Ladykiller Read online

  “Fine,” Dave said. “And I’ll also need help reinterviewing the other victims’ loved ones and associates again. I think someone from the crisis center would know what to look for.” He paused. “Perhaps Ms. Morrison would also give me a hand with that.”

  Surprised, Megan nodded at him dumbly.

  “That wouldn’t be possible,” Nita said sharply. “We both have afternoon groups, detective. And we both work the phones at night.”

  “I’ll take Megan’s groups myself for a few days,” Dr. Solomon said. “If this terrible thing does have anything to do with our clients —” He broke off helplessly.

  “Poor Reuben,” Rose said to Dave. “Don’t you have any idea who could have done it?”

  “I’m afraid we have very few leads,” Dave said. “Whoever killed Reuben killed four other people, seemingly at random.” He drew a breath and went on forcefully. “I’m trying to determine if there is a common element that links the five killings. I believe I’ll find it here at the crisis center.”

  A minute of shocked silence passed.

  “We do get some lulus,”Tim said. “But a Son of Sam type? I don’t know about that.”

  “Our perpetrator may appear harmless,” Dave said. “But make no mistake. He is a vicious killer. An animal. He glories in the taking of human life. He is twisted and sick.”

  Rose broke down again. Tim comforted her. Megan crossed the room to put an arm around Rose. Nita stood by the door, arms folded, thoughtful and aloof.

  “If you’re concerned about your safety,” Dave said, “you should know that I’m assigning a uniformed officer to be on duty at the center around the clock until further notice.”

  As the meeting broke up, Dave approached Nita. “I need to talk to you about last night.”

  “Certainly, detective,” Nita said. “But I don’t have much to add to what I told your colleagues.”

  They sat down and Nita calmly answered questions. She took Dave back to Dr. Solomon’s office and excused herself.

  Dr. Solomon walked Dave out. “We’ll do all we can to help you, Detective Dillon. Reuben may not have published regularly in the Journal of American Sociology, but he was a hard-working, decent man who really wanted to help people. He didn’t deserve this.”

  Dave spent the rest of the day canvassing the neighborhood, interviewing possible witnesses in the Reuben Silver killing. As usual, nobody had seen a thing. “Why can’t you catch this madman?” one elderly woman indignantly asked him.

  “We’re trying, lady.We’re trying,” Dave wearily replied.

  As he marched from door to door, the image of the young woman at the crisis center kept returning to him. No woman had affected him this way for a long time. And Megan couldn’t be more different. He thought even his mother would approve of Megan. “What the hell do you want?”

  Dave jolted into alertness. A sour old man, all lips and eyes, had

  answered his knock. Dave’s father would have said, “The last face I saw that ugly had a hook in it.”

  “Police, Mr.Tucker.We wonder if you—?”

  “About time you got here. I been dialing 911 all day.They keep saying someone will be over. Busy wolfing down doughnuts, weren’t you?”

  Dave wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard about Tucker calling 911. They were too busy with genuine emergencies to relay tips in a timely fashion. “Sorry, sir. I’ve been trying to get to you.” Dave attempted an apologetic grin.

  “There were three of them.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Three of them on the street last night. I don’t sleep good, nights. Never have. My wife, when she was alive, said it was because I had a guilty conscience. What have I got to be guilty about? People don’t like me, I say,‘Fuck ’em.’ Always have.”

  “What did you see, Mr.Tucker?”

  “We’re on the seventh floor now, remember.” He led Dave to the window and pointed down to the taped-off murder scene diagonally across the street and down a building. “That’s a ways down to the street. And my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, especially at night. When I was working, I managed an office. Used to be able to spot something wrong with someone desks and desks away. Old Eagle-eye Tucker, they called me. I straightened them all out. If they didn’t like it, fuck ’em.”

  Dave nodded. “What did you see, sir?”

  “Three people. One hit the other one, knocked him down. The one hit ran off, yelling. I couldn’t hear what.The other two seemed to be talking. I figured this was some drug deal.Then there’s this flash of light and a gunshot. Took me a moment to understand. The guy with the fists was shot.”

  Two persons involved in the slaying of Reuben Silver? “Could you identify any of them? Maybe pick out some kind of distinguishing characteristics?”

  “Hell, no. Don’t you listen? They were little dark stick figures from my window. The people who used to work for me asked stupid questions, like you do. I tried to fire them, every one of them. But they got me first.The bastards.”

  Dave nodded again. “The one who got hit, which direction did he run?”

  “West. The guy with the gun, he went back that way, too. Only, he walked. Didn’t even hurry, the son of a bitch.”

  At the task force meeting, Dave relayed Tucker’s information. “So we have two Ladykillers on our hands?” Blake asked. Dave shook his head, puzzled. “Reuben Silver hit one guy and the

  other guy killed him. But we don’t know how the three of them fit in.” Blake hadn’t changed his expression. “Why?”

  “Well, it’s not that two-man teams of serial killers are unknown.

  Remember the Hillside Stranglers out in California? Two guys who committed murders together by strangling their female victims out of sexual rage. Here, though, the killer wants to execute his victims without touching them. A shooter is usually a loner.”

  “This gets weirder,” said Jamie, who had spent the day interviewing Reuben Silver’s grief-stricken daughters from the suburbs.

  “Two people involved could be a break for us,” Dave said. “Could be that one of them will crack and come forward. Or it may be that the guy who ran away is not an accomplice, but simply a witness too scared to come to us.”

  After the meeting broke up, Blake took Dave aside. “Mancuso is convinced you leaked the right-eye stuff to your reporter friend.”

  “Good for him,” Dave said. “I didn’t. Jimmy is my friend, but I’m not about to do that, and Jimmy knows it.”

  “Watch yourself. I’ll do the best I can for you. But we’ve got to catch this bastard — or these bastards — and soon.”

  Jamie came up to Dave. “A bunch of us are going over to McSorley’s.Want to come?”

  “Thanks. I can’t. Got some business to catch up on.”

  She gave a small, disappointed smile.

  Dave went to a pay phone on the street to call Jimmy Conlon. Jimmy knew at once. “You’re in trouble, right?”

  “They think I gave you that right-eye stuff.”

  “Well, you didn’t. And don’t say that now every copycat killer will do the same thing, so you won’t be able to tell the difference.You guys have much more on the Ladykiller’s MO than the right eye.”

  Jimmy was right. “I’m under a little pressure,” Dave said.

  “Me too. Listen, we both work for scumbags, but we’ll come out okay. I gotta go and finish my story. Chip wants to see it before he leaves. He has a power squash game with the managing editor. That’s following his power lunch with the executive editor. If the story isn’t just right for him, he’ll give it over for a rewrite to his latest favorite, this new reporter who was his younger brother’s roomie at Andover.”

  Dave toyed with the idea of joining the others at the bar. But he decided to go for a walk: along the route Reuben Silver must have taken between the crisis center and the spot where he died.

  Jamie sat with Safir and Wise at McSorley’s and nursed a beer. “You guys know Dave pretty well.”

  The
y nodded in unison. “Know him,” Safir said. “Knew his dad.”

  Wise signaled for another round. “A cop family. Irish. Queens. The usual.”

  “Dave had some kind of a problem,” Jamie said. “No one will tell me what that is.”

  “Uh— shouldn’t you ask Dave?”Wise suggested.

  “I’m asking you.”

  Safir and Wise exchanged a look.

  “Dillon was a rising star until six, seven, or so months ago,”Wise said. “Then he fell in love with a... uh...”

  “With his work,” Safir said. “It didn’t work out.”

  “Look, Jamie,” Wise said, lowering his voice. “Can I ask a personal question, or should I just go fuck myself?”

  Jamie bristled for a moment.Then she softened and gave a wary smile. “You can ask.”

  “I know you got a dose of the hots for Dave,”Wise said. “But are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”

  “Hey, it’s no big deal,” Jamie answered, trying for a light tone. “I’m looking for a couple of smiles, that’s all.”

  Wise nodded. “All I’m saying is: Dillon may not be Mr. Right, Jamie.” He looked at Safir who took up the tale.

  “He gets mixed up with the wrong kind of women. Like his old man. It caught up with him. He’s a fallen angel —” Safir fell quiet and took a major swallow of beer.

  “He didn’t lose his shield, but he’ll never get promoted,” Wise said. “Like his old man.”

  “Unless he solves a big, splashy case,” Safir amended.

  “A real career-maker,”Wise intoned.

  Bewildered, Jamie signaled for another round. “But what happened?”

  They exchanged a look and accepted the beer.Then they changed the subject and Jamie could not get another word out of them about the one topic that interested her.

  The day had grown old and the last water colors of sundown were fading in the western sky when Dave reached the crime scene. The yellow police tape had already been ripped apart by tenants needing access to the apartment house door before which Reuben had died. His blood stained the sidewalk like a scarlet obscenity. Westward, where the array of looming buildings drank in the last of the day’s blues and pinks, the shadows were coming out of their lairs.

  The accomplice, if that’s what he was, had run west. After the murder, the shooter had traveled west, as well.Were the shooter and the accomplice going to rendezvous?

  Interestingly, Reuben must have been walking from the west to reach the site of his death. Coming from the West Side Crisis Center. Nita Bergstrom had said he simply left. Did he have an appointment to meet the shooter, the accomplice, or both?

  Dave went west, toward the crisis center, staying on the same side of the street that the crisis center and the crime scene were on. Chances were Reuben had stayed on that side. Alert for the stray detail, for the change in the psychic currents, Dave progressed slowly along the sidewalk.

  Megan — on the same sidewalk, headed straight toward him. Did Dave see her first? Or did she see him? Or did they recognize each other at the same time?

  He registered the paleness of her skin, the reddish-gold hair. Her eyes sparkled. She had put the cares of the day behind. “I didn’t expect to see you till tomorrow,” she said, clearly glad she was seeing him now.

  He smiled back, perhaps his most genuine smile in months. “I’ve got a little work left. Feeling better?”

  “A bit.” Megan’s smile dimmed. “It was a tough day at work. Everybody was out of it. Except for Nita. She’s incredible. She’s actually spelling Rose tomorrow night on the hotline because Rose is so upset.”

  “You admire Nita, don’t you?”

  “Everyone does. I’ve never met anyone like her.” Megan shrugged awkwardly, showing the odd deference she had displayed earlier. “Well, I’d better get going. Got to finish picking my courses for next semester.”

  “Hunter School of Social Work, right?”

  Her brow crinkled, her smile gone. “How did you know that?”

  “Hey, I’m a detective, remember? Anyway, Dr. Solomon briefed me on the staff.”

  “Well, I’d better get going. See you tomorrow.”

  Megan walked on and turned and gave him a wave.

  As men have done since the beginning of civilization, Dave examined the woman’s walk. He sighed deeply. She had legs like a dancer.

  EIGHT

  A .45.That’s what Ace needed.To make Nita his forever, he had to get one and show her that he could use it.

  Ace’s brains were a little scrambled from drugs, malnutrition, neglect, and general disuse, but he was far from stupid. When he heard about Reuben’s death, he knew instantly what had happened. He put it together. It only made him love her more. With a woman like Nita, he could do anything. And to win her, he had to be strong.

  The coolness with which she had blown that guy to hell and then walked away — Ace could only shake his head in admiration. This showed a kind of cool that Ace had only imagined or seen in movies. It was an attitude he always aspired to, but had seldom seen.

  A .45. Ace had never fired one. In fact, Ace had never fired a gun in his life, except for the .22 pistol his pal Joey had boosted from a neighbor back in New Jersey.

  Ace’s father had been a brave and highly decorated soldier in Vietnam — or so Ace had heard, never having met the man. But Ace himself had inherited no firearms prowess, let alone bravery. Joey called him a pussy when Ace missed every one of the tin cans they lined up along the fence. He had winced with every shot.

  Maybe Ace’s mother, Doris, was to blame. A slatternly woman with a fondness for the bottle, she would not allow guns in their trailer home on the outskirts of Rahway. Even when she turned tricks for the local cops, she insisted that they take off their weapons before she would let them in. “I don’t entertain anyone who’s armed, no matter how good he’s paying,” she would say self-righteously in the small trailer, stinking of whiskey, cigarettes, and sex.

  When Ace joined Joey in holding up a 7-Eleven, he had been too afraid to carry the .22 and merely stood lookout instead.That turned out to be a rare piece of good fortune for Ace.

  When the cops caught them a half hour later with their pathetic take of fifty bucks, Joey drew the hard time. Five big years for armed robbery. Ace got probation as a first-time offender and accomplice. It also helped that Doris Cronen made the Rahway police chief holler every Wednesday night before he went home to his family.

  Sitting outside the trailer, as he always did when his mother entertained, Ace had heard her tell the chief, “My boy ain’t no master criminal. He ain’t a leader. He’s a follower. Give the kid a break.”

  A .45.Ace knew from the papers that a .45 was a powerful sidearm. Not the type of gun you would expect a woman to use. Nita, of course, was no ordinary woman.

  “Can you get me a .45?” he asked Tony Topnut.

  “A Colt .45?” Tony Topnut said from behind the bar. “We serve just Bud, Lowenbrau, and Michelob. And I gotta see your money before I give you anything.”

  “No, a gun,” Ace whined, ignoring the insult as usual. “Finesse says you sell guns.”

  Tony Topnut put his fleshy face an inch from Ace’s. “Maybe Finesse don’t know fuck all.”

  “I need a .45,” Ace persisted. “A good one. With bullets. Not like the one Billy Ray Battle had.” He giggled. “His damn gun wasn’t loaded.”

  “You know how to fire a .45?” Tony Topnut’s breath reeked of onions.

  “Sure. Used one lots of times.”

  Tony Topnut roared his onion laugh into Ace’s face. His bulk jiggled beneath his Hawaiian shirt. “Let me guess.You’re the Ladykiller, right? You and Billy Ray.”

  People were looking at them, now, and Ace snapped back, “I might surprise you someday, you fat piece of shit.”

  Tony Topnut grabbed Ace by the collar and pulled him halfway across the bar. He whispered in Ace’s face, spraying sibilants and onion stench, “Listen, you little fuck. Show me three hundred
dollars, and I might show you a gun. If I’m in a good mood. But right now, I’m not. I want your ass out of here before my mood gets any worse.”

  “Can’t I stay and see the show?” Ace croaked.

  Tony Topnut threw Ace back hard, sending him crashing to the sticky floor, tangled up in the barstool. “Get out.”

  Ace, his face on fire with humiliation, slunk out of the Foxy Lady with every eye watching.

  The mocking guffaws followed him up the Deuce.Three hundred for a .45. Christ.

  Dave picked up Megan in an unmarked car. She said nothing more than a nervous hello.As he pulled away from the West Side Crisis Center, he found himself tempted to stare. He allowed himself a quick glance. Megan sat primly with her hands on her lap and her knees together. Her short skirt showed off long, sleek thighs.

  Then he noticed that she was actually watching him. “Better buckle up,” he said. “That’s the law.”

  “We don’t want to break the law,” Megan said with a small, almost coquettish laugh.

  He loved her laugh. It was high and musical, a brief, rich melody that hung in the air after she had finished. From the corner of his eye, he observed her pull the shoulder harness across her breasts and snap it in place.

  “I appreciate your doing this,” Dave said.

  “I always want to support the police,” she said.Teasing. The farther they got from the crisis center, the more Megan

  seemed to loosen up.

  “You like your work?” Dave asked.

  “I love it. I love my job. Even though I’m going for my Master’s,

  the crisis center is the best school. I get to work with terrific people. Seasoned professionals. Dr. Solomon is quite well known, or at least, he was in his day. And Nita — well, Nita is incredible. She knows everything, she can handle anything. She’s taught me more than anyone I ever met.”

  The enthusiasm in her voice grew as she talked. Without knowing why, Dave was annoyed.

  “I get the impression that she actually runs the place.”

  Megan laughed again. “The crisis center wouldn’t function without Nita. Dr. Solomon needs a lot of backstopping and organizing. Nita takes care of that in her spare time.”