Katie shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“It was a bit of mess out there that night, from what I can gather,” Saylor said. “Do you think you might want to talk to someone about it?”
Katie looked up at him, annoyed. “You mean a shrink?”
Saylor didn’t waver. “Or a counselor. Or a Peer Assistance Team member. Anybody you want. If you want.”
Katie shook her head. “I’m fine. Things go wrong sometimes. Shit happens.” After a moment, she added, “sir.”
Saylor raised his hand to his chin and scratched it absently, watching Katie silently. Then he said, “All right. That’s your call. Moving along, then — when do you think you’ll be back to duty?”
“Tomorrow,” Katie said. “I probably could tonight, but I think I could use another day of rest.”
“I’m sure that’s true. Is that the timetable the doctor recommended?”
She nodded.
“All right,” Saylor said. “It’s settled, then. One last thing, though. Do you feel up to giving a statement to Tower tomorrow morning? He’s been asking about you.”
“Sure.”
Saylor gave her a warm smile and held out his hand. “I’ll be glad to have you back, MacLeod.”
Katie took his hand. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
1144 hours
He sat in his car, eating an apple from his sack lunch. The tart taste barely registered as he studied his notes.
It was amazing to him how much you could learn about a person just by going to the library. And not a famous person, either. Just a regular, every day public servant.
He now knew that Officer Katie MacLeod was twenty-six years old. That piece of knowledge took a little bit of quick math after he came across the newspaper article from 1991. The story detailed the swearing in of several brand new River City officers, including one Kathleen Maria MacLeod. Both she and another of the recruits, Stefan Kopriva, barely made the twenty-one year old age cut off in order to get hired and were the youngest in their class. Somehow this passed for news in River City, but he didn’t dwell on the poor journalism. Instead, he reveled in that little piece of knowledge about the bitch.
There was another article from 1994 when the so-called Scarface Robber was captured, but it contained more information about other officers than her. But nonetheless, the search yielded a photograph of her accompanying a wounded officer into the rear of an ambulance. The anguish on her face was plain. He wondered if she had feelings for the downed cop. Probably not, he decided. She was probably just another overly emotional female, unable to control herself under stress.
He also found a fluff piece in the city government newsletter proclaiming Katie as Employee of the Month for December 1994. The nomination letter detailed her “tireless hard work on patrol” and “pleasant demeanor with citizens,” none of which really helped him much.
The most interesting news story came from the previous year. Some crazy man dropped his own baby off of the Post Street Bridge in broad daylight. And who do you suppose was there when it happened? The intrepid Officer MacLeod, bitch that she was. Apparently, she was unable to talk the man out of his horrific action. The article was mildly critical of her, though in all fairness, he couldn’t see a whole lot a person could do in that situation. Despite that fact, he took some pleasure imagining the pain that encounter must have caused her.
That was nothing, bitch. You just wait until I lay the whammo on you.
That was it for archived news stories, but not for his research. He found out that the library saved all the old telephone books. He dutifully checked each one, beginning with the current year. He didn’t find anything until he got back to 1991 and then he struck pay dirt. The entry read “K. MacLeod” and was followed by a telephone number.
He considered that maybe she had changed the number after becoming a cop. But he figured it was more likely that she just got it unlisted, figuring that once the current year was up, the new phone book wouldn’t have a listing for her anymore. Which was quite true. And who had the time or inclination to go to the library and search through a half dozen old phone books?
So now he knew how old she was and her phone number. Thanks to Pam Lincoln’s article after he called her, he knew she was assigned to the graveyard shift. A little research into the configuration of the River City Police Department gave him the hours for that shift. Those officers started work at nine P.M. and worked until seven the following morning.
Lucky him, he didn’t have to be to work until eight.
He rolled down the window and tossed the remains of his apple out onto the grass. A squirrel immediately darted from a nearby tree to inspect the treasure. He wiped his hands on a napkin while the rodent snatched up the apple core and scurried back to his tree.
“Good luck getting up the trunk of that tree, Mr. Squirrel,” he muttered. Then he removed his sandwich from the sack and unwrapped it. As he bit into the white bread, he imagined what kind of home Katie MacLeod lived in. Was it an apartment? Or a house? Did she live alone? Or was she shacking up like the whore she probably was?
He wondered if her home were neat or messy. What her underwear looked like.
What it smelled like.
He already knew what she smelt like.
He already knew that she was afraid of him. And that little spark of rebellion she displayed? Well, he had certainly beaten that out of her. When they met again, he was sure that she’d cower in his presence. And then he’d take her.
And this time, he’d finish the job.
At the foot of the pine tree, the squirrel finally gave up trying to climb and set about eating the apple core right there at the tree base. He munched his own sandwich as he watched, his mouth turned up in a smile.
Soon.
SIXTEEN
Friday, April 26th
Day Shift
0912 hours
Tower sat at his desk, tapping his pen. His Rainy Day Rapist file lay in front of him, spread out across the desk like a bad dream. He picked up Westboard’s report about the prostitute Toni Redding along with his own supplemental and re-read both. The details were clear. She had to have been assaulted by the Rainy Day Rapist. That phrase about “the whammo” was just too unique to turn up being used by someone else in the same city during the same time-period committing the same crime. Even though she initially told Westboard he’d said something slightly different, when he’d asked her if it could have been ‘whammo’ instead of ‘whammy,’ her eyes lit up and she’d nodded with certainty.
Plus, the time frame was right in the middle of the explosion of rapes he’d done. It occurred just a day after Patricia Reno.
It had to be him.
He put down Westboard’s report, trading it for MacLeod’s account of the attack on her during the decoy operation. He already knew all of the details, but he read through them again, paging on to his own account, Chisolm’s, Battaglia’s, Sully’s and finally Shane Gomez’s brief report on the failed K-9 track.
Nothing new jumped out at him.
And that frustrated the shit out of him.
He rose and walked to the bullpen’s nearby coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. He stood and sipped the brew, staring at the same comics clipped from the paper that had been hanging there for over a year. He read them anyway, trying anything to jar his mind. There had to be something he wasn’t thinking of. Something he was missing.
“Taste-testing the coffee, John?” Georgina asked him from her desk.
Tower turned to the Sexual Assault Unit’s secretary. He knew the pleasant woman was a horrible gossip, but he’d always found her presence comforting. Georgina reminded him of that large-bosomed aunt who wore lots of jewelry, especially bracelets. When things were difficult, she would be the one to give you a hug and tell you everything would be all right. And it would be all right, except that she would tell the whole family anything you confided in her.