The shuffling of feet in the corridor outside of Colm’s office brought him back to the present. It was precisely 3:00 P.M. Quitting time. Driven, he got up from his chair and walked to his closet. In the darkness of that intimate space, several items of clothing were impeccably displayed on wooden hangers. It was a casual look he would need today. He selected a Polo shirt and Levi’s slim-fit jeans, then slipped into a pair of Sperry Topsiders. Thus armored, he was ready for his next encounter.
He left the building, ambling lightheartedly toward the parking lot where he had parked the van. In just under an hour he would arrive at the Kings Plaza Shopping Mall. The anticipation exhilarated him.
Colm strolled the bilevel plaza, stalking his own reflection in the store windows, until he reached the Croissant Shoppe. That’s when he saw her, demure yet provocative. Time to act like any other shopper in need of a coffee break. After she stopped watching him, reasonably certain he was not her date, he circled the girl and sat nearby, in a corner of the restaurant where he could study her. Her garish attempt at makeup disturbed him. Despite the cones of nipples that indented her cotton halter, she looked boyish, with masculine legs. From his vantage point, he could see the reflection of her nubile form multiplied in the mirrored walls of the eatery. The expansion made him dizzy.
Her impatience was growing thinner by the minute. He knew she believed her date was a no-show.
She walked briskly to the counter and ordered a cappuccino that she sipped angrily, scalding her tongue. She squatted on a bench, slid a Virginia Slims between her lips, and was about to light it when she spotted the NO SMOKING sign. She bit her nails and stared at her watch. She confirmed its reading with the large industrial clock dangling above the cashier and, exasperated, stormed out of the shop, coffee cup in hand. Her hasty dash caused her to spill some of the cappuccino on her denim skirt. Aggravated, she threw the cup in the trash and made her way down the windowed corridor.
Colm was in heaven. He had watched her every move and felt her every emotion. He decided to follow her.
She turned into Aubrey’s Bookstore. Her attention span was infinitesimal. She moved from hardcover to paperback, opening and closing jackets, leafing through pages, then replacing each book on its shelf, only to start all over again.
A girl called out her name. “Clarissa!”
A smile formed on the face of his intended.
Who was this other girl? A friend? A classmate? A lover, perhaps? She certainly was not part of the plan.
Together, Clarissa and the newcomer walked out of the bookstore, their laughter ringing under the glass cupola of the mall. They continued down the corridor, turning hurriedly into Sweet Delights, a confectionery store. Colm followed.
The variety of candies, their shapes and colors, the fragrance of licorice, vanilla, fruits, and sugars inebriated him. Sweets for the sweet, he thought. He filled two gilded gift boxes with sugar-glazed fruit drops and approached the cashier. “Please present these gifts to my two friends over there…after I’ve left the store. And make no mention of me.”
“No sweat. How ’bout I tie a ribbon on top? Just two bucks more?”
“You read my mind. How much do I owe you?”
“That’ll be…fifteen-forty-nine. But no credit cards under thirty dollars.”
He handed the teenager a twenty and vanished from the shop, hiding behind a polymer ficus that stood beside the store’s entrance. How he reveled at their astonishment, their nubile giggles, their pixilation. Like children presented with new gifts, they quickly ripped open the boxes and marveled at their candies. Clarissa, the more vivacious of the two, picked out a blood-red confection and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes beamed with delight. Her friend did the same and grinned. The pair strolled out of Sweet Delights, visibly giddy. Obviously, Clarissa had gotten over her no-show date.
When they reached the bank of elevators, they hugged and kissed and promised to call each other later that evening. Clarissa was now alone, and Colm could get back to his stalking.
Upon its arrival, he entered the elevator with her. They were finally together, inside the glass cage. Just the two of them. He took a good look at her. She was made of the finest stuff. Ebony eyes, alabaster skin, porcelain nose, silky hair. The thought of her bones made his skin tingle. “Isn’t an elevator a wonderful thing?” he said.
Surprised, Clarissa smiled. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
He began to whistle a familiar melody.
“That’s from The Wizard of Oz!” she said, grinning.
“Correct. You just won a trip for two to Hawaii! You and your guest will be staying at the lush Waikiki Grand Hotel, overlooking beautiful Diamond Beach.”
Clarissa gave him a look.
The elevator reached the exit-floor landing, and she stepped out.
“Wait,” he pleaded. “The ride’s not over.”
“It is for me.”
Colm caught up with her in the parking garage, daringly burrowing his fingers inside her halter, rubbing the ridges of her vertebrae.
She bolted from his touch, running headlong into and under the front wheels of a Ford station wagon packed with kids. “Someone call 911!” the driver’s voice rang out.
As shoppers encircled Clarissa’s inert body, Colm approached his intended. Pulverized calcium was all he saw.
Two police cruisers arrived, followed by an ambulance. Colm’s head ached unbearably, as though shards of glass were lacerating his brain. He turned away from his misfortune and ambled for the shelter of his waiting van.
His hand reached for the glove compartment, scrounging for a bottle of Tylenol. He popped open the cap. The bottle was empty. Colm flung it against the van’s windshield.
“Goddamn it,” he cursed as he put the vehicle in gear and headed for the exit ramp.
Chapter 24
Clarissa’s blood pooled on a fast-moving gurney, then trickled onto the mosaic tile, trailing a line of crimson through the winding corridors of the ER.
In a matter of minutes, the gurney was rushed into Trauma One, where the young girl’s comatose body was injected, probed, and connected to a cluster of instruments that flashed vital data on amber screens.
“Suction!” ordered Doctor Stephen Astin, a stethoscope to the victim’s chest. “We’ve got pulmonary blockage.”
As a nurse intubated the patient, pink froth filled the plastic tube, draining pieces of lung into the metallic sink.
“Hypotension!” hollered Astin. “Give me two units of O-negative, and a mixture of Ringers and dextran. Now! And get her scanned for correct type.”
A bluish hue receded from Clarissa’s face as the suction cleared the pulmonary alveolus. Intravenous infusion pumps were dragged in to inject fresh serum into the girl’s arteries.
“Anyone know who she is?” asked Astin.
“Clarissa Parsons,” the lead nurse replied.
“Any relation to the DA?”
“She’s his daughter.”
“I’ll be damned,” said Doctor Colm Pierce as he entered the room holding a collection of X-rays.
Chapter 25
When Driscoll arrived at Police Headquarters, he was immediately surrounded by a swarm of newspaper reporters and television newscasters. Microphones were jammed within inches of his face, while TV cameras captured his every movement. The reporters asked question after question.
“Lieutenant, are you any closer to finding the killer that’s murdering our city’s female citizenry?”
“Is it true Miss Stockard was pregnant?”
“Do you have any news at all that you can share with the public that might make them feel less fearful?”