sixty-nine.”

“A crude sexual reference. That was a costume, a cop costume used by male strippers.”

She frowned. “So your latest lead is male strippers?”

“No, I’m glad to say. That kind of thing is readily accessible on the Net or for cash at any number of sleazy sources, from adult bookstores to pawnshops. But that’s helpful information.”

“How so?”

“We can rule out real cops.”

They were at his Equinox.

“Listen,” she began, “I, uh... I want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking our little team seriously. I don’t think you’ll be sorry you did.”

“I’m sure I won’t. They’re doing good work. This is the kind of support I wish the department was giving me.”

“That’s a relief to hear.”

“Oh, no, this is fine. This is great. We keep this up, it won’t be long till we’ll have enough so that my captain will have to listen.”

Mark grinned at her, gave her a little squeeze of the shoulder (she didn’t mind), and got into his Equinox and drove off, obviously feeling he’d given her good news.

But if Mark was right, it wouldn’t be long before the cops and the FBI would be tracking the intruder, and what she wanted was to beat them to the bastard. She didn’t want him to spend the rest of his life in prison, or living out decades on death row, with appeal after appeal. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to watch him die.

Was that so wrong?