Wild Card

Chapter 50

Valentine and Lois were sitting in the waiting area outside Banko’s office when the sergeant arrived at work the next morning. Banko scowled, and Valentine guessed that his superior thought they were there to beg for his job back.

Banko ushered them into his office. Sabina had fixed coffee, and Banko acted surprised when they both declined his offer of a cup.

“So what do I owe the pleasure?” Banko asked.

Valentine had the photo album under his arm. Placing it on the desk, he flipped it open it to the Summer of Love pictures. Banko flashed a benevolent smile.

“I didn’t know your wife modeled,” he said pleasantly.

Lois’s eyes welled up with tears. Valentine pointed at the first picture of the set and said, “Look at the clothes my wife is wearing.”

Banko took out his bifocals, and fitted them on his nose. Valentine turned the page to another photograph of his wife on a runway. Then, a third page was shown.

“So?” the sergeant said.

“The Dresser is dressing his victims up in hippie clothes, and killing them. His victims all look like my wife. My wife remembers a guy at this job who was stalking her. I think he’s our killer.”

Banko pulled the album closer and ran through the pages. Picking up his phone, he called Sabina in the next room. “Get me the murder book on our serial killer.” Hanging up, he continued to look at the photographs while gulping down his cup of coffee. After ten seconds had elapsed, he rose from his desk, went to his door and opened it.

“Hurry,” he told his secretary.

It was a painful coincidence that the murder book was the same color as the photo album. Painful because Lois Valentine was suffering through this experience of having to see the victims dressed like her, and nothing Banko could do would make it any easier for her. The victims’ clothes in the murder book matched her clothes in the album, right down to the jewelry. The killer had recreated her for his own sick pleasure.

Banko closed the two books. Then he stood up, and came around the desk. His face had a look that Valentine didn’t recognize; soft, and full of compassion. Banko stopped in front of his wife, and gently took her hands with both his own.

“May I call you Lois?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“Lois, I’m going to ask you to do something that’s probably going to be painful.”

“What’s that?”

“We have the victims’ clothes downstairs in the evidence room in the basement. I’d like to have you look at them.”

Her voice broke. “Is that... necessary?”

“You said you don’t remember much about the modeling job. Or the man who was stalking you.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I understand. Maybe seeing the clothes will jog your memory, and you’ll remember this guy’s name, or something he said to you.”

“And then you can catch him,” Lois said.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Banko said.

“Okay. I’ll take a look at them.”

The cop on duty in the evidence room was named Dave Gordon, although everyone called him The Kid. The Kid was wearing on his shirt a jelly doughnut he’d just eaten, and looked embarrassed as hell when the three of them came through the door.

The evidence was kept behind a giant cage inside metal drawers that were stacked to the ceiling. The Kid unlocked the cage, then busied himself pulling out the plastic bags that contained the victims’ clothes. When he had the four bags, he came out of the cage, and carefully laid them on a rectangular table that served as his desk.

“Open the bags up, and lay the clothes out,” Banko said.

The Kid unzipped the bags. He handled the clothes gingerly, like the dead women’s’ spirits might still be in them. Soon, the clothes covered the table. Lois took a step forward and reached for a blouse.

“Is it okay if I pick them up?” she asked.

“Of course,” Banko said. “They’ve already been dusted for fingerprints.”

Lois picked up a sky-blue blouse with peace symbols stitched into the fabric. Around the symbols flowed the words Peace Love & Understanding. She looked at the blouse for a long moment, then opened up the neck to glance at the label.

“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered.

Valentine was standing beside her, and stared at the blouse’s label. Summer of Love. He saw his wife pick up the bell bottoms that went with the blouse. She turned them inside out, and stared at the inseam.

“No,” she said sharply.

Then, quite suddenly, his wife burst into tears.

“You’re absolutely sure about this,” Banko said.

They were back in Banko’s office. This time, they’d accepted Banko’s offer of a cup of coffee. Sipping her drink, Lois nodded while staring at the floor.

“Positive. Those are the clothes I wore that day,” she said. “I remember getting to the job, and none of the bell bottoms fit. A seamstress had to let the inseams out.”

“You’re sure they’re the same clothes,” Banko said.

“Yes. I quit the job after the first day. The agent in New York was furious, and screamed at me over the phone. I didn’t care.”

“Why?” Banko asked.

“I don’t know.”

Banko pulled his chair up closer to her. His tone was gentle. “ I know this is difficult, but I’d like you to close your eyes, and try to think back.”

“Tony tried to hypnotize me last night. It didn’t work.”

“Please let me try,” the sergeant said.

Lois looked at her husband, and saw him nod.

“All right.”

Lois folded her hands in her lap, and shut her eyes. The pose made her look like a young girl. A minute slipped away while Banko talked to her, and helped her slip back in time. His wife frowned, struggling with the memory. Valentine remembered something she’d told him on their first date. It’s great to be pretty, but sometimes it can also be scary. Now, twenty years later, he finally understood what those words meant.

“The exhibit was called Summer of Love,” she said. “We worked out of a tent on the Boardwalk. Besides me modeling clothes, there were performers keeping the crowd entertained. A singer, a juggler, and another variety act. All guys. Their dressing room was next to mine. One of the guys gave me the creeps. He kept staring at me like I was something he wanted to eat. I remember thinking that this was the kind of guy my mother told me to be afraid of.”

“Do you remember his name?” Banko asked.

“It was something strange.”

“What did he look like?”

“A few inches taller than me, not handsome, kind of shy.”

“How old was he?”

“My age, I think.”

“You remember his face?”

“Not really.”

“Which one of the acts was he?” Banko asked.

“I didn’t see any of them perform. Too busy getting dressed and undressed.”

“What happened to make you quit?”

She took a deep breath. “I worked for ten hours the first day, and was exhausted. After the show was over, I went to my dressing room, and discovered that my underwear had been violated. I didn’t know which one of them did it, so I quit.”

“But you thought it was him.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Could he have stolen the outfits you were wearing?”

“They were hanging in my dressing room. He must have.”

“Did he ever have contact with you again?”

She strained to remember. “Yes, he called me at home.”

“When was this?”

“A few months later. He told me his parents were out of town, asked me to come to his house. I said no, I already had a boyfriend.”

“Were you seeing Tony then?”

“Yes. We’d been going steady for a while.”

Banko glanced at Valentine. There was an apology in his eyes, and Valentine acknowledged it with a slight nod. Then Banko brought his wife up from her trance.

Valentine extended his hand to his wife. “It’s time to go home,” he said.

“Did I tell you anything helpful?” Lois asked.

The color had returned to his wife’s face, and she looked just as beautiful as the day he’d met her. “Yes. You did good,” he said.

She rose from her chair, and Banko walked them to the door. “I’d like a word with your husband, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Lois said.

She stepped into the waiting room, and Banko shut the door, and put his hand on Valentine’s shoulder. “I guess we know now why the killer contacted you the other day. I’m sorry I’ve been so harsh with you, but I didn’t have much choice.”

“I understand,” Valentine said.

“No hard feelings?”

“No, sir.”

His superior lowered his arm. “I’m calling the FBI, and bringing them back in. I’m also assigning several extra detectives to work this case. Knowing this guy was an entertainer should make him easy to track down. Oh, and one other thing.”

Valentine waited expectantly.

“I’m lifting your suspension, effective immediately. However, what I said before still applies. I want you to stay away from this investigation. This killer has designs on your wife. You can’t be chasing him down.”

“But—”

“Another word and I’ll suspend you again,” Banko said.

Valentine clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m assigning two detectives to guard your wife until this sicko is caught. I want you back at the casino immediately.”

“What’s going on at the casino?”

“Bill Higgins called last night. A gang of blackjack cheats that stole a million bucks in Las Vegas are now in Atlantic City. Bill said you drew a bead on them.”

Valentine remembered the tape Bill had sent him, and the suspicious woman with the Coke bottle. “That’s right,” he said.

“Bill took the red eye out of Las Vegas last night, and is flying in this morning. I want you to help him nail these people. Think you’re up to it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Welcome back.”

He shook his superior’s hand, and saw him smile. It had been years since he’d seen Banko do that, and he left the office feeling better than he had in a long time.