“We couldn’t build a case. Hunches aren’t evidence. And command didn’t want another scandal. So they eased him out. Okay, they eased him out after you pushed for it. But we never could find a connection between Chambers and the other killings. Then we got Factor. A jury agreed. How the hell do you explain the DNA?”
“That was only on Theresa.”
“So?”
“So, Factor was technically only convicted on that crime. It was just assumed he did the other two. Anyway, you’re the one who always says young detectives depend too much on DNA, that they’ve lost the ability to do old-fashioned police work. We screwed up. He’s killing again. This one,” he indicated the doctor’s office, “has all the marks of the Slasher, right down to the hidden knife. Nobody knew about the hidden knife except us and the killer. He just loves to mind-fuck us.”
“Okay, assuming Bud was good for the three women. And don’t go nuts, because that’s a big leap. I’m not there with you. But assuming… Why would he kill Christine Lustig?”
“I don’t know. Let me see the murder book.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Dodds gave a petulant laugh. “Take my word for it. There was no link. The doctor didn’t know this guy. Why would he come for her? Even if he’s a serial killer, why her?”
“Have you questioned Chambers? Until you do, you won’t know.” Will suddenly felt a crushing exhaustion, as if a wave had hit him. He pushed on. Even the words hurt to say. “Maybe she was his type, the one that makes his fucked-up mind want to kill again. He just sees her once and this nut-job gene goes off in his brain. She looked like Theresa. See if he’s been around the hospital. He knew his way well enough to find me.”
Dodds stared into his lap. “Maybe. But we never heard about hang-up calls with the three.”
“They were dead by the time we could ask, and they were all single women living alone.”
“We ran the LUDs on every one. We only saw Chambers’ number on Theresa’s phone, which is explainable. And we found…”
“I know,” Will interrupted, “what we found. Killers can buy disposable cell phones, use pay phones. Hell, we see that every day with drug dealers. He was a cop, for God’s sake.”
“Maybe.”
“Let me see the murder book.”
“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, you’d better watch your ass. You have a gift for making enemies, and let’s just say you’re not in fighting trim.”
Will wasn’t listening. He was so tired. He managed, “He’s going to kill again. Soon.”
Chapter Fourteen
The guard walked Cheryl Beth to her car that night, as he had since the killing. His name was Don and he was a tall, lanky black man whose stride she had difficulty matching. Still, she had grown to enjoy his company. He talked about his children and his car, comforting subjects. He had never asked her about finding Christine—he seemed like the only person at the hospital who didn’t want to know all the details. Tonight, he was out of character.
“You must feel relieved they got him,” Don said. “Ol’ Lennie. You just never know…”
“You never do.” She added, “Scared the crap out of me,” and Don laughed. It was a nice sound. She knew she should be relieved. Her body didn’t feel it. Her legs were tense and exhausted from the confrontation. She kept those words lucky to be alive at a distance, still marveling at how the patient had wrestled Lennie into submission. She had learned that Will Borders was a police detective, and he was in the hospital for a spinal cord tumor. He had saved her when she, a caregiver, should have been saving him. That was her mother’s voice, which could adapt to so many useless occasions. She shoved it aside.
She was alive and didn’t begrudge the long day that resulted from the time giving the police a statement. Still, she had to complete her new consults, check on a dozen other patients, write out new order sheets, and end the day in her office, doing paperwork. Not even Lisa was left to regale her with hospital gossip or hear about her adventure. She hadn’t gotten out until nine. Now her hand and back ached from where Lennie had knocked the cell away and roughly pushed her down. The knife had appeared so suddenly. Had it been so sudden for Christine? How could it have been that way, if she was already naked? It must have gone on much longer. He must have planned it. She thought about all the times she had seen Lennie and had dismissed him as another hospital eccentric, one more poor soul that fell through the cracks. She had been alone with him in an elevator once. She shivered inside her coat as they walked in silence. She would be okay now, she told herself, looking forward to getting home and having a drink.
They walked through several sets of automatic doors to reach the parking garage, going from the old building, through a newer wing, up and down the ramps made to allow beds and wheelchairs to transit buildings that didn’t exactly match, and finally down a long, brightly lit tube of glass that crossed the street and emptied into the parking area. It was a ten-minute fast walk and tonight she walked slower, aching. Don would just have to wait. She hated to inconvenience him but she was still grateful for his presence. If Christine’s killer really were in jail, soon she would have to give up her escorts from Don. Growing up in Corbin, she would have been terrified to be alone with a black man in a parking garage. She was sure her relatives still felt that way. Thank God I got out of there, she silently mouthed.
“Everybody must be clearing out for the holidays,” Don was saying, surveying the nearly empty floor of the garage. The concrete surface, walls, and pillars all glowed gray-orange under the halogen lights. The relative shelter against the cold provided by the crossover was gone and the garage was freezing. Their breath made foggy clouds ahead of them. Several blue emergency stations were visible, where people could call for help in emergencies. “Always makes me sad, Christmas,” Don said. “Especially for the people who are stuck here.”
The man stood framed in a stairwell, at the opposite corner of the garage. He was maybe fifty yards away. A white man, he wore black jeans, a Reds cap, a brown leather jacket. He just stood there. He hadn’t bounded up the stairs and was walking to his car. There were only about five cars left on the floor. He just stood there, watching them. Cheryl Beth felt her heart start racing.
“Don…”
“I see him.”
Her red Saturn was comfortingly close.
“Probably nothing, but I’m gonna talk to him,” Don said. “Once you’re safe and sound.”
“I can take it from here,” she said, patting his arm.
“You sure?”