Besides, even if they saw him, even if they stopped him, what would they have? He’d used a condom every time, leaving behind no evidence for them. Most of the stupid bitches hadn’t fought back at all, and those that had raised some defense hadn’t caused him any serious injury. If they were vigilant and somehow spotted him, it wouldn’t matter. They had nothing to tie him to the rapes.
He even had his alibi worked out. His outgoing mail lay on the seat beside him. Just over on Division was a post office. If they stopped him, he’d just say he was looking for the back entrance to the post office in order to avoid traffic. They’d see the stamped, unsent letters on his passenger seat and that would convince them.
Cops, he had decided, were not that bright. They only caught on to the most obvious of facts.
When he turned onto Calispel, the first thing he noticed was that the Jeep was missing. He wondered if it were still at the police station or if she’d driven elsewhere. Perhaps tomorrow, he’d have to stake out the station and see.
The second thing he noticed was the gray four-door Caprice parked a half block from the bitch’s brick house. Two clearly male figures sat inside.
Cops.
Jesus, he thought. Could they be more obvious?
He fixed his gaze straight ahead, then made a point to feign that he was fiddling with the radio as he rolled up the street at just under the speed limit. He used his peripheral vision to check the two of them out as he passed the gray car. They appeared to be deeply involved in a conversation.
Probably sports, he guessed. Cops were all the same. In all likelihood, arguing about the prospects of the Seattle Seahawks or the Seattle Mariners. Or, if they had a more local focus, the minor league hockey team, the River City Flyers. Some sort of knuckle-dragging sports endeavor that people with low IQs seemed to enjoy.
As he neared the end of the block, he signaled and turned right. A quick glance in his rear view mirror told him that the gray car was not following him. That meant they hadn’t even noticed him.
Good. That would make things easier.
Mid-block, he paused and peered down the alley. He saw no cars. No coverage. Could it be that they were only watching the front of the house?
He smiled. Things just went from easier to perfect.
The waiting would be the hardest part, he realized. He’d have to rein in those powerful emotions. He couldn’t afford to let them spill out anywhere. Not on those useless prostitutes. Not on any other deserving women. No, he had to save his energy for the one that got away.
He had to be smart.
He had to be careful.
He had to plan.
Most of all, he had to be patient. And he knew he could. He’d already proven it.
Part III
October 1977
Seattle, Washington
Every sweet has its sour; every evil its good.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
EIGHTEEN
October 1977
Anticipation. As a child, anticipation ruled his life early on. There was no double-edged aspect to that particular brand of anticipation, either — not for a seven year old, at least. The joy of anticipating an event like Christmas (or in this case, his father returning home after a long deployment) occupied his mind and kept his thoughts alive all hours of the day. Nothing could dampen his enthusiasm. Not the long wait, which was usually where that other edge cut the other direction. No, waiting was just fine with him. In fact, the longer he had to look forward to something, the better the experience.
His mother seated sullenly in her chair didn’t leach away his happiness, either. He didn’t entirely understand why she wasn’t as excited as he was, but figuring that mystery out wasn’t a requirement for him to be excited for the big event.
He had a few strange memories from the last time, but they weren’t scary so much as puzzling, so he simply brushed them aside. Those shadowy recollections from when he was only five didn’t matter, anyway.
What mattered was that his daddy was coming home.
That was all he cared about.
It didn’t matter that his daddy hadn’t remembered his birthday back in August when he turned seven. He was an important man on a big ship. He was really, really busy. He had to watch over all the other sailors. And he had to fight the enemy. He couldn’t be asked to do all of that and still remember a birthday, could he?
Then again, a birthday was a super big deal. It was as big as Christmas and Halloween. Sure, he cried when his dad didn’t call or send a present. Then his mother gave him a sharp one across the cheek and told him to ‘button it up.’ She told him he was old enough to figure out what his old man was all about. She said that he could expect more of the same disappointment from him, if he ever came around.
He quit crying then, because he knew she’d lay another slap on him if he didn’t. He said, “Yes, Mother,” because she liked to be agreed with and she liked to be called Mother (never ‘mommy,’ she hated that word, said it was a peasant’s word), then waited for her to present her gift to him. His heart sank as soon as she produced the wrapped present. He could tell by the shape that it was clothing. He didn’t want clothes. He wanted Lego’s or Army men or maybe some cars, but not clothes. Clothes were awful. In fact, as far as a birthday gift went, clothes completely blew chunks.
His mother’s mouth hardened into a tight line. He knew what that meant, so he manufactured a smile. He pretended he was opening up a G.I. Joe complete set of action figures and tore off the wrapping paper with gusto. The plaid pants with reinforced knees and the matching turtleneck stared up at him in silent mockery.
Under his mother’s hateful stare, he managed a smile. He said, “Thank you, Mother.” Then he rose and tried to give her a hug. After all, even if her gift was the most stupidest gift ever, at least she got something for him. At least she said ‘happy birthday’ to him when she woke him up that morning. She even hinted that she might make some cupcakes, though he knew there wasn’t any cupcake mix in the cupboard and she wasn’t likely to go to the store because it wasn’t Wednesday and besides that, her ‘goddamn check’ hadn’t come in the mail yet (he always knew when that check had arrived, because for a day or so, the hard line of her mouth relaxed just a little bit and she seemed a little more at ease).
She allowed him a brief, cursory hug, then pushed him away. “Put your new clothes away,” she said, then motioned at the wrapping paper on the floor. “And clean up this mess.”
So he did, and that was it for his birthday. No cupcakes, either — he was right on that count — but she did make chili for him that night, which was his favorite. They sat in silence at the rickety kitchen table while he ate his chili and she drank her special stuff from a water glass. He wasn’t allowed to drink her special stuff, which was fine with him. He smelled it once and it hurt his nose. Besides, whenever she drank it (which was every day), it made her breath stink. Worse than that, it made her be mean to him.
None of that mattered now. Right now, he sat at the rain splattered window of their apartment and stared out at the gray street, waiting. His daddy was coming home. Everything was going to be better.
Maybe his daddy would bring his birthday present with him. Maybe he didn’t forget, but just couldn’t send it home. It wasn’t like there was a mailman who went out into the middle of the ocean to pick up mail, right? So they probably had to wait until the ship came into the dock before they could send mail. His daddy’s ship was out in the ocean for a long time, so that explained it.
A present between his birthday and Christmas. The prospect of a gift during that long present drought amped up his level of excitement even more. That would make up for a lot. It would make up for his daddy being gone, for the smacks and whacks he took from his mother, for all the troubles at school. A present in between his birthday and Christmas might just solve everything in the whole world, at least for a little while.