Stress Fracture: Book One in the Dub Walker Series Page 13

  “I did.”

  His intuition had been right. He had felt someone was watching. How? From where? “I don’t believe you.”

  “Looking in a window? Sitting on a swing in plain view? Think that was very smart?”

  Brian’s stomach knotted.

  There was silence on the line for a moment, and then the man said, “You’ve got to focus on Kushner. He’s the one. The … how was it you put it? … The deserving prick.”

  Brian smiled. He liked that. The caller was now quoting him. Deserving prick. The perfect description. For Kushner, for all of them. “Okay, but then I want those two.”

  “At the right time, they’re yours. Kushner is all set for tomorrow night. Family usually goes down early. Any time after ten.”

  CHAPTER 33

  WEDNESDAY 12:49 A.M.

  I WASN’T EXACTLY SURE HOW IT HAPPENED. AFTER DINNER AND AN hour or so of talking about the murders, T-Tommy had headed home. Claire stayed. We watched a movie. I did, anyway. Claire stretched out on the sofa and fell asleep. Until the storm rolled in.

  A strobe of lightning and a clap of thunder pulled her upright. The rain drummed against the roof. She walked to the back door and pushed it open. Cool, clean air followed.

  “I love a good storm,” she said. A web of lightning danced across the sky, this time farther away, out over the city. The pulsing light sharpened her silhouette. Several seconds later a guttural rumble of thunder rolled up the hillside. “It’s so energizing.” She hugged herself.

  I moved up behind her. The scent of her perfume mixed with the aroma of the night air.

  She turned. “Want me to stay?”

  I smiled. “I wouldn’t mind. You?”

  She put her arms around my waist and kissed me. Long, slow, and intense. That’s how it started.

  Now, we stretched out next to each other on my bed, sweat slicking our bodies, and our breathing gradually returning to normal. I noticed that the storm had subsided and now only a gentle rain peppered the roof.

  “That was fun,” she said, snuggling against my chest. “Even if you did ply me with alcohol and seduce me.”

  “You started it.”

  “I suppose you were merely an innocent bystander?”

  “Just being polite.” I pulled a sheet over us, the air now a bit cool.

  “Polite, my ass.”

  “That, too.” I laughed, giving that part of her anatomy a squeeze.

  “This was always good, wasn’t it?”

  “More or less.”

  She punched my ribs. “I never heard any complaints.”

  “You never will.”

  The room and our bodies cooled, the thin sheet no longer enough, so I pulled the comforter over us. Claire snuggled more tightly against my chest, and we fell into a comfortable silence, where only our soft, synchronous breathing could be heard. I soon felt her relax and her breathing slow as she drifted to sleep.

  Not me. How many nights had I spent staring at the ceiling, going over and over details of some case? Asking myself questions. At times even leaving the warmth of the bed to walk around the backyard, barefoot, feeling the cool grass between my toes. Trying to put evidence into an understandable package. Particularly cases like this one. So much violence. So many unknowns. So personal. Why Mike?

  We had nothing. No real clues that would lead to who was doing this. We had little that even narrowed the search. Shoe prints and DNA. Neither of much value until we had a suspect. I did know one thing for sure: he would do it again. Soon, and often. He wanted it, needed it. That was the scary part. Wants can be suppressed, delayed; needs can’t be ignored.

  I was exhausted, but fought sleep. I knew the key to this was out there. Somewhere. If I slept, I might miss the very clue I needed when it ran through my mind. Besides, the dream was also out there, waiting. Hoping I’d drift off so it could slide into my head again.

  The return of my nightmare the other night was no accident. Mike Savage’s murder was no accident. It was God or whoever extracting payment. A debt I owed for my failure.

  The phone’s shrill ring startled me. Claire stirred. As I reached for the phone, I flashed on Luther’s call telling me Mike had been murdered. That call had been in the light of day, but now, middle of the night, it could only be bad news. Another murder?

  CHAPTER 34

  WEDNESDAY 1:09 A.M.

  “DUB WALKER?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you’re home. It’s such a pleasure to speak with you now that you’re a celebrity and all.”

  I swung around, sat on the edge of the bed, and flicked on the bedside lamp. “Who’s this?”

  “You don’t know me, but I’d bet you’re thinking of me right now.”

  “Who the hell is this?”

  Claire sat up. Concern etched her face. I touched her hand in an attempt to ease her anxiety even as my own rose.

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t have to work to find out.” The voice was cool and dispassionate. “That wouldn’t be much fun.”

  “Depends on your definition of fun.”

  “No need to get angry.”

  “I’m not.” Yes, I was.

  “I think you are. I like that.”

  “You wouldn’t if you were here.”

  “Is that any way to talk to someone who’s making you famous? Maybe I should say, more famous. You have quite a reputation. Front page? A real hotshot.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To tell you I’m thrilled these local buffoons called you in. I’m flattered. They must think I’m a tough case.”

  “Some are, some aren’t. What makes you think you are?”

  “I’m smart. Maybe smarter than you. Definitely smarter than the other cops.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Sure, you do. I’ll bet you often think the cops you work with are plodding and pedestrian. Don’t their simple minds drive you crazy?”

  “You hold that thought. See where it gets you.”

  “It’s gotten me on the front page, too.”

  “Might get you in the obits.”

  Claire slid across the bed and sat next to me. She pulled the comforter around her shoulders. She started to say something, but I raised a finger and shook my head.

  “Not likely. You see, right now, you’re deciding if this call can be traced. It can’t. You’ll have your phone tapped. It’ll make no difference. I’m way ahead of you, Dub.”

  “For now.”

  He laughed. “You’re a smart guy. Maybe even a tough guy. But here’s a little secret for you. You’re as vulnerable as your friend Sheriff Savage was.”

  I felt anger flush my cheeks, but took a deep, calming breath. Don’t let him push your buttons. “Why Mike Savage? What’d he do to you?”

  “He’s an asshole. Rather, he was an asshole.”

  “You knew him?”

  “I know he was an arrogant jerk.”

  “Then you didn’t really know him.”

  Again, he laughed softly. “What did you think of my work?”

  “Not much.”

  “Your buddy Savage was my best. A true piece of art.”

  “Maybe in your diseased mind.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot. You’ve proclaimed that I’m a psycho and … what was it you said? … An impotent coward.”

  “I think most psychiatrists would agree.”

  “Most psychiatrists are fucked up themselves. Hardly stable enough to offer opinions on another’s sanity.”

  “Do you know any?”

  “Not really.”

  “Somehow I think you do. I think you have some bad wiring and went to a shrink to fix it.”

  He laughed again. “Tell me, Dub, do you regret not getting to play doctor? So close and yet so far. Sort of a failure, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Don’t play his game. Dig for information. “What about Allison and Petersen? Why them?”

  “Fag boy and the old grouch? They were assholes, too.”

>   “How’d you know? You killed them in their sleep.”

  “Maybe I’m clairvoyant.”

  “That’s probably it.” I paused, but he offered no response. “So, where do we go from here?”

  “More of the same.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. Maybe tonight. Maybe the next.”

  “Who?”

  “You want me to give you the address? Maybe you could meet me there, have a beer afterward.”

  “Maybe before.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll tell you this much … it’s a couple. They’re already dead and don’t even know it.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “I’d suggest you focus on me. I’m the enemy. I’ll find you sooner or later. You’ll fuck up, and I’ll be right there.”

  “Maybe I’ll add Dub Walker to my list. Maybe the TV bitch, too. After all, the good Claire McBride is telling lies about me.”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “Rushing to her defense, I see. She is quite attractive. Probably a good fuck, too. Is she? Or was that why you two divorced?”

  I ground my teeth, needing to lash out, but instead held it inside, not wanting to give him any advantage. “She’s got nothing to do with this,” I said. “She’s simply a reporter.”

  Claire’s eyes widened. I squeezed her hand.

  “Really? You two do go back a ways. Sure you’re not still slipping it to her?”

  The thought that he could be right outside, looking at Claire’s car in my drive, crossed my mind. “Concentrate on me. I’m sure you can find me.” I waited for his response, but he offered none. “Maybe you’re afraid. I’m not some old man or undersized gay kid.”

  “Maybe I will visit you. Maybe I won’t.” He laughed again. “It’s all up to me, isn’t it? You have no say in the matter.”

  “Listen …”

  “Dub, I could talk all night, but I have a busy day … or rather night … ahead. We’ll talk soon.” The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 35

  WEDNESDAY 1:19 A.M.

  “THAT WAS HIM, WASN’T IT?” CLAIRE ASKED.

  “Yes.”

  She pulled the comforter tightly around her as if to protect herself. “What’d he want?”

  “Trying to spook me.”

  “And me?”

  “He’s not pleased with you, either.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Psychopaths see everyone as the enemy, including all the messengers.”

  I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Rain slanted across the streetlamp’s light cone. Everything seemed quiet, normal.

  “I don’t like this crap,” Claire said.

  “It’ll be okay.” I turned from the window. “He’s just trying to shake me up.” I sat on the bed and grabbed the phone. “I need to call T-Tommy.” When he answered, his voice was raspy with sleep.

  “T-Tommy, wake up.”

  “Dub?”

  “Got a call from our friend.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Mike’s killer.”

  “What’d he say?” T-Tommy’s voice was now clear.

  “Mainly taunting me. He did confirm that he did all three killings.”

  “Means that he read the newspaper or saw you on TV last night.”

  “And now he’s stuck his head out of the foxhole,” I said. “We can use that. Just need to keep him communicating.”

  “Until he screws up.”

  “It gets worse. His next victims are a couple.”

  “Which means you were right. He does know the victims.”

  “Yes, he does. I don’t know how, but he does.”

  “We’ve checked every possible connection. Banks, churches, gardeners, meter readers, trash services … you name it.”

  “Check them again,” I said. “There’s a connection. We just need to unravel it.”

  “Can I have the boys put a tap on your phone? In case he calls back.”

  “My cell, too. I doubt it’ll help. He guessed we’d do that.”

  T-Tommy sighed. “I’ll see if we can locate the origin of tonight’s call. Probably a pay phone, but it’s worth a try.”

  “He may have had contact with a psychiatrist at some time. Get some of the guys on running that down.”

  “Will do,” T-Tommy said.

  “One more thing. I have to let Claire McBride know he called.” I glanced at her.

  “Why?”

  “He mentioned her. Even threatened her. She has to know.” “Luther might not agree.”

  “I’ll handle any blowback. Just wanted to let you know.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  I hung up and sat for a minute staring at the floor. My number was unlisted, yet he got it. He knew about my busted medical career. He knew about Claire and me. I removed my S&W .357 from the drawer of my bedside table, flipped open the cylinder, saw it was fully loaded, and snapped it closed.

  “What’s that for?” Claire asked.

  “Just in case.”

  “You think he might come here?”

  “Not likely. He wouldn’t have warned me if that was his plan.” I lay down, and we slid back beneath the covers. I rolled on my side to face her. “He knows things. About me. About you. That we were once married. And probably a lot more than that.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sounded to me like he still had cards to play. Like he was holding back.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Cautious.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Stay around other people. Don’t be alone anywhere.”

  “I live alone, Dub.”

  “Want to stay here until this blows over?”

  “So I can protect you?”

  “Funny. I’d sleep better if you did.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “That’s right. You hog the covers.”

  She hesitated and then said, “Okay, but I don’t do dishes, floors, windows, or cook breakfast.”

  “You never have done any of that.”

  “Just reminding you.”

  “I remember.”

  “Can I bring my own gun?”

  “I’ve got one.”

  “I mean a real one. Not that puny-ass little peashooter you carry around.”

  I knew Claire kept a .44 Magnum at her bedside. And she knew how to use it. “Are we still talking about firearms?”

  She laughed. “That one’s okay. It’s that little revolver that doesn’t cut it. If this psycho shows up here, I want to make sure he gets more than a flesh wound.”

  “Okay, you can bring your own gun.”

  “Great. It’ll be just like a high school spend-the-night party.”

  Jesus.

  CHAPTER 36

  WEDNESDAY 9:28 A.M.

  EARLIER, CLAIRE AND I WENT ANOTHER ROUND IN THE SHOWER. I guess we needed it. Before last night, we hadn’t hooked up, as they say, in more than six months. In the years since our divorce, we had run hot and cold. We’d go on a streak and then cool off. Seemed to work fairly well for both of us.

  This morning was her fault. I was under the spray, and she slipped in while I was washing my hair. After we caught our breath, showered, and got dressed, Kramden and Norton showed up. They cawed at the kitchen window and bobbed around the patio table. Must have woken up hungry. Claire took them a bowl of corn. While they fought over it, I locked up, and we headed to our cars.

  I told her I’d follow her home. Don’t know why I felt the need to do that. Maybe just my innate paranoia. Maybe the killer’s call last night got under my skin more than I wanted to admit. She gave me a ration about it, but after I told her I was doing it anyway, she laughed and called me a knight-errant. Wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but I believe that she felt better that I volunteered. She’d never admit that, of course.

  On the way, we stopped at The Bagel. Felt weird without Mike. This was his fav
orite breakfast spot. A young girl with purple-streaked hair and a gold ring through one nostril waited on us. Pleasant but looked about fourteen. We had bagels and coffee. While we ate, I reminded Claire to stay around people and to come straight to my place after her evening broadcast. She had a must-show event to go to. The mayor was giving her a certificate of appreciation for a series of stories she had done on the HPD a few months back. The presentation and the following reception would be at the mayor’s house over on Adam’s Avenue.

  “Want to join me? Be my date?” She laughed.

  “I don’t play dress up well.”

  “I know, but that wasn’t the question.”

  “I’ll pass and see you when you get to my place. What time?”

  “These deals can drone on. Probably eleven, give or take.”

  “Just be careful.”

  She shook her head. “Dub, I’ll be with the mayor, the chief of police, and a few dozen cops. That safe enough?”

  She had a point.

  After watching Claire get safely through her doorway, I headed downtown. The task force room was empty, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at the table near the window. For the next hour, I went over what we had on the killings. Photos, files, my own notes. Didn’t add up to much. Then T-Tommy and Scotty showed up. Scotty carried a short stack of files. He tossed them on the table.

  “You guys look terrible,” I said. Both were disheveled, unshaven, and dark crescents hung beneath their eyes.

  “Not much sleep, but we got a lot done,” T-Tommy said. “We put the tap and trace on your phone and cell and tracked down the source of last night’s call.” He nodded to Scotty, who continued the story.

  “Prepaid phone.”

  “That’s just great,” I said. “This guy’s no dummy.”

  Most criminals are stupid, which is a good thing. They seem to think that since cell phone calls travel through the air, they’re immune to tracking. Not like home or other landlines. So, the husband who hires a killer to do in his wife makes a handful of calls to the triggerman right before and right after the murder. Then denies knowing the killer. His cell records show the time, duration, and the number called for every call he made. Or received. Oops. Easy money for a prosecutor.