“Rent was cheap. I always thought I’d make enough to springboard to a better location.”
“But you stayed?”
He shrugged as he reached for a rag and began to wipe the counter. “After my wife, Gina, died, I didn’t see the point. She was the one with the big dreams and the one who wanted the chain of stores. When she was gone, this place was enough.”
“When did she pass?”
“Ten years now. She had cancer. Hell of a woman. I stay here to be close to her.”
“Did she worry about the Hangman?”
“Sure. But she was never alone in the restaurant after dark. I saw to it. And we both figured this killer went after a certain type of woman.”
“What type?”
“Hookers. The working girls back then were real scared. They didn’t go out alone during that time but stayed in pairs after the second body was found. They’d stand near this store because they knew I was open until one a.m., and I kept my .45 behind the counter. I was more worried about a robbery, but if I’d come across that son of a bitch, I’d have gladly shot him, too.”
“Did you know the victims?”
“I remembered Rene. She was nice. And Tamara. She hung out on the street corner by the shop sometimes.”
“The johns would pick her up out there?”
“Yeah. Like I said, it got a little rougher around here after midnight. Hell, we still get some of that crap happening here today. And frankly, they aren’t any subtler than they used to be.”
“Any of Tamara’s johns stand out?”
“No. I made a point to keep my nose in my own business.”
“Did the cops ever speak to you?”
“Sure. I spoke to them a bunch of times. First the uniforms and then the detectives. Mutt and Jeff I called them.”
“Mutt and Jeff?”
“Don’t get me wrong, they were sharp and tough guys. But they stuck together like glue. They could finish each other’s sentences. I gave them slices of pie, and they made a point to stop by to check in while they were working the case. Got to know them pretty well. Solid guys. Sorry to hear the one died.”
She pointed to her father’s picture on the wall. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
Mark came around the counter. “Yeah, that’s him. Jim and Ken. Mutt and Jeff.”
“Jim also worked the area as an undercover officer.”
“I remember him saying that. He said once he came into the shop undercover for a slice. I told him later I didn’t recognize him, and he laughed. He said good. His job was to slip into another identity as easily as a suit. I asked him if he had trouble keeping it all straight.”
“Did he?”
“Never quite gave me a clear answer. The guy had a million-dollar smile, but he also had an edge.”
“What do you mean by edge?”
“Short fuse. He never lost his temper around me, but he didn’t appreciate it when someone got in his face.”
“Who got in his face?”
“That guy, Tanner, whose wife was murdered. He was in here buying a pizza when Mutt and Jeff came into the pizzeria. Tanner accused them of harassing him. Said to do their job and find the real killer. Mutt didn’t like that.”
“Mutt being Jim.”
“Right.”
“What about his partner, Ken? How was he?”
“Smooth, jovial. I always figured he was the good cop, the one that softened you up for the bad cop. Ken came by regularly until about a year ago. Where’s he?”
“Retired. You ever suspect anyone who might have killed those women?”
“A lot of crazy people come in here, and I keep my .45 close. Everyone talked about the crime, but no one had the faintest clue who it was. No one was holding back.”
“I read their reports of their interview with you and your wife. They noted how much they liked the pizza.”
“Really?” Dutton beamed.
“Yeah. One report had a tomato sauce stain on it.”
He glanced up at the picture on the wall. “Your name’s Vargas?”
“Yeah.”
“Father?”
“Yeah.”
“You look like him.”
“I get that a lot,” she said.
“I wish I could help you.”
She pulled a card from her jacket pocket and put on her best smile. “If you think of anything, give me a call. Just sleep on it.”
He flicked the edge of the card with his index finger. “Sure. And if you see Ken again, tell him Mark has got a complimentary pie waiting for him.”
“Will do.”
“Sorry about your dad. I sincerely liked him.”
“Thanks.”
She spent the next hour walking up and down the brick sidewalks trying to imagine herself back in 1992. What was it about the victims that had drawn the Hangman? Was it because they were easy prey, or was there more?
She found herself standing in front of the first murder scene. The tobacco warehouse had long been converted to condos, and what had looked rough and run-down in crime-scene photos now looked trendy and chic. Time had marched on and had forgotten those women.
“I haven’t forgotten,” she whispered.
Andrews found Bowman in his office. On the credenza behind his desk was a picture of Bowman and his girlfriend, Riley Tatum. A part of Andrews envied Bowman’s happiness, but a bigger part of him feared it. With gain there was the potential for loss, and he’d lost enough. “Have you seen the website called the Hangman?”
Bowman arched a brow. “I don’t prowl the Net often.”
“The site appeared about a month ago,” Andrews said. “It profiles the original Hangman victims as well as the detectives working the case.”
Bowman sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest as he waited for Andrews to continue.
“Judging by the level of deta
il, the creator did his homework.”
“Who put the site up?”
“A man by the name of Vic Carson,” he said. “He was in town during the 1992 killings and, by his own admission, became obsessed with the killings. He only just got around to putting up the website. Guess he figured he’d cash in on the anniversary. He’s already making decent money with his advertising sales.”
“Where’s he now?”
“According to his digital trail, he’s in California at a conference.”
“Let Vargas know. She’ll want to put him on her list of people to interview.”
“I’ve added him to the witness-suspect list I sent her.”
“How many of the original witnesses and suspects did you find?”
Andrews arched a brow. “All of them.”
“I shouldn’t have expected less.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” He was one of the best trackers alive, and in the two years he’d been with Shield he’d proved his skills over and over. He could find anyone who left a digital footprint.
“What’s their status?”
“Of the fifteen names she gave me, several of the witnesses are in prison for nonviolent infractions, and the remaining nine are living and working in the area.”
“I know you did a background check on all of them. Anything they’ve done in the last twenty-five years that catches your eye?”
“No. The Hangman fell off the face of the earth. When he killed his last victim, he either stopped or died.”