Cherry Bomb (2010) Read online

  "MMS sent through GSM is stored on the SIM card, which also records the unique TAP/CIBER, which can be put into the HLR database--"

  I held up my palm. "The bottom line."

  "If Alex sends video or text messages, I can use the SIM card to get the phone number and basic location of the phone she called from. She activated this camera from a phone in Deer Park."

  "Do you have the phone number?"

  "There's a problem."

  "What problem?"

  "I tried calling the number already. When I did, this one rang." He held up the phone from the cemetery.

  "Meaning?"

  "Alex must have known the SIM cards could be traced, so she set up a call-forwarding daisy chain. She calls phone number one, and it automatically forwards the call to number two, and so on, to as many phones as she wants, until the last one in the chain receives the call."

  "But if I find the phone, I can bring it to you, and you can trace it to the next one?"

  "Sure. But it won't be easy to find. A cell phone can only be traced to within three hundred meters of its location. It could be in a hotel room, in a parked car, or plugged into an outlet in some public place, like a library or a bus station. She bought twelve phones in Gurnee, plus she could keep adding more to the chain."

  "I'll chance it. Gimme the number."

  "You need help, Lieutenant. A big team, working on this, is the best way to go."

  I chewed my lower lip, which still was sore from the same encounter with Alex that resulted in twenty-six stitches on my scalp.

  "What if we had a phone that wasn't part of the daisy chain? That was a direct link to Alex?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Alex had sent me a cell phone in a floral arrangement, during my hospital recuperation. I hadn't told anyone, even Herb, because I didn't want it taken away. I wasn't on Latham's murder investigation, but I wasn't about to give up my only link to Alex.

  Unfortunately, I needed Hajek's expertise, and that meant disclosure. I didn't know if I trusted Hajek. He'd done good by me in the past, but he was a by-the-book kind of guy, all about protocol and chain of evidence and forms in triplicate.

  I weighed my choices, realized I had none, and took a leap of faith.

  "Alex gave me one of those twelve phones. She's called me, text messaged me, a few times. Could we get her location from the SIM card?"

  Hajek's face fell. "She gave you a phone?"

  He sounded a bit more upset than I would have liked.

  "I just said that. Can we get her phone number from it?"

  Hajek rolled his chair a few inches backward, like I'd suddenly become a leper.

  "Withholding evidence in a murder investigation is a felony, Lieutenant. Obstruction of justice."

  "Blame stress."

  "How long have you had the phone?"

  The look on his face told me he'd gone from ally to adversary. I pulled the friendship card.

  "Scott, this is really important to me."

  "I've followed this case. Read all the files for research. She's seriously evil, and totally dangerous. If you've had the phone for more than a day or two, keeping it to yourself might have cost the lives of several people."

  I switched to the sympathy card.

  "If that's the case, I'll head straight for the hundred and third floor of the Sears Tower with a glass cutter and a laminated photo ID so they can identify my body afterward. Come on, Scott. Alex killed the man I loved."

  He shook his head. "You have to turn it in."

  I tried the vamp card, walking up to him with a forced smile and trying my damnedest to get my voice low like Kathleen Turner in Body Heat.

  "I'd be really grateful if you could help me out, Scott."

  Instead of melting into putty, Hajek grabbed for the landline on his desk.

  "I'm not losing my job over you, Lieutenant. It's my duty as a police officer to inform your captain that--"

  I played my last card. The tough bitch card.

  "Officer Hajek." There was so much steel in my words that he flinched as if hit. "Put down that phone right now or this is going to get ugly."

  Hajek obeyed.

  "Give me the number."

  "I...uh--"

  "Now!"

  Hajek grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk and offered it meekly. I spun on my heels and headed for the door, hearing him pick up the phone again as I left.

  Chapter 6

  AN ASTHMATIC BLOWS HARDER than the complimentary hair dryer in room 114 at the Old Stone Inn, but Alex makes do, brushing out her new strawberry red color while standing in front of the bathroom sink. She tilts her head forward, shaking out her long bangs, straightening while drying. When she finishes, her hair is still in front of her face. Alex looks into the mirror, then parts the bangs with her fingers, pushing the right side behind her ear and letting the left side hang flat. Covering her scars.

  Alex stares. Sees someone she recognizes. Someone she hasn't seen in a while. A beautiful old friend who has gone away and is never coming back. Fit. Trim. Still attractive, even a year shy of forty.

  "I miss you."

  She kisses the tip of her index finger, then touches the glass, running it down the reflection of her jawline. Her hair falls back, revealing the pink ugliness underneath.

  Without telegraphing the move, without even changing expression, Alex makes a fist and drives it into the mirror. Her image shatters.

  She feels like there are coiled springs nestling in her muscles, bursting to be set loose. Naked, she lifts her arms above her head and rolls into a handstand, walking over to the area the bed used to occupy before she pushed it into the corner. She tilts farther forward, her feet touching the wall, and begins to do reverse chin-ups, her head touching the carpet with every dip.

  When she reaches seventeen, the sweat comes, rolling down her ears and soaking into her hair.

  Her arms begin to wobble at forty-six. She starts to pant, oxygenating her muscles, the lactic acid building and burning.

  Alex pushes on to sixty, even though her arms are shaking so badly her balance is wavering.

  By seventy-three, her left arm gives out, causing her to collapse onto her side. She rolls with the fall, tucking in her head, using momentum to get to her feet. Alex turns and launches into an explosive tae kwon do kata, kicking, twisting, and punching.

  Her mind is both focused and clear as she forces her body through the moves, grunting exhalations called ki-hops with each blow. Her muscles remember every thrust and spin. The par tic u lar form she uses is traditionally done with four assistants, who hold boards at various heights to be broken by hands, feet, and head.

  Rather than boards, she flails at the air, directing each strike at the unscarred face of Jack Daniels.

  The kata ends in the splits, the toes on the forward leg pointed sky-ward, hands clenched into fists and spread out like wings. Her body glistens with sweat, and her breath comes in gasps.

  With her heart rate still up, Alex flips over and begins a set of fingertip push-ups. She knocks off a hundred, rolls gracefully to her feet, and pads into the bathroom to towel off.

  The cracked mirror tells her she's still ugly. As if she needed the reminder.

  The clock on the nightstand reads ten after three. Her date isn't due until four, but from experience she knows he usually comes early. In more ways than one.

  Alex doesn't dress. Instead, she digs into her gym bag and removes a fresh roll of duct tape, a package of rubber bands, a box cutter, a Cheetah stun gun, and a handheld butane torch. The stun gun is pink, the shape and size of a cigarette pack. The torch looks like a phaser from Star Trek. It's also pink, which delighted Alex when she found it at the home supply store. A girl has got to know how to accessorize.

  Then she sits on the bed, lotus style, and waits.

  Ten minutes later, David "Lance" Strang knocks on her motel door. She confirms it with the peephole.

  "I've been waiting for you, Lance."

  She opens
the door, lets him ogle her. Lance hasn't changed much in the fifteen years since she's last seen him. Same broad shoulders. Same strong chin. His thick brown hair has receded just a bit, and now it's salted with gray, but other than that he's exactly as she remembered him from their Geiger days.

  Lance takes Alex in, staring at her legs, her tits, before moving up to her face. When he sees the scar, his grin falters.

  "Yeah, sorry about that, Lance. And about this."

  Alex brings up the Cheetah and hits David Strang in the gut, applying a million volts to his nervous system. He jerks forward, and all two hundred and twenty fit pounds of him crumple to the carpeting.

  Chapter 7

  I CABBED IT from the Crime Lab, heading for the nearest Washington Mutual bank branch. Again, the driver commented on how soaked I was. Next time it rained, I'd indulge in a thicker bra. Or an umbrella.

  During the ride I made some calls. One I didn't want to make. The other I really didn't want to make. I began with the easier one.

  "Wilbur? It's Jack."

  "How are you holding up, sweetheart?"

  "I've been better. Thanks for respecting my wishes and not attending the funeral. Mom would have shot you if she saw you."

  "Um, about that..."

  I took a deep breath--never a wise move in a Chicago cab. This one smelled like gym socks and cheap incense.

  "Tell me you weren't there, Wilbur."

  Pause.

  "Wilbur..."

  "Your fiance died. Of course I was going to come."

  "I didn't see you there."

  "You didn't see me at any of your graduations or your wedding either, Jacqueline. I'm good at being discreet. Look, I know I only met Latham once, when you brought him over, but for what it's worth I really liked him. I'm so sorry for your loss, sweetheart. If there's anything I can do..."

  My voice got harder. "There is, Wilbur. In fact, there is."

  "Name it."

  "I need you to go away for a while. The person who killed Latham, she has a habit of targeting people close to me."

  Wilbur paused.

  "Thank you, Jacqueline."

  "For sending you away?"

  "For saying that I might actually be close to you. I know I've been an absentee father. I know how much I've missed out on. These past few months, as we've gotten to know each other, have been the best of my life. I mean that."

  "Good. Then you'll get out of town for a few weeks, until this gets resolved."

  "Absolutely."

  "I mean it this time, Wilbur. No saying one thing and doing the other."

  "It's already taken care of. In fact, I just booked a vacation. I'm taking an Alaskan cruise. It's shipping out tomorrow."

  "Really?" Mom was also going on an Alaskan cruise tomorrow. I thought about mentioning it, but the chances that they would both be on the same ship were a zillion to one. Instead I said, "Good. Have fun."

  "I intend to. Maybe I'll find a nice man on board."

  Mom said the same thing.

  "Remember to wear protection. Or make sure he wears protection." I wasn't sure how my father's relationships actually worked, and wasn't sure that I ever needed to know.

  "I promise. And speaking of protection, please make sure you protect yourself when you're chasing Alex."

  "I will."

  "You're going to kill her, aren't you?"

  I'd been wondering the same thing, but hearing a kindly old man say it made it sound horribly wrong.

  "I'm...going to stop her."

  "I've saved every press clipping you've ever been in, Jacqueline. You arrested her before. She escaped. You can't risk that again."

  "It's...it's complicated."

  "This isn't murder, sweetheart."

  Jesus. The M word. I had a hard enough time living with myself as it was. I became a cop to catch murderers, because murder, in every single case, was wrong. Even in cases of revenge.

  Every night since Latham's death, I've lain awake in bed conjuring up scenarios where I blew Alex's head off. Alex was always armed, trying to kill me as well. I evened the score, while also retaining my morality and humanity. But if I had the chance to murder her, in cold blood, would I take it?

  "She's a rabid dog, Jacqueline. It's not murder. It's mercy."

  I doubted the courts would see it that way. I doubted I would see it that way.

  "Have a good time in Alaska, Dad. Call me when you get back."

  "You know, my heart gets a little bigger every time you call me Dad. I love you, sweetheart."

  Since Wilbur reappeared in my life, he'd accepted our relationship much more easily than I had. He'd been saying "I love you" for a few weeks now, but I wasn't ready to return the sentiment yet. Being abandoned for thirty-plus years, even understanding the reason why, wasn't easy to forgive.

  "We'll talk soon," I said, and disconnected. Now for the hard call. His number wasn't in my cell address book, so I had to use directory assistance. I hoped I'd get a machine, then I could leave a message, clear my conscience, without having to talk.

  Just my luck, he picked up on the first ring.

  "This is Alan."

  "Hi, Alan. It's me."

  There was a pause. I wondered if he was thinking what I was thinking. About our years being married. About our recent affair. About him leaving me for a second time.

  "I'm sorry about Latham."

  "Did Mom tell you?"

  "I haven't, uh, talked to your mother since we saw each other last. I signed up for this thing on the Internet. Google News. Every time you're mentioned in the paper, they send me a link to the article."

  I was touched.

  "You're checking on me?"

  "More like waiting for the obituary."

  Ouch.

  "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still among the living."

  "Jesus, Jack. You know I don't mean it like that."

  "Then what did you mean?"

  "You need a reminder? The reason our marriage ended was because I couldn't stand worrying about you all the time. Do you know what it's like to lose someone you love?"

  "Yeah." My teeth clenched. "I just came from his funeral."

  "Oh, hell. Shit. I'm sorry. I'm an insensitive bastard."

  "Yes. Yes you are."

  "Good. We agree on something. So why the call?"

  I searched my mind for the right words, the words that would make him listen to me. The silence stretched.

  "I'm sorry, Jack. You can't come here."

  Being cold and wet didn't stop me from blushing. "Excuse me?"

  "I feel bad for you. And I still love you. But you know my feelings. We can't be together unless you quit the force."

  If I still carried around any remnants of affection for this man I was once married to, they were now gone. The conceit, the nerve...

  "Have you quit?" Alan's voice went from accusatory to hopeful. "Tell me you've quit."

  I recovered, found my spine. "No, Alan, I haven't quit, and I don't want to be with you. I don't want to see you. I don't even want to talk to you."

  "Then why are you calling? You think it's easy for me to talk to you?"

  "I'm..." I took a deep breath, let it out slow. "I'm calling to warn you. The psycho who killed Latham might be targeting people in my life."

  "You're kidding."

  "It would be best if you went away for a few weeks."

  "You're fucking kidding me."

  "Alan, I don't like it any more than--"

  "Are you serious?" He'd gone up an octave. "Are you fucking serious? Your job just killed your boyfriend. That could have been me. If we were still married, I'd be the dead one. How many times have we talked about your fucking career, about how dangerous it is?"

  I shut my eyes, trying to stay professional even though it would have hurt less if he were in the cab with me, stabbing me with a fork.

  "Alan, I'm sorry, but you really need to leave town."

  "You're unbelievable. Unbefuckinglievable. You know what?
All these years, I've been waiting to say I told you so. Well, here it is, Jack. I told you so. Who's next? Herb? Your mother? Your best friends from grammar school? All because you chase killers for a living?"

  Professionalism flew out the window.

  "This killer is chasing me, Alan! It doesn't matter if I quit my job, move to Tibet, join a goddamn monastery! She's after me, and she may go after you too! So, please. Please. Take a long vacation and let me fix this."

  "I can take care of myself, Jack. In fact, I've been doing that quite well since you drove me away. It's too bad, for Latham's sake, you didn't drive him away too."

  The fork twisted so hard that tears came.

  "Please get out of town, Alan."

  "Don't call me again. Ever."

  "Alan--"

  He hung up. The tears became sobs, and pretty soon I was bawling so bad my nose was running down my chin.

  "Miss? I try not to eavesdrop on my fares' conversations, even when they're yelling like you were, but I noticed you said something about being chased by a killer."

  "Don't worry," I told the taxi driver between sniffles. "I'm sure you're safe."

  "I hope so. We've had a dark sedan following us since you got in the cab. Turns every time we do."

  Chapter 8

  STUN GUNS WORK on two levels. The first is through pain compliance. Being hit with a million volts hurts like hell, comparable to being jabbed with a hot poker. But unlike a hot poker, the electric current also overrides a person's muscles, causing them to twitch uncontrollably while simultaneously being unable to fight back.

  Alex holds the stun gun against Lance's stomach long enough to drop him to his knees. Before he can recover, she hits him in the temple with the meat of her palm, hard enough to jerk his head to the side. He collapses.

  She drags Lance into the hotel room, locks the door behind her, and muscles him over to the bed. He's heavy, cumbersome, but she lifts with her legs and jerks him onto the mattress. He begins to moan, so she juices him with the Cheetah stun gun again, causing his limbs to twitch and contract. She holds it there for a few seconds, and when she kills the power he's limp and a line of drool is running down his chin.

  It takes a few seconds to start the roll of duct tape, but when she does she uses a long strip to bind his left wrist to the leg of the bed. The other limbs follow suit, until he's spread-eagled and immobilized.